The Trouble With Tomboys

by Linda Kage

  Unable to stop her curiosity, she stepped cautiously closer. Then she sank into the chair and pulled the album onto her lap. Grady turned, noticing her preoccupation, and immediately zipped his gaze guiltily to hers. He opened his mouth as if to apologize for its presence, but what came out was, “I didn’t mean to leave that out.”

  B.J. shook her head, letting him know it didn’t matter. In a way, it really didn’t matter. It’d been so long since she’d seen Amy.

  Smiling at the picture, she said, “She sure was happy.”

  Grady closed his mouth and slowly eased down next to her. “Yes, she was.”

  B.J. turned the page and snorted when she caught sight of a huddle of women falling over themselves to catch Amy’s bouquet.

  “You know, you’re the only person I can stand to hear talk about her,” Grady said.

  Jerking her head up, B.J. gaped as he gave her a half smile.

  “Everyone else is always so sympathetic when they mention Amy. It. . .makes me sick. I mean, almost physically ill. I can’t handle pity. It just. . .it makes me feel worse. But you. . .you actually talk about her like she existed. And you remember when she was happy and healthy and alive.”

  B.J. looked down at another photo but didn’t see it this time. “I remember you used to be pretty happy yourself.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. Then he cleared his throat and pushed to his feet.

  Quietly closing the album, she pushed to her feet as well. And they stood there in silence, both making sure they had their gaze set firmly on different parts of the room.

  Unable to take it any longer, B.J. blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “You know, I heard only eighty percent of Americans actually have sex on their wedding night.”

  Grady lifted his face. She could see his mind spinning, and it suddenly dawned on her how suggestive her comment sounded.

  “What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice cautious.

  “I. . .I’m not trying to say anything,” she answered, defensive. “I mean, I said what I wanted to say. I just thought it was weird so many people didn’t. . .” Damn, she was only burying herself deeper.

  “I think it’s weird too,” he returned quietly.

  She nearly sighed in relief. Licking her lips, she darted a glance toward the doorway. “So. . .do you want to—”

  “Hell, yes,” he cut in, already reaching for her.

  When his mouth slanted across hers and his arms crushed her to his chest, she finally did let her sigh loose. Thank God, thank God, she thought. Something finally felt right. She’d been tense and unsure of everything ever since saying I do. But every single insecurity inside her melted away in Grady’s arms.

  If only they could have sex all the time, then life would be perfect.

  He had her tee and bra off by the time they made it to his—er, their—room. She’d stripped him of his tie and shirt, and they were each working on the other’s pants. As he backed her toward his bed, he skimmed her jeans down over her hips and paused when he realized she hadn’t been wearing underwear. He glanced up and treated her to a questioning look.

  She smiled, hoping he’d appreciate his wedding gift. On a wink, she explained, “And you say only single people go commando.”

  He chuckled. Then he pressed his mouth to hers, and his kiss tasted like laughter, sunlight, and heaven. B.J. groaned and clutched his hair. After backing her onto the bed, he set a hand on her knee, moved her thighs apart, and knelt between her open legs. As he touched her with his tongue, she gasped and arched. For a novice at this particular art, the man was already a pro.

  Wanting to reciprocate, she said, “Wait a second.”

  He stopped and looked up in concern, like he was worried she was going to stop him. But she merely wiggled her hips around until her feet were by the headboard and her face was in his crotch.

  “I’ll do you while you do me,” she explained, spreading his fly apart and taking him into her hand.

  At the first touch of her mouth on him, he went rigid and sucked in a breath. He whipped a hand out as if to pull her away from him by her hair. But instead, he tugged off her ponytail holder and buried his fingers in her thick locks.

  “Oh, holy God,” he groaned and tightened his grip as she stroked him with her tongue from base to tip. “Jesus.”

  B.J. glanced up at him then. He’d thrown his head back and the muscles in his neck worked as he sucked in a silent gasp of pleasure. “Let me guess,” she said. “You’ve never had a blowjob before.”

  He let out a strangled laugh. “If Amy wouldn’t let me go down on her, do you honestly think she’d go anywhere near my. . .” He groaned and closed his eyes when she reached out to stroke him with her index finger.

  “Well, then maybe you should worry about me later,” she suggested. “Lie back and fully enjoy your first BJ from B.J.”

  He shook his head. “No,” he rasped. “I want your taste in my mouth.”

  Not one to argue about getting herself some pleasure, B.J. shrugged and watched him lean toward her. What followed was the best sixty-niner she’d ever experienced.

  ****

  “B.J.?”

  Grady’s voice jerked her back from the brink of drifting off. She opened her eyes and drowsily mumbled, “Hmm?”

  But, wow. She felt like a limp noodle. Lying there in his arms, she wanted to fall asleep so she could wake in that same position, rested and rejuvenated for another round.

  “What’s the ‘J’ stand for?”

  She cracked open one eye. “J?”

  “In B.J.”

  Unable to help herself, she chuckled. God, he never forgot anything, did he?

  “Jewell,” she relented, hoping that would be that.

  It wasn’t.

  “Your name’s Banner Jewell?”

  “The Banner part was supposed to be Banana,” she explained. “Actually, it was supposed to be bananer because that’s what Pop calls bananas. But Jebediah Gilmore can’t spell worth crap, so I ended up being Banner instead.”

  “Banner Jewell,” he repeated to himself.

  She sighed. “I’m going to have to tell you the whole freaking story, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t answer, but his look said yes.

  “Okay. All right. When my mother was pregnant with me, she was always hungry for bananas. She ate them like they were going out of style. Well, Pop would tease her and say I was going to come out one big bananer if she didn’t stop. But my mom would rub her stomach and say, ‘Don’t talk about my little Jewell that way.’ And Pop would counter, ‘Don’t you mean, your bananer?’ I guess the joke was carried all the way through her pregnancy. So, when I was born, they named me Bananer Jewell. Except Pop spelled the name wrong on my birth certificate. And Bananer became Banner. And Banner Jewell quickly became B.J. Thank God.”

  “I like the name Banner,” he said, sounding almost defensive about her bashing her own name. “If we have a girl, I think we should name her Banner.”

  “Hell no,” B.J. said, jerking upright into a sitting position to glare down at him. “I’m not putting some poor child through that name.”

  He lifted his eyebrows in disagreement, but said, “Then what were you thinking for a girl’s name?”

  Totally clueless as how to answer, she muttered, “I don’t know. I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “Well. . .” He frowned, deep in his own thoughts for a moment. Then, “What was your mother’s name?”

  B.J.’s lips parted in shock. “Dellie,” she said, surprised he’d want one of her family names for his child. Then she remembered they’d named his stillborn son Bennett, which had been Amy’s maiden name.

  Relaxing against him, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You really want to name her after my mother?” She closed her eyes as he began to sift his fingers through her hair.

  “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

  The gentle stroke of his thumb continued down the side of her throat, and she humm
ed her appreciation, adding a slurred, “Thank you.”

  “And what if it’s a boy?” he asked next.

  But B.J. didn’t answer. She’d already fallen asleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Since she didn’t have anyone or anything to fly anywhere, B.J. planned on going to her house the next day to pack up the rest of her things she hadn’t already moved to Grady’s place. But Jo Ellen called before she’d even left the house, asking if she wanted to go shopping for baby necessities.

  Not particularly enthused about the idea of packing, B.J. agreed and drove to Grady’s sister’s house instead. From there, they trekked nearly an hour to the closest mall. By the time they stepped inside the baby outlet, she decided packing might not have been such a terrible idea after all.

  “Holy hell,” she breathed, stopping in the entrance to gawk at the rows and rows of infant paraphernalia. “Do I really need all this crap?”

  Jo Ellen merely hooked their arms together and urged her into the store. “Let’s start at this end.”

  To B.J.’s horror, they went through the entire place, stopping in every freaking aisle. Jo Ellen tried to teach her the art of comparative and bargain shopping, but it didn’t take. She had to admit, though, the newborn bootie sneakers Jo Ellen discovered were adorable. Unlike Grady’s sister, however, she was able to contain her oohing and awing, even if she did snag two pairs and shove them into her shopping cart. The only item to provoke an actual response from her was a bib exclaiming I love my Daddy. Jo Ellen merely sent her a knowing smile and tossed it into the cart as well.

  By seven o’clock that evening, she was dead tired. Her muscles ached in places she didn’t know she had muscles, and her ankles were swollen as far as the skin would stretch. Feeling giddy, though, she realized the expectant Mommy bug had finally bitten. She started thinking about the baby to come.

  Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it look more like her or Grady? Grady, she hoped.

  Though Jo Ellen had successfully instilled her with excitement for a future of parenthood, she was still ready to drop into the nearest bed when she pulled into Grady’s drive at a quarter to eight. She frowned when she realized damn near every light in the house was glowing.

  Her new husband opened the front door before she had her truck parked. “Where have you been?” he growled as soon as she jumped out of the driver’s seat. “I came home early to help you move, but—”

  “Just a sec,” she said, shoving two shopping bags at him and bulldozing past. “I gotta pee like a racehorse.”

  He fumbled to catch everything and could only sputter as she sprinted inside.

  When she exited, he was waiting by the door.

  “You went shopping?”

  “Yeah,” she gave the breathless reply, still winded from her dash to the john. “Jo Ellen called this morning and talked me into going. I didn’t want to be rude, so I said okay. Plus, she convinced me I needed to start getting ready for this kid now.”

  “Jo Ellen?” he nearly yelled the name.

  B.J. frowned. “Yes, Jo Ellen,” she repeated. “You know. . .your sister?”

  His jaw dropped as he stared at her. Then he exploded. “Jesus Christ, B.J.! I’ve been going out of my mind with worry, and you were with my sister?”

  She straightened. “You were worried? Why?”

  He made a disbelieving sound. “Why do you think? I had no idea where you were. You weren’t here. You weren’t at your place. I called the hangar, and they hadn’t seen you all day. For all I knew, you could’ve passed out again while you were driving and been lying dead in some ditch.”

  Taking a moment to swipe a harassed hand through his hair, he muttered, “Damn it, B.J.” His voice broke in the middle of saying her name. “I even called the hospitals to make sure you weren’t there.”

  She sucked in a breath. God, he was really upset. Feeling instantly horrible, she started to apologize.

  “I. . .I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d be so concerned. I didn’t even think to tell you about my change in plans.”

  “Well, it’s a common courtesy to let your husband know where you’re going to be,” he snapped.

  Her back going rigid at his tone, she sniffed. “Well, excuse me, Mr. McPerfect. But I’ve never been married before. And it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been accountable to anyone for anything.”

  Grady linked all ten fingers together and rested them on the back of his head as he stared up the ceiling and appeared to be silently counting to ten. When he was done, he blew out a breath and calmly said, “All right. But next time, could you please just. . .leave a note, call my cell phone, do something to tell me what your plans are so I won’t worry?”

  B.J. gave a jerky nod, lowering her face so he wouldn’t see the red tinge of humiliation on her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” he gritted out.

  She shifted uncomfortably, and Grady shoved his hands into his pockets. After sending her a brief nod, he pivoted on his heels and strode away.

  She stayed there a moment and pulled herself back together. She should be delighted he cared enough to worry. But all she felt was a hollow loss. He’d been married before. He was a pro at this husband-wife thing. It was natural for him to expect her to just slip into place as the patient, obedient wife. . .as another Amy. But she couldn’t do that. It went against her chemical make-up to be anyone but herself.

  She’d never wanted to take Amy’s place. She felt like she was breaking some sacred rule, intruding somewhere she had no place being. He’d always be Amy’s husband in her mind, and she didn’t think anything could ever change that.

  Feeling an unwanted emotion rise in her throat, B.J. hissed out a curse and curled her hands into fists until the pain of her nails digging into her palms wiped away the urge to cry. Once she had herself under control, she checked to make sure her ponytail was still on tight, and then she proceeded to carry the rest of her purchases inside.

  Once done, she started to tote them up to the second floor. Frowning down the hall at all the closed doors, she opened the first she came across, merely looking for a place to store her purchases. She didn’t realize she was looking for a place to start a nursery until she opened the door and found herself in an empty room with walls painted a pastel yellow and boarded with pink and pale blue letter blocks.

  “Oh,” she whispered in shock.

  Stumbling in reverse to flee the room intended for Amy’s baby, she turned and jerked to a stop when she found Grady poised at the top of the stairs, watching her.

  “I. . .” she said. Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her, she lowered her head and tried to pull in a breath of air. “I was just looking for someplace to put this stuff.”

  ****

  It was on the tip of Grady’s tongue to apologize. B.J. looked like she’d just seen a ghost when she’d jerked herself out of Bennett’s nursery. He should’ve showed her the entire house yesterday. . .should’ve opened all the doors, should’ve painted over the damn walls.

  “You. . .” He paused and licked his suddenly dry lips. “You can put them in there if you want.”

  The violent way in which she shook her head made him feel even worse. He was such an idiot. Of course, she didn’t want to put her baby’s things in another’s baby’s room, a baby who hadn’t even made it to a full day old. Bad karma.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “The next door down is a guest room.” Had always been a guest room.

  Still not meeting his eyes, she nodded and started to turn away. But at the last second, she stopped and came back around, looking at him with an expression that nearly rent him in two. He’d never seen the tough tomboy B.J. Gilmore look so miserable before.

  “Believe it or not, Slim”—her voice was shaky, a fact that bowled him over—“I still think this whole marriage thing was a stupid idea, but I don’t want it to be a disaster. I don’t want to fail as a wife. But you know what? I’m never going to be what your parents—what your dad—wa
nts for you. I’m never going to wear a dress or paint my nails. . .or care what color the freaking curtains are. I’m never going to be Amy.”

  That last comment caught him by surprise. He stared at her in shock, and she stared back as if surprised those words had come out of her as well. She even opened her mouth like she was going to apologize.

  Not wanting her to feel bad about saying what she’d needed to say, yet wondering where in the hell that little speech had come from, he said, “I never expected you to be.”

  B.J. stared back, and he thought she was going to cry for a moment. So he cleared his throat and added, “My father doesn’t hate you either. He’s just worried about me right now. And I don’t. . .no one thinks you need to change just because you’re married. I actually. . .”

  He cleared his throat again and glanced away. He wanted to tell her more, like he appreciated who she was. He was glad he was with her and even excited about their baby. But it felt too soon to go that deep.

  Before he could change his mind, he mumbled out a brief, “You’re fine just the way you are,” and turned away, jogging back down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen, he paced from the refrigerator to the stove to the sink and then back to all three in restless anxiety.

  This was his fault. He shouldn’t have made her feel like an outsider or left that stupid wedding album out. He’d messed up bad.

  Of course this place was going to remind her of Amy every time she turned a corner. He should’ve gone to live with her at her house.

  Running his hand through his already mussed hair, he wondered if he should go ahead and offer. He could live at her place if he had to. Or hell, maybe he should just build them a new house, free from any kind of past or troubling memory.

  Growling out a sound of frustration, he turned again to march toward the refrigerator when he focused in on the telephone hanging on the wall. Falling to a stop, he realized he’d never erased the message with Amy’s voice on it. Letting out a groan, he gritted back a shard of sharp pain in his gut.