Page 23 of Courageous Hearts

“Baby doll?” I mutter, grabbing the second tray and following Dee over to the booths and tables our coworkers claimed.

A cheer goes up, but Dee slaps a few hands away from the drinks. “Not until Bo gets here.”

“Oh, they’re here,” Ishani whispers frantically. Heads whip the direction she’s pointing, and Dee waves her hand in the air to get everyone’s attention.

I spin in place just as Bridget removes a cloth from around Bo’s eyes, and as a loud “Surprise!” rings out, I promptly choke on nothing whatsoever.

Bo is wearing a white blouse tonight, the sleeves of which are loose before cinching at the cuffs around their wrists. Black buttons run up the front, closing the shirt all the way to Bo’s neck in a modest cut.

But it’s the skirt—the black, pleated skirt that’s oh-so-short, leaving plenty of Bo’s thighs and the rest of their long legs on display—that I can’t seem to pull my gaze from.

Ho-ly shit.

When I finally get my eyes moving again, I take in Bo’s face. Their hair is swept back and styled up in a swooping sort of pompadour, and their eyes, wide and excited as they take in the presence of the numerous Gertie’s employees here for the evening, are edged in dark kohl, like storm-lined skies. They’re smiling, lips soft and pink, and they look…

Just wow.

Dee rushes forward, blocking my line of sight. “Happy birthday, Bo!” she yells, tugging her friend forward and shoving an electric blue shot into their hand.

“Technically, my birthday isn’t ’til tomorrow,” Bo says, although they take the offered shot without complaint.

“But tomorrow, some of us will be back at work,” Dee points out, motioning people to help themselves to the tray of drinks. “Which is why we’re celebrating tonight. But not too many of these”—she holds up a shot—“until after the bull riding.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” I ask the pink-haired woman, positive I misheard her.

Dee’s cat-who-caught-the-canary grin proves me wrong. She points over my shoulder, and although it takes me a moment of sorting through the bustle of the club, including peering past the tables and through the dance floor, I finally land eyes on what she’s showing me.

A mechanical bull.

Dee shoves a shot into my hand. “Drink up, partner.”

I drink up.

“Thanks for comin’,” Bo says, stepping up next to me. Their shirtsleeve brushes against my bare forearm, and I suppress a shiver.

“Of course,” I say a little roughly, voice hoarse. Frowning, I look down at the empty shot glass in my hand.

“Don’t let me get drunk tonight, all right?” Bo says in a teasing tone. “We don’t need a repeat of last time.”

They smile at that, and it takes me a moment to realize they’re talking about the night we cuddled. My mind flashes back, and red, lacy briefs fill my vision. Against my will, my gaze drops to Bo’s skirt.

I look away quickly. “Sure,” I say, forcing a chuckle. “Probably shouldn’t have too many of those shots with the blue curaçao, then. They’re potent.”

“Noted,” Bo says, turning to Dee as the woman sidles up beside them.

I take a moment to get my bearings.

“Dee and I are gonna do the bull,” Bo says, giving my arm a nudge.

“Seriously?” I ask.

Bo nods and walks off, along with a few others from our group who want to see the spectacle, and I jog to catch up.

“Is that a good idea?” I ask Bo, falling in step next to them.

Geez, is it just me, or am I starting to sound like Grant?

Bo wings up an eyebrow. “Don’t think I can handle it?”

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