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.”
A crank twisted in Jasmine’s chest, remembering how low River had been brought by her high school sweetheart–turned–Army soldier bailing, leaving her pregnant and brokenhearted. “I understand why you’re concerned after everything that happened, Riv. I do. That’s not going to happen here.” Jasmine pulled the machine’s lever down to stamp a blank plate. “You know me. My eyes are open. I’m keeping the right distance, just like I always do.”
River regarded her a moment. “Okay, I believe you,” she said simply, the downturned corners of her lips popping up into a smile. “So I guess Christmas came early for you this year, huh? Does sending my brother to stay in your guest room count as my gift?”
Jasmine groaned up at the ceiling. “Okay, there’s a line and we’re totally crossing it into wrongness right now.”
“You crossed the line,” River returned. “I’m just joining you. Pass the salt.”
Jasmine treated River to a light hip check. “You’re the best.”
“I won’t argue with that,” River said, peeking over from beneath her eyelashes. “Just be careful. I’ve already got the scorned-woman market cornered in this friendship.”
They went back to working with methodical efficiency, passing a gym towel back and forth between them when the machinery made them sweat. For once, Jasmine was grateful to have work as a distraction, although it wasn’t blocking her most pressing thoughts. River’s warning clanged in her head along with the pumping metal. She’d only spent one night—and one sweltering morning—with new, grown-up Sarge, but it had been enough to know one thing. He was head and shoulders above the men she typically dated. She would need to keep her own head on straight, keep their relationship limited to physical pleasure.
In some crazy fantasy world, what would happen if either of them wanted more? Answer: nothing. He was too young to settle down with one woman, especially when hordes of them awaited him on the road. No. The next few days would scratch the big old itch incurred by her upcoming milestone birthday. The three-oh hung over her head, making her anxious to prove she could still attract a younger man. Satisfy him. Make him come back for more.
That’s all this was.
Chapter Seven
Sarge tapped the jewelry case against his thigh as he approached River’s house. Did three-year-olds even wear necklaces? The guy at the local jewelry store had seemed positive on that front, but then again, maybe he’d just wanted to make the sale. Guess he’d find out.
The sounds of running feet and squeals of laughter stopped Sarge short halfway up the stoop. He’d never heard those noises coming from inside his childhood home. His parents had both been only children, limiting them to a foursome. Not to mention, his and River’s father had been fairly strict, especially when it came to River, who’d shown a high aptitude for schoolwork at an early age. Most of their evenings had been about studying, Sarge sneaking his guitar down to the basement or into the garage whenever he could manage. The sound of a child’s laughter was really nice. Nice shouldn’t make his stomach sink, though. Should it? It shouldn’t make him feel like an intruder. Or someone who’d been in a coma for four years, only to wake up and find a chunk missing from his life.
He shoved the necklace into the back pocket of his jeans, rubbing his damp palm along the leg on its way back around. His nerves were strung tight, even worse than the night Old News played their first gig in Pasadena. Five people had shown up, and one had been James. To this day, however, he swore playing in front of a handful of people was twice the head wreck as a sold-out stadium full. Now it appeared a three-year-old would rattle him far worse than either situation.
Before he could reach the door, the painted white wood swung open and—