Page 33 of Courageous Hearts

As always, their voice is flawless. They strut out from behind their cell, long legs eating up the stage, bare feet sure and steady. Those garters look almost obscene. There’s a chair center stage that they walk toward, and when they reach it, they swing their leg over the seat in a wide straddle, their back to the audience. They glance over their shoulder, lips red, short hair falling over their forehead with their rough, intentionally jerky movements as they sing their part. The visible skin, the arch of their back, the fiery look in their bright blue eyes…it’s sexy as fuck. Undeniably.

The chair is clearly a stand-in for their tango partner, and Bo dances on and around it with ease, using it like a scorned lover would, their intention rough yet passionate. For a moment, I imagine the chair is me. I imagine what it would be like to have Bo’s hands on me like that, so full of fire. For their legs to be wrapped around me, instead. I imagine being the object of that heated, lethal gaze.

And it turns me on so damn much I have to lean against the edge of the bar, both for support and to hide the obvious evidence of my arousal.

Bo finishes their part of the routine, pulling a red ribbon from behind the chair to signal the end of their victim, and then they strut back in line with the other performers near their cells. They all sing the chorus in unison. Beautiful, angry voices. A show of strength and unity.

There are six up there on that stage. And the five women next to Bo are dressed just as provocatively. In all black. Plenty of skin visible. Based on prior experience, I should be looking at them. I should be attracted to them.

But time and time again, until that final note rings out on stage, my gaze is drawn to Bo. To the relative broadness of their body. To the shape of them. Their thighs and long legs. The cinched waist. The high cheekbones and bright, full lips.

And as the lights draw the stage into darkness and my body continues to buzz with want, I know, without a shadow of a doubt…

I’m not as straight as I thought I was.

Chapter 10

Bo

“God, Bo. Every time you wear that corset, I want to have your babies,” Bridget says playfully, watching as I carefully fold that very garment away.

My eyes widen, cheeks heating as I look her way.

“Not literally,” she amends, rolling her eyes before taking a seat on one of the couches in our dressing room. A few other performers are at the mirrors, but most have either gone home or into the bar for a drink. Bridget catches my eye. “You just… I’m not sure you know the effect you have on people, Bo.”

I shake my head, stepping behind a changing screen before I switch out my shorts for loose-fitted trousers. I tug a long-sleeve shirt on after. Fall is almost here, and the nights have been getting cooler.

“I confuse people,” I tell Bridget, still behind the screen as I pack my things away. My phone buzzes from inside my backpack, but I ignore it for now.

“Maybe some, but that’s not what I mean, Bo. You’re magnetic. You draw the eye and you keep it because there’s something about you that’s magical.”

Bridget is still on the couch when I come around the standing curtain.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I admit.

Bridget softens her gaze. “I want you to accept the compliment. I want you to own it.” She stands up, coming over to me and placing her hands gently on my shoulders. She has to reach up a bit, seeing as she’s shorter than me. “You’re so confident in yourself for yourself, Bo. But you lack that confidence when it comes to others’ opinions of you.”

“I don’t care what other people think of me,” I reply, which, admittedly, is only a partial truth. I think everyone, on some level, craves acceptance.

But Bridget shakes her head. “No, what I mean is that when someone pays you a compliment, you should believe it. I worry you dismiss it every time me and the others tell you how fabulous you are.”

“It’s hard to hear that,” I confess softly.

“Oh, Bo,” Bridget says, grabbing my hand and squeezing. “You precious soul. Just do me a favor, okay? The next time someone tells you you’re hot, accept it. Say ‘thank you’ instead of convincing yourself it’s not true.”

“I’ll try,” I mumble.

Bridget nudges my shoulder until I meet her eye. “You rock that corset,” she says emphatically.

I huff out a laugh, averting my gaze on instinct before I force it back to Bridget. “Thank you.”

She grins. “There you go.”

Shaking my head, I grab my shoes and slip them on. My phone buzzes again from inside my backpack.

“Heading home?” Bridget asks, finally grabbing her own things and starting to change. She doesn’t bother walking behind a screen.

“Yeah.” I already cleaned off my face, so I’m good to go. “See ya tomorrow.”

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