Of course Rhys would screw up his first night on the job.

All he had to do was serve the drinks the bartender finished to the proper clients. Remembering what went where and to who wasn’t the hard part, but apparently keeping balance on his new pair of high-heeled work boots was too much of a task for him. So just as he ambled to the booth of well-dressed businessmen who’d ordered a round of the club’s signature cocktails one heel jiggled and slipped out from underneath him, causing the drinks to fly through the air and douse both Rhys and the man sitting closest to him.

Rhys gasped as the liquor soaked his clothes and dripped onto the floor. He nearly slipped again as he struggled to both keep his balance and figure out what to say to the man who’s fancy suit he’d just splashed. He clapped his hands over his mouth, mumbling out apologies as intense eyes fell over him. The rest of the man’s party fell silent, lips slightly parted, watching the both of them intently as if they expected their companion to blow up.

But the man only smiled as he lifted a hand to his nose and sniffed it.

“You know, I was really looking forward to trying out this cocktail, pumpkin.” He slid around in the booth until he faced Rhys, legs parted and elbow leaned on the table. Rhys swallowed, feeling the eyes of the patrons of the other tables on him as they started to whisper and gossip. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from this man and the way he appraised Rhys with sharp eyes. He couldn’t even bring himself to try to apologize, his voice locked on a stutter.

“I’d ask you to bring us another round but I don’t wanna risk you dropping them all over the place, sugar. But don’t worry, I ain’t mad. Not really.” The man snickered, gaze dragging over Rhys’ legs and up his lanky torso. “You’re clothes are all wet and sticky now, aren’t they? Can’t be comfortable. How about you take them off?”

Rhys’ racing thoughts suddenly ground to a halt at that. What? Was that a joke? He…he didn’t really want him stripping down in the middle of a busy club, right?

“I—no, it’s okay, I’ll just…I’ll just get my boss—“

“Nah. I don’t want your boss, pumpkin.” The man leaned in, teeth showing through his widened smile. “C’mon. You’ll feel better. I insist.”

Rhys didn’t know why he didn’t just go get his manager anyway. It wasn’t like servers were completely beholden to the club’s customers anyway. This guy had already gone over the line asking him to take off his clothes.

And yet, Rhys found his fingers drifting to his tie anyway, as if the stranger’s eyes were hypnotizing him to do his bidding.

He let the tie hang loose around his neck as he moved onto the black vest and then the white dress shirt clinging to his body. He peeled the wet fabric away from his skin after he popped each button. Murmurs drifted up from the other tables as well as the stranger’s companions, but the pleased smile and nod of approval from the man himself encouraged Rhys to keep going, even as embarrassment clouded his cheeks. He felt funny with this mix of shame and interest whirling in his belly, and as he started on his belt he wondered why no one had stopped him yet. Surely one of the others guests would have alerted his manager or one of the bouncers, but nothing happened until his pants fell to his knees. That’s when the stranger decided to touch him.

“There. Doesn’t that feel better?” He grinned as he settled a hand on Rhys’ hip, right where his blue boxers dug into his skin. “And this is really helping me forget the drink you spilled all over me, babe. Now nobody has to get fired tonight.”

Rhys nodded, his arms wrapped around his midsection. He looked down, mortification properly settling in when he saw his own half-naked body. He might have saved himself from losing his job but there wasn’t anything he could do for his dignity.

“Hey now, don’t be so weepy now, sugar,” the man’s voice melted from commanding to soothing as he urged Rhys to sit on his thigh. He dabbed at his cheek with a napkin he’d been using to wipe at his own damp skin. “No one here’s gonna get mad at you as long as you keep ol’ Jack happy. And right now? I’m very happy. Trust me.”

“O-Okay…” Rhys whimpered, still feeling stupid and ashamed now that he sat perched on this stranger’s—Jack’s—lap with half his clothes off and blush creeping down his neck. From the booth he could now see his boss peeking out from around the bar, but to Rhys’ surprise he didn’t look particularly upset—more relieved, even as Rhys sat in the lap of one of their guests. Confusion added to the muddle mess in Rhys’ stomach, but it seemed for the time being the stranger was correct.

“One of your little buddies will grab us replacement drinks. You’re gonna stay right here for the rest of the night…Rhys…” Jack read off his nametag as his arm squeezed around the young man’s waist. “And if we keep accidents to a minimum, you can expect a big fat tip outta it.”