Crashed Out (Made in Jersey, #1)(44)

“Good.” With a clear effort, Sarge zipped her pants back up, heaving himself back into the passenger seat. “One hour,” he said, wiping sweat from his upper lip as Jasmine tried to regain some semblance of control on the driver’s side.

She opened the door a crack, allowing cool air to infiltrate the steamy car. Still, it took long minutes for her temperature to lower, her breathing to calm. “I want to leave with you tonight, Sarge. You didn’t have to guarantee it like that.”

“No?” Sarge’s jaw flexed, his closed fist tapping the passenger door. “I have to walk into the Third Shift and behave like we’re just friends. Things might not look the same an hour from now.”

Although his explanation was vague, Jasmine discerned his meaning. The Third Shift had a way of moving pawns around on the Hook chessboard, as if the dingy establishment had some mystical quality. She and Sarge had gotten along fine until now under the restrictions she’d placed on their relationship, because they hadn’t been around anyone who knew them, apart from River. Once they walked through the barroom door, their temporary hiatus from acknowledging the pitfalls of their relationship would be over.

Sarge exited the car and rounded the front bumper, pulling Jasmine’s door open fully and offering her a hand. “Will you let me buy your drinks?” He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Give me something, baby.”

It felt a little like signing over her independence, which she didn’t like, but it seemed a small price to pay to put him at ease. Not to mention, you could drink all night in the Third Shift and fail to rack up a bill higher than forty dollars. “Okay.”

She allowed Sarge to help her from the car, meeting his eyes when he didn’t immediately let go of her hand. He didn’t say anything, simply looking down at her, his brow furrowed. When he released Jasmine from his grip, he immediately tried to take it back, but she moved out of his reach toward the bar. Every step she took felt unsteady, blood ticking in her temples. Had someone knit a bowling ball into her stomach lining? Feeling Sarge at her back, Jasmine swallowed her nerves and walked into the Third Shift, already feeling the distance between them. Hating it, but knowing it was necessary all the same.

One step inside and already she wanted to dive back out into the freezing night. Into Sarge’s hold. And he would hold her, take her home, kiss away all the doubt. A cheer went up when the regulars spotted the local hero in their midst and that was it. They were separated by the shifting crowd. Someone took her coat and threw it on the usual huge pile over the waitress station. Hands patted her shoulders, familiar faces kissed her cheeks in greeting, as if they hadn’t seen each other at work that afternoon. She twisted in the crowd to find Sarge. How had so many people managed to get between them already? His height made him visible in the sea of partygoers and his gaze remained steady on her, distracting her from the conversation she’d been thrust into without preamble.

River popped up to her right, nursing what Jasmine knew to be a Diet Coke. “Hey! You disappeared on me earlier. I had to fend off this rowdy pack of pizza scavengers on my own.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I…” A lie sat poised on Jasmine’s tongue, but she choked it down. They were always honest with each other. That wouldn’t stop now. “I was with Sarge, but I didn’t expect to just leave like that. I should have called you.”

One of the bartenders ambled between them, a bucket of ice balanced on his head, but Jasmine could feel her best friend weighing what she’d said. “You were with Sarge.” River sipped through her straw until she reached the bottom of her drink. “You know, my brother was responsible for the early dismissal today.”

“I pieced it together,” Jasmine said, spying the man in question across the bar. His stunt that afternoon had clearly earned him new admirers. Men still dressed in their factory finest were slapping him on the back, shoving icy bottles of Budweiser into his hand. There were women, too. Young women asking to take pictures with him, tossing their hair around the way people wave flags. A worm of jealousy crawled inside Jasmine, but she ordered it to get lost. On some faraway planet, where Sarge could become her boyfriend, he would be faithful. Unlike the men she’d dated before, her belief in his honesty was unshakable. How odd to have that kind of conviction in a man so young. But character didn’t evolve over time, did it? Sarge’s had always been there, always been intact.

“Everyone was asking me why he didn’t show up to his own party. I thought he was just being Sarge. You know, doing good things and not taking credit,” River continued, following Jasmine’s gaze. “Now I’m wondering if he pulled that whole thing off just to spend time with you.”

Dios, Jasmine wished for a drink so she’d have something to do with her hands. “No, he didn’t. That’s crazy.”

River’s regard didn’t waver. “How serious is it, Jas?”

The crowd seemed to get louder around her, elbows bumping, raucous laughter grating along her senses. “We just went to the mall,” she answered lamely, in the understatement of the year. “He…I sang. We sang for people at the mall.”

Her friend’s expression fell, as if Jasmine had imparted news of a major catastrophe. “Sarge got you to sing?”

Jasmine’s nod was jerky. She’d put on blinders to the importance of what took place in the toy store that afternoon, but having some breathing room from Sarge forced the pretense to drop. River knew too well that Jasmine hadn’t sung in years. Her voice had faded along with hope, a little more with every rejection. Sarge might not even realize what he’d done today, but he’d empowered Jasmine to take back what she’d allowed nameless faces to steal. God, she’d never felt more like herself than she had since Sarge came back to Hook. Maybe Jasmine should have been thrilled with the resurgence of confidence, but she wasn’t. Not when the man who’d held up a mirror and forced her to look at herself would be gone in a matter of days.