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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?”
