“Why haven’t we met before?” I asked, curious about the fact that he seemed to be so close to my brother.
“I think you were somewhere between Portugal and Rome when I was graduating high school with Dom, so we wouldn’t have really run into each other,” Max said.
I groaned into my glass. “And that makes me feel ancient.” I rolled my eyes and tipped my glass to drain the last sip.
“Sorry, but seven years older does not put you into the ancient category,” Max said as he headed toward the end of the bar. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can store your stuff.”
Behind the bar was a hidden door painted the same deep emerald as the lounge, with molding to match. A small seam gave it away when Max pushed against it. Through the door was a small hallway with a set of lockers and three doors.
Max pointed to each locker as he said, “You can snag one of those lockers to keep your things in. This room is where we keep the extra towels and bar stuff. That’s the bathroom, and here’s the office.”
He led me to the last door, the office, and bumped open the door with his hip. Inside was tiny. A desk along the right side held a small computer and a shit ton of paperwork. They’d somehow fit a small couch, a tall filing cabinet, and a lamp on the opposite wall. Hanging on the walls were various posters and signs for compliance and Max’s sommelier certificates. My eyes skirted over them. He’d made it to Certified Sommelier, and, by the looks of the textbooks on the desk, he was actively studying for his Advanced exam.
I knew, from chatting up with plenty of sommeliers while I was in France, that making it to the Advanced and then Master level was hard. Max might be the youngest one to do it.
“Since Dominic got you in the system earlier, you should just be able to clock in yourself tomorrow. I’ll pull it up and show you how it works.” Max sat down in the soft leather chair and opened up a few screens on the computer to show me the basics. I resisted the distraction of how good his arms looked in his black t-shirt and how I could smell his shampoo being this close to him from my spot on the edge of the desk.
“Most of your training, really,” Max said as he swiveled in his chair, “comes down to being comfortable with two things.”
I leaned back a bit, wanting to give Max some space, and looked down at Max as he held a finger up.
“One, the drink menu.” Max continued to hold up a finger as he talked. “I’ll send you home with packets about the wine and our cocktails so you can familiarize yourself with everything. Our members have big wallets, so sometimes they like to be fancy with what they order. But remember, if anyone has a reservation upstairs, they have an automatic two-drink limit.”
“Two-drink limit. Got it.” I hoped the limit wouldn’t impact my tips, but I was crossing my fingers for this rich clientele to tip generously no matter what.
It’s not like I necessarily needed the money, I still had my inheritance, but I had been getting this strong urge to make something on my own. I didn’t know what yet, but the fact that I’d been handed everything in my life wasn’t good for my confidence. I was ready to prove I could make something for myself, even if I had no clue what that was supposed to be yet.
Max put up a second finger. “And two, the open sexuality of this club.” I stopped my daydreaming, and my eyes flicked over to Max. He grinned lazily. “If you were that uncomfortable seeing me without my shirt on out there, just wait until you walk through your section and notice one of our members getting finger banged under the table.”
Max nodded in silent confirmation to my raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “Or when you go to make your rounds to check the upstairs lounge area and see some guy getting his dick sucked.”
My cheeks warmed. “I thought all that stuff happened once people made a reservation inside the private rooms? Those things just go on out there?” I asked.
“The general agreed-upon rule is there is no actual intercourse out in the semi-private spaces, but our members are welcome to warm up however they like, wherever they like.” Max shrugged like he was used to it by now.
“And the lounge upstairs is in my section too? I thought I would just stick to the main lounge.” I wasn’t a prude by any means. I’d skinny-dipped with strangers in the Baltic Sea. I’d even given a blow job in a train bathroom on my way to Milan. But this was work. Would it feel different to be constantly exposed to such proclivity?
“You won’t serve in the traditional sense upstairs.” Max dug through the pile of paperwork.
“There are semi-private lounges that members can use while they wait for their private room to be ready. We like to stock each lounge with sparkling water, glasses, and light snacks.” He handed me a binder full of sheets from the menu with long descriptions. Apparently, this was my homework. “So it’ll be up to you to make sure the lounges are turned over. Jules will give you the reservation sheet at the start of your shift each night so you know when you’ll need to be up there.”
“Okay, so memorize the drink menu, and don’t freak out about the foreplay, got it.” I held the binder to my chest.
Max smiled up at me. “See?” He tapped my knee with his knuckles. “You’re gonna do great.”
THREE
MAX
I hadn’t meant to jerk off to the memory of Dominic’s sister’s hard nipples, but nevertheless, it had happened. I’d gotten one look at Isabella standing like a literal wet dream, chest heaving in her sheer dress, and knew I’d be filing the material for later. Isabella was one of those girls whom other people liked to watch. Not just because she was beautiful, but because she was interesting. I’d only met her once before, well, in person, and now seeing her in my domain did something to my insides.
God, I needed to get laid. And as much as it hurt my heart, and my dick, to say, it shouldn’t be my friend’s sister who breaks my dry spell.
It had officially been 117 days since I’d gotten laid. It had been 117 days since my ex, Ana, had decided dating a bartender wouldn’t work for her long-term. We’d been lying in bed at my apartment after having some pretty solid shower sex when she’d broken up with me. Who breaks up with someone less than twenty minutes after they come inside you?
“I guess I didn’t really think the sommelier thing was going to last this long,” she had said. “I thought you’d have gotten a real job by now.” She was lying in between my sheets, her long hair wet on the pillows.
My hand had stopped making small circles on her shoulder, and my breath caught in my throat. Every word felt like a punch. “It’s a real job, Ana,” I had responded, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my voice.
