He leaned forward slowly in his chair. “We’re still talking about River?”
“Yes, sir.” The old woman huffed. “You can’t blame me for passing on news. I just assumed you knew.”
With a jolt, Sarge realized he’d come to his feet. “No…of course. I don’t blame you. I’m glad I know.” He remembered the shock of seeing his notoriously peppy sister looking so exhausted, framed by the doorway of their childhood house. Hadn’t he decided then and there to help River? To make up for his four-year absence by doing a hell of a lot more than sending checks? Better get started. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone number for Vaughn, would you, Adeline?”
“No, I do not.” Adeline lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “But I have an address for him.”
“How?”
Adeline took another long drag of nicotine, watching him over her fingers. “When Vaughn’s uncle left town, he left behind some furniture and the landlord said the church could have a look, see what was worth keeping. I found a few envelopes from Vaughn among his things. Nothing inside, but there was a return address.” Cigarette in her mouth, Adeline rooted through the top drawer of her desk before pulling out a sealed envelope and handing it to Sarge. “Don’t make me regret I gave that to you.”
“I won’t.” Sarge turned from the desk, dropping a heavy hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to take care of it.”
She clicked her desk drawer shut and inclined her head. “See that you do.”
Chapter Ten
They never broke routine at the factory. If the cogs didn’t turn, the product didn’t ship on time. If the products didn’t ship on time, money didn’t exchange hands. Which meant the floor workers didn’t get paid. Like Jasmine, most of her coworkers lived paycheck to paycheck, and having their salary docked spelled disaster. So when the bell rang for quitting time at three o’clock, instead of five, everyone on the floor kept working, assuming it had been in error.
Until it rang again.
Beside Jasmine, River tossed down her clipboard and pushed the goggles up onto her head. “Maybe it’s a fire drill?”
Jasmine hummed in her throat. “I’m not stopping until I smell smoke.”
The bell rang a third time, making both women frown. Jasmine stopped in the process of applying her machine to the waiting metal plate when the head boss’s droning voice thrummed over the loudspeaker. “Factory is closing early today. Clear your station and head out.” A loud sigh was accompanied by static. “There’s pizza and beer in the parking lot. This is a one-shot deal, so don’t get used to it.”
A cheer went up at the same moment the machines ceased their clanging, making the elated laughs and whistles extra loud. Seeing River light up with a smile of disbelief told Jasmine to stow her skepticism. There had to be a catch. She’d been working in the factory long enough to know their boss wasn’t a generous man. But she wasn’t going to ruin her best friend’s—or anyone else’s—fun.
Around them, factory employees cleaned up their stations in a hurry, dashing toward the locker rooms to change back into street clothes and warm coats. Jasmine and River were caught up in the flow of chaos, losing track of each other until twenty minutes later when they filed down the hallway into the back parking lot. When the double doors swung open, Jasmine’s mouth fell open. Coolers of beer sat in the backs of pickup trucks, pizza boxes being passed among the crowd of bewildered factory workers. It took her a few seconds to decipher the source of her sudden suspicion, but the music pumping from one of the trucks’ speakers finally penetrated her shock.
Old News played, but it wasn’t just any song. “Girl in Blue,” in its dirty, bass-heavy glory, filled the parking lot. Just like that, she knew Sarge was behind their early dismissal. The realization spread a foreign sensation through her body, kind of like that weird stage after you’d been hit in the funny bone. When you can’t decide if the feeling is pain or pleasure.
River distracted Jasmine by grabbing her arm. “I’m going to grab some pizza. You coming?”
Jasmine tried not to be obvious about scanning the crowded parking lot for Sarge. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“’Kay,” River trilled, bouncing off toward the circle of trucks.
One of her coworkers pressed a cold Bud Light into Jasmine’s hand. She took it and leaned against the factory wall, an amused smile playing around her lips to see her coworkers so animated. Someone had already produced a football, which was being tossed dangerously close to the crowd, but no one seemed to care. Warm breath puffed into the December air, reddening faces and forcing people to huddle together. It wasn’t perfect by most definitions, but to them, it was paradise.
A dense gray cloud passed over the winter sun, casting a shadow over the parking lot. Almost on cue, the song restarted, seemingly louder, stopping Jasmine’s breath from leaving her throat. “Girl in Blue” was like being trapped inside a human chest. The thick, sexy drumbeat that couldn’t find an exact rhythm, picking up and dropping out without warning. Boom. Boomboomboom. Boom. Like an erratic heartbeat. The bass line was low and heavy, transmitting the sense of an impending storm. A warning. Vibrating guitar chords joined the fray off and on, unable to make up their mind. And all that happened before Sarge’s voice sneaked up and pounced.
I need tending. Never ending.
Want that, need that, girl in blue.
No panty lines, no ties, no binds.
Got me hard up over you.
As the song played, Jasmine could hear her own breath scraping up her chest, drifting out over her lips in a white puff. Could feel her toes curling in her shoes. Was everyone looking at her? No. No, they weren’t. She was the only one who knew Sarge had written the song about her. Jasmine took a long pull of beer, but the alcohol only turned up the heat inside her, the slow slide of it down her middle feeling like a caress. She closed her eyes, images flickering against the backdrop of her eyelids like an X-rated movie. Sarge releasing his length from his pants, the way it dropped and bobbed in the space between her legs.
Grip those hips,
Up into you
Raging, pushing, letting go
Biting mouths, suck those roses
Once not enough
Flipped over. Round two.
Wetness rushed to the spot that had been so well loved by Sarge’s mouth that morning. Just that morning. How could she be this needy? It took a concerted effort to keep her breath from rasping like she’d run a marathon. Her palms were slicking up and down her squeezing thighs, creating friction through her leggings. Hot. So hot. So hot.
When the cell phone buzzed in her front right pocket, a gasp tripped over her lips, the vibration almost enough to send her flying. She knew who called before even answering. “Hello?”
“Jasmine.” Sarge’s gruff voice transported her back to the darkness of her bedroom, taking her miles away from the bustling parking lot.
“Where are you?” she whispered, even though she could hear “Girl in Blue” playing down the line, meaning he was close to the parking lot. Watching her?
“I’m close.” How did he make those two words sound so filthy? “Pull up the video on your phone. The one we made last night. I want to see you watch it.”
Excitement almost buckled Jasmine’s knees, even as she spoke her denial. “I’m not watching that here. I can’t.”