by Tessa Bailey
His sanity depended on it.
Jasmine kept it real. If you interviewed the Taveras family, they would tell you she told the truth and didn’t smother it in sugar. It wasn’t just a matter of telling people when their new haircut looked a mess or they were acting a damn fool. It was more than that. She owned up to her mistakes and felt no qualms with admitting her error in judgment.
Once during senior year of high school, she’d accidentally burned off a hunk of River’s hair with a curling iron, and instead of trying to hide it or simply apologizing, she’d snipped off an equal piece of her own, so they could match. Just one month ago, she’d clipped another shopper’s car bumper at the mall and waited outside for an hour until the person emerged. And okay, her tenacity had somewhat stemmed from the hope they could trade cash instead of going through their insurance companies. New Jersey rates were no joke.
Point being, since Sarge had shown back up in Hook, she’d been running in a mistake marathon. Really delicious, pulse-pounding, unforgettable, ooey-gooey mistakes. With her best friend’s little—okay, maybe not so little at all—brother, a man seven years her junior. Who even did that? Everyone knew it was only hot the other way around. When a guy hooked up with his best friend’s little sister after being tempted into a near coma. Who didn’t get a little hot thinking about that? But this? This was veritable cradle robbery of a guy she’d once been paid to supervise during his adolescence. Worse, it had been done behind River’s back. Her best friend on the planet.
Junior year of high school, when Jasmine had moved to this über-Irish and Italian town, her Dominican heritage had stuck out like ten sore thumbs. Every guy had wanted to date her, in a way that told Jasmine they viewed her as a novelty. There had been no love lost when she’d turned them all down, especially from the girls at school who thought her stuck up. River Purcell had been the last person Jasmine expected to approach her. Freshman class president, head cheerleader, gorgeous in a way that made passersby shake their heads. River had had everything going for her. But she’d sat down right beside Jasmine where she’d been eating outside the gymnasium and they’d never gone a day without speaking since, even after Jasmine graduated from high school and River still had two years left.
Jasmine massaged the back of her neck in the break room, attempting to psyche herself up for the upcoming confrontation with her best friend. This is what she did. She fessed up when she did something wrong.
That makes you happy, doesn’t it? Knowing how easily you can get me off?
Dios, “liked” didn’t begin to cover how satisfying Sarge’s body had made her feel last night. Powerful. Buoyant. Feelings she hadn’t encountered in so long.
What if she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet?
Even considering a second time was so, so wrong on more than one level. Usually when she made a mistake, she regretted it and swore she’d never do it again. But each time Jasmine spoke the promise out loud—as practice for the real deal—the words got stuck in her throat. Perhaps it was her body banding together to keep the promise suppressed, each little part playing its own role. Her nipples were the ringleaders, tightened to the point of pain inside her factory jumpsuit. Stemming from those pesky peaks was a bobbing line twisting its way down to her tummy, twirling there like a horny, demented ballerina.
Jasmine’s palms pressed against her cheeks to cool them down, but they only glowed hotter beneath her touch. With each tick toward the workday’s closing bell, her body prepared a little more. Preparing for going home and finding Sarge in her apartment, perhaps still a little angry at her for pushing him past his breaking point last night. Needing to prove something. She’d caught herself pressing her stomach against her station this morning, just for the anchor of contact. Her thighs wouldn’t stop rubbing together, the resulting chafe burning her up with fever. No denying it, she wanted a second helping. Wanted those hands on her again, that bulge pressing between her legs. Wanted that rock star voice in her ear.
She was clearly a sick individual.
River stuck her head into the break room, a pink bubble popping between her lips. “Break’s over. You coming?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
Jasmine retrieved her safety goggles and hard hat from the ancient break table and followed her friend onto the noisy factory floor. They passed familiar faces that smiled absently as they passed, their focus already back on the work. The factory didn’t produce one single product. It pumped out various items, such as display stands and cheap camera tripods for numerous retailers. Their number one contract, however, was from the Motor Vehicle Commission for license plates, which made the factory walls feel more like a prison than its soot-stained gray interior and the hard-assed supervisors that roamed the assembly lines. But the workers were family—each and every one of them. They covered for one another when necessary and picked up slack when someone wasn’t feeling up to snuff.
River and Jasmine didn’t always get to work side by side, but today they’d been placed in the same production cluster. They moved in a concentrated rhythm, River retrieving the blank plate and consulting the order sheet, before Jasmine used the heavy machinery to stamp the plate with its respective number.
Jasmine lifted a finished plate and placed it on the conveyor belt, adjacent to her workstation. “So…” she started, feeling seasick. “Your brother and—”
“Oh my God,” River interjected, speaking loudly to be heard over the clanging metal around them. “Didn’t he get huge?”
A vision of Sarge sprawled out on her guest bed, thrusting his erection into his own hand, swamped her, intensifying her seasickness like a tidal wave beneath a ship. “Yes. That’s a…fact.”
“I mean, remember when we were in high school? Never lifted his head from that guitar, just strumming and brooding, strumming and brooding, all day long.”
Jasmine swallowed the dust coating her throat. “I remember.” Only, since last night, she’d kind of been wondering if she’d been misremembering all this time. Until he’d returned home, when she thought of Sarge, she saw him in her mind’s eye stewing down at his guitar. But now? Now she had the overwhelming feeling he’d been looking at, well…her. “He’s definitely changed.”
River squinted at the order sheet, running her index finger down the stuffed clipboard. “I haven’t slept since sending him away. I’m sure you’ve been making him comfortable, though.”
Ay, Dios. “Something like that.”
“What does that mean?” River murmured, still focused on the clipboard.
Jasmine heaved in a deep breath. “It means, he—we—there was…physical contact. Of the biblical variety. Like, we’re not in Revelations yet, but we’re moving pretty quickly through the Old Testament.” And oh man, the impact of what she’d done hadn’t fully registered until River’s blue eyes went wide enough to damn near swallow her face. Jasmine rushed to release more words, just to delay whatever River’s response would be. “He just kept coming at me, Riv. I…he’s nothing like the Sarge I remember. One minute he was, like, hey, eat this sandwich, and then there were no clothes. Just none.”
River tossed the paperwork onto a nearby folding chair. “You hooked up with my brother?” She sounded dazed. “He’s twenty-two.”
“I know.” Jasmine smacked a gloved hand over her face. “What is a suitable punishment here? Public humiliation? Should I wear a sandwich board outside the factory tonight?”
River folder her arms. “That depends. What would it say?”
Jasmine let the glove covering her face drop. “Women of Hook: lock up your sons?”
When a laugh burst from her best friend’s mouth, Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “Are you laughing right now?”
“Yes, and it feels pretty damn good.” River’s shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “I keep waiting for you to say it was a onetime thing. But you haven’t.”
“It was a…”
River lifted an eyebrow.
“Onetime…”
This time, her be
st friend doubled over laughing, drawing the attention of the supervisor. Trading a glance, they picked up working where they’d left off. They worked without talking until the dour-faced supervisor had moved on to the next row before River spoke. “Look. You’re both adults. It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, come on.” Jasmine frowned. “Don’t be understanding. That’s so much worse than anger or ridicule.”
River was silent a moment, her amused expression transforming to one she’d been wearing a lot lately. Worried, pensive, downtrodden. “Jas, you’re the smartest person I know, so you’ve already thought about him leaving. Going back out on the road or heading back to L.A. and recording a new album.”
Okay, so she hadn’t thought about that, but it wasn’t an issue. There was no relationship on the table with Sarge. Not even close. She could never make another person feel obligated to stay behind in Hook, the way she’d done. Not when they’d already gotten out and had the means to go even further. A rock star shacking up with his factory worker girlfriend in New Jersey. The idea was laughable.
“I know what it feels like when a man leaves.” River hit her with a poignant look. “I’m not comparing Sarge to…him. But my brother isn’t hanging around, either. That’s why he’s not staying at my house.”
A crank twisted in Jasmine’s chest, remembering how low River had been brought by her high school sweetheart–turned–Army soldier bailing, leaving her pregnant and brokenhearted. “I understand why you’re concerned after everything that happened, Riv. I do. That’s not going to happen here.” Jasmine pulled the machine’s lever down to stamp a blank plate. “You know me. My eyes are open. I’m keeping the right distance, just like I always do.”
River regarded her a moment. “Okay, I believe you,” she said simply, the downturned corners of her lips popping up into a smile. “So I guess Christmas came early for you this year, huh? Does sending my brother to stay in your guest room count as my gift?”
Jasmine groaned up at the ceiling. “Okay, there’s a line and we’re totally crossing it into wrongness right now.”
“You crossed the line,” River returned. “I’m just joining you. Pass the salt.”
Jasmine treated River to a light hip check. “You’re the best.”
“I won’t argue with that,” River said, peeking over from beneath her eyelashes. “Just be careful. I’ve already got the scorned-woman market cornered in this friendship.”
They went back to working with methodical efficiency, passing a gym towel back and forth between them when the machinery made them sweat. For once, Jasmine was grateful to have work as a distraction, although it wasn’t blocking her most pressing thoughts. River’s warning clanged in her head along with the pumping metal. She’d only spent one night—and one sweltering morning—with new, grown-up Sarge, but it had been enough to know one thing. He was head and shoulders above the men she typically dated. She would need to keep her own head on straight, keep their relationship limited to physical pleasure.
In some crazy fantasy world, what would happen if either of them wanted more? Answer: nothing. He was too young to settle down with one woman, especially when hordes of them awaited him on the road. No. The next few days would scratch the big old itch incurred by her upcoming milestone birthday. The three-oh hung over her head, making her anxious to prove she could still attract a younger man. Satisfy him. Make him come back for more.
That’s all this was.
Chapter Seven
Sarge tapped the jewelry case against his thigh as he approached River’s house. Did three-year-olds even wear necklaces? The guy at the local jewelry store had seemed positive on that front, but then again, maybe he’d just wanted to make the sale. Guess he’d find out.
The sounds of running feet and squeals of laughter stopped Sarge short halfway up the stoop. He’d never heard those noises coming from inside his childhood home. His parents had both been only children, limiting them to a foursome. Not to mention, his and River’s father had been fairly strict, especially when it came to River, who’d shown a high aptitude for schoolwork at an early age. Most of their evenings had been about studying, Sarge sneaking his guitar down to the basement or into the garage whenever he could manage. The sound of a child’s laughter was really nice. Nice shouldn’t make his stomach sink, though. Should it? It shouldn’t make him feel like an intruder. Or someone who’d been in a coma for four years, only to wake up and find a chunk missing from his life.
He shoved the necklace into the back pocket of his jeans, rubbing his damp palm along the leg on its way back around. His nerves were strung tight, even worse than the night Old News played their first gig in Pasadena. Five people had shown up, and one had been James. To this day, however, he swore playing in front of a handful of people was twice the head wreck as a sold-out stadium full. Now it appeared a three-year-old would rattle him far worse than either situation.
Before he could reach the door, the painted white wood swung open and—
Jasmine stepped out.
It was like he’d been storing a shaken bottle of lust in his stomach all day, and someone had just uncapped it, lusty fizz shooting out in every direction. Christ. In leggings that molded her thighs and a thin sweater that hugged her tits, he was starving for her in an instant. He hadn’t seen her since last night’s couch debacle and had spent a good part of the day cursing her name, but now? Now he just wanted another shot. And he wanted it bad. Common sense continued to intrude, telling him it wasn’t Jasmine’s fault that he’d been consumed by her half his life, but everything below his brain ignored that sentiment, only wanting to get even.
Before Sarge could get a handle on the desire she’d liberated, she spoke in a low voice. “I was going to leave before you got here. Riv just needed someone to keep an eye on Marcy while she cooked. I—”
“Why would you leave?” When Jasmine shivered from the cold, Sarge whipped off his coat with a curse and wrapped it around her shoulders. For the life of him, he couldn’t keep his hands from lingering on her arms once he’d transferred the coat, couldn’t stop himself from pulling her close. Closer. Their white billows of breath met and danced between them. At once, it felt as though another four years had passed since the last time he’d seen her, rather than a day. Her eyes were flitting around, landing on everything but him, so he grasped her face to hold her still long enough to make eye contact. “Please stay.”
“I told your sister what’s been happening.”
Jesus. He didn’t know if he should be horrified or glad their encounters had been enough of an event for Jasmine that she’d felt the need to share. “Okay. That might make things a little weird, but I’ve lived on a bus with musicians. Weird is my new normal.”
She gave him that lip-pursing smile that tilted her eyes. “An example, please.”
“Our bass player saves his toenails in a coffee can for good luck.”
Jasmine whistled low beneath her breath. “Good one.”
“Yeah? It never upended in your bunk.” It felt so good holding her face and watching her smile gain momentum. He could have stood there the rest of his life and it wouldn’t have gotten old. “Come inside. Don’t leave because of the weird.”
She cast a sidelong look at the house. “Maybe for a little while.”
“That’ll work until I can get a better answer.” Sarge let his thumb trace over her temple, down to her jawline, memorizing the awareness that crept over both of them, breath by breath. The way her stomach went concave against his belt buckle, then shuddered back out. After making sure no one from the house was watching through the window, he dropped both hands and settled them low on her hips, the contact hidden by the sides of his jacket. “You going to let me make you feel good again, Jas?”
Doubt trickled into her expression. “I don’t know yet.”
“Good. I’m kind of enjoying the convincing process.” Sarge coasted a hand over her waistline, flattening it at the small of her back, just above the flare of her ass. �
�And you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“Yeah?” Did he imagine the way she arched and tempted his hand lower? “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He nudged her forehead with his own. “I’m the last person you should be afraid of, baby.”
“You were the baby,” she breathed.
“You’re overthinking again. Remember what happens when you do that?”
She did an inward roll of her lips and let them pop back out, juicer than before. “You make me stop thinking?”
“That’s right.” Fuck it. He was going to kiss her. Right there, in the light, on the pathway to his sister’s house. That mouth was his. He couldn’t stand living in a world where he hadn’t kissed her yet. They were so close he could feel her minty breath ghosting over his lips and he knew it wouldn’t be gentle. She was about to get the kind of kiss that would get her legs up around his waist like a fucking clamp. It was a bad idea right now. Yeah, it really was. But sometimes good things came from the worst ideas, right? “I hope you’re okay with being wet at the dinner table.”
He yanked her closer—
“Sarge,” River called from the porch. “Jasmine isn’t the main course.”
With a sigh brimming with frustration, Sarge dropped his chin onto Jasmine’s head. “Forget what I said. Weird is overrated.”
When Jasmine backed away, he wrestled with the urge to hang on, but common sense descended, forcing him to follow her up the path. “Hey Riv,” he called over Jasmine’s head.
His sister twisted a dish towel in her hands. “Well, it’s been over a decade, but I finally paid you back for interrupting my first kiss with Vaughn.” Both he and Jasmine drew up short at the mention of her ex’s name, but River waved the towel at them. “Don’t look at me like that. I can say his name out loud, can’t I? Anyway, nothing can ruin my mood tonight. I get to have dinner with my two favorite people. Even though they were getting ready to make out on my walkway.”