“I’ll take a glass of water.”
B.J. rolled her eyes. “Get him a Bud...Light.”
Grady didn’t say anything to contradict her, so the waitress moved away with a nod.
Finally, he asked, “Should you be drinking while you fly?”
B.J. wrinkled her nose. “You see me flying?”
When he merely gave her a don’t-be-a-smart-
mouth-with-me frown, she sighed. “We’re not leaving till eight in the morning. As long as I quit by midnight, you’ll be okay. I won’t stumble onto the plane tomorrow, slurring and slobbering, so just relax, Slim.”
Grady glanced away. As he watched a pair of
dancers, she couldn’t help but wonder if his thoughts veered toward Amy. She remembered seeing the two of them dance together. Amy had loved to dance, and he’d loved to make her happy.
Half tempted to stand, shouting for the music to stop so he wouldn’t be assaulted with any
bittersweet memories, B.J. latched onto her beer as soon as it arrived and proceeded to guzzle.
He turned from the dancers and surprised her when he said, “Why did you order me a light and not an ultra?”
B.J. took a long draw before setting her bottle down and letting out a refreshed sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. “You look like a light kind of guy.”
He held himself back, as if not wanting to enjoy life to the fullest. “Why? Was I wrong?”
27
“No,” he murmured and studied his own drink
thoughtfully.
“Then what’s the big deal?”
A half shrug later, he answered, “Just curious.”
But she could already guess the reason. He
didn’t like a woman knowing too much about his tastes and preferences. It was an only-my-wife-should-know-how-I-take-my-coffee kind of thing.
Such intimacy with another female didn’t sit well.
B.J. swallowed when he silently reached out to catch a trail of condensation dripping off the side of his bottle. How he could make the move look as sensuous as it did, she’d never know. But, Lordy, she wanted to experience the feel of those long fingers trailing down her skin that way.
Finally, he lifted the draft for a long drink. She sensed he was ending a drought as he swallowed the first gulp. She wondered why he’d been without for so long. Was it because of Amy? Had he hit the cups too hard after her death? B.J. didn’t think so. For one thing, she hadn’t heard any rumors about him becoming an alcoholic, and more important, he didn’t look guilty about drinking. So she had to figure he was clear to proceed.
She found herself watching his gaze move
around the room, studying the different tables and different people. He had such a detached expression, he’d be awesome at poker. She could see his mind work but couldn’t even guess what thoughts
emerged from his detailed inspection. She found herself resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table to watch him scrutinize his
surroundings.
The boy was in dire need of a haircut, but she liked the shaggy look he had going. He was
incredibly gorgeous...in a sad, depressed sort of way.
She just wanted to give him a hug and wipe the hair out of his face. While she was touching him, she 28
The Trouble with Tomboys
wouldn’t mind undoing the top button on his collar to give him some air.
Hell, while she was at it, she might as well shed him of his whole shirt. This was her daydream, wasn’t it? She could think about stripping him naked if she wanted. And, well, yeah, she really did want to.
She shook her head. God, what was wrong with her? This poor man had lost his wife and child, and she could only wonder what he looked like naked?
How sick was that?
And what did he look like naked?
She continued to study him, awed by his
composure. Sure, he’d had two and a half years to get over the loss of Amy and the baby. He’d had time to deal, but still...there had to be a gaping hole right smack through the middle of him.
He must feel so lost. She couldn’t remember a time when Grady and Amy hadn’t been together.
They’d been two halves of one whole. It was a wonder he made it through each day without her.
B.J.’s food came before she could gawk too much longer and make a total fool of herself. Grateful for the distraction, she tucked into her meal, cutting the beef into bite-sized pieces and drinking deeply from her beer to wash it down. She told herself to leave him alone. He looked like he wanted solitude. She was already torturing him enough by hauling him out on the town with her.
But she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He’d started on his drink again and sat quietly across from her, looking content in doing just that, though he did rub at his forehead like he had a killer headache.