Chapter 8 – Emerson #2
When we enter the store, I immediately begin to scan the directory signs above the aisles to see where the feminine hygiene products are located. Anything so I can put distance between myself and him and this asinine predicament.
“Not so fast. Where are you going?” he asks as he grabs my bicep, keeping me in place.
“To find what I need.”
“No worries. I have you covered. It’s an emergency after all,” he says, leading me to the front of the store.
“What are you—”
“Shh. It’s under control.” He points to his badge and smiles.
“No. It’s okay. I can find them on my own—”
“Excuse me, where are the tampons?” Grant asks the service clerk at the front of the store.
Some teenage boys waiting in line snicker, and the young clerk’s face immediately turns bright red as he stutters a response.
“Better yet, we’re in an emergency situation here.
A ninety mile an hour type of emergency.
Can you get on the PA and ask one of your associates to bring up a box for us so this young lady doesn’t have to search them out. ”
Oh. My. God. Is he seriously going to do this?
Yes, he is.
That irritation I was hoping for just hit full force.
“I can get them myself,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“Oh, no need to. He’s got it under control.” He lifts his chin to the cashier, who looks less than thrilled to be asked to do this. “Go on,” he urges the clerk.
“Can I get some assistance to the front please?” the clerk asks, his teenage voice cracking on the overhead speakers. “I need a box of tampons brought up.”
“Tell them it’s an emergency,” Grant says as the kid looks over to me and then down to my pelvis before realizing what he’s doing and snapping his head up, more flustered than ever.
“It’s an emergency.” His voice booms over the PA system and draws the eyes of some of the customers waiting at the photo counter.
“Thank you.” Grant flashes a huge grin his way. “Oh, wait. What brand do you like, Emerson?”
“You’re joking, right?” I sputter.
“Only if you’re joking.” He lifts his eyebrows as he throws down the gauntlet to see if I’m going to come clean or keep lying. The problem is that I think if I don’t continue, he might really haul me off to jail to prove a point. “I don’t think generic will do for such a dire situation. Brand?”
“Tampax,” I say defiantly.
“Tampax,” he relays to the clerk, whose cheeks are burning brighter with each second that passes.
When the clerk continues to stare at Grant as if he’s crazy, which I’m beginning to think he is, Grant points to the phone in his hand.
“Go on. Let them know so they don’t bring the wrong one and then we have to start this whole process all over again. ”
The clerk goes to protest and then realizes that it’s in his best interest to relay the message. “To the associate in the, er, woman’s aisle . . . please make it Tampax.”
I stare at Grant and his smug grin and know there is no way I’m going to let him get away with this. Funny thing is, I’m a woman, tampons don’t embarrass me . . . but I know something that sure as hell will embarrass him.
“Are you still having that problem?” I loudly ask Grant, getting the blank look from him I was banking on.
“Problem?”
“Yes. You know . . .” I cringe and give him a sympathetic look before turning to the clerk. “While your associate is at it, can they grab one more thing for Officer Malone?”
The clerk’s eyes widen. “Can’t he go and get it himself?”
“No. He can’t. He has a suspect in the car, and department policy says he can’t be more than one hundred feet away from him at all times.” I push Grant back as he tries to step forward and interrupt. “Please?”
“Yeah. Sure.” The clerk looks at Grant and then back to me, uncertain how he became the ball in our ping-pong match.
“He needs his Viagra.”
“Viagra?” The clerk’s voice is suddenly soprano.
“Emers—”
“Don’t be embarrassed, Grant. A lot of guys have trouble getting it up.” I pat Grant’s arm and return the smug smile as the muscle in his jaw clenches.
“Em,” he warns.
“Viagra,” I reiterate to the clerk ignoring the hand Grant squeezes on my bicep. “He’s really embarrassed. I mean I wore lacy lingerie, high heels . . . everything, and he still couldn’t get hard.”
If the clerk’s cheeks could get any redder, they would. “Th-that’s a prescription. The phar-pharmacy—”
“Emers—”
“The urologist already called it in.” I cut Grant off again, smile sweetly at the clerk, and point to the phone. “So just get on the PA and tell the pharmacy that you need the prescription of Viagra for Grant Malone to be brought up to the front.”
Grant’s hand tenses, and I swear I hear him mutter son of a bitch as the clerk stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I nod in encouragement to him.
He picks up the phone and keeps his eyes on mine the whole time he speaks on the PA system. “Uh, pharmacy, I need the prescription of Viagra to be brought up to the front.”
“For Grant Malone,” I say.
“The Viagra is under the name Grant Malone.” His voice booms overhead.
Snickers of laughter from somewhere in the store echo up to us.
The teenagers in line shift their feet and try to hide their smiles.
The older lady standing at the Hallmark cards glances my way and then shakes her head in sympathy.
I can only wonder if the sympathy is because I’m having a period emergency while wearing white shorts or because my assumed boyfriend can’t get it up.
“Nice try, Malone, but I think I won this round,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me, Brian, is it?” Grant says to the clerk after looking at his nametag.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell your associate that Emerson here needs the largest box of tampons you have?”
“The extra-large size box on the tampons?” he asks and looks at Grant with wide eyes.
“Yes.” Grant smiles.
“Associate, please make that an extra-large box of tampons.” Brian hangs the phone up and is about to turn his back when I speak.
“Brian, one more thing.”
“You’re joking right?” he asks exasperated.
“No, it’s important. Pretty please?” I turn on my charm and bat my lashes.
“What?”
“The Viagra, can you make sure it’s the extra strength?”
Poor Brian looks at Grant and then back to me for what seems like the tenth time.
“You two are crazy. I don’t want to be in the middle of your weird fight.
Use the PA yourself if you need anything else.
” He holds the phone out to me. I’m more than tempted to make my request but figure we’ve caused enough of a scene, and by all accounts, I think I won this round.
“Thank you for your assistance, Brian, but we’re good now,” Grant says as he eases his grip on my arm and slides his hand down to the small of my back. I step away from him with the low hum of his chuckle in my ears.
Asshole.
The awkward tension only builds between us as the seconds tick by.
Grant chats amicably with the cashier about how nice the weather is while the poor kid fidgets restlessly and refuses to meet his gaze.
I glance around the store, waiting impatiently for the associate to bring the Tampax to the counter and wondering what is going to happen to my Viagra request.
Finally, the associate makes her way down the main aisle with the familiar blue-and-green box and holds it up to the male clerk. “Is this what you were looking for?”