The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(71)





Linda Kage



the one to keep the plants nice because his wife liked how they looked. But after she’d died, he’d forgotten about them for a good year, too distraught to bother with flowers. When he finally noticed all the weeds, he didn’t see the point in repairing them because there was no one to grow them for.

But if B.J. wanted flowers, he’d grow her

flowers.

****

“You know, if we were in Regency England and

you were a woman, you’d be in half mourning right now?”

Grady paused as he entered the bedroom.

“Excuse me?”

Lying with the covers tucked up to her armpits and a load of pillows propping up her back, B.J.

lifted the paperback in her hand.

“It’s right here.” She pointed to the passage in front of her. “The first year is called deep mourning.

You seclude yourself in your home, cover the windows with crepe and wear all black.”

When he merely blinked as if she’d just read the words in a foreign language, she continued. “The second year is second mourning, and you can take the crepe off the windows. The third year is half mourning, and you can wear gray and lavender and mauve.”

She glanced up and watched him unbutton the

gray shirt he was wearing. As her eyebrows lifted with a see-what-I mean look, he shook his head with an amused lift of his lips. “What in the world are you reading?”

Holding her place with a finger, B.J. turned the spine and read aloud. “It’s called The Trouble With Bluestockings. It’s the first in a series. Jo Ellen lent it to me. And you know what, for a sappy romance, it’s not half bad. There are some great sex scenes in here.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m learning lots 218



The Trouble with Tomboys



of neat tricks.”

After stripping off his button-up shirt, Grady tugged his undershirt from his jeans. “And why are you reading a romance novel?” he asked, sending her an odd look.

B.J. rolled her eyes and sighed. The man would never get it, would he?

“I’m trying to get in touch with my feminine side.” Duh.

She nearly sighed aloud as he pulled his T-shirt off, leaving his chest bare. His defined pecs glistened in the dim light from her bedside reading lamp. God, he was so beautiful. He probably didn’t even realize his striptease was turning her on like crazy.

“Your feminine side?” He snorted as he sat on the edge of the mattress to tug off his socks. “Why do you want one of those? I like you how you are.”

Stunned, B.J. bolted upright, her finger

unconsciously slipping from the page she’d marked.

“No, you don’t.”

About to toss his socks toward the laundry

hamper across the room, Grady turned to eye her with an incredulous lift of his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” “You can’t like me like this,” she told him in no unnecessary terms. “Every man prefers girly women with their frou-frou hairdos and smelly perfumes.

God, even Ralphie Smardo preferred Nan Lundy to me.” Grady froze. “What? Raphie Smardo? Why the hell is his name coming up in our bedroom? I thought he was only sympathy sex for you.”

She cracked out a disgusted laugh, and to her mortification, her eyes watered. She blinked repeatedly “Yeah, but still...he didn’t have to go and act so appalled afterward. You’d a thought I’d given him an STD or something. Let me tell you, it’s a sobering realization when your own dorky best 219



Linda Kage



friend thinks you’re not woman enough for him. I don’t care how much I didn’t want sex with him ever again, he didn’t want me either. He didn’t want me.”

Lips parting, Grady whispered, “Oh, B.J.” He reached out, but she only smacked his hand away and scowled, suddenly wishing she’d kept her big trap shut.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she charged and backed across the bed away from him as he started crawling toward her. “Not you. Not the king of Thou-shall-not-pity-me.”

“Will you just...stay still!” he muttered, leaping until he tackled her, trapping her under the sheets so she couldn’t even move.

B.J. growled and glared up at him.

He scowled back a moment before he buried his face in her hair and laughed. “Jesus,” he chuckled.

“You are something else, telling me what I do and don’t like.”

“But—”

“Will you just shut up and listen to me a

second?”

Taken aback by his attitude, B.J. let her jaw drop open.

His blue gaze sparkled as it met hers. “B.J., listen to me and listen good. You have the same taste in movies I do. I get to see all the great action flicks and haven’t had to watch a single sappy romantic drama yet since we’ve been married. You prefer sports to the cooking and home decorating channels. Plus you’re fun to talk to because you’re into engines and racing, and you’ve never once tried to stuff healthy junk like salads and vegetables down me.”

After pressing a light, quick kiss to her mouth, he rested his forehead against hers. “You don’t ask me what I’m feeling every three minutes. If I’m not talking, you don’t think it’s because I’m mad at you.

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