Chapter Eleven
Sarge rested his hand on the small of Jasmine’s back, wanting to sing “We Are the Champions” when she didn’t pull away.
It couldn’t have been this easy, right? He orders some pizzas and pays everyone’s factory salary for a couple hours—and in return, Jasmine agrees to spend time with him? For now, she appeared to have set aside her reservations and given them an afternoon free of the million-dollar question. What happens now? If Sarge thought his answer wouldn’t dissolve the beautiful smile from Jasmine’s face and replace it with censure, he would have told her. Straight up.
What happens now? Now he fought for her.
Sarge held no illusions that everything had been solved last night. Or back in the factory’s dark machine room. Nor was he arrogant enough to believe sex would eventually change her mind for good. But he could see a crack of jagged daylight in Jasmine’s wall. No longer did she have that worry in her eyes, telling Sarge exactly what she was thinking. That they were wrong together. Their age difference was too much. That people in Hook wouldn’t approve. The deeply etched line between the two of them had been brushed away for now—and Sarge intended to take the crack of light in Jasmine’s resolve and break it wide open.
Step one involved getting her out of Hook for a while, eliminating the worry of being seen together. Proving their relationship could be more than sweaty encounters behind locked doors. At the mall two towns over in the middle of a workday, hopefully they’d be in the clear. Notoriety was a strange thing. Some days, he could walk for hours without being recognized. Other days, not so much.
Please let today be one of the former.
When Sarge let his fingers dip into the waistband of Jasmine’s jeans, she gifted him with one of those pursed-lip smiles. “You still haven’t told me why we’re at the mall.”
“Two reasons.” He massaged the base of her spine with his thumb, smiling when she bit her lip and groaned. “One, I need your help buying a Christmas present for Marcy.”
Her brown eyes went soft. “Oh. And what’s the second reason?”
“I owe you a dress.”
Jasmine’s back went straight. “You’re not buying me clothes.”
“Yeah.” They reached the glass double doors of the mall’s main entrance, and Sarge held one open so Jasmine could go in ahead. “I kind of figured you wouldn’t be thrilled about that idea.”
“So you drove me here before telling me.”
“Hear me out.” A group of teenage guys were pointing at him, so he threw them a casual wave, but kept Jasmine walking. “I’m going to buy you the ugliest dress we can find.”
“Oh, well now I’m on board.” Her widening smile ruined the effect of her sarcasm, spreading across her face and making her glow. “Is there more to this plan or does it end with me making Hook’s worst-dressed list?”
Damn. Damn, he should have just taken her home. He could be kissing her mouth, her stomach, her knees. Now they were stuck in a public place and she couldn’t stop being amazing for even a little while. “There’s more.” Sarge noticed the group of teenagers had turned and begun following them, holding up their cell phone cameras to take pictures. “You get to buy me something ugly, too.”
Jasmine appeared thoughtful. “Which will take care of your guilt for ruining my dress, I don’t have to feel like I owe you money, and we get to out-ugly each other.”
“See how that works?” Feeling protective of Jasmine, even though it was only a group of kids following them, Sarge wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her close. “I’m not going to lie, a significant part of the plan involves watching you try on dresses. Ugly ones.”
“Long ones. Modest ones.”
“The plan said nothing about long or modest.”
She laughed into his shoulder, and his chest almost caved in. His imagination conjured an image of a dozen invisible arms reaching out, trying to snatch up the details of that moment. Jasmine’s warm breath passing through his sleeve, the way she lifted on her toes to press her mouth to him. Her golden scent. God, her scent. There had to be a way to take moments and freeze them forever, right? It didn’t seem fair they had to end, like an album track. And damn, he needed to bring his thoughts down a notch before he did something crazy. Like promising to write her a never-ending song. Or begging her to laugh into his shoulder again. Or both.
“So who’s going first?” Sarge managed, his voice gruff.
Her gaze lit on something up ahead. “You first. Definitely you.”
Almost afraid to look, Sarge spotted the mall kiosk boasting custom tie-dyed shirts. “Oh wow. It’s like they saw us coming.”
Jasmine tugged him toward the booth. “Funny how plans backfire.”
Twenty minutes later, Sarge was the reluctant owner of a hot-pink and baby-blue tie-dyed shirt that said “Band Geek” across the chest. Looking adorably pleased with herself, Jasmine still hadn’t noticed the group of people forming across the mall, watching them and snapping pictures. Wanting to keep it that way lest she worry about them ending up on the internet, Sarge kept her facing away from the building group, throwing them an occasional smile over her head, hoping they would lose interest.
Old News traveled with light security on the road, mostly for Lita’s safety, but today marked the first time Sarge had to worry about someone in his care—Jasmine—being affected by curious fans. Any other time, he wouldn’t hesitate to sign autographs or take pictures, but he was all too aware that this hiatus with Jasmine was set to expire. One of her parameters had been to keep their relationship a secret. Dozens of people seeing them together would break the spell for sure.
Dammit, he hadn’t been careful enough.
“All right, smart-ass. You’re up,” Sarge muttered, throwing the bag containing his new shirt over one shoulder. “Payback is going to be beautiful.”
“I thought ugly was the point.” Jasmine shook her head at Sarge, even as he took her hand. “You don’t even remember your own rules.”
Wanting to get her off the mall’s main floor, Sarge pulled her into the first women’s clothing store they passed. Which thankfully, turned out to be exactly what he’d had in mind. Designed for shoppers on a budget, the hemlines were brief, the material thin…and there was an overabundance of animal print. Last-minute clubbing outfits. “This makes my job pretty easy,” Sarge murmured, noting they were the only customers in the store. Thank God. The longer they could fly under the radar, the better.
“Put me in zebra print and die.”
Forcing a laugh, even though his throat was tightening with dread, Sarge’s gaze snagged on a red dress with no sleeves, the number 69 in giant yellow letters below the neckline. “Oh, I think we have a winner.”
Following his line of sight, Jasmine’s jaw fell. “No. No way. Don’t you dare.”
“You were so smug with your tie-dye.” Dodging her attempts to prevent him from retrieving the dress, Sarge managed to snatch it off the rack. Jasmine made for the exit, but Sarge hauled her back with an arm across her middle before she’d taken two steps. “Oh no, you don’t. We had a deal. You at least have to try it on.”
Jasmine wiggled in his hold, which presented a problem since her bottom was curved into his lap. Her struggle was halfhearted at best, but the way his body responded was the exact opposite of halfhearted. “Now look what you’ve done,” Sarge rasped into her ear, thankful they were hidden by the clothing racks.
“You weren’t kidding…” Jasmine breathed. “About needing me more.”
“No, I wasn’t. I need you all the fucking time, baby.” Sarge slid a hand down her belly, pressing her back against him more firmly, groaning when she tweaked her hips. “Jesus. Stop doing that.”
She tossed a crafty look over her shoulder. “I’ll stop when you put the dress down.”
“God, you play dirty.” Sarge unglued their bodies with an inward groan, unable to remove his attention from her hips and thighs. “Fine. I won’t make you try on the dress. But you do realize you’re giving a man from New Jersey bragging rights?”
That brought Jasmine up short. She swayed toward the exit, then circled back around with a glare. “Oh, fine. I’ll try it on.”
On their way to the dressing room, they signaled the salesperson, but she didn’t even look up from her cell phone, simply waving them back. A quick glance toward the exit told Sarge the crowd following them didn’t appear inclined to enter the store; however, they would most likely be waiting when he and Jasmine left. Worry over her reaction began to weigh heavier on Sarge’s shoulders as he watched Jasmine disappear behind the last in a row of hanging curtains.
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.”