Crashed Out Page 13

  When she peeked through the curtain a minute later, laughter making her eyes sparkle, he forgot to be nervous. Couldn’t hear a single thing over the organ knocking against his ribs. “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  Sarge was already on his feet moving toward the changing room. No way was he letting this opportunity pass. Not when Jasmine might try to split when she saw they’d attracted a crowd. Christ, don’t let that happen. His good times on the road always felt forced or fleeting. Each minute of these stolen hours with Jasmine were valuable. Easy, too. So often, Sarge was required to put on a show. Be the entertaining front man for everyone present, even in his downtime. Jasmine seemed content being with him, just as he was. Or the guy he had been, before the road buried him, leaving him struggling for oxygen.

  And yeah, he’d been infatuated with Jasmine as far back as he could remember. He saw her through a different lens now, though. An adult lens that clicked a little more into focus the more time they spent together. He noticed things that hadn’t been apparent to his younger self. Her honesty. Her loyalty. The way she weighed his words before responding, instead of spitting out some patented response. Women like Jasmine didn’t come around…ever.

  Ignoring her muttered protests, Sarge tugged aside the dressing room curtain and slipped inside. “Goddamn.” His voice emerged ragged. “How’d you make that thing look so good?”

  Good was an understatement. Had words been invented yet to describe how Jasmine’s body looked, outlined in tight red fabric? She looked indecent. Unfit for public. It was the type of outfit worn to entice a man from the living room to bed—not an outfit worn dancing. Not under his watch. “This is a shirt, Sarge. Not a dress.” She tugged on the hem with a laugh. “I think this means you lose.”

  “Hell no, baby.” Taking her wrist, Sarge spun her around to face the full-length mirror. He lifted and locked her hands around the back of his neck, making the hem slip even higher. High enough for her shiny gold thong to peek out. “I definitely won.”

  “Sarge—” His name came out sounding breathless, Jasmine’s head tipping to the side as Sarge’s tongue raked up her exposed neck. “Stop turning me into moaning, weak-kneed girl. I’ve never been her.”

  “Good. And I can’t stop.” Sarge tucked a hand beneath the shirt’s hem and drifted it up her bare stomach, circling her belly button with his middle finger. “Not when you keep turning me into the guy who tries to fuck through your clothes in public.”

  In the mirror, he watched an out-of-breath Jasmine push up on her toes to get closer, calf muscles and thighs flexing. “God, it’s like I want you to. Even though I know it’s a bad idea.”

  His growing cock stretched the material of his boxer briefs with such a swift rush of sensation, Sarge had to strangle a groan. The hand beneath Jasmine’s dress moved higher to knead her full breasts. “The cops would understand, right? Once they showed up and saw you in that—” He broke off, jealousy coating his vision in green as their gazes locked in the mirror. “Forget I said that. This is only for me.”

  Jasmine nodded, mouth falling open on a gasp when he thumbed her pointed nipples, back and forth. Her legs were squeezing together, obviously trying to ease an ache between her thighs, a predicament he understood all too well. Her dark hair was spread out on his chest, those brown eyes shining, her skin glowing.

  “Dammit, Jasmine. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” Sarge turned her around for a kiss he needed to avoid certain death. “I thought I knew. But now you’re actually seeing me and I didn’t…I had no idea. Your eyes…”

  When she clung to his shoulders and not only allowed his tongue to plunder her mouth, but responded with hot, equal measure, Sarge knew he had to break away. Or as sure as they were standing there, he’d be thrusting inside her tight body in under a minute, covering her mouth as she bounced up and down against the dressing room wall. Already his need seeped from the head of his dick, a demand for pleasure. A demand for Jasmine.

  He had to close his eyes while catching his breath, forehead lodged in the hollow of Jasmine’s neck. Couldn’t look. If he saw even a hint of invitation on her face, there would be hell to pay. “I’m buying the dress. For later.”

  “Fineyesokay.”

  There was a wealth of pain in his laughter, but somehow it still felt real and incredible. “I’m going to back out of here slowly and stay out. While you get dressed. In regular clothes. So I can take you somewhere private and rip them off.”

  She nodded, bumping into his jaw. “Sarge?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When were you going to tell me about the crowd of people following us?”

  That’s when Sarge knew. He was out-of-his-mind, flat-on-his-ass in love with Jasmine. Not like it had been before. Not just an attraction or an overdeveloped crush that bred more frustration than satisfaction. No, this…this feeling burned inside his stomach like a bonfire being fed with kerosene. His impulse was to hide out in the dressing room forever, snarling at anyone who came within ten feet of her. And at the same time, he wanted to stick her up on his shoulders and walk the streets, shouting at anyone who would listen how fucking incredible she was.

  “I…” He swallowed and pulled away, unable to resist smoothing Jasmine’s hair back. Their respite from Hook was coming to an end too damn quickly. “I thought you didn’t see them.”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell as she stepped away, already retrieving her clothes. “It’s okay. I don’t recognize any of them from Hook. If anyone in town sees the pictures….” He mourned the loss of her legs as denim hid them from view. “They know we’re just friends.”

  The bonfire in Sarge’s stomach hissed. “Yeah. Just two friends shopping together, right?” Jasmine’s head lifted at his tone, her sweet mouth already opening to remind him they were a secret. But if she said the words now, minutes after she’d trapped his heart in a cage, he wouldn’t handle it well. His counterargument would be the furthest thing from reasonable, and this free afternoon she’d given him would be a waste. The alternative was to stay on his game and not ruin the moment by pushing.

  Easier said than done, but he’d swallow the irritation knowing it would keep something real with Jasmine within reach.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Sarge said before she could speak. As he grabbed up the discarded 69 dress from the floor with the clear intention to purchase it, he winked up at her. “We’ll call the contest a tie.”

  Chapter Twelve

  You’re not getting rid of me that easily.

  Had it only been this morning Sarge had issued that warning in her kitchen? Apparently he’d been serious as a heart attack, because he wouldn’t budge. Worse, despite her attempt to create distance, the idea of Sarge budging made her stomach plummet. But just look at what his attention was doing to her.

  As they walked side by side through the mall, toward their final stop to buy a toy, Jasmine felt a confidence that had been absent for years. Instead of her usual impulse to twist her hair up into a bun, it was hanging loose around her shoulders in messy waves. She’d applied lipstick before leaving the dressing room and couldn’t remember ever having been so aware of her mouth because of the way Sarge continued to stare down at it, as if imagining its various erotic uses. There was a new lightness twisting and turning through her limbs, making her want to dance. Or climb Sarge’s body, knowing—knowing—his reaction would be fuck yes, no matter where they were or who was watching.

  So. Deep breath. It wasn’t just confidence in herself. It was confidence in Sarge. That’s what had spooked her back in the clothing store. That’s what allowed the doubt bubble to inflate and pop in the form of verbal sabotage. This experience with Sarge had started as physical but in a short space of time had turned…serious. There had been no formal discussion—hell, she’d just reminded him they were only “friends”—but lip service didn’t stop the pull between them from strengthening.

  If he left tomorrow, there would be a gap. A big, funny, sweet, dirty gap w
here Sarge had made his presence known. She would turn thirty the day after Christmas and he would be back in Los Angeles, surrounded by better, more successful…younger options. So this was where Jasmine had to make a decision. And really, there was only one decision to make, because Sarge would leave. Little by little, she needed to insert tiny air pockets between them until he stopped being so reachable. So Sarge.

  As if he knew her exact thoughts, Sarge sighed and put an arm around her shoulders, leading her into the toy store. Pop stars shrieked from the speakers, putting their own spin on classic Christmas songs. Unlike the rest of the mall, this store was packed full of parents making purchases for the big day. They were putting the Santa hat–clad employees through their paces, sending them into the back room looking for toys that couldn’t be found on the floor.

  Sarge tugged Jasmine into the warmth of his body to avoid robots demonstrating their skills in front of a colorful display. It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him of the cell phone cameras documenting their every move from just outside the store, but Sarge released her before she got the chance.

  “All right.” He circled the robot display. “Marcy was disappointed I wasn’t small enough to hold in a blanket. Think maybe she’d like baby dolls?”

  “Dolls…plural? How many were you planning on buying her?”

  Sarge propped both hands on his hips to survey the store and nodded once. “All of them.”

  It took Jasmine a moment to speak around the insistent tug in her chest. “Let’s look a little more. Marcy has quite a few dolls.” Jasmine could feel Sarge following close behind her as they wound through a busy aisle. She missed his arm around her shoulders so much, she felt chilled. “Um. Marcy loves dinosaurs.” Jasmine picked up a Jurassic World figurine set, complete with buildings to destroy. “This could be fun. It even has the T. rex—that’s her favorite.”

  Sarge rubbed his chin. “You sure it won’t scare her?”

  Jasmine thought of the spunky three-year-old hurling herself off River’s couch onto a pillow fort. “She doesn’t scare easily.”

  “Okay.” Sarge stepped back, eyeing the shelves. “Let’s get them all.”

  Her laughter turned heads, so she ducked behind his big frame. “You can’t just show up with hundreds of boxes,” she whispered. “Your sister will kill you. And me by association.”

  His throat muscles slid up and down. “I wasn’t in Hook for Marcy’s first three Christmases. I have to make up for it somehow, right?”

  At once, she couldn’t breathe. Sarge was doing his best to hide the guilt, but it was there in the set of his jaw, the heaviness behind his eyes. It took every molecule of her willpower not to throw herself into his arms and cling. Cling for dear life. Because who could ever top this man? He was everything at once. Good, strong, thoughtful…bad when he needed to be. More, he was harboring pain. Keeping it close so it wouldn’t touch anyone else.

  “Sarge. You’ll make up for it without the toys. Just being here now is enough…” Even as she reassured him, an idea occurred. “Actually, hold on.”

  Jasmine dodged two children having a sword fight and ducked into an unoccupied aisle, two away from where they’d discovered the dinosaurs. Sarge joined her there a moment later, curiosity painting his expression. “What is it?”

  Surprised he hadn’t seen the child-sized guitars yet, Jasmine realized it was due to his total focus on her. His gaze moved over her face, lighting on her cheeks, hair, lips. Tapping into her reserve of strength, Jasmine tore her attention from Sarge, went up on her toes, and unhooked the guitar from its hanging place. “I was thinking you could teach Marcy to play.” Brow furrowed, he took the offered guitar, but didn’t say anything. Jasmine immediately wanted to recall the suggestion. With it, she’d called attention to the four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. That Sarge would most likely be accepting the new contract. And leaving. “Even when you’re on the road, there are webcams. Skype. People learn to play instruments through the internet all the time now. I just thought—”

  “It’s perfect, Jas.” He reached out and cupped a hand over her mouth. “It’s perfect, and no more talking about me leaving. Deal? Nothing else is worth thinking about when I’ve got you standing in front of me.”

  When Jasmine felt her legs bump the shelves, she realized his words had literally made her stagger. But she couldn’t respond because his hand covered her mouth. Her body, however, responded quite readily when he crowded closer, pulse whirring, tummy tightening, toes stretching inside her shoes. Some vestige of consciousness had her saying his name, but it came out muffled in his palm.

  “I changed my mind,” he murmured. “We’re going to talk right now because who knows when I’ll get another chance. And no matter how this conversation goes, it’s going to end with me kissing the hell out of you in this toy store. You with me?”

  No idea what was coming, but positive it would be a major, mother-effing game changer, Jasmine started to shake her head—

  “Um. Excuse me… Sarge Purcell from Old News, right?”

  As if he’d heard the same question four million times, Sarge nodded without even looking at their intruder. His head tipped forward on an exhale that ruffled her hair, remaining that way for long moments. When he finally straightened, Jasmine saw a different side of Sarge. The rock band front man. His smile was just the right amount of cocky, sprinkled with a hint of self-deprecation. With an apologetic look intended solely for her, he turned to greet the newcomer—and drew up short.

  Curious, Jasmine followed his line of sight to find Sarge’s snowballing group of admirers climbing over each other to get a look at them. They moved farther and farther into the store, jamming into every corner with the slightest bit of room, speaking in excited tones. Sarge moved in front of Jasmine, wedging her back against the toy shelf. “Hey, guys.” A flash went off. “Happy holidays. Do you mind—”

  “Play something!”

  Sarge shifted, reaching back to brush a thumb over her hand. A reassurance. “I don’t have my guitar. But if someone has a pen, I can—”

  He broke off when everyone laughed. “You’re holding a guitar,” a man toward the front pointed out. “Come on. It’s Christmas.”

  “Right.” Sarge threw her a glance over his shoulder as everyone started to clap, slow at first, then picking up speed. Jasmine expected him to make another excuse or play the crowd something quick, but what he said next completely took her off guard. “I’ll play something if my…friend here agrees to sing with me.”

  “Sarge. No,” Jasmine whispered against his back, heaviness crowding in her throat. “They’re not asking to hear me sing.”

  “They’ll change their minds once you start,” he returned, with total conviction. “You’re one of the best singers I’ve ever heard, Jas.”

  Drawing air grew almost impossible. How had this trip to the mall turned into a tour of her insecurities? “I haven’t sung in so long. I’m not sure I even can anymore.”

  Sarge held up a finger to the onlookers and faced her. When one large hand started to reach for her hip, but dropped on the trip over, she realized what an effort he made not to touch her while others were looking. A restriction she’d placed on him.

  “Sarge.”

  “Hey.” The importance behind that single word held her in thrall. “I started playing my guitar because of you, Jasmine. That day you sang in the blue dress? I had to make music after that because you made it sound so good. Made it look like a necessity.”

  The floor disappeared beneath her feet, leaving her hovering over nothing. “You never told me that.”

  A twinkle replaced the seriousness in his gaze. “Maybe I was waiting for us to be standing in a mall toy store full of strangers.” His eyebrows dipped, head tilting in the most persuasive manner she’d ever witnessed. “Sing with me.”

  She studied the anxious group beyond his shoulder, wondering if she’d lost her damn mind. Any other Friday, she would still be working in the factory. Getting read
y for a nowhere date or making plans to do happy hour at the Third Shift. How had she gotten here? “Okay,” she breathed before she could stop to question to decision.

  One corner of Sarge’s mouth lifted, his pride drawing her forward so they could face their makeshift audience side by side. Much like the day she’d sung at the Feast of San Gennaro, her stomach pinched with tightening knots…but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was anticipation. And when Sarge strummed the first few chords of “Joyful, Joyful,” she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

  Jasmine threw the car into park a couple blocks from the Third Shift, her vision beginning to blur with mirthful tears.

  “Did you see the disappointment on that woman’s face when I wasn’t Jon Bon Jovi?” Sarge’s imitation of the crestfallen woman sent Jasmine back into a fit of laughter. “She actually wanted me dead. She already purchased a Sarge Purcell voodoo doll and covered it in pins.”

  “You can’t really blame her,” Jasmine said, wiping her eyes. “We were only a few minutes from Bon Jovi’s house. He probably draws a crowd when he goes out.”

  He lunged across the console to tickle her ribs. “I can’t believe you’re taking her side. Some singing partner you turned out to be.”

  “I’m sorry!” she squealed.

  “Sorry about what?”

  Jasmine twisted, trying to get away from his torturous fingers and failing. “I’m going solo. Sorry you had to find out this way.”

  Sarge’s gaze narrowed. “Oh, baby. Now you’re going to get it.” His big hands planted on her denim-clad thighs, squeezing the most ticklish spot on her body. Jasmine shot up with a yelp, legs shooting apart to dislodge his hand to no avail. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact second his touch went from playful to downright sexual, but instead of tickling, Sarge began massaging the insides of her thighs. Pushed close to kiss a path over her ear.