All I Ever Wanted

by Marilyn Brant, Caisey Quinn, Rhonda Helms

  Maya narrowed her eyes at me like I was acting strange. Which I was. My friends and I met at Juke’s Box every year to kick off Winterfest weekend. We had since we were teens, since Juke wasn’t one to worry himself much about silly things like excise laws.

  Instead of enjoying the company and the tradition, I couldn’t stop obsessing over how wrong everything felt without Aubree Baxter.

  “What time did she say her plane was landing?” Maya asked, rooting in her purse for her phone.

  Across the table, Sami tapped at her phone. “She landed an hour ago.” She bit back a laugh. “She said her dad sent a limo to pick her up.”

  “We could have done it,” Maya said. “I hate that she’s alone the whole drive from the airport.”

  “Right.” Craig Walton drummed his fingers on the table. “A limo ride is so tough. She’s probably sipping champagne as we speak. Poor Aubree.”

  Even though he’d gone to high school with us, Craig didn’t really fit into our little group. He’d inserted himself into it over the last couple of years, hoping—best I could tell—to find his way into Bree’s pants. If there was a God above, that would never happen.

  My mind spun. Aubree. Here. Tonight.

  The last time I’d seen Aubree, she’d been naked in my bed, the sheets pooling around her hips. It wasn’t an image I’d soon forget, nor was it something I was going to share with this crowd.

  “Kennedy,” Maya said, “did Bree say how long she’d be staying? Will she be here for our Winterfest toast?”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Maya’s need to give everything syrupy sweet labels. What she called “Winterfest toast,” the rest of us called “Meeting at the old bridge and drinking spiked hot cocoa.” We did it every year at the end of Winterfest, and this year would be no different.

  Or would it?

  Hell, I hadn’t even known Bree was coming. How would I know how long she’d be sticking around? “We haven’t touched base in a while,” I confessed.

  “Really?” Sami frowned, looking as confused as I felt.

  Last time I’d texted Bree and she’d bothered to respond, she’d said she wasn’t coming home for Winterfest this year. I’m kind of over it, the text had said. Which had just pissed me off because I wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t over “it”—she was over me. She shouldn’t punish herself and everyone who wanted to see her because of me. Because of what happened in October. She’d never missed a Winterfest.

  “So, she’s coming?” Christ. I sounded like a pathetic little boy asking after his celebrity crush.

  Sami narrowed her eyes at me. “Aubree wouldn’t miss Winterfest.”

  “You sure about that? She’s little Miss New York City now.”

  Bree was also the only person I knew from Abbott Springs who understood I was more than just another Hale destined to run Hale Construction and act as Abbott Springs’ mayor. I would never be as unpredictable as Bree, but she made me want to take a chance.

  October be damned. I couldn’t wait to see the little punk.

  Aubree

  Coming back to Abbott Springs was a little like putting on pajamas after a long day’s work. My shoulders relaxed as the limo stopped to drop me in front of Juke’s Box.

  The air was crisp and the fresh snow crunched under my boots as I climbed onto the sidewalk. A block away, tiny colored lights winked at me from the town square, where they were hung for the weekend’s Winterfest activities. Some long-dormant emotion tugged in my chest at the sight and I tamped it back down where it belonged. If I was going to do the whole Winterfest thing this year, I had to keep my shit together. No gushy nostalgia, no unrequited love self-pity.

  I pulled open the door to the bar and was smacked in the face with the raucous sounds of Abbott Springs’ only decent bar. The air was filled with the clattering of pool balls and the sounds of laughter, and the DJ set up his equipment on the backside of the dance floor.

  “Aubree!” Sami called from the back. She and Maya were grinning and waving. Before I could head her way, three other people were calling me out.

  “How’s the big city treating you, Aubree?” someone at the pool table asked.

  “Good to see your face, kid!” Juke called from behind the bar.

  Craig Walton walked toward me, almost predatory, and gave me a slimy once-over. “Looking good as always, Bree. Welcome home.”

  I forced a smile. Home. Where was that for me? Chicago? Seattle? Manhattan? Not those. But I had my fingers crossed for Paris.

  Following Craig, I pushed my way through the Friday night crowd toward my friends’ table.

  “Hey, Picasso. Long time no see.”

  The deep voice stilled my feet and punched me in the gut as I turned to look at its owner. “Kennedy.”

  Kennedy Hale leaned against the far side of the bar, looking even more beautiful than I remembered. He was in jeans and a long-sleeved black tee, and his shoulders seemed broader, his arms thicker. Even the scruff on his jaw was sexier than I remembered. He was an older, more sophisticated version of the boy I’d fallen hard for my sophomore year in high school. Dark, rugged, larger than life, and even sexier than in my dreams. Which was saying something. My heart pounded double-time at the sight of him, my chest aching with years of pent-up longing.

  “I thought you weren’t coming this year. I thought you were—what were your words?” He looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. “You were ‘over it.’”

  If I were only so lucky. I shrugged.

  He stepped closer so we didn’t have to shout to hear each other. “I thought you were too good for the rest of us.”

  He was angry? I guess I should have seen that coming, but it seemed…unjust. He was the one who’d rejected me. “I never said I was too good for anyone.”

  “Hmm.” He took another step closer, and his scent filled my head. Damn, he smelled good. And did he get even taller? Was that possible? “You didn’t have to.”

  “I work a lot.” And I was so full of shit. I didn’t work, I floundered. Job to job, relationship to relationship. Floundering was time-consuming and exhausting, and it didn’t exactly make me want to meet up with my old buds and listen to them recite their successes. Everly had the band, Kennedy had football, Oliver had the bakery. I had half a dozen jobs at random tattoo parlors and a string of ex-boyfriends who were starting to make death row inmates look appealing. “It’s hard for me to get home.”

  Kennedy raised a brow. “It’s too bad your phone doesn’t work.”

  I shook my head and signaled the bartender. “Could you make me a vodka tonic?”

  “More vodka than tonic, right?” The bartender winked at me and grabbed a glass. I pulled a bill from my purse and handed it over as he slid my drink across the bar. “I’ll get your change.”

  I waved him away. “Keep it.”

  Kennedy watched me as I took a drink. “Nothing changes,” he muttered. “How’s New York?”

  I put the glass to my lips, drinking until it was over halfway gone. The bartender had done as he’d promised and made it strong. Bless him. “Amazing, of course.” Amazing enough that I’d sold my loft and bought a ticket to Paris. “How’s the fine Waskeegee Tech?” I asked, referring to the small private college where he played football.

  “Kind of a drag.”

  I plastered on a smile. “I heard you have a new girlfriend.”

  “Funny. I heard the same about you.”

  This time my smile was for real.

  He chuckled and snagged my drink from my hands. Our fingers brushed, and the barest contact had my stomach flip-flopping in anticipation. Obviously, my stomach was an idiot with a poor memory. My brain, on the other hand, remembered Kennedy’s too-recent-for-comfort rejection all too well. But if Kennedy was going to act like that hadn’t happened, so could I.

  I couldn’t help myself. I watched him throw back the rest of my drink, his throat working as he swallowed. Swallowing should not be sexy, but tell that to my panties.

  “I’m
surprised to see you here,” I confessed. “I would have thought your dad would have had you running around to various Winterfest engagements.”

  “Ah, yes. Waving to the commoners or whatnot.” He grimaced. “I’m free until tomorrow’s opening ceremony.”

  “If you two are going to take so long, you’d better have a beer for me when you get over here!” Craig called from the corner.

  Kennedy gestured toward the table. “Your fan club awaits.”

  “Whatever. You’re the Hale in the building. How many months before your first run for mayor?”

  Something changed in his expression, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to the bartender and ordered beer for our table. We waited and took the pitcher and glasses ourselves before heading over.

  “Bree!” Sami exclaimed as Kennedy plopped the tray on the table. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “You too!” She looked adorable tonight in her little pink sweater and jeans, but as I leaned in to give her a half-hug, I couldn’t help but notice the stress around her eyes. Was that from college? Home? It felt weird not knowing, and the rift time and geography had put between me and my friends was all but tangible as I took my seat.

  “Poker?” I asked, producing a deck of cards from my pocket. If it didn’t exactly feel like old times, I’d pretend until it did.

  “I’m in,” Craig said.

  “Why not?” said Sami.

  Maya gave me a huge grin and produced a bag of poker chips. Maya was like that—always prepared to carry on the traditions you didn’t even realize you had.

  I looked to Kennedy, who shrugged his agreement. I tapped the cards from the pack and started shuffling as Maya divvied out the chips. I’d been playing poker with my friends for years. I loved the game, but tonight it was more than that. It gave me something to do with my hands, something to distract me while Kennedy sat so close.

  “Okay, give me the scoop.” I dealt, and Kennedy poured a round for everyone. “What have I missed?” I instinctively looked to Maya, who’d stayed in town and attended a local community college. They were my source for all Abbott Springs gossip.

  “Bernie was arrested for indecent exposure last week,” Maya said. She made a face at her hand then added, “A group of high school boys asked her to strip for them after a basketball game, and she did. Right on the lawn in town square. In the snow.”

  “Are we playing for money?” Craig asked.

  “No!” everyone but Kennedy said in unison. We used to play with cash but Kennedy whooped us all—every time. He was so damn careful and methodical, and it seemed to always work in his favor. He might not win every hand, but he’d inevitably win the session.

  “Dad won re-election in November,” Kennedy chimed in. He threw in a couple of chips for his initial bet and looked to Sami.

  Sami frowned at the small pile of chips in the middle of the table and shook her head before laying her cards on the table.

  Maya matched Kennedy’s bet and said, “City council voted down Mrs. Winchester’s proposal for mandatory Christmas decorations, but it was close.”

  Craig added his chips, bringing the bet to me.

  I took a long pull from my beer and contemplated my cards. An unmatched seven and two. Most people would fold, but most people were boring.

  “Mandatory Christmas decorations?” I tossed a few chips to the center of the table, doubling Kennedy’s bet. Everyone groaned. “Mrs. Winchester proposed that?”

  “Yeah, she launched this whole campaign. She called it ‘Keep the Light Christmas’ or something like that.”

  I frowned. “Isn’t she Jewish?”

  “She likes the tourist draw of the over-the-top decorations,” Kennedy explained as he tossed in chips to call my bet. “She thinks we could capitalize on it more if everyone participated. You know, in a secular way or whatever.”

  Maya folded—probably before she should have—and Craig shifted in his chair and scowled at Kennedy. If I had to guess, I’d say he wanted to fold but his misplaced machismo wouldn’t allow him to bow out before Kennedy. He called too, and I muttered, “So pretty much nothing’s changed.”

  Kennedy leaned back in his chair, eyes on his cards. “It’s Abbott Springs. Nothing changes.”

  “How’s your family, Kennedy?” Sami asked in her usual quiet voice.

  “Good. Great.” He shifted in his seat. His family was the face of Abbott Springs—and his father worked hard to keep it that way. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to fill the table in on the latest restoration project or community gathering his parents had funded.

  I turned the river. An eight of spades, a king of hearts, and a three of clubs. Craig groaned, but Kennedy kept his typical poker face and placed a modest bet.

  Craig threw his cards on the table. “I fold.”

  Sami folded too.

  Down to just me and Kennedy. I didn’t bother looking at my cards again. I knew what I had, and knowing Kennedy, I also knew there was about a one percent chance that the upcoming cards could make my hand into something that could beat him. But the chance was still there.

  “All in.” I pushed my chips to the center of the table.

  Kennedy crossed his arms. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Nope.”

  He stared at me for several long beats. I smiled sweetly, hoping he couldn’t hear the way my heart was slamming in my chest in response to his eyes on me.

  Finally, he shook his head and threw his cards on the table. “It’s all yours.”

  Grinning, I grabbed Kennedy’s cards before he could stop me. Then the grin fell from my face. “You folded a pair of kings? Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “You went all in. Logic would dictate you knew you had a winning hand. It wasn’t worth the risk.” He reached for my cards, but I smacked my hand on them before he could look.

  “And logic made you lose,” I said. I scooped all the cards together before he could pry my hand away and see I’d been betting on nothing.

  Kennedy rolled his eyes.

  “What did you have, Bree?” Maya asked. “I want to know.”

  “She won’t tell,” Kennedy grumbled. “Probably because it sucked.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it sucked or not.” I pulled my chips from the center of the table. “It was a winning hand.”

  “Who’s ready for the dirty dancing contest?” the DJ asked over the big speakers, saving Kennedy from responding.

  The crowd responded with its usual mix of cheers and distain, but couples were already flooding the tiny makeshift stage.

  Sami looked at me expectantly, and I shook my head. “I’ve been traveling all day. I’m too tired.”

  Craig sidled closer. “Want me to help wake you up?” Craig was nice but…no.

  “Watch out, Kennedy,” Maya warned. “Someone’s got her eye on you.”

  I looked up to see Bernie stumbling toward our table, her laser-like focus locked on Kennedy.

  Maya and Sami exchanged a glance and snickered. Bernie liked to think herself a cougar, but the guys spent more time dodging her than anything. Her eyes were cloudy as she put her hand on Kennedy’s arm. “Be my partner, sweet thing?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Man, I’m sorry, Bern. I’ve already promised Bree here that I’d dance with her.”

  I looked around the table, but no one seemed to think his forcing me to dance with him was odd. Of course, none of our friends knew what had happened in October. I, however, wasn’t so lucky.

  I nudged him. “That’s okay. Bernie can have this one. I’ll catch you next time.”

  Maya’s eyes went wide. No doubt in shock that I was throwing Kennedy under the bus. “But you and Kennedy have won the last three years. It wouldn’t be Winterfest if you two didn’t dirty dance.”

  “Where are Kennedy Hale and Aubree Baxter?” the DJ asked, and Maya gave me a shit-eating grin that seemed to say, “Told you so.”

  Craig snorted. “Right. That’s why Kennedy wants to put his ha
nds all over Bree. Nostalgia. I vote we mix things up. I’ll dance with Bree this year.”

  “I don’t want to—” My protest was cut short because Kennedy was already standing and pulling me from the table.

  “Come on, Picasso. We can’t let down the fans.”

  “You know the rules,” the DJ said. “This is a dirty dancing competition, not obscene dancing competition. Keep it PG-thirteen, folks. Judges will circulate. If you’re tapped on the shoulder, you’re out. Keep dancing until you’re tapped. Last couple standing wins a”—he paused a few beats and shuffled through the papers in front of him—“hell, I can’t find it. Last couple standing wins a round of drinks!”

  The crowd cheered, and with that, the DJ hit a switch and started the song. The walls shook with the heavy bass of a Robin Thicke hit. Kennedy’s eyes were somewhere between amused and weary as he pulled me close. The alcohol in my system made it easier to press against him, easier to pretend we were just the buds we used to be before October.

  “Mom wants you to stay at our place,” he said as his hands ran down my sides and settled at the base of my spine.

  I slid one hand into his back pocket and plunged the other in his hair. Our hips rocked in time to the music. “I’m perfectly fine at Dad’s, but I’ll make sure I visit with her before I leave.”

  He curled his fingers into my hips and yanked my body against his. I tilted my head to the side as he skimmed his lips along my neck. He spun me around so my back was to his front and he snaked a hand up my shirt, the rough pads of his fingers hot against the sensitive skin of my belly.

  My buzz might have given me the courage to do this, but it also made it harder not to pretend that his hands on my body meant something more. I held my breath, trying to hold back the warmth pooling in my belly. There was no denying that I wanted this. I wanted to dance close to Kennedy. To have him pull me into his arms like this. But this dance was just like the rest of our relationship—one endless act of torturous foreplay for me, nothing but fun and games to him.

  There was something different between us this time. The first time we’d entered the competition together, it had been a joke, but we’d moved well together. Then we’d done it again because it had been expected. This time, the tension between us as we moved to the music was entirely noticeable—and increasingly awkward.