“So, what do you think?”

Ryker stood in front of the full-length mirror in his walk-in closet and looked down expectantly at his three fur babies, all of whom had watched his every move as he got ready over the past half hour. He’d chosen slim black designer jeans, a charcoal t-shirt, and a black velvet blazer. He’d added a lava bead necklace and left his dark hair loose. In addition to his usual bracelets, he’d strapped a leather cuff to his right wrist. He decided to forego glasses tonight in favor of contacts and added navy eyeliner to complete his look. He mulled a quick shave, but decided the scruff was better. Combined with the dark eyeliner, it made him look edgier and unapproachable. Perfect.

He slipped into his old combat boots and grabbed his phone, noticing that Cal had texted him a few minutes ago.

Cal: Got our ride ready. Move your ass!

Impatient, as usual. Ryker shook his head and hurried down the hallway to the front door.

Thankfully, the elevator ride was a short one, and when he got to the spacious lobby of his building, his gaze immediately caught on the limo out front. Jesus, it was a bit much for a short ride to a dinner party. But who was he to argue with Cal’s over-the-top style or generosity? The man was outgoing, funny, and flirtatious to the max—a platinum blond, brown-eyed imp with a personality no one could resist. Even grumpy-ass Ryker.

The back window rolled down to reveal Cal’s blond hair and big smile. Ryker opened the door and glanced in at his friend, who had a glass of bubbly in hand.

“Really? You’re dressed like that for a dinner party?” Ryker exclaimed.

Cal was relaxed in a slim white tuxedo jacket and pants but no shirt. As he stretched his arms out over the back of the leather seats, the jacket opened to display his chest and gold nipple piercings. Cal liked to push the fashion envelope and hated restrictive clothing and clothing in general.

“Jesus, Cal, why didn’t you put a shirt on! Save that outfit for the clubs.” Ryker was half amused, half horrified at Cal’s clothing choice.

“Come on, Ry, I look hot.” Cal winked at Ryker and smoothed his hands through his chin-length hair, then down his jacket lapels. “Besides, this way all the attention will fall on me, and you’ll be left in peace, just like you prefer. Or at least, that was my plan until you wrecked it with the eyeliner. People are going to stare, bud. You look pretty hot yourself.”

Ryker grunted, squirming uncomfortably at that comment. “This look is supposed to repel people, not attract them. Aren’t you getting my ‘fuck off’ vibe?”

“No, I’m getting ‘I’m down to fuck’ more than ‘fuck off.’ Bad boys are irresistible, didn’t you know?” Cal’s teasing laughter filled the limo.

“I’m grumpy, not bad.” Ryker pouted, then accepted the glass of champagne Cal held out to him, forcing himself to relax. “And how come you’re so happy? Have the text messages stopped?”

“Nothing today, so that’s good. Anyway, I don’t want to think about it tonight. We both need to de-stress and have fun.” Ryker accepted Cal’s point and refrained from any further questions.

Cal chatted away about his day, and Ryker rolled the window down to watch Manhattan whiz by. Soon, they were in front of Mac’s three-story brownstone in the East Village.

Cal got out first and walked nonchalantly up the stairs, ignoring several passersby on the sidewalk as they gaped at his outfit—or lack thereof.

Mac opened his front door, dressed in trim navy slacks and a white button-down, his practiced smile in place until he looked down at Cal’s outfit.

“I didn’t order a stripper. You have the wrong address.” Mac managed to get halfway through his comment with a straight face, and then he and Ryker bent over snickering, their laughter echoing in the cool night air.

“Hey, I’m fucking sexy and I know it.” Cal smirked as he opened his arms wide and gestured down his body. “And you should be used to this by now. Wearing the least amount of clothing necessary is my trademark.”

“You’re ridiculous is what you are. But we love you anyway,” Ryker muttered, shaking his head.

Mac ushered them through the door and into his modern foyer. Ryker watched as his two closest friends embraced, big grins on both their faces.

“Mac, you didn’t tell me it would be that kind of party,” a deep voice boomed from behind them, and they all turned to look at the man who had spoken.

Fuck me, Ryker thought as he got a good look at the tall, gorgeous man who stood casually at the end of the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his dark grey dress pants. In the dim light of the chandelier, Ryker could make out the man’s thick blond hair, styled in an undercut, sharp cheekbones, and light eyes.

Fucking hell, this was Wes Stewart. Ryker recognized him from his social media. Ryker couldn’t control the look of surprise on his face or the jolt of anger that rippled through his body at this unwelcome surprise. He hadn’t known he’d be meeting Wes tonight, and he wasn’t prepared. And the pretentious prick had a smug grin on his face that meant he was all too aware that he had the advantage. Yeah, we’ll see about that.