Taking potshots at charities now, are we? God, he was in a shitty mood. The back of Sarge’s neck itched; his winter clothes felt too tight. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine, even though the temperature sat squarely at thirty-five degrees. And while he wanted Lita’s latest stunt to be the reason for his irritable state, it had more to do with her calling from jail before he could…relieve himself this morning.
Honestly, he should be dead by now. Killed off from an unusual case of purple testicles. He’d slammed back into Jasmine’s apartment, all but salivating with the need to take out his villainous erection and stroke it to the memory of Jasmine’s sexy waist shuddering as she climaxed for his fingers…and his phone had rung. If he hadn’t had one fist propped on the entry table while he unzipped his jeans with the opposite hand, he wouldn’t even have seen Central Booking pop up on the screen of his phone, where he’d left it by the door. But he had. And he’d known if he missed the call, his pain-in-the-ass bandmate would be shit out of luck.
So with an agonized shout at the ceiling, he’d abandoned his quest for self-love and answered.
Now? He couldn’t blink without his dick getting hard.
Jasmine. God. The way she’d popped those hips back and slid forward, choking his fingers with her tight—he’d known it would be—*. The way her lower lip pouted every time he talked dirty in her ear, as if she didn’t understand why she liked it so much. At least, he prayed like hell she liked it, because he didn’t appear to be capable of keeping the words locked inside, the way he always did until it came time to write songs. Although didn’t it make perfect sense that Jasmine would call forward the words, since his songs were about her?
Sarge leaned back against the gray limestone building, mentally berating James for not being his usual early self. He wanted to get back to Hook. Tomorrow night, he would meet his niece for the first time. Spend some clearly much-needed time with his sister. Tonight he would go back to Jasmine’s and hope she hadn’t already put his possessions on the curb. Oh, and also hope she’d let him fuck the stuffing out of her. He couldn’t forget about that.
As if he could. He had a near-decadelong obsession with a woman—no end in sight…yet—and a punishing, uncompromising need to get deep, deep inside her where he hoped to lay the obsession to rest. If there was a stern voice in his head telling him on repeat that his heart would be set on fire like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar once all was said and done? He was beyond listening. Distance hadn’t worked. So he would eliminate every speck of daylight between them and attempt to grind his infatuation into dust.
Sarge pushed off the wall when he saw James approaching, looking as though he wanted to tear down the city with his bare hands. “Hey, man.”
“Is she still in holding? Have you gone in yet?”
“Not yet.” When James tried to bypass him into the building, Sarge stepped into his path, ceasing his progress with a hand to the chest. “I waited out here for a reason. You need to cool off before you see her.”
James shook him off and stepped back, tugging on the sleeves of his trench coat with meticulous movements. “Trust me, I’m feeling positively chilly.”
Sarge noticed a photographer across the street taking pictures of them and turned his back, indicating that James should do the same. Not that it would be anything new when gossip blogs broke the news that once again, Lita Regina had ended up behind bars for the night. “It doesn’t matter if I trust you. It matters that Lita expects you to go in there and throw your weight around like an asshole. You do it every time.” Sarge shook his head. “She loves it.”
For once, James actually looked interested in something, one dark eyebrow dipping behind his aviator sunglasses. “Why would she love it?”
“So she can be angry at you instead of herself,” Sarge near-shouted, jabbing the freezing air with a finger. “Shit. You know what else? I’m done playing referee for you two. You’re both reasonably intelligent people—you can figure each other out without my help. I’ve hit my limit.”
James took off his sunglasses with a casual sweep of his hand, removing a square of material from his coat pocket to clean the lenses. When he was finished with the task, he replaced them over his eyes and nodded once at Sarge. “Your sister wasn’t quite as enamored by the prodigal son’s return as you’d hoped, I take it?”
“Oh, just fuck right off.” Sarge bypassed James on his way toward the entrance. Yeah, he was well aware that he was taking out his piss-poor mood on James, but someone could ask his rock-hard balls if he cared. Until he got back to Hook and got his own family situation—and the Jasmine situation—under control, he didn’t have the capacity to focus on much else.
The two men showed identification and signed in at the glass enclosure just beyond the entrance vestibule. James spoke in a curt tone with the officer as he completed the bail transaction. After funds and paperwork had exchanged hands, they were escorted by a female officer to a beige waiting area where Sarge dropped into an orange plastic seat and James began to pace.