Page 262 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“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.”

I glance around the quiet cul-de-sac as I step out of my cruiser. The street is a perfect picture of fictional Mayberry with its pristine cut lawns, blooming flowerbeds, tidied houses, bikes left on driveways, glimpses of swing sets above the tops of backyard fences.

Nate eyes me as we double-check the address of the house in front of us: 12662 Serenity Court. It’s tan stucco with brown trim, above average in size. A minivan is parked in the garage with the door open, and an SUV is parked behind it. The garage is clean but cluttered with toys on one side and a table saw and drill press on the other.

Normal.

But that’s the problem. Sometimes it’s the normal that’s deceptive.