Page 62 of Leashed

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Sage! Table nine needs refills.”

Snapping out of her daze, she snatched her tray up and waved an acknowledgment to her manager on her way to her customers.

Tossing my name into the ring.

Parroting the order back to the table, she returned to the bar counter and called it out for the bartender, her mind drifting back to Bo’s expression when he walked out her door.

A guarded hopefulness, eerily similar to the look wild animals had when a bowl of food was laid out for them. As though he knew his chances of being chased off were high but the reward was worth the risk.

The reward.

Nixon often made her feel like a reward, a trinket. Like he’d won her years ago and set her on a shelf unless he needed to exhibit her for a purpose, bringing her out periodically to dust her off. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d placed her interests or needs ahead of his own, and all were within the first six months of their relationship, before she’d been solidified as “Nixon’s girlfriend” among his coworkers and friends. Once he was secure in their status, all attention she’d received from him was on his terms, on his timeline.

She knew that.

Knew it, and despised it more every day. This wasn’t the woman she was. Sure, she’d always struggled with her shyness. But she wasn’t a doormat. She’d ended relationships for less in her past, yet something inside her refused to allow her to walk away from Nixon.

Whether it was her mind clinging to the idea of him or her heart holding on to what it once believed he was, the thought of losing him physically hurt.

Chest pains? Difficulty breathing? Confusion?

C’s words echoed in her mind.

Strange as the woman was, she had nailed it. Except it wasn’t Bo who drew the reactions. It was the thought of leaving Nixon in her past. Bo’s presence warmed her, electrified her. Nixon’s tethered her, making her feel as though she were leashed to his side with a choke chain.

She loaded her tray and licked her lips, tasting nothing but her lip gloss as she served her table, set the tab down, and scanned the quiet lounge for any other customers.

A slow night meant fewer tips, but with her brain in overdrive, she didn’t mind the break.

Placing her tray on the bar, she grabbed the table cleaner and rag and started to work her way around the booths.

How about you settle for me?

She exhaled loudly at the ridiculousness of that statement.

As rough around the edges as Bo was, and those edges were definitely jagged, he wasn’t a bad guy. She’d noticed he’d often sold himself short, casually bashing his abilities while laying bare his weaknesses without hesitation. He seemed to have no problem chalking himself up as a gorgeous drunk, almost as though it defined him. He knocked his intelligence, ignored his work accomplishments, and brushed off acknowledgment of any sweetness he inadvertently displayed.

A polar opposite of Nixon.

Any woman who managed to wrangle Bo would be lucky.

I could be lucky.

“Sage!”

Startling at the intrusion to her thoughts, she looked over at her manager. “Yes?”

“Wrap up your open tabs and clock out.”

*

Reaching under thesilver garland draped in the entrance to Bo’s apartment building, Sage pressed his buzzer and stepped back, smoothing her hair down and hoping he wasn’t already in bed.

She wasn’t sure why she was there.

The speaker crackled to life, a voice she didn’t recognize cursing as the sound cut in and out. “Yes?”

---