Chapter 8 – Emerson #3
Poor Brian blushes a darker red as Grant steps forward and takes the box from the associate. “Thank you, Eileen. You’re looking wonderful as always,” Grant says, prompting her to pat down her mass of gray curls. “How are the grandbabies? Is little Mario still as rambunctious as ever?”
Impatient to get the hell out of here, I force myself to watch the exchange between the two.
Grant is holding the box of tampons in his hand, casual as can be, which is both surprising and unnerving.
Not only am I privy to his personable skills with the nice lady who works at CVS but also I’m in the position to notice how perfectly well Grant’s uniform pants hug his ass.
And what a mighty fine ass it is.
Stop it. Here he is dragging me through this stupid charade, and instead of being mad at him, I’m checking out his ass? Again.
But it’s not just his ass. I’m also admiring the way his uniform sleeves hug his biceps and how broad his shoulders are.
But this is Grant Malone. He’s the little boy I used to giggle with and play cops and robbers with. He was like the brother I never had . . . so how is it possibly okay to find him this damn attractive?
It isn’t.
That’s the plain and simple answer. I can’t find him attractive. I can like him, but he’s off limits. He knows too much. Him just being here reminds me of before too much.
He’s too close when I’ve never allowed anyone to be.
I can be mad at him. I can be pissed as all hell that a little while ago he was threatening to haul me off to jail because I was a smidgen over the speed limit. I can also be livid that he called my bluff.
That’s all I can be.
Oh, and I can be damn proud that I just met him tit for tat with his little plan to embarrass me.
“Right, Em?” His gravelly voice cuts through my thoughts—of him.
“Right, what?” I must look like a deer caught in headlights, and Eileen just smiles softly.
“He’s such a good boy, isn’t he?” Eileen says as she pats my arm.
I smile with so much saccharine that my teeth are going to rot. “He is.”
And then she steps into Grant and lowers her voice.
“No need to be embarrassed, dear. Having trouble getting an erection can sometimes be caused by stress.” She pats his arm much like she did mine.
“Try some good old fashioned pornography. I may have experience in knowing it does the trick.” She winks and gives a knowing smile that leaves me biting back my snicker before she walks off as if she didn’t just talk about porn.
Way to go, Eileen!
Grant blushes for the first time during this whole charade and blinks as if he’s trying to make sure he actually heard her say what she said.
I take his stunned silence and use it to my advantage by pushing a ten dollar bill across the counter to Brian.
The poor kid is standing there trying to act like he didn’t hear the exchange when he clearly did.
“I got it,” Grant says with authority, taking my money off the counter and shoving it back in my hand.
“I can pay for my own—”
“No one said you couldn’t.” His lips quirk into a cocky smile, a clear indication he’s regained his footing. “But it’s the least I could do to help out with your . . . situation.”
“Apparently, porn is what will help you with yours,” I say nonchalantly, needing to get one last cheap shot in, before I turn and walk outside to wait for him in the fading daylight.
Within minutes, Grant strolls out of the drugstore with a bag in his hand and stops before me. We stare at each other for a moment.
“Viagra, Emerson? Really?” he asks, disdain owning his tone.
“I can go back in and wait for your prescription, if you’d like?” I bat my lashes.
“Cute. Very cute.”
“You’re not the only one who can dish it out.”
“So it seems.”
A new set of looky-loos slow their pace as they walk by, curious what crime I committed, and despite my little show inside, I’m not a fan of being the center of attention.
“Are we done now?” I huff as I hold my hand out for the bag.
We wage a visual war on the sidewalk in front of CVS. The lights on his squad car are still flashing and lighting up his face as he looks down at my hand and then back to me. “You tell me, Emerson. Are we done yet?”
“It’s just a box of tampons.”
“Oh, this is about so much more than just a box of tampons,” he says, voice serious, eyes locked on mine.
We stare at each other for a minute more, both of us wondering who will give in first. My wanting to believe the lie I tell myself that this is only about feminine hygiene products against his waiting for me to realize I’m wrong.
“May I have the bag, please?”
“Of course you can, so long as we get one thing clear.” He steps closer to me and leans in.
“Nothing’s changed, Em. Don’t you remember?
I can always tell when someone is lying.
Especially you. That’s one thing about me that’s still the same, so it’s best you don’t forget that.
Otherwise, next time will be a whole lot worse than a box of tampons you don’t need. ”
I grit my teeth as he leans back, those brown eyes of his laden with humor as he places the bag in my hand. “Is that a threat, Officer?”
“No. It’s a promise.”