All or Nothing(4)

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 hands 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.