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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.
