Page 25 of Courageous Hearts

“Y’know, I usually hate stuff like this,” they say, waving their hand over their shoulder at the interior of the club. “The country music and the bull…anythin’ that reminds me of Texas.”

My confused mental state takes a backseat to Bo’s admission. “Why’s that?” I ask.

“I have a lot of bad memories from there,” they say, gazing off over my shoulder, presumably seeing something other than the inside of the club. Bo’s bright blue eyes land back on me after a moment, looking so vibrant, like the water off the pier. Like waves and cloudless skies. “I tried to forget, but I don’t think I can.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as the bartender returns with our waters. I accept them with a thanks and hand one to Bo.

They blow out a breath, fidgeting with the outside of the plastic bottle. “I think I have some unfinished business. I needa go back.”

I’m about to ask when and for how long, when someone steps into my already cramped bubble with Bo.

“Hey,” the interloper says, flashing Bo a smile that immediately sets my teeth on edge. “Would you care to dance?”

“No thanks,” Bo says easily, edging an inch closer to me.

I put my hand on their back, standing taller and feeling ridiculously proud that Bo is choosing to stay with me instead of dancing with someone else.

“You sure?” the person asks, eyeing Bo up and down. I open my mouth to tell them to kindly fuck off, but Bo beats me to it.

“I said no thanks. Have a good night.”

The interloper shrugs before walking off, and a breath leaves me as I realize how damn possessive I acted just now. How quickly I claimed Bo, as if…as if I…

“C’mon,” Bo says, although they don’t immediately step out of my grip. I’m acutely aware of where my hand is still resting, planted on Bo’s lower back, right above their pleated skirt. “Let’s get back.”

I nod mutely, and Bo finally steps away. Heart pounding a little, I follow them over to where our coworkers are, and as my mind continues to spin, I keep an eye on Bo’s intake like they asked. They don’t drink much more, however.

It’s late, well past midnight, when our crew finally calls it quits. Bridget is hanging off Bo’s arm as we walk toward the exit, fawning over their outfit, talking about how she could never pull it off nearly as well as Bo does. And I can see just enough of the side of Bo’s face to catch the blush that starts to stain their cheeks.

I smile as we emerge onto the sidewalk outside the club. Bo is a bit of an enigma. Confident yet reserved. Unapologetic yet demure, in a way.

I never would’ve guessed how shy they’d be in person. But I’ve seen how easily they blush when given even a little attention outside of the spotlight. How those two beautiful spots of color bloom across their high cheekbones.

Wait, beautiful?

I stutter to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Everyone have a ride?” Dee asks, looking around at the remaining members of our group. Some people went home already.

“I could use one,” Bridget admits.

I clear my throat. “I can give you a ride home,” I say, holding up my keys. I only had two drinks, and that was over three hours ago.

“Thanks,” Bridget says with a smile.

Bo glances my way as our crew peels off in their respective directions. Bridget stands nearby, and Dee steps a few feet down the sidewalk, watching for the rideshare she ordered for her and Bo.

Feeling ridiculously awkward, something I’m not terribly familiar with, I step up to Bo. “I don’t think I ever said it, but happy birthday. How old are you now anyways?”

Bo’s lips tip into a smile. “Twenty-three,” they say.

I groan. “I feel ancient.”

Bo snorts. “Thirty is hardly ancient.” They wrap their arms around their middle a moment, bouncing lightly. “Uh, thanks again for comin’.”

“Of course,” I reply.

“Ride’s one minute out,” Dee says.

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