Page 24 of Courageous Hearts

“I mean, can you?” I ask in surprise, the cockiness of Bo’s tone catching me off guard.

“I’m from Texas, baby,” they say with a wink. “Of course I can ride.”

With that, Bo hops off, catching up to Dee, and I blink after them, feeling like my world is tilting just a little bit.

Seriously, how strong were those shots?

As I get closer to the bullpen, cheers and hollers rise above the thumping music of the club. But instead of finding a bucking bronco within the pen, the bull in question is more…slow steed. The mechanical beast is moving languidly, and instead of one rider, it has two, one of whom is wearing a cowboy hat.

I step up next to Bo, who’s resting their arms on the plastic ropes bordering the bullpen. “What is this?” I ask.

Bo has a cheeky smile on their face as they watch the show. “It’s basically a lap dance,” they explain, inclining their head toward the duo. “But, y’know, fully clothed.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

And Bo’s going up there?

Bo nods, and my gaze drops to their smile. Before I can ask any more questions, the bull comes to a stop, and Dee grabs Bo’s arm, pulling them off toward the front of the bullpen. I hear her tell the attendant, “Here’s the birthday BFF. I paid for their ride upfront.”

The attendant nods at her, and I watch, a little stunned, as Bo steps up to the mechanical bull. The cowboy, an employee certainly, holds out a hand, and Bo accepts it, swinging their leg up and over the saddle pad, settling backwards on the bull with the cowboy behind them. The two exchange a few words, and then the cowboy nods, and the bull sets into motion.

Bo starts out sitting upright, the cowboy’s legs flanking theirs, but then that cowboy grabs a rope above the slow-moving bovine and spins, hovering in front of Bo, crotch practically in their face. Bo is wearing a tentative, somewhat blushing smile, but pretty soon, they’re leaning back against the bull’s neck, and the cowboy is in their lap.

My pulse starts to hammer as Bo’s skirt shifts dangerously far up their legs. Should I say something? Should I do something?

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dee comments from beside me.

I jolt, looking over at her. “Think so?”

“You don’t?” she counters, raising an eyebrow.

I glance back at the duo. Arguably, it is sexy, the slow-grind they’re doing. The lap dance atop that bull. But something about the sight sets me on edge. I don’t like seeing Bo so…what? Helpless? Is that what it is? Bo is spread out below that cowboy across the back of the bull, and for some reason, it’s chafing at me.

Bo seems to be enjoying it, though.

Dee huffs, an amused sort of sound, before turning to another of our coworkers. Bridget, on my other side, whistles loudly, clapping while the cowboy feels up and down Bo’s chest. My hands clench into fists, and I frown over my reaction.

When Bo’s turn on the bull is done a long-ass minute later, they clamber gracefully to the ground. But not before that cowboy leans close, saying something against Bo’s ear and then giving them a kiss on the cheek. I watch, my face feeling hot, as Bo walks off with a grin.

Dee gives Bo a squeeze on the arm as they pass one another, and then she’s the one climbing onto the bull. Bo leaves the pen, stopping to talk to Bridget, and before I make a conscious plan to do it, I turn and walk away.

I head back toward our tables on the other side of the club, not liking the reaction I just had. Not liking the way it bothered me, seeing Bo up there on that bull. And uncomfortable with the simple fact that I don’t yet understand why it rankled.

I like to think I’m a fairly self-aware person. I know what my strengths are, and I’m cognizant of my faults. But I don’t know what this feeling is—this burning in my chest—and that’s a frustrating realization.

When I get back to our sparsely occupied booths, there are a handful of shots still on the table. I grab one, slamming it back. The music in the club drowns out most of my coworkers’ conversation—the mix of EDM and country not something I’ve heard before—and my mind drifts to Bo, trying to make sense of my jumbled emotions.

When I catch sight of Bo coming back from the bullpen, their skirt shifting around their legs as they walk beside Dee, I get up and head toward the bar.

Damn it, why am I running?

I’m only there a few minutes when a familiar presence thickens the air at my back. I turn, and there’s Bo, looking at me in concern.

“Are you all right?” they ask, sliding up beside me, their body squeezed against mine in the tight confines of the crowded bar.

“Fine,” I lie, pulse jumping. My eyes dip to Bo’s pink lips. “Just a little thirsty.”

When the bartender comes my way, I order two bottled waters, handing over a pile of bills for the ridiculously overpriced drinks. Bo has a thoughtful expression on their face when I turn back around, and what comes out of their mouth is not anything I’m expecting.

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