The Trouble With Tomboys

by Linda Kage

  She licked her lips before meeting his eyes. A strange sensation rushed up the back of his spine and neck as he watched the dart of her tongue. The feeling tickled the base of his skull, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Could’ve been his own awareness of her, he guessed, but it’d been so long since he’d felt anything—toward anyone—he dismissed the idea as soon as it came.

  Grateful she’d moved away from his door, he nodded his hello and pulled a key card from his pocket as he stepped around her and approached his room. Hopefully, she’d realize he wanted to be left alone.

  No such luck.

  She turned as he passed her, falling into step with him. “I was fixing to head downstairs and find myself some vittles. You hungry?”

  “I’ve already eaten.” He unlocked his room to emphasize how much he wanted to be alone.

  She set her hands on her hips. “Well, you look like you could do with an extra meal here and there. Why don’t you come along? Keep me company.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Sighing, B.J. tugged his briefcase out of his hand and tossed it into the opened door of his room. He frowned but didn’t react. If his head didn’t hurt so bad, if he hadn’t been thrown off track by the incident at the end of the meeting with Weatherly, if he could only see Amy smile again when he closed his eyes, he probably could’ve come up with a suitable comment to scare her off. Something scathing and dry. But his head went blank, so all he could do was gape at her for her daring.

  To further confound him, she hooked her arm through his and started walking them toward the elevators. He could’ve been rude and pulled away. But for some reason, he followed.

  “Don’t matter none if you’re not hungry,” she said. “You just sit there. I’ll eat enough for the both of us. I hate going to those fancy, shmancy hotel restaurants by myself.” She grinned at him. “I won’t even make you talk if you don’t want. Hell, I’ve been known to carry on a whole conversation by myself. So you don’t have to worry about a thing. Just having a presence like you around will do me well enough.”

  “It’s been a long day,” he said as she stopped to press the elevator button. A last attempt for escape. “I’d like some rest.” He unhooked her arm from his.

  She grinned up at him, her brown eyes hopeful and encouraging. “You can sleep the whole way home tomorrow if you like,” she told him. Then her grin faltered, and the gleam in her eyes died. She gave him a serious, probing look. “Just don’t make me eat alone tonight, Rawlings.”

  Grady froze as a sensation similar to pity slammed through his windpipe. He knew exactly what it was like to eat alone every night. He preferred it that way, sure, but it didn’t stop the wistful hope to sit across from Amy again, sharing just one more meal with her.

  Realizing B.J. could probably see the empathy in his gaze, he glanced away. “Why don’t you just order room service?”

  “Thought of it,” she said before shrugging. “But I had to get out of there for a while.” Pausing, she patted his arm. “Don’t take that to mean I don’t appreciate such sweet lodging, Slim. I already snarfed down the chocolates on my pillow and dumped the free goodies from the bathroom into my duffle bag. But I can only take so much of being penned in one place before I start going stir crazy. Know what I mean?”

  He knew he was beginning to go a little stir crazy himself, wanting the privacy of his room for some tranquil silence.

  But B.J. stared at him with that probing look again; he couldn’t tell her no. He figured he owed her. She’d been the one to remind him of Amy burning her brother’s magazines. She’d been the one to help him drag up the vision of his wife smiling after missing it for so long.

  With a sigh, he tugged at his tie. “Okay,” he relented. “But I want to change out of this suit first.”

  Chapter Three

  Supper proved a lot more difficult to come by than B.J. had originally thought. The hotel restaurant was one of those classy digs that required a certain dress code. As she and Grady approached, the hostess looked at B.J.’s shirt and jeans and black cowboy boots in disgust, but refrained from remarking.

  Instead, she turned to Grady and promptly said, “I’m sorry, sir, but you need to wear a suit and tie to eat here.”

  Truth be told, Grady looked a lot more spiffed up than B.J. in his Wranglers, boots, and a neatly pressed plaid top, so the whole suit-and-tie rule sent her a little over the edge.

  “Look, we only came here to eat, lady. Our money’d be just as green if we were naked, so why don’t you just shove it up your lily white—”

  “It’s fine,” Grady said quietly to the hostess, reaching for B.J.’s arm to draw her away.

  She jerked her elbow out of his reach. “No, it’s not fine,” she growled, glaring at the hostess. “If you want to pick on somebody’s clothes, why don’t you go after me, sister? I’m not—”

  “B.J.,” Grady said sharply.

  His tone surprised her. She lifted her face to catch his hard expression.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “But I’m freaking starving.”

  “This isn’t the only restaurant in the city,” he grit out, taking her arm before she could evade him again.

  Keeping close to her as if he didn’t trust her to obey, he ushered her toward the exit, not once letting go of her until they were outside.

  A wave of memories assailed her as her nostrils filled with his scent. He smelled exactly as she remembered. It was so startling, she didn’t even think to resist as he pulled her along. She’d forgotten she’d ever been close enough to him to smell his scent before, but as she breathed in the fragrance, she suddenly recalled the days when Amy used to babysit her and Rudy, and a teenage Grady would unexpectedly show up at their door.

  As the nostalgia hit, she remembered distinctly what it’d been like to form her first crush on the seventeen-year-old football captain. She recalled the sharp feeling of excitement she’d experienced, spying on Grady when he didn’t know she was watching, and how she’d lie awake at nights, hugging her pillow, imagining it was him.

  The adult version of him didn’t hit upon those little girl fantasies of wanting to hold his hand or primly lay her head on his shoulder. No, now she wanted more. . .she wanted a long, hot, hard roll in the sack, and she wanted it bad.

  Hoping to escape his enticing presence, B.J. took a step away as soon as they were outside. But even from five feet, she still felt the pull. Sucking in a deep breath, she looked up into the sky. Though it was night, the city was full of light.

  Momentarily forgetting her agenda, B.J. paused to take in all the action around her.

  “God, I wish I was home,” she murmured, thinking she should’ve just let him hide in his room. Or better yet, she should’ve stayed in her own and ordered room service. “At least it’s actually dark at night there, and you can see the stars.”

  Grady paid her no attention. “There’s a restaurant,” he said, pointing across the street.

  “Oh, good,” B.J. said, following him as he made his way toward a crosswalk. “I hope they have a dress code too. Maybe I can break a Guinness record and get us thrown out of the most eateries in one night.”

  He arched her a warning look that ordered her not to cause trouble.

  Yeah, she remembered that about him too. He was a rule follower. He didn’t break protocol, and he didn’t engage in scandalous, spur-of-the moment actions.

  Prepared to insult his moral sensibilities, B.J. was a little surprised when the next hostess merely smiled at their approach. Damn, there went her opportunity to cause another ruckus.

  “Is it just the two of you tonight?” the perky woman asked, already grabbing a pair of menus.

  Grady nodded and moved aside to let B.J. precede him. It felt funny, being the recipient of his chivalry. He’d opened two doors for her already, and now he was letting the lady go first. It was disconcerting and boldly reminded her how male he was.

  When they were seated near a dance floor,
B.J. rolled her eyes and plopped down in her seat before he could do something really crazy, like hold out her chair for her.

  “Jesus, I hate dancing,” she muttered and watched the couples on the floor swinging and swaying about, though she had to admit, dancing with Grady Rawlings would be an experience. She could already imagine herself in his arms, pressed against him, showing him just how much of a woman she was under all that tomboy.

  She caught him looking at her oddly and frowned. “What?”

  “Is there anything you do like?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she grumbled. “I like medium rare steak, ice cold beer straight from the bottle, and a heaping pile of onion rings.”

  That was exactly what she requested too when a waitress approached seconds later. After putting in her order, she glanced toward Grady. “You want something to drink, Slim? I’ll pay since I dragged you out here.”

  He shook his head and glanced at the waitress. “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?”

  “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 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.

  She pointed her steak knife at him and, with her cheek full of meat, said, “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  He shook his head.

  “Need an aspirin?”

  That earned her a sharp glance, his eyes a little shocked, probably because she’d noticed his pain. But he answered, “I’m fine.”

  “Great,” she said sarcastically. “Well, then, if everything’s just hunky-dory, order yourself another beer.” She nudged his empty container with the fork in her other hand. “Your bottle’s empty.”

  Grady looked equally surprised he’d finished his entire drink.

  As the waitress approached, B.J. pointed at both their empties. “We need refills please, ma’am.”

  She’d downed two more by the time she swallowed her last bite. Feeling relaxed and loose around the tongue, she grinned at Grady and sat back in her seat, patting her flat belly. “Let me ask you something, Slim. If it’s too personal, just tell me to shove off. ’Kay?”

  He looked at her warily. “It’s too personal.”

  She laughed and leaned forward, her voice low and confidential. “But I haven’t even asked yet.”

  He edged a centimeter back. “If you think it might be too personal, then it is.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed morosely. “You are a sight more modest than I am.” Then she ordered them both another round as the waitress came to clear her last plate.

  “I don’t want any more,” Grady informed the woman.

  “I’ll drink his for him,” B.J. spoke up.

  He pinned her with a disapproving wince like he wanted to warn her to slow down. But he kept his thoughts to himself, which made B.J. want to blurt out all of hers.

  “You see, the thing is,” she said. “I’m curious, is all. I want to know if the first time you were with another woman after. . .you know, after Amy died, did you feel guilty like. . .like you were cheating on her or anything? Did you have to close your eyes and imagine her face?”

  Grady just stared at her; B.J. lifted a hand in apology.

  “Okay, I know,” she slurred. “‘Shut the hell up, B.J.’”

  She made a zipping motion across her closed mouth but then kept talking. “I just thought that would have to be the hardest thing to deal with after your spouse passed on. Admitting you’re still alive even though they’re not and having to move on without ’em. . .God.” She shivered. “That must’ve sucked. How long did you wait before you slept with someone else?”

  Grady’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

  �
�How long—”

  “I heard you the first time,” he growled, his lips barely moving.

  “Then why aren’t you. . .”

  Her question died at the vulnerable flicker in his blue eyes. But then his jaw hardened and his nostrils flared. He jerked his gaze away, and she watched his throat work while he swallowed.

  Suddenly, it became clear.

  “Oh. . .my. . .God,” she whispered, stunned mute for a moment before she was able to yelp, “Holy shit, Slim. You mean, you haven’t had sex since—”

  She realized she was talking too loud when a couple at the next table over stopped eating to send her a scandalized scowl. Grady glared at her like he might reach across the table and strangle her.

  She lowered her voice to a hiss and leaned across the table. “Good God. Amy’s been dead for over two years.”

  “I know exactly how long it’s been,” he snapped, his eyes flashing hot.

  B.J. pulled away immediately, realizing how rude and obnoxious she sounded. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’m backing off. I’ve definitely overstepped my bounds.”

  She closed her mouth, shutting up for about two seconds before she said, “It’s just. . .damn. What’re you trying to do to yourself? Win the monk of the year award?”

  Through gritted teeth, the words “I thought you said you were backing off,” rumbled from deep within his chest.

  But B.J. had drunk one beer too many. “Well, I can’t, okay. Frankly, I’m worried about you. I mean, Jesus, Slim. This is not healthy. Men have to have sex. I grew up with four guys. I know. They can’t function without it. You just need to find some anonymous woman and get yourself laid, man.”

  Grady made a sound that wasn’t quite an incredulous laugh and not quite a sob. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” He lifted his eyes and defensively retorted, “Guys go without sex all the time.”

  “Yeah,” B.J. snorted. “They’re called priests. And priests aren’t the normal, average guy. They got some extra spiritual thing going on that makes them high on God and not women. Now, you may be a good Christian boy and all, but you ain’t that holy. You’re a normal, red-blooded man, and I’m telling you, you need sex or you’ll turn into a. . .a serial killer or something.”