Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(17)

From the time her parents had moved their family from the Dominican Republic to Hook during high school, she’d pictured herself flitting across the electric backdrop of Manhattan. Reading the newspaper on her balcony, going on outrageous dates just to tell the tale the following morning. Getting a callback about her demo tape and being whisked away into a life of limousines, parties, and photo shoots.

If you don’t dream big, what’s the point of dreaming at all? She’d said those exact words countless times. Written them in yearbooks…and yeah, she’d even said them to Sarge. The problem with dreaming, though, was that when it came time to do? That’s when shit got real. That’s when rejection letters—or oftentimes no response at all—started popping the little dream balloons one by one, until the ground at her feet was littered with useless scraps of rubber. Jasmine could still hear the dial tone in her ear, feel her last hope slip away. Not marketable. Not current enough. Not now.

When it had come time to face facts, that her window of opportunity had closed and it was time to start behaving like an adult, Jasmine had bitten the bullet and applied for a position at the factory, much to the quiet disappointment of everyone with whom she’d attended high school. That first day on the assembly line had been a tough pill to swallow. But she’d put her head down, gotten to work…and hadn’t lifted it since.

The warning bell pealed, telling workers that lunchtime was ending in ten minutes. Realizing she hadn’t even taken a bite of her sandwich, Jasmine made a grab for it, but was distracted when her cell phone rang.

Los Angeles area code? It had to be Sarge. And oh Lord, some very important lady muscles went tight at the prospect of hearing that voice in her ear, right where it had been this morning. With a blown-out breath, she answered. “Hi.”

“Hey, Jas.” Instead of the gruff, seductive tone she’d been expecting, he sounded out of breath. Stressed. “You busy?”

“I’m on my break.” She set the sandwich back down. “Is everything okay?”

He hummed a noncommittal sound, but she could hear booted footsteps moving in the background. “Depends on your definition of okay, I guess.”

“I’m going to need you to stop being vague.”

His gust of rich laughter hit her ear, making her shiver. “Fair enough. I, uh…” Was he running? “I noticed you didn’t have any Christmas decorations up in the apartment, so I stopped on my way back from the city, thinking I’d grab some, right?” More pounding footsteps. “But it turns out someone filmed that little scuffle with your date at the Third Shift last night and it’s all over the Web. I’ve got a few photographers giving me a workout, trying to get a statement. Are you eating lunch?”

During the course of Sarge’s explanation, Jasmine had stood up, staring in the direction of Manhattan as if she could pinpoint his location. “You’re running away from paparazzi…and asking me about lunch?”

“You left without eating breakfast and I feel responsible.”

A hot flutter wound through Jasmine’s middle, a secret smile curling her lips. “Are you in need of some assistance, Naughty Prince?”

His growl crawled down the line. “You been looking me up, baby?”

Good God. How could be make her stomach dip with a single gruff question? “I’m not that far out of the loop,” Jasmine murmured. In a small town like Hook, people tended to talk about their homegrown hero. She’d always laughed it off, remembering the young man he’d been, not equating him with the rock god everyone described him as. Now everything about him was coming through a fresh perspective. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

When he spoke, his voice echoed, as if he’d entered a small space. “Listen, I don’t think I can get back on the same train.” His heavy sigh tugged something inside her chest. “If you can get out of work, I’m in a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom just out of Newark.”

“You’re not serious.”

“There’s Christmas decorations in it for you,” he coaxed.

That gave her pause. He was only supposed to spend one night. Now he wanted to decorate with her? Bad idea. Bad. On cue, the end-of-lunch bell gave a deafening peal, forcing her to make a call. “I’ll tell the floor manager I’m feeling sick,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Funny.”





Chapter Six


All right, so being rescued from a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom wasn’t Sarge’s finest moment. But on the bright side, he was back inside Jasmine’s apartment, his possessions were still in the guest room, and he could smell her shampoo through the bathroom door. That’s right. Jasmine was taking a shower, mere yards from where he stood untangling a box of Christmas lights. Keeping his hands occupied was a necessity, because if she stayed in the bathroom much longer with the sound of water pelting the tub after rolling off her body, he might have to join her.

After she’d called him from outside the doughnut shop, pushing open the passenger-side door and peeling out of the parking lot the second he dived in, their ride back to Hook had been somewhat tense. From the passenger seat, he’d watched Jasmine brush at grease stains on her coveralls, tugging at her collar, and shifting uncomfortably. If he didn’t know Jasmine, he would have thought she was…embarrassed. And not just because the last time they’d been together, he’d had his hand down her pants. No sooner had they walked into the apartment than she was grabbing a change of clothes and shutting herself in the bathroom.