Junior year of high school, when Jasmine had moved to this über-Irish and Italian town, her Dominican heritage had stuck out like ten sore thumbs. Every guy had wanted to date her, in a way that told Jasmine they viewed her as a novelty. There had been no love lost when she’d turned them all down, especially from the girls at school who thought her stuck up. River Purcell had been the last person Jasmine expected to approach her. Freshman class president, head cheerleader, gorgeous in a way that made passersby shake their heads. River had had everything going for her. But she’d sat down right beside Jasmine where she’d been eating outside the gymnasium and they’d never gone a day without speaking since, even after Jasmine graduated from high school and River still had two years left.
Jasmine massaged the back of her neck in the break room, attempting to psyche herself up for the upcoming confrontation with her best friend. This is what she did. She fessed up when she did something wrong.
That makes you happy, doesn’t it? Knowing how easily you can get me off?
Dios, “liked” didn’t begin to cover how satisfying Sarge’s body had made her feel last night. Powerful. Buoyant. Feelings she hadn’t encountered in so long.
What if she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet?
Even considering a second time was so, so wrong on more than one level. Usually when she made a mistake, she regretted it and swore she’d never do it again. But each time Jasmine spoke the promise out loud—as practice for the real deal—the words got stuck in her throat. Perhaps it was her body banding together to keep the promise suppressed, each little part playing its own role. Her nipples were the ringleaders, tightened to the point of pain inside her factory jumpsuit. Stemming from those pesky peaks was a bobbing line twisting its way down to her tummy, twirling there like a horny, demented ballerina.
Jasmine’s palms pressed against her cheeks to cool them down, but they only glowed hotter beneath her touch. With each tick toward the workday’s closing bell, her body prepared a little more. Preparing for going home and finding Sarge in her apartment, perhaps still a little angry at her for pushing him past his breaking point last night. Needing to prove something. She’d caught herself pressing her stomach against her station this morning, just for the anchor of contact. Her thighs wouldn’t stop rubbing together, the resulting chafe burning her up with fever. No denying it, she wanted a second helping. Wanted those hands on her again, that bulge pressing between her legs. Wanted that rock star voice in her ear.
She was clearly a sick individual.
River stuck her head into the break room, a pink bubble popping between her lips. “Break’s over. You coming?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
Jasmine retrieved her safety goggles and hard hat from the ancient break table and followed her friend onto the noisy factory floor. They passed familiar faces that smiled absently as they passed, their focus already back on the work. The factory didn’t produce one single product. It pumped out various items, such as display stands and cheap camera tripods for numerous retailers. Their number one contract, however, was from the Motor Vehicle Commission for license plates, which made the factory walls feel more like a prison than its soot-stained gray interior and the hard-assed supervisors that roamed the assembly lines. But the workers were family—each and every one of them. They covered for one another when necessary and picked up slack when someone wasn’t feeling up to snuff.
River and Jasmine didn’t always get to work side by side, but today they’d been placed in the same production cluster. They moved in a concentrated rhythm, River retrieving the blank plate and consulting the order sheet, before Jasmine used the heavy machinery to stamp the plate with its respective number.
Jasmine lifted a finished plate and placed it on the conveyor belt, adjacent to her workstation. “So…” she started, feeling seasick. “Your brother and—”
“Oh my God,” River interjected, speaking loudly to be heard over the clanging metal around them. “Didn’t he get huge?”
A vision of Sarge sprawled out on her guest bed, thrusting his erection into his own hand, swamped her, intensifying her seasickness like a tidal wave beneath a ship. “Yes. That’s a…fact.”
“I mean, remember when we were in high school? Never lifted his head from that guitar, just strumming and brooding, strumming and brooding, all day long.”
Jasmine swallowed the dust coating her throat. “I remember.” Only, since last night, she’d kind of been wondering if she’d been misremembering all this time. Until he’d returned home, when she thought of Sarge, she saw him in her mind’s eye stewing down at his guitar. But now? Now she had the overwhelming feeling he’d been looking at, well…her. “He’s definitely changed.”
River squinted at the order sheet, running her index finger down the stuffed clipboard. “I haven’t slept since sending him away. I’m sure you’ve been making him comfortable, though.”
Ay, Dios. “Something like that.”
“What does that mean?” River murmured, still focused on the clipboard.
Jasmine heaved in a deep breath. “It means, he—we—there was…physical contact. Of the biblical variety. Like, we’re not in Revelations yet, but we’re moving pretty quickly through the Old Testament.” And oh man, the impact of what she’d done hadn’t fully registered until River’s blue eyes went wide enough to damn near swallow her face. Jasmine rushed to release more words, just to delay whatever River’s response would be. “He just kept coming at me, Riv. I…he’s nothing like the Sarge I remember. One minute he was, like, hey, eat this sandwich, and then there were no clothes. Just none.”
River tossed the paperwork onto a nearby folding chair. “You hooked up with my brother?” She sounded dazed. “He’s twenty-two.”
“I know.” Jasmine smacked a gloved hand over her face. “What is a suitable punishment here? Public humiliation? Should I wear a sandwich board outside the factory tonight?”
River folder her arms. “That depends. What would it say?”
Jasmine let the glove covering her face drop. “Women of Hook: lock up your sons?”
When a laugh burst from her best friend’s mouth, Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “Are you laughing right now?”
“Yes, and it feels pretty damn good.” River’s shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “I keep waiting for you to say it was a onetime thing. But you haven’t.”
“It was a…”
River lifted an eyebrow.
“Onetime…”
This time, her best friend doubled over laughing, drawing the attention of the supervisor. Trading a glance, they picked up working where they’d left off. They worked without talking until the dour-faced supervisor had moved on to the next row before River spoke. “Look. You’re both adults. It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, come on.” Jasmine frowned. “Don’t be understanding. That’s so much worse than anger or ridicule.”
River was silent a moment, her amused expression transforming to one she’d been wearing a lot lately. Worried, pensive, downtrodden. “Jas, you’re the smartest person I know, so you’ve already thought about him leaving. Going back out on the road or heading back to L.A. and recording a new album.”
Okay, so she hadn’t thought about that, but it wasn’t an issue. There was no relationship on the table with Sarge. Not even close. She could never make another person feel obligated to stay behind in Hook, the way she’d done. Not when they’d already gotten out and had the means to go even further. A rock star shacking up with his factory worker girlfriend in New Jersey. The idea was laughable.
“I know what it feels like when a man leaves.” River hit her with a poignant look. “I’m not comparing Sarge to…him. But my brother isn’t hanging around, either. That’s why he’s not staying at my house.”