Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(42)

“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.”