Page 50 of Courageous Hearts

Chapter 15

Jameson

It’s official. I’m goddamn smitten.

Bo and I have only been dating for a handful of days, but I can honestly say I’m obsessed.

They stayed over again last night—the third night this week—and as soon as we stepped through the door, Bo tugged off their shirt, ripped at mine, and all but tackled me onto the entryway floor. We jerked each other off again, and I swear to God, it just keeps getting better.

That reminds me, though…

Grabbing my phone, I check to see if the results of my STI test are ready. I made an appointment the other day after Bo and I talked, and since Bo already shared their own results, we’ve just been waiting on mine. Smiling at the confirmation of my all-negative status, I take a screenshot and send it right to Bo. I get a thumbs up in return moments later.

It’s not that I haven’t loved every single second of jerking off and frotting. Because fuck, acquainting myself with Bo’s cock has become my new favorite sport. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to map every piece of them with my tongue and mouth, too. If I don’t want to discover all the ways I can make Bo cry out in beautiful bliss-pain-relief. If I don’t want—

“Afternoon, Jameson,” Missa says, startling me out of my Bo-related thoughts. She steps up to the bar, the crystals on her midnight-blue dress shimmering under the lights, reminding me of the interior of the establishment—of the velvety blue curtains on the wall and the chandeliers overhead.

“Hey, Missa,” I say, slipping my phone into my pocket. “What can I do for you?”

She sets a small chalkboard easel onto the bar top. “I’d like to start doing a weekly drink special. Can I put you in charge of picking the cocktails?”

“Of course,” I say, excited at the prospect. “Any particular requirements?”

“We need to have the ingredients on hand,” she answers. “But other than that, whatever you think would go over well. Fancier the better. Just leave a recipe out for the other bartenders if it’s not in our usual wheelhouse.”

“Sounds good. I can do that,” I say.

Missa gives me a smile. “Thanks, kid. You’re doing a good job here. I’m glad we have you on board.”

“Thanks a lot,” I reply, chest warm. “I appreciate that.” My boss gives me a nod before tapping the bar top with her knuckles and turning to go. But before she can take a step, I say, “Hey, Missa?”

She stops, turning back my way.

“Why Gertie’s?” I ask.

Missa cocks her head a little, looking at me in confusion.

“The name of the bar,” I explain with a chuckle. “Why’s it called Gertie’s Cabaret? I’ve wondered ever since I started working here.”

Missa’s face breaks into a soft, fond smile. “Gertrude was my grandmother. Gertie. My grandfather named the place after her when he opened it in the fifties.”

“No kidding?” I say. “That’s so romantic.”

She nods, looking around at the booths and the stage against the far wall. Even though it’s empty, the gold capped along the edge glimmers, giving off an air of majesty. I love the idea that this place was built on love. I bet if my dad had known about it when he was still alive, he would have loved bringing my mom here.

Something in my chest sparks as I think about the fact that this very spot is where I first met Bo.

“If you have any questions about the specials board, let me know,” Missa says.

I nod. “Will do.”

Missa heads off, and after brainstorming some fancy cocktail options, I finish getting the bar ready for customers. It isn’t long before the rest of the openers have arrived for their shifts and the gold doors of Gertie’s are metaphorically thrown open. I settle into the workflow like usual—enjoying the constant activity that keeps me moving and chatting with the patrons that stay seated at the bar—and before I know it, hours have passed and both Andrea and Dee have arrived behind the bar.

As I’m dropping a maraschino cherry into an Old Fashioned, my thoughts stray, once again, to Bo. To the way they didn’t want to leave my car earlier this afternoon when I dropped them off at home. How soft their mouth was when we took our time parting. How flushed Bo’s cheeks got when the truck behind us honked for a solid three seconds. And the look they gave me after scrambling out of my vehicle, all heated with the sweet promise of something more.

It’s only been half a day, but fuck, I need to see them again like I need air. Which is why, when I catch sight of the enby themself near the entrance to the back hall, I don’t hesitate.

“Hey, Dee,” I say, catching the woman’s attention. “Can you cover me for five minutes?”

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