Crashed Out

by Tessa Bailey

  His laughter was sharp. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

  Jasmine’s face grew hot. “People shouldn’t see us walking out of this room together. People’s opinion of me is all I have. I have to live here, Sarge.”

  Two booted strides and Sarge was pushing into her personal space. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I want to face them with you. I want to live here with you.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me.” She was fading, fading. It hurt to stand and talk and think. “That’s n-not what I signed up for.”

  “Right.” But she must have shown a dent in her armor, because a spark appeared in his eyes. A glimmer of the man she’d spent the day with, laughing and ignoring anything resembling the future. Sarge reached out and cupped her cheek and everything inside her went still. “I know it’s a lot. I just told you I love you. That it’s always been this way. Maybe you’re even right to be scared, Jas, because this love is rough. It’s sharp and sweet and dirty and jealous. It wakes me up in the middle of the night thinking I’m in the wrong place because you’re not there. It believed you were mine before you saw me as a man, and the waiting…the waiting made this love bigger. It’s so big and I understand why that’s scary. I’ve had time to stop being scared of it, and you haven’t.” His hand slipped into Jasmine’s hair, drawing her close so he could brush their mouths together. “I’ll keep waiting. I’ll wait out the fear.”

  She couldn’t speak around the crushing sensation behind her ribs, so she simply shook her head, loosening tears that tracked down her cheeks.

  The pull between them stole her breath, so intense there didn’t seem any choice but to meet each other halfway. But Sarge tightened his grip on her hair and stepped back, pain evident in his handsome features. “Christmas Eve at the church. Will you be there?”

  Two nights away. “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.” Attention locked on her, Sarge headed for the party room’s back exit, pulling it open and pausing in the doorway. “At the very least, Jasmine, I just need to see you.”

  When the door clicked shut, Jasmine fell into the closest folding chair. With the failure of her musical aspirations, getting stuck in a town she’d always imagined in her rear view, Jasmine had always thought of her life as a tragic series of disappointments. But as she sat in the still room listening to the rasp of her own breath, it became obvious she’d never understood tragedy until now. To have a man like Sarge and feel him waiting, feel him wanting, but not answer that call? It might very well stop her heart from beating.

  At once, her bones ached. A tapping pain had started behind both eyes, forcing them shut. Home. If she didn’t get home soon, she’d never find the willpower to move again. With a fortifying breath, Jasmine pushed to her feet, leaning down to fix her mussed hair in the reflective metal buffet. Wondering how in God’s name she would talk to anyone and form complete sentences on the other side of the door, Jasmine nonetheless removed the metal chair poised beneath the knob and stepped out into the dim hallway.

  Carmine leaned against the wall, tapping an empty beer bottle against his leg. It only took Jasmine half a second to deduce Carmine had been standing there a while. His lecherous grin said it all. Jasmine’s stomach pitched, sending her stumbling forward a step. A yearning for Sarge hit her so fast and hard, a sob bubbled up from her throat. One wish. If she had one wish, Sarge would come thundering down the hallway to fold her up in his arms. But he wouldn’t do that. He’d left. She’d sent him out through the back door like a dirty little secret.

  “Saw you head in there with Purcell…he still in there?”

  She didn’t bother denying what Carmine had seen. “No.”

  His laugh was vulgar, making her feel even more exposed. “Seriously, Jasmine? I had no idea you liked your men so young. Guess my chances would have been shitty even if you didn’t keep yourself locked up like a nun.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “Well. From me, anyway.”

  A burn started in her belly, spearing up to her throat. “Is that all you were waiting out here to tell me? Do you feel better now?”

  “God.” He kicked off the wall to face her. “Since day one, you’ve always thought you were so much better than us.” When he gestured to the back room, the remains of his beer sloshed onto the floor. “Look what happens when you aim too high. The guy couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”

  Even though it wasn’t the truth, Jasmine’s skin pulled tight. Just at the very idea of Sarge wanting to get away from her. Wasn’t that her greatest fear when it came to being with him? “Are you finished?”

  “How long do you think it would take before he found someone…younger?” Having reached his apparent point, Carmine’s mouth tilted up on one end. “Probably won’t even take him the walk home.”

  Jasmine waited for doubt to kick in. Waited for visions of Sarge touching someone else to play out like a grainy homemade movie in her head. But they didn’t. Instead, she felt his mouth moving as it whispered promises against her ear. She saw him smiling at her across the car, both of them huffing into their hands to beat the chill. And underneath it all, there was bone-deep security. In them. Even if there couldn’t be a them—a them would be selfish on her end—a them would be a united front against assholes like this. Carmine didn’t know Sarge. He didn’t know her, either. Not the Jasmine who straightened her spine and laughed.

  Oh God, the laugh felt phenomenal. It twirled and waved pom-poms as she tried to move past Carmine in the hallway. When he stepped right to block her path, it reversed directions and cemented her hands into fists. “Back off.”

  “Last chance, Jasmine.” He pinched a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “You had your fun, now stop being unrealistic.”

  Carmine took one step closer, knocking her heels into the wall. In the space of a split second, a rebellion took place in her breast. Denial, anger, frustration welled and she embraced it. Embraced this part of her that had gone missing somewhere over the years. A gust of breath whooshed from her mouth, her closed fist lifting to sock Carmine in the jaw. She watched with openmouthed shock as he stumbled back with a wounded sound, hitting the opposite wall. But the shock turned to relief in a giant rush. There. There she was.

  Jasmine heard a collective silence from the bar and turned, noticing the sea of attention they’d attracted. A week ago, she might have ducked and hightailed it out of the bar. Not tonight, though. Tonight, she calmly zipped her coat, smoothed back her hair and marched through the onlookers without so much as a blink. Just before the exit, a group of young women—the same ones who’d been taking pictures with Sarge—presented their palms for high fives, which she completed with a satisfying slap.

  When the door closed behind her, she smiled. She smiled so wide it broke apart into a belly laugh as she climbed into the driver’s seat of her car.

  In that sweet, sparkling pocket of time, she wasn’t a woman who could hold anyone back. Wasn’t a woman who could cause anyone regret.

  And she had some serious thinking to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sarge pulled open the double doors of his rented van, surveying the hundreds of packages that required unloading. To anyone else, carrying Christmas presents into the church event hall without help might resemble work. To him, it was pure saving grace. Distraction. One that would simultaneously prevent him from going to Jasmine’s apartment and camping outside until she spoke to him, while doubling as a happy surprise for the kids of Hook. Hopefully. Buying a vanload of musical instruments had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now he kind of wondered if he should have gone with a sports theme.

  Distracting thoughts were good.

  They were also running short. Okay, they’d been running short for almost two days, since he’d left Jasmine at the Third Shift. He’d watched from across the street until she pulled away in her car, before taking a cab to Manhattan. An expensive drive, but a necessary one. Jasmine needed time to process the love-bomb he’d
detonated. If he waited around in Hook, nothing short of imprisonment would have kept him from trying to dig out the shrapnel he’d sent flying. So he’d spent two days on the phone with a Realtor, looking for a place to buy in Hook. Then he’d gone shopping for child-friendly instruments. And drinking. He’d done some drinking. The way a man did when his happiness hung in the balance.

  Already his back muscles were tense, his palms damp, just knowing he would see Jasmine soon. Not kissing the crap out of her on sight was going to be some serious bullshit. It might actually kill him resisting that mouth now. Now was not like before. Before, he’d had fantasies. Now he had truth. And the truth was, her mouth spoke words he needed to hear. Gave pleasure he needed to receive. Could deny or approve the future he craved with his goddamn soul.

  “So let’s unload some fucking ukuleles, huh?” Sarge muttered, planting a fist against the van’s metal door with a loud whap.

  “Sounds like a party,” came a familiar female voice behind him.

  Sarge turned to find Lita perched on the hood of James’s Mustang, threading neon-green shoelaces through the holes of a boot, leaving one of her feet bare. Already knowing he’d find his manager in the driver’s seat—where Lita went, so followed James—Sarge sent him a wave without looking. “What are you doing here?”

  “Heard you lined up a gig tonight.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “TMZ.”

  “Jesus.” Sarge dragged a hand down his face. “I’m just playing a couple Christmas songs. Doesn’t really qualify as a gig.”

  Lita shoved her foot into the freshly laced boot. “We’re a band, Sergeant. It’s kind of a package deal.”

  Too exhausted to give the drummer a hard time about the nickname, Sarge unloaded a crate of maracas. “If we’re a package deal, where’s our bass player?”

  “Asleep in the backseat.”

  “Right.” He stacked two more crates of jingling instruments on top of the maracas and strode toward the church hall, where a group of administrators waited to direct him. Halfway there, Sarge stopped and turned with a curse. Being a prick to his band wasn’t going to solve his immediate problem. Convenient or not, they’d come to support him. They weren’t responsible for the heartbeat pumping out of tune inside his chest. Sarge caught Lita’s eye, tipping his head toward the administrators. “Just tell them you’re with the band.”

  Lita’s expression went from wary to relieved. “I bet they weren’t expecting a Spice Girls reunion.” She rapped on the windshield. “Look alive, James. We’ve got a gig in a motherfucking church.”

  Sarge carried the crates into the hall, shaking his head as he went. When Lita, James, and their groggy bass player helped with the unloading, he was surprised at first, until he noticed the concerned glances in his direction. On a trip to the van, Sarge caught up with James. “You told them I was staying with Jasmine, didn’t you?”

  James adjusted his sunglasses. “I don’t participate in gossip.”

  Okay. That was accurate. None of them did. Still… “Lita just gave me the awkward shoulder pat of the century. Something’s up.”

  As if the sky would fall down if he were forced to converse, James dropped his head forward on a sigh. “There’s a video of you and Jasmine in a toy store…it’s circulating.”

  A throb pushed at his jugular. “When you say circulating…”

  “A few million hits.”

  “Oh. Great.” He ripped a hand through his hair. “That might account for why I haven’t heard from her.”

  “I sent you the video days ago. You should check your email.”

  “Email,” Sarge repeated for no reason, his voice dull.

  Lita pushed between the two men on her way to the van. “Hey, what if I played an entire set on one of these mini drum sets? We could all pretend like it was completely normal and everyone would trip balls.”

  James’s lips twitched.

  Sarge started to question them both about their motives for coming to New Jersey, when Lita slammed the van door and crossed her arms, staring at something past Sarge’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but Yoko just showed up.”

  “Yoko?” Sarge turned—and almost staggered back with the impact of seeing Jasmine when he hadn’t been expecting it. Or had time to brace himself. She was dressed up for Christmas Eve, dark hair piled on top of her head, lips painted the color of cranberries. Her legs looked an extra mile long, thanks to a pair of black high heels that Sarge instantly wanted to hear hit the floor. She stopped short upon seeing them, pulling her winter coat tighter around her body.

  Dammit, I should be the one warming her up.

  The fact that she remained between the rows of cars, as if someone had hit a pause button, made him want to rage at the darkening sky. She should have walked faster or beckoned him closer. Not stopped. Never stopped. Did that mean she was sticking to her decision? Fuck. That.

  “Can you two head inside?”

  James indicated the church in a “ladies first” gesture for Lita, but the drummer took her time sauntering past, giving Jasmine a lazy once-over. “I saw the video. You’ve got pipes, I’ll give you that.”

  “Lita…” Sarge warned.

  “I’m just saying.” The drummer held up both hands. “If she wants to sing with the band, she should come around for a legit tryout. This is a democracy.”

  Gratefulness flooded Sarge, so much that he was actually able to nod at Lita in the face of Jasmine rejecting him. Not an easy feat. A minute later, James had shuffled Sarge’s bandmate off to the church, leaving him standing alone with Jasmine. Not really alone, though, since the parking lot was filling around them. Parents wrapped scarves around their children and guided them inside; Hook residents called “merry Christmas” to one another over the hum of car engines; the cold wind picked up around all of it, making the church parking lot feel like the inside of a snow globe. One that needed to be shaken until it put Jasmine in his arms.

  “Merry Christmas, Jas.”

  She adjusted the pink bakery box on her hip, making him notice it for the first time. “Merry Christmas, Sarge.”

  He’d been right. This was indeed some serious bullshit. Conscious of the multitude of people with them in the parking lot, Sarge closed the distance between him and Jasmine, angling his body so no one would see his face. “What’s in the box?”

  “Um.” She looked down, obviously thrown by the question. “Cheesecake.”

  “Huh.” He tilted his head. “Fruit topping?”

  She shifted in her heels. “Strawberries. Why are you asking me this?”

  “Not sure. I think I’m kind of enjoying how impossible small talk is between us.” He took one more step closer, bringing them less than a foot apart. God, what he wouldn’t have given to knock the box out of her hand and shove her up against a parked car. It wouldn’t take much to get that dress up around her waist, would it? Somehow, though, he maintained the scant distance separating them. “Nice weather we’re having, right?”

  “Stop it.”

  Sarge leaned back, allowing his gaze to travel up her stocking-clad legs, over the curve of her hip. “I think we’ll have snow for Christmas.”

  A white cloud of air puffed from her cranberry lips. “I’m going inside.”

  Jasmine took one step to bypass him, and just a simple brush of their shoulders seemed to break them both. She made a small sound, heels scuffing on the concrete. Sarge snagged an arm around her waist and dragged her back around, into the warmth of his body. Right where they fit. Right where she belonged. The pastry box plonked onto the ground, but neither one of them moved to pick it up as Sarge walked them back, using a van to hide them from view.

  “You’re so angry.”

  Hardball pitches, one by one, landed in his midsection, hearing those whispered words. But denying the accusation in them would be a lie. “Of course I’m angry. You looked nervous to see me. You know how much I hate that?”

  “Not nervous.” She wet her lips. “Okay
, maybe a little nervous.”

  His forehead dropped to rest on hers. “Baby, you want my mouth.”

  It hadn’t been posed as a question, but it was still for her to answer. “I don’t…know if that’s wise. I haven’t—”

  “Changed your mind. I know.” Or he did now, anyway. Sarge ignored the drilling pain and focused on her eyes. She shook her head and started to speak again, but he pressed a thumb to her lips. “We can go back to bullshit and small talk afterward. I’ll just need your taste on my tongue to get through it.”

  Her eyelids fell. “We can’t keep doing this.” She struggled a little in his grip. “After what you told me, I have no excuse. I would be leading you on.”

  “Lead me on, then.” He lifted her off the ground, planting her backside against the nearest car trunk and fusing their bodies together. “I’m asking you to lead me on. There’s your permission. Make me believe this is real.”

  “You can’t ask me to do that—”

  Sarge kissed the words off her mouth. He could almost feel them crumbling under the impact of his lips and tongue. The occasional raking of his teeth over her full lower lip. Wind whistled past, but couldn’t drown out their mutual heartbeats. His galloped like a runaway horse in his ears…and Jasmine’s. He could hear it, would hear it a country away, wouldn’t he? It sounded like he’d heard it eight thousand times, when logic told him that was impossible. Her body shifted between him and the car trunk, her hands tugging him closer…then pushing him away. Away. Away?

  “Sarge.”

  He’d been expecting Jasmine’s voice, but it was Adeline, calling him from the church entrance. He and Jasmine traded breaths for a heavy moment before he turned his head and called, “Yeah?”

  A low chuckle. “Your band is ready, but they have no lead singer. Know anyone who could help them out?”

  “Be there in a minute.” He returned his attention to Jasmine.

  “Go,” she whispered.

  He hated that word coming from the swollen mouth he’d just kissed. “I smeared your lipstick.”