Page 296 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Is he not responding?”

Her laugh has my back up instantly. “He’s responding, all right. I think the only reason he’s responding and considering me for the loan is because he thinks he can get in my pants.”

I don’t like the fucker already. “Who is it?” I demand.

She eyes me and twists her lips. “He’s a loan officer.” She deadpans. “I can handle it myself.”

Bullshit.

“Then go to a different bank.” Simple.

“I wish,” she says in a way that makes me want to move to her side of the booth and slide an arm around her. I’m not quite sure we’re at that stage yet. “But they were the only bank even willing to consider my application. When my mom got sick, money was tight, so we used her credit, my credit, anything we could to pay for treatments. I’ve worked my ass off to pay it all back, took odd jobs everywhere I traveled to, and have sold off everything I own to do so.”

“So, you have no collateral.”

“Nope.” She sighs, and I hate seeing the sadness in her eyes. “It’s all paid off, but that doesn’t mean my credit score has recovered. I just need a fresh start, and Blue Skies is my chance.”

“Everyone needs a fresh start now and again. Besides, I find what you did—paying off the debt instead of declaring bankruptcy—very admirable.”

“It is what it is.” She rolls her neck.

“So, who’s the prick?”

“I told you, none of your business. I’ve dealt with a lot worse than a handsy loan officer, Malone.”

“Handsy?”

“Chill out. I’m a big girl.”

“Chill out. I’m a big girl.”

A look comes over Grant’s face that makes every part of me come alive. It was an innocent comment on my part, and yet, the look in his eyes is suggestive as hell and perfectly fitting for this darkened, back corner of the bar.

“I’m well aware that you’re a big girl, Emerson. You’ve gone out of your way to make me acknowledge it.”

I’m not sure if it’s a dig, but it’s true, so I don’t take it as anything other than that.

“I heard you dropped the donuts by the homeless shelter.” His eyes flash up, and I’m immediately reminded of how I felt when I found out through the grapevine about what he did. “I have my own stalking capabilities.”

“So I see.”

“I think it was a super cool thing for you to do.”

“Besides meeting you here, it was the easiest decision of my day.”

I can see sadness in his eyes as he goes away from me momentarily. Back to his call? Back to the reason he is here, drinking in a bar by himself, perhaps?

“Tell me about your call,” I prompt and reach out and put my hand on his. “I’d like to know about it.”

His hand stiffens momentarily, and I know he’s battling with whether he should talk or not—a blue blood through and through. He picks up his drink with his free hand, takes a sip before setting it down, and then laces his fingers with mine. But he still doesn’t look at me.

And as the silent seconds tick by, my mind begins to wander. To how we just officially held hands and I’m not freaking out over it. To how it feels natural and pretty damn good. I think I’m more freaked out over that than the notion that we are sitting in a bar and looking like a couple.

“I used our rock thing today,” he finally says as he meets my eyes, but I’m completely clueless as to what he’s referring to.

“Our rock thing?” I ask, head angled as if it would help me understand.

“Yeah. It came to me today when I was on my call. I thought it might be a way to connect to a little girl, and I told her about it.”