Chapter One
Set the New Year on Lukewarm
VERONICA
“Happy New Year!”
The chorus of cheers, the sounds of laughter, the echo of happy conversation surrounded me. But my eyes were glued to the man in front of me. He leaned forward, his eyes glued to my lips. I swallowed, waiting for the touch that I’d longed for, the brush of his mouth against mine that I’d dreamed about.
My eyes fluttered closed as his scent wrapped around me.Shit. He smelled like he always did, like soap and leather and man. I braced myself for the contact, for the kiss that would, hopefully, segue into something more. Like his hands over my clit, his teeth scraping my nipple, and his dick giving me exactly what I needed tonight. A good fuck with all three “Hs”—Hot.Heavy.Hard.
His soft lips met… my forehead?What the hell is this bullshit? I blinked. My eyes popped open and the room slowly returned to focus. The same eyes were staring at me and I wasstilla horny, frustrated woman.
“Happy New Year,” Juke whispered, a soft smile on his lips. The lips I had hoped would be kissing me senseless right about now. His mouth brushed my ear. “Happy Birthday, Ronnie.”
Nobody called me “Ronnie” except my mom and my… bartender. Because that’s exactly who Julian “Juke” Bush was to me now. Not my friend, not my booty call, not my forever love…justmy bartender.
Yep, I was angry. In fact, I was so pissed I wanted to push him. Not that he would fall over, or even move an inch against the force of my strongest attempt. After all, he was a solid—at least two hundred and twenty pounds—rock of hard muscle with sexy, distracting tattoos, a killer smile, and a seductive voice.
Letting out a frustrated grunt, I deadpanned, “Thanks.”Asshole.
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
Hell no. “Yes,” I bit out through clenched teeth.
“You’re sure?” He raised a brow and brushed a strand of hair from my face.
See! It was just that kind of thing that made me want him. Every day, he did something endearing and genuine and sincere.
“Happy Birthday!”
I froze, mortified by what was likely about to happen. “Oh no,” I murmured. The loud cheers behind me, nearing me, made me want to run far away from this place, fromhisbar. Brook’s Pub was jam-packed with people, as was the tradition in good ol’ Wellspring, Michigan. Every year, Juke closed his bar to the public and hosted a private New Year’s Eve party. “Please, don’t …”
The familiar chorus of Stevie Wonder’s version of the birthday song pierced the air. The crowd was dancing, bumping hips, and singing at the top of their lungs. All for me.Great. Too bad I hated my birthday. It came every year, of course, but I’d always been able to avoid celebrating because it was also the holiday.
“Veronica!” my sister, Brooklyn, screamed—right next to my ear. I cringed. “It’s your birthday!” she sang, squeezing my shoulders. “Happy Birthday, sis!”
Plugging my ear, I forced a smile on face and turned to face everyone. The damn song went on and on, but when it was finally over, I said, “Thanks.” My best lighthearted response paled in comparison to their birthday greetings, but it would have to do.
The candles on the huge cake being held by my younger brother, Bryson, taunted me. It was a lot of them damn things glowing in the dimly lit bar. Once daylight hit, I might be tempted to kill all of them.
Bryson smiled. “It’s your day. Go ahead and blow them out.”
“She might be too old,” Parker announced with a wide grin.
I glared at my oldest brother. “If I’m old, you’re old.”
He laughed. “Just blow the damn candles out. Kennedi needs a slice of that cake. Stat.”
Meeting the gaze of my very pregnant sister-in-love, I said, “Can’t disappoint my niece.” But instead of blowing the candles out, I quickly removed each one, dropping them into a pitcher of water on the bar top next to me. Everyone cheered. I plastered on that fake smile again. “Thanks, everyone. I appreciate you.” I hugged my siblings. “I need a drink.”
Still frustrated, I turned and nearly bumped into Juke, who hadn’t moved from his spot. Sighing, I shoved him aside and limped over to the bar.
I slid onto a barstool and kicked off my shoes, cussing out those high ass heels under my breath. I’d purchased them with this occasion in mind. Hell, I’d worn my sluttiest dress and even paid a makeup artist to give me a smoky eye. Because I was on a mission—Operation Fuck Me, Juke. Normally, I’d be at home in my pajamas watching the ball drop with a bottle of sparkling apple cider.
Moving to Wellspring a couple of years ago had also brought on a change in my holiday traditions. A few burgers on the grill on Memorial Day had morphed into a full barbecue dinner with ribs so tender I wanted to weepandoutdoor games. My Thanksgiving was nothing like the quiet dinners I used to have with my mother and stepfather. It was a weekend affair starting with the Wellspring Thanksgiving Parade and ending with a competitive bowling tournament. And Christmas… Breakfast in the morning, lunch, and a six-course dinner. Oh, and lots of gifts.
I should be feeling happy, grateful even. But this day had never beenmyday.
