Page 96 of Courageous Hearts

“Ugh,” she says, swiping her blonde hair out of her face before stacking the drinks onto her tray. “Table nine is getting on my nerves. Sometimes I hate serving.”

“Why are you serving tonight?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be up on stage?”

Bridget shakes her head. “I have the next couple days off. It would’ve thrown off the routine to do only part of the show this weekend, so Missa scheduled me on the floor tonight, instead.”

“Ah. And table nine?” I ask, eyeing the booth Bridget is talking about. There are four people sitting there, all wearing suits, and one slaps the table while the others laugh at whatever was said. “What are they doing?”

Bridget shrugs slightly. “Just getting more drunk and mouthy.”

Unease skitters over my skin. We don’t tend to draw a rambunctious crowd at Gertie’s, but there have been a few instances since I started working here where I’ve had to cut a customer off. That’s easy enough to do, although no one really likes being told they’ve had enough to drink. But if this group is being mouthy to Bridget, that’s another story. Would Missa want them thrown out?

“Need me to go talk to them?” I ask.

Bridget smiles. “That’s sweet, Jameson, but I’m fine. I can handle it.”

“If you’re sure,” I say slowly.

She pats my arm. “I’m used to dealing with douchebags,” she says simply before walking off with her tray.

Ugh. No one should have to be used to that.

I watch Bridget as she returns to table nine with more drinks, but I can’t make out whatever is being said. I can see Bridget’s eye roll as she walks away, however.

Shaking my head, I remember Dee’s request for a keg of Guinness and head toward the back hall, skirting past a couple groups of standing patrons who are watching the show. Inside the storage room, I grab the handheld dolly and load up the keg. As I’m wheeling it out the door, I catch sight of Bo coming out from the closed-off hallway that leads backstage. A smile jumps to my lips, but it’s seeing the way Bo lights up at catching sight of me, too, that has my heart fluttering wildly inside my chest.

Bo comes right over, stepping around someone going in the opposite direction, and when they get to me, they walk into my space without hesitation and tip their head up in silent request. Leaning down, I curve my palm around their jaw and bring my lips to theirs. Their cheek is smooth, silky soft, and I rub my thumb carefully over their skin, keeping my motions light lest I wreck their stage makeup. Bo’s hand curls against my chest, and they sigh into the kiss.

When Bo leans back, eyes a little glazed, I can’t help but sneak a peek at the side of their neck. A little bruise resides there from a couple nights ago, and the caveman part of me preens, glad even their makeup couldn’t cover it entirely.

Bo catches on to where I’m looking, and their cheeks light up, even as they smirk slightly. “Ishani saw one on my thigh earlier when I was adjustin’ my stocking. Haven’t heard the end of it.”

“Sorry?” I say unrepentantly.

“Y’know I like it,” Bo replies with a chuckle.

Oh, I’m well aware. The sounds that come out of Bo’s mouth every time I mark their skin are a very clear indicator of just how much they like it. I never realized, until Bo, how much I’d like it, too.

“Get back to work,” Bo says, shoving my chest lightly. “Before I drag you into that storage room.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask, blood pumping a little too hot.

Bo shakes their head, grinning as they shove me again. They turn and walk away, calling out, “See ya later.”

Later. Aka tonight. And hopefully every night after that.

Yeah, I really need to tell Bo how I feel.

Pivoting, I wheel the keg toward the bar and change it out with the empty one. After I’ve returned the dolly to the storage room, the rest of the evening flows—drinks are poured, cabaret is sung, and the lights overhead shimmer like a blanket of stars.

Before I know it, Bo is stepping back onstage for the night’s final number. They look beautiful, like always, wearing high-waisted pinstripe pants, an open vest, and a painfully sexy bowtie that’s snug against their bare neck. But they’ve barely cleared the blue curtains at the back of the stage when something else catches my eye.

It’s Bridget’s sparkly gold dress, flinging out around her as she spins away from table nine. Her face is set in anger, and she goes to leave when one of the customers comes out of the booth after her, stumbling a bit when their foot hits the ground.

Bridget spins back around, pointing at them, and I wish I could hear her words, but all I can make out is the way she’s gesturing angrily. My pulse kicks up, and I set down the bottle of liquor in my hand, not taking my eyes off what’s happening as I sidestep toward the end of the bar.

The inebriated customer opens their hands wide, placating almost except for the expression on their face, which is drunk and amused. They’re wearing a tan-colored suit and would appear almost presentable if it weren’t for the disheveled tie and shirt tail hanging loosely, untucked from their pants. One of their friends steps out of the booth after them, placing a hand on their arm, but Tan Suit shakes them off.

I’ve rounded the corner of the bar and am heading their way when Bridget says something else, swiping her hand through the air harshly. The commotion has started drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd, and several tables are looking that way now instead of at the stage. But I can’t hear any of what’s being said over the music and am still across the room when Tan Suit steps forward and puts their hand on Bridget.

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