Tempting (Red Lips & White Lies, #1)

by Bella Matthews

“Time is precious. Make sure you spend it with the right people.” UNKNOWN

Coming home is a strange thing—especially after four years. You think everything will be the same, and in a lot of ways, it is . . . but different. Life has a sneaky way of doing that when you’re least expecting it. Changing. Whether you want it to or not.

The bar’s vibe is a mix between industrial and craftsman. Exposed wood beams and wide-planked reclaimed wood floors and tables are warmed by Edison bulbs strung overhead, while black metal chairs and stools scattered throughout manage to somehow balance the warmth with a cool, edgy feel that’s so perfectly fitting for the owner. The atmosphere is casually cool, and the food is delicious. It’s been one of the town’s favorite hot spots since my cousin Maddox opened it years ago, and tonight is no exception. The place is packed, and our motley crew of friends and family take up an entire corner of the room. Not surprising, since we’ve always traveled in packs. Where there’s one, there’s usually many, and tonight, we’re at least twenty deep. Football season is in full swing, and hockey preseason officially starts next week, meaning this will be one of the last times we get this many of the guys together at once for a little while. That’s probably why everyone seems so carefree tonight. Jokes are flying, and beer is flowing.

Everyone is enjoying themselves. Everyone except Maddox, that is. Carefree is rarely a word I’d use to describe my cousin. Asshole, occasionally. Sarcastic, always. Carefree . . . not really. He hands me a glass of water with a lemon wedge and arches one dark, bushy eyebrow like a cartoon villain. “Better make sure you don’t drink too many of these. We wouldn’t want you to loosen up and lose control tonight.” Yup. Still a sarcastic fucker. I know how to lose control. “Whatever, shithead. I’m on call as of midnight tonight.” I drop my lemon into the glass, then push it down with the straw. “Booze and babies don’t mix.” “Not unless you’re making them,” he argues with a smirk before moving further down the bar to grab an order from a woman twice his age who’s looking at him like he might be on the menu. Apparently not everything changes.

My cousin Brynlee grabs my hand and presses it against her baby bump to feel her baby boy going to town on her ribcage. “Can’t you deliver him now?” she pouts. “Nope. You’ve got four more weeks, Brynnie. You’re a rockstar. You’ve got this.” I dig my fist into the small of her back, alleviating some of the pressure this little man has been putting on his momma, and she drops her head and moans in relief. “God, I love you. How about you come home with us? I’ll kick Deacon out of bed. You can have his spot.” Like a homing beacon, her hot, hockey-coach giant of a husband hears his name and zeroes in on his wife. “You kicking me out of bed, red?” “Depends . . . Can you do what she just did?” she challenges, and the smile splashing across Deacon’s face is filthy, which has me quickly looking away. It’s been so damn long since someone looked at me with filthy thoughts dancing behind their eyes. At least any someones I want looking at me that way. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Coach,” Brynn giggles, and I take that as my cue to slide away before I hear something I don’t want or need to know. My friends have no boundaries or filters. I love them. Truly I do. Even if they put the Sex ...

“I’d like to make a toast.” My big brother, Easton, tugs me to his side and raises his beer. “To my baby sister, Mackenzie. Congratulations on your new job, Kenz. It’s good to finally have you home.” Everyone raises their drinks high in the air and cheers. “Love you, kid.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head like I’m one of his babies instead of his sister. “Dude. She’s two years younger than your wife. Not sure I’d be calling her kid,” one of the guys, I think Callen, laughs, and Easton flips him off before I wiggle out of his hold. “Maybe they’re into that,” gets called out before Lindy shakes her head and kisses Easton’s cheek. She whispers something in his ear, and he smacks her ass. I’m surrounded by hornballs. All of them. But even that thought puts a smile on my face because they’re my people. And it’s hard to put into words how much I’ve missed being with them. My friends. My family. The ones I claimed as my own after our mom died and left Easton and me with our cousin Juliette as our legal guardian. Jules married Becket Kingston and managed to give us an enormous family who took us in and claimed us as their own. But even better, with them came Brynlee and Lindy. The closest thing I’d ever had to sisters. They introduced me to the twins, Everly and Grace, and as they say, the rest is history. My history. These women took in a heartbroken little girl and refused to let me close myself off. We were inseparable. The kind of girl squad most teenage girls—hell, most ...

Nixon shakes his head as he tries unsuccessfully to stifle his laugh. “You think your brother is gonna stop toasting the fact you’re home any time soon? Pretty sure this is at least the third time since you got back in town.” “Probably not,” I admit sheepishly and glance over at Easton. Lindy’s arms are wrapped around his waist as she laughs at something someone just said. Easton’s relaxed and smiling, and it makes my heart so freaking happy. He spent a long damn time not smiling, and I’ll love my best friend forever for giving him the kind of peace she brings to his life. When I drag my eyes back to Nix, he taps his bottle of beer to my glass with a wicked grin on his handsome face. “To you being home, Mac.” “Thanks, Nix.” I try unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, then cover my mouth, mortified. “Oh, I see how it is,” he teases. “Stop.” My cheeks burn red. “I’m on call in a few hours, and it’s a full moon. I should probably go try to catch a little sleep while I still can.” I look around, hoping no one is paying me any attention so I can make my escape without any guilt trips stopping me. Nixon crosses well-defined arms over his chest, blocking me from everyone’s view, and I wonder when exactly they got so thick too. I’ve known him since we were twelve, and Nixon Sinclair never used to be . . . well . . . hot. He was always a good-looking guy. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like his dad. But kind of quiet, a little awkward, and always obsessed with hockey. You never really s...

can you let them know I’m heading home?” “You walking?” he asks as he pulls out his wallet and drops a handful of bills on the bar. “We live four streets away from here, Nix. It’s not like I was going to drive.” It’s also not like Kroydon Hills is known for its high crime rate. Walking was a no-brainer. When my residency ended, I had no intention of moving back into the building the girls and I all lived in after college. Not because it wasn’t a great place to live. The condos are beautiful with big open floor plans, nice bathrooms, and state of the art kitchens. One I’ll probably never use, but that’s beside the point. Of course, my family owns the damn building. Half my cousins live there. And the few tenants I’m not related to are related to the twins, like Callen, Nixon, and Leo. And every single one of them is nosey as hell. This town makes Gossip Girl look like Sesame Street in comparison. Gossip might as well be its main export after professional athletes. I guess I’ve gotten used to having my own space, and a little bit of privacy goes a long way. Especially since I work insane hours. It’s not like babies are born on schedules, and I’m padding my resume with as much experience as possible. I’ve been toying with the idea of applying for a fellowship, and the hours look great on an application. When I come home, I don’t want to worry about who I run into and what they’ll say. And my friends are everywhere. I’ve already come home twice to Callen raiding my fridge and ...

“I can walk four blocks alone, Nixon,” I protest as he opens the door of West End and waits for me to walk through. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” he argues, and I resist the eye roll that’s coming. “I don’t remember you being this stubborn, Mac.” “Yeah well, I don’t remember you being this bossy, Nix.” A weird little zing of electricity passes between us as I brush by him and almost fall flat on my face. I catch myself as I trip over the metal door frame. Stupid heels. They make my legs and ass look incredible in this dress, but they pinch the shit out of my toes. Guess I’m paying the price now. Nixon’s hands reach out and right me, making sure I don’t fall. Yup. There’s that little zing again. What the hell is up with that? He doesn’t drop his hands right away as the front door swings shut behind us, and a throat clears in front of us. One that sends an unwelcome awareness down my spine. “Dr. Hayes,” the unwelcome voice cuts into the building tension. Nixon must sense my unease because instead of letting go, he tugs me closer to him, and I watch Dr. Dick’s eyes track the movement. “Dr. Richardson,” I answer professionally. Not that I have a choice. He’s the head of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Kroydon Hills Hospital. And since the practice I now work for delivers most of their babies there, I’ll be dealing with this man often. Dr. Dick, as I overheard a few nurses refer to him quietly last week, stands in front of us in pressed khakis and a polo, easily ...

I’ve got a bad fucking feeling about this douche. I don’t know who he is, but I don’t like him or the way he’s looking at Mac. She tensed up the minute she saw him, and that’s all I need to know. A woman doesn’t tense up unless you’ve done something incredibly right or significantly wrong. And it doesn’t seem like this dude has done anything right.

This woman is my sisters’ best friend, which makes her part of my circle. And I protect what’s mine.

Mackenzie moves the slightest bit closer to me. Her long, soft chestnut-brown hair blows in the wind, causing the gentle scent of spicy vanilla sugar to invade my senses, and my mouth waters as every protective instinct my father drilled into my brothers and me all our lives kicks into overdrive. My grip on her hip tightens, firmer than I mean for it to be, while I reach out to him with my other hand. “Don’t you want to introduce me, Mac?” My words sound almost threatening, and I don’t bother tempering them. Let him be threatened. Mackenzie looks up through long, inky-black lashes and worries her pouty bottom lip before forcing a small, fake as fuck smile. “Nixon, this is Dr. Richardson. He’s head of my department at the hospital.” Dr. Richardson looks like an uptight, entitled prick who belongs on a polo horse. If that weren’t an insult to the horse. He glances disdainfully from her to me before tentatively offering me his hand in a limp-ass handshake. Fucking pussy. He winces when I squeeze more forcefully than necessary. Probably because I’m a dick who just made sure he knows which of us would win in a fight. Maybe he’ll take it as the warning it’s meant to be not to fuck wit...

Kenzie takes another small step into my side, and that bad fucking feeling grows. Guess that’s going to be my excuse for what I’m about to do. Couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that this girl was the first girl I ever crushed on before I even knew all the ways I wanted to make her scream my fucking name. What can I say? We were thirteen, and she was the new girl in a bikini in my parents’ pool. She was a literal wet dream come to life. And there goes that picture of her in the shower again. “Nixon Sinclair.” I let my glare go dark like it does before a fight on the ice. “Her boyfriend.”

Mac’s breath gets stuck in her chest before she lifts those shock-filled, honey-brown eyes my way. After a minute, her surprise turns into a small, hesitant smile—still fake, but not as obvious this time—when she turns back to this asshole. Dr. Richardson nods slowly. Creepy as fuck. A little too calculated for my liking. “Sinclair . . . Your name sounds familiar,” he muses as if trying to place me. Good luck, asshole. There’s a shit ton of Sinclairs in this town, and I’m related to all of them. “Nixon plays for the Revolution with my brother,” Kenzie offers sweetly, her voice quiet. Too quiet for this woman. “Hockey?” he says the word like it’s beneath him, and I grind my teeth. “For some reason, I was thinking football.” “That’s my father and grandfather,” I grunt and wait for it to click. I don’t have to wait long. “Your dad is Declan Sinclair? The hall of fame quarterback for the Philly Kings?” he asks with an awe in his voice I know well. Declan Sinclair is pretty fucking awe-inspiring. He’s a pretty amazing dad too. “That makes your grandfather the coach.” I nod, used to this shit. This town worships football, and my family is Philly football. Dad. Grandpa. Uncles. Cousins. Poor Dad got three hockey-player sons instead of football players though. We like to say we’re tougher. Anyone can throw a ball. But can they do it on a blade less than three inches thick, skating backward? These are the arguments we have over Thanksgiving dinner. And maybe every other meal we eat...

I guess I’ll be seeing you two at the gala next week. I believe your mother is one of the chairs of the event, Mr. Sinclair.” I look to Kenzie, not knowing what gala he’s talking about but not willing to let him in on that fact. Her tongue darts out and wets her lips, and I might be going to hell because I really shouldn’t be picturing what those lips would look like wrapped around my dick . . . but I sure as shit am. Fuck me. What is it about this tiny woman that’s always made my mind spin in ways it shouldn’t? She plays into my ruse and laces her fingers with mine. “I think we were waiting to see what your preseason schedule looks like.” “When did you say it was?” I ask, almost forgetting fuckface next to us until he decides to insert himself back into our conversation. “It’s next Saturday at the Kroydon Hills Plaza Hotel. We’re raising money for the hospital’s autism research department,” this asshole tells me. Now that makes sense. My uncle has autism, and Mom has always cha...

“Mackenzie would be fine without me,” I confirm because this woman is more than capable of taking care of herself. “But she won’t need to be. My first preseason game isn’t u...

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, Mac.” Okay, so yeah, I’m a dick, and I know exactly what that sounded like, but I don’t like this asshole. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her, and maybe I do like the way she’s looking at me. “You wanted to catch a few hours of sleep before you’re on call.” Richardson nods slowly. “I’ll see you at the hospital then, Dr. Hayes.” He’s trying to act unaffected but failing. “Yes. I’ll see you later,” she tells him as I tug her in front of me. Kenzie rolls her eyes as we walk away. Guess I’m not the only one reverting to their teenage selves. “You know you’re terrible, right?” she hisses. “Listen, he already thinks I’m your boyfriend. Nothing wrong with him thinking I’m putting you to bed. I am a gentleman, after all.” I will also not be going anywhere near her bed. Not for my own sanity. A man has his limits, and I’m already pushing mine. She smacks my shoulder with her tiny purse and smiles her first real smile since we walked outside. One that has a tiny dimple appearing in her right cheek in the middle of a pretty pink flush that creeps up her creamy skin. I may not have spent much time with this woman since we graduated from high school, but some things you don’t forget. And that smile is one of them. “What was with that anyway? The whole I’m her boyfriend thing?” Her words are whispered, like the asshole can still hear us. “Wanna tell me why you’re scared of him?” I walk in front of her, then turn to face her and walk backward, ...

Kenzie’s shoe gets caught in the sidewalk, and she jerks forward again and grasps the front of my shirt to stop her fall. “Still a klutz, Mac? That’s twice.” She looks down instead of meeting my eyes. “Still calling me Mac, Nix?” “Pretty sure I’ve never called you anything else.” I haven’t. Not since the first time my sisters brought her home. “Whatever,” she mumbles, then shoves me back. “I wasn’t thinking about walking home when I picked out my shoes earlier.” I stop and turn around, giving her my back, and squat down. “Hop on.” “What?” she laughs. “Hop on. I’ll carry you.” I look over my shoulder and catch her chewing that bottom lip again. “Come on, Mac. You can’t walk home barefoot, and you’ve almost kissed the ground twice since you left the bar. It’s not like it’s your first piggyback ride.” Jesus. She brings out the inner thirteen-year-old in me. “I’m wearing a dress, Nix.” Her protest is weak at best, and I can tell she’s thinking about it. “Come on, Mac. Hitch up your damn dress and hop on. I bench press four times your weight. We’ll be home in five minutes, and you won’t break your ankle between now and then.” She looks up at the twinkly-light-lined trees before huffing and placing the skinny strap of her purse across her chest. “Fine. But if you tell anyone I did this, I’ll kill you. I’m a doctor, Nixon. Don’t think I can’t do it. I can, and I can make it look like an accident.” That threat should probably scare me, but instead, I laugh. This woman used to capt...

Our doorman tries to hide the sideways look he gives Nix and me but fails as Nixon walks right past him with his hands anchored through my knees, absolutely refusing to put me down. The ankle strap of my hot-pink patent-leather stilettos dangle from my fingertips, and I wonder what we must look like. “Oh my goodness, Nixon. Put me down before someone else sees.” But does he listen? No. He hoists me further up his back and chuckles instead. “Wouldn’t want a scandal, now would we, Mac?” We pass the dark coffee shop which closed hours ago before stopping at the elevator. He swings me around so I can press the up button, keeping his grip tight the entire time. The shiny doors open with their dramatic chime, and Nixon walks through like he’s done this a thousand times. And I guess as far as I know, maybe he has. He’s a professional hockey player. I know what the puck bunnies are like, and I’m just going to ignore the fact I just compared myself to one. Damn it . . . I am so over this night.

“You know you don’t really have to come to the gala with me. If he asks, I’ll tell him we’re just friends. I’m not sure why you did that.” Nix shrugs. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. The guy set my Spidey senses off. Besides, it will make my momma happy if I go to the gala, and now I have a reason to go. What time am I picking you up?” “You’re Spidey senses? You really should get that looked at, Nixon.” I put my key in the lock and smile back at him. Almost flirting . . . almost. Because I don’t flirt. I’m not really sure I’d even know how. And I certainly wouldn’t know how to do it, or anything else, with this man. “They can probably prescribe you something for that.” His hand covers mine on the knob, stopping me. “What time, Mac?” Oh. Joking Nixon is fun, but bossy Nixon just dropped his voice into a no-nonsense gravelly octave that may have sent a shiver down my spine. “It starts at seven,” I answer quietly before firming up my voice. “Honestly, Nixon. I don’t need you to go. I don’t want to lie to everyone about having a boyfriend.” A flush of embarrassment blooms in my cheeks, and something tightens in my chest because I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with one of those either. Nix drops his hand from mine and takes a step back. “We don’t have to lie to anyone but Dr. Dick. If anyone else asks, we’re two friends going to the same gala. So why not go together? Besides, I already donate to my mom’s autism charity. If she’s raising money for the hospital’s ...

Time always seems to move at two speeds, warp or slower than a snail, and the following week is no exception. My hours are insane. The cases run the gamut of textbook births to a fifty-six-year-old woman wanting to be a surrogate for her daughter, and everything in between. And I fucking love it. I’m here for it all and I’m grateful every day that I get to do this job and get paid to do what I love. But some days . . . some days, when the exhaustion is running high and the sleep is at a minimum, I still question my sanity. Today is definitely leaning toward one of those days. I drop my face into my hands and take a few deep breaths

“How about you? You look like you need a shower and about seventy-two hours of sleep,” I muse as I pop a piece of cookie in my mouth. Pretty sure this is the first thing I’ve eaten in hours. Nothing like a stale cookie and burned coffee for breakfast at eleven a.m. after skipping dinner the previous night. Bellamy slid easily into our friend group once her oldest brother married Everly, but truthfully, she’d already been on the fringes without us knowing it. She’s one of the few women who adores my cousin Caitlin. Maddox’s little sister can be a bit much, but she and Bellamy have been best friends and roommates for years. She’s also one of the few people I knew here at the hospital when I started working at my aunt Wren’s ob-gyn practice and delivering babies here. “Listen, I’ve been on for eighteen hours straight because the flu is hitting early, and four nurses called out. And that was after working three twelves already this week.” She looks down at her shirt, then sniffs a spot and cringes. “I need to do laundry. I need a shower. And I need to eat something that wasn’t made in this cafeteria. Not necessarily in that order. But for now, I’ll settle for a shower and my bed. How about you?” I shake my head slowly. “I’ve got to stop by Everly’s shop before I can go to bed. I promised Wren I’d go to the gala the hospital is throwing this weekend and represent the practice. She’s out of town visiting her son’s college for his game this weekend.” “Here.” Bellamy’s face falls,...

Bellamy waits a minute, then raises her hand. “Oh my God, what?” I laugh and gently smack her hand down. “Explain pity date,” she demands. I look around at the crowded cafeteria. There aren’t any workers near us, just a few people chatting two tables away. “Dr. Dick sort of cornered me the other night when I left West End. Nixon and I were walking home, and he assumed Nix was my boyfriend.” Her eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly touch her hairline. “Why would he assume that?” I shake my head and look around again, frustrated to even be having this conversation. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I want anyone else to hear this. “I don’t know. I tripped. Nixon caught me, and Dr. Dick apparently saw it. He made an assumption, and instead of correcting him, Nixon played into it,” I whisper-hiss the last few words, still wondering why I agreed to this crazy plan. But Bellamy doesn’t seem surprised. “Why don’t you look shocked?” She reaches up and yanks her rubber band off her hair, then runs her fingers through it before re-doing her messy bun. Definitely a nervous habit, if I’ve ever seen one. “Listen. I lived with Nixon for a few months before Caitlin and I moved in with her brother and the guys. Nix is a good guy with a protective streak a mile wide. It’s just who he is. And I can only imagine the vibes he was catching off Dr. Dick. That asshole gives me the heebie-jeebies on a good day. And I haven’t seen him have too many good days since I started working here.” “...

I look at my reflection in the three mirrors angled toward me as I stand on the dais in Everly’s flagship store. She and Lindy opened Everly Wilder Designs a few years ago. It was originally just couture wedding gowns designed by Everly and managed by Lindy. Since then, they’ve brought a few employees on, including the addition of Caitlin as a junior designer. She focuses on bespoke tuxedos, bridal party dresses, evening gowns, and cocktail dresses. She has her hands in them all. All three women look at me with varying shades of amusement when I finish explaining my fake-a-date predicament for Saturday while Caitlin pins the hem of the beautiful pink silk dress that’s currently hitting me somewhere between ankle and mid-calf. “Stop fidgeting, Kenz, or I’m going to stick you with a pin. And I will not be happy if you bleed on the silk.” “You heard her, little sister. No blood on the silk.” Lindy laughs. “That was handmade by dozens of nuns in some far-off land.” The glare I throw at my sarcastic sister-in-law through three freaking mirrors is vicious. “I’m glad you’re all enjoying my discomfort.” Caitlin pinches me, and I kick her with the beautiful silver heels they had me slip on with the dress. “Ouch. What the hell, Cait?” “Stop. Fucking. Fidgeting. Mackenzie,” she growls around the pin being held between her teeth.

“I’m glad Nixon was there, and I’m glad he’s taking you this weekend,” Everly admits as she studies the lines of the dress on my body. “He’ll scare this Dr. Dick off, and maybe him being your date will get a hot doc to look your way. You know how men are.” My beautiful blonde bombshell best friend never needed help getting a guy to notice her a single day in her entire life. And okay, so maybe I’m a little jealous. “No, Everly. Apparently, I don’t know how men are, since I rarely have their attention to begin with. How about you enlighten me?” And maybe my words are a little harsher than I intended. But seriously . . . if I knew how men were . . . are . . . ugh. If I understood men, I wouldn’t need a fake date, now, would I? Cait places the last pin, then stands and adjusts her edgy black leather skirt. “Men always want what someone else has, or what they’re told they can’t have. And you’re going to be walking in on the arm of one of the hottest men in the city. A star hockey player and a Sinclair. People will take notice.” She moves across the room to put away her pins, and Everly and Lindy nod in agreement. “I don’t have time for a man, ladies. I work around the clock, and when I’m not working, I don’t want to spend my time fretting over a man.” I turn so I can get a better view of the low, drapey back of the dress and the way the beautiful silk slides over my ass. “Caitlin . . .” I look over at my cousin. “This really is beautiful.” Long dark hair frames her pale, delic...

you’re not mad about me taking Nixon to the event?” I pull on my riding boots and throw my hair up into a bun. “Because I can bail on the whole thing if it’s a big deal.” I wait, practically hoping she’ll tell me she’s uncomfortable and that she’d rather I not go with her brother. It would be a fantastic excuse. But I have great friends who would never do that to me. Damn it. Everly opens the door and waits for me to walk through it before following behind. “Nope. Not a biggie at all. I hope Nixon scares the piss out of Dr. Dick. And Cross and Ares and Easton will all be there if Nixon needs backup. They’ll make sure he knows to keep his hands, his leers, and his creepiness in check and to himself. Look at it this way, your brother and three honorary brothers will all be there for you.” My heart sinks a little bit because somehow even my fake date just managed to get even more friend-zoned, if that’s possible. What is it about me that everyone finds so utterly unattractive that there isn’t a ma...

“Dude. You should have seen her,” Leo chuckles as he walks through our front door and carefully steps over Gordie Howe, my lazy bulldog, who’s been waiting patiently for us to get home. “She was fucking perfect. Blonde hair, blue eyes . . .” “Dude,” I mock him before he gets the chance to keep going, then bend down and scratch Gordie behind his ears as Leo walks into the kitchen. “You realize you just described our sisters and half our family, right?” My phone rings as Leo drops his hockey bag against the wall and grabs something from the fridge. It’s my agent, Hunter, again. I send it to voice mail. “Grace has had brown hair for years. So really, I’m just describing . . .” His words die off like he just realized I’m right. Took him long enough. “Okay, yeah . . . What-the-fuck-ever. You made your point. But she was hot and stacked and looked nothing like our sisters. Don’t ruin it for me because I choose not to live like a monk. What crawled up your ass anyway?” “Who’s living like a monk?” comes from a groggy voice in the living room. Both our heads spin to the couch where Callen is lying, one arm thrown over his face, half asleep, but apparently awake enough to be listening to our conversation. Gordie pops up from the floor and takes his good old time wandering over to Callen. My fat pup uses all the effort he can muster to push all his rolls up next to Callen before basically nut-punching him while he makes himself comfortable and crop dusts the whole room. Guess he told...

“So who’s living like a monk? And I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly why either of you would willingly forgo sex. It’s basically the greatest gift the world has to offer . . . Well, after football.” Callen chugs the family football Kool-Aid big time. I’d call him one of the great football players of our generation. Well, not to his face. The fucker’s ego is big enough already without the boost. Technically, he’s my dad’s generation, not mine. He’s what we like to call an oopsie-baby. Something the whole family still teases him about as often as possible. Especially considering he may have been conceived on the kitchen table as my Uncle Murphy walked in, catching Grandpa and Grandma in the act. Grandpa has coached the Philly Kings for close to three decades. Dad retired from the team a few years ago and is still known as the best quarterback the NFL has ever seen, and now he’s the quarterback coach. Then there’s Callen. He’s been carving a name for himself for years. Another Sinclair at the top of the game. And that’s just the family associated with the Kings. Can’t forget the uncles who are retired Hall of Famers too. What can I say . . . we’re a family of overachievers. Hockey vs. football is an everyday argument at family dinners.

Why the hell would you be living like a monk when you could have your pick of any woman in the city? I’m sure there’s a few Callen hasn’t already sampled.” Callen shrugs, and I throw the water at his head. He catches it easily with one hand. Fucker. “I’m not a monk, asshole.” I drop into the chair across from Callen and kick my feet up, irritated with my jackoff brother. “Just because I’m not as in your face about it as you two fucks doesn’t mean I’m celibate. It means I don’t need the world to know what I’m doing. I’d rather not have the Kroydon fucking Kronicles reporting on me once a month, thanks.” “Sounds like somebody needs to get laid, if you ask me. Could this have anything to do with the hot date you’ve got Saturday night?” Leo shoves Gordie off the couch and takes his spot. “Because Kenzie Hayes is smoking fucking hot, Nix. And she’s a doctor.” “The hell?” Callen looks from Leo to me, like he couldn’t possibly have heard him right. “You got a hot date with Kenzie you forgot to tell the class about, man?” Oh yeah. He’s pissed. Now the question is—why? “You got a thing for Mac you failed to mention, Callen?” I lean back in the chair and watch and wait. People can say whatever they want aloud. It’s the nonverbal cues that’ll tell you everything you really need to know though. Callen’s shoulders tighten, and his face pinches. He might be pissed or possessive, but I don’t think it’s either. He’s being protective. Interesting. “You two are worse than the twins, you kno...

The whole conversation left a sour taste in my mouth. Not because I mind going with Mac. More like the idea of someone else being interested makes me feel . . . something. Angry. Frustrated. Possessive as hell. All emotions I have no right to feel about this woman. But that doesn’t change them. Friends, I remind myself as I move the pillow over my head. She’s my friend. My stunningly beautiful, incredibly sexy, intelligent friend.

My eyes are drawn to Nixon’s door as I wait for the elevator. Is he home? Is he alone? Does it matter? I shake myself out of my thoughts on the ride down to the first floor and thank Chadwick for the food just as a roly-poly brown, white, and black furball comes bounding inside the building and slides across the marble floor to a bouncing halt on top of my feet before he starts sniffing my ankles. “Oh my . . . aren’t you the cutest thing?” I bend over and run my hand over the pup’s big head, digging my fingers into his soft fur. I giggle as my new friend immediately rolls over and twitches one of his fat little paws while I hit an apparently good spot. “Better watch out,” the deep, sexy voice belonging to the man who has been haunting my thoughts tells me. “Gordie knows exactly how to play you to get what he wants.” “Is that right?” I ask, careful to smile at the dog. Not the man. The man who looks deliciously sexy in a pair of gray sweatpants and a tight navy-blue Revolution t-shirt. His dark messy hair falls in his eyes, like he’s run his hands through it a few too many times, and I wonder what it would feel like to dig my fingers into it. He looks down at me with heat in his baby-blue eyes, and I swear for just a single second, his pupils dilate, and nervous butterflies take flight in my stomach. Fun fact I learned in med school . . . It’s clinically proven your body releases oxytocin and dopamine, giving your brain a boost, when you’re sexually attracted to someone. He...

yeah?” I pull up my proverbial big-girl panties and try to look up at him playfully from behind my glasses. Much chicer glasses now. “He gets whatever he wants, huh? Did he learn that from his owner?” Huh . . . I’m kind of proud of myself. That might actually pass for flirting. Go me. A slow, sexy grin spreads over Nixon’s scruffy, handsome face before he bends down to clip a leash onto Gordie’s collar and runs his hand up and down the back of the adorable dog’s neck. The pup whines quietly when his owner stands back up, and I might actually be in agreement with the dog. I wouldn’t mind this particular Sinclair running his hands along my body either. I bet he knows exactly what he’s doing. Which would at least make one of us. Oh. My. Goodness . . . And now I’m jealous of a dog. “What’cha thinking that’s got your cheeks blushing like that, Mac?” His words are teasing and soft but remind me, yet again, how out of my league Nixon really is. I try to ignore him as I stand and head for the elevator, but the closer he is, the harder it seems to be. “I’m thinking I’m hungry, and I ordered way too much food, judging by the weight of this bag,” I admit sheepishly as we step on and watch the doors close us in. “I like to be able to have a little bit of everything, so there’s always extra.” “It smells pretty damn good,” he groans. “Way better than the grilled fish and rice sitting in my fridge, waiting to be warmed up.” “I’ve got plenty to share, if you’re in the mood for some Chines...

“Do you remember the way you used to stab the food with your chopstick?” I point my chopstick at him and laugh as Nixon drops his dumpling . . . again. “Listen. I never understood why we needed chopsticks if we had perfectly good forks in the drawer.” He gives in and picks up the dumpling with his fingers and pops it in his mouth. Can eating be sexy? Because the way Nixon does it, it somehow manages to be sexy.

what’s it like coming home, Mac?” He swallows and leans back against the couch, since we’re both sitting on the floor between my coffee table and the couch. I haven’t exactly gotten around to buying furniture yet. It seems pointless when I think about how much time I actually spend at home. I lean over his plate and steal a piece of the sweet and sour chicken, buying myself a minute to decide how I want to answer this. “It’s different, but I figured it would be. The girls have all moved on with their lives, and I feel like I’m standing still in some ways. So that’s a little weird. Plus, I built a life in DC.” I think about that for a minute and silently cringe. “Maybe not an exciting one. But it was mine. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to be home. I love being close enough to finally see everyone again . . . To actually be an active member of my family. It’s just a little hard to . . .” I trail off, trying to find the words. “I get it. Leo and Hendrix stayed in town and went to Kroydon U together. They played hockey together. They lived together. Then I came home after graduating from Boston U and felt a little like an outsider instead of a big brother. And I got to see them a lot more over the four years I was away than you got to see anyone during your residency. It’s like you have to try to reassimilate to this world.” He grabs an egg roll and points it at me. “Did you ever think about playing anywhere else?” I ask curiously. Easton spent years playing across the countr...

“What made you decide to be an ob-gyn?” I place my plate on the table and wipe my hands with a napkin, buying myself a minute or two. “You want the real answer or what I tell everyone?” He doesn’t hesitate. “The real answer.” I turn toward him and bring my knees up in front of myself. “The worst day of my life was inside a hospital. My mom was young and beautiful and full of life a week before she died. Then she got the flu and just kept getting sicker.” I think back to those days before she got sick. I can still hear her laugh. It’s harder to remember now, but if I calm my mind, I can still hear it. I can still remember the smell of the French toast with honey and cinnamon she made us that Sunday morning and the way she was coughing and calling it a summer cold. Soon, all I could smell was the acidic hand sanitizer we had to use every time we went into her hospital room. My stomach drops like it always does when I think about that week. The way I was counting down the days until she could come home. The way Easton was so miserable, having to stay with our grandparents, and tried insisting we could just stay in Mom’s room. “One day, she was making breakfast and saying it was a summer cold. Within a week she was hospitalized. Within a few days of that, she was septic . . . and then she was just gone.” Clinically, I know my heart doesn’t actually hurt in my chest, but telling that to my head doesn’t make a difference. I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and out th...

I pick up our glasses and follow him into the kitchen, where he’s already rinsing the plates and adding them to my dishwasher. He takes the glasses out of my hands and adds them to the top rack, then turns to look at me. His eyes soften for a second, then he rights the neck of my sweater that’s slipped off my left shoulder and runs his hand up my neck, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Only it’s not natural for me. It tickles, and I bite down on my lip and giggle as I take a step back. “Ahh . . . ticklish. Noted. You better get some sleep. Big night tomorrow.” I cross my arms over my chest, very aware of his eyes on me. “You really don’t have to go, Nix.” One corner of his mouth tips up, amused. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mac.” He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead, and I suck in a breath, unsure what to do. I don’t have to worry though. In his next breath, Nixon picks up his chubby puppy and heads for my front door. “Night, Mac. Sweet dreams.” “Night, Nix,” I whisper so softly, I doubt he even hears me. “Lock up behind me,” he adds as the door clicks shut, and I’m left frozen in place, wondering what the hell just happened.

Hendrix Dude. I heard you’ve got a smoking hot date tonight with your team captain’s little sister. Thought you were supposed to be the smart brother. Maddox Well, we know you’re not talking about Leo. Leo The fuck? I’m smart. Callen Sure you are, man. Nixon This shit again? Hendrix Is it again if it’s the first time I’m hearing about it? Leo And you thought you were smarter than me. Hendrix I am smarter than you. Leo Fuck you all. I’m smart enough not to date Easton Hayes’s little sister. Nixon We’re not dating. Maddox Are you picking her up and taking her out? Nixon . . . Maddox That’s a date, young grasshopper. Nixon We’re the same fucking age, shitstain. Callen You’ve been warned. Hendrix Do we need to slow this down for ya, Leo? Leo I’m going to knock your fucking teeth in when we play your team next month, little brother. Hendrix You can try. Hey Nix. Just remember to wrap that shit up. Twins run in our family. Callen Truth. Leo Ohh . . . could you imagine if he knocked up Easton’s little sister with twins? Maddox Well, you know the Wilders are knocking up your sisters left and right. I wouldn’t go throwing stones . . . Glass houses and all. Hendrix Fucking sick, Madman. Why you gotta go there? Leo I’m with Henny on that one, man. Too far. Hendrix Don’t call me Henny, fuckface. Nixon I’m not knocking anybody up, assholes. I gotta go. Talk soon. Killian Dude . . . wait. I’m catching up. Nix – you’re dating Kenzie? Hendrix Guess I’m not the last to know. Leo You gonna...

I slide my jacket on and grab my wallet, a little less sure of tonight than I was before those stupid text messages. Not because I’m worried about what Easton will think. I’ve heard the stories from back in the day before he wifed up Lindy. He was way fucking worse than I’ve ever been with the puck bunnies. What the hell can he say to me? You’re not good enough for my sister because you’ve done the same shit I have? This girl. This girl was legitimately my first wet dream. She was the fantasy. Now she’s the girl you bring home to mom. The only problem with that is I don’t want to bring anyone home to Mom. Not yet. Hockey isn’t like football. I’m not going to be playing into my forties like my dad did. The wear and tear on your body is different on the ice. I’ve got maybe another five to seven years where I can play at this level, and I don’t want to split that focus between a family and the team. Not even for Mac.

“You look good, brother.” Leo looks me over as I walk into the living room. Madden is on the TV, and his team is currently killing the Kings. Guess he’s got his own daddy issues. Gordie’s sleeping by his side. My dog isn’t what’s considered a sporty dog. His happy activity level is moving between nap spots. But my whole family has grown up with bulldogs. They’re loyal little assholes. “Thanks, man.” I straighten my jacket and pocket my cellphone. I don’t know a thing about style and give even less of a shit about it, if that’s possible. Caitlin’s been basically styling me for a few years now. Even before she started working for Everly. We were roommates when I was a rookie, and she informed me I looked like a color-blind college kid instead of a professional athlete. She took my credit card, went shopping, and informed me she was my stylist. “At least Caitlin didn’t make me wear a tie.” “Gotta give it to her . . . she’s good. Have fun tonight. But not too much fun. I don’t feel like having to tell Mom and Dad that Easton Hayes killed you.” “Always got to be a shithead, don’t you, Leo?” “Yup.” He looks back over to his game. “Just don’t fuck anything up, Nix.” Don’t fuck it up. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’m proved wrong a minute later. Mac opens her front door, and damn . . . she’s . . . Damn . . . She’s beautiful. Her dark hair hangs down around her bare shoulders in long waves, covering the thin pink silk straps of her dress. Her dress hugs her perfect chest and tiny little ...

“Hey, sorry . . .” She walks back into the room, slightly out of breath and so fucking beautiful, I lose any thought I may have had. “I broke the heel on my shoe and had to find another.” She lifts her foot up in a little kick. A silver heel with a little ankle strap winks back at me as her eyes crinkle. “Crap. Where’s my wrap?” She spins in a tornado of anxious energy as I pick up the pink silk from the back of the couch and grab her shoulders. “Slow down and take a breath, Mac.” I wrap the pink silk around her delicate shoulders and bend my knees, bringing myself eye level with her. “You okay? You seem a little . . .” “Neurotic?” she asks behind closed eyes. “I was going to say nervous.” Her eyes stay closed, and it makes my skin crawl. “Look at me, Mac.” Wide honey-brown eyes fly open, and her lips part on a little O. Fuck me . . . I take a step back, needing the distance. “You good?” Mackenzie nods. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” She exhales, and her shoulders seem to shake before she smiles a pitiful excuse for a smile. “I broke one of the shoes Caitlin gave me, and my hair wouldn’t do anything, and I poked myself in the eye with the mascara, and now it won’t stop tearing.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “I’m a mess.” “Don’t worry, Hayes. No one is going to be looking at your shoes.” I lift her face until I’ve got her eyes. “There won’t be a soul there looking at your shoes, Mac. You look beautiful.” A pink flush spreads over her cheeks, then down her neck an...

Thunder claps over head as Nixon and I walk into the ballroom at the Kroydon Plaza Hotel. The perfect ominous soundtrack for what is destined to be a disaster of an evening, if my day so far is any indicator. I tense when the first person I see is Dr. Dick. “Hey now,” Nix whispers. “You want to get out of here?” I push my shoulders back and shake my head. “I promised Wren I’d show up for the practice tonight. I just really don’t know how long I’m going to last.” “How about . . .” Nix’s full lips tip up on one side—lips I want to feel pressed against my skin. Women pay good money to have the kind of full lips and long lashes this man has been blessed with, only in no way do they look the least bit feminine on him. Nope. Not. At. All. Nixon Sinclair’s picture should be in the encyclopedia next to the phrase alpha male. Encyclopedia . . . ? Who the fuck even uses an encyclopedia anymore? “What do you think?” he asks me, and I realize I totally blocked out whatever he just said. My God. I need this day to be over. When I just look at him blankly, he laughs. “Come on. Have some fun with me tonight, Mac. Pick a code word. If it all gets to be too much, just say the word, and we’re out of here. But at least try first, okay?” Holy hell. Did this man have a whole conversation with me while I was busy wondering what his lips would feel like on mine? “Like a safe word?” I squeak. “No,” he chuckles, and the sound is deep and gravelly and way sexier than it should be. “Get your mind ou...

Nixon’s hand skims up my neck, and his callused thumb brushes along my jaw, sending delicious shivers dancing down my skin. “Baby, if you want to play with safe words, we can leave now.” My jaw all but hits the floor,

Nix takes a step back and drops his hand. “Yeah . . . let’s stick to code words, Kenz.” Kenz. He never calls me that. “Nixon,” a beautiful woman I’d recognize anywhere glides over to us. Annabelle Sinclair was one of my favorite people in the world growing up. Maybe because something about her always reminded me of my mom in a way Jules never could. Not that Juliette didn’t do everything in her power to take care and love Easton and me after our mom died, but it was different. Jules is our cousin. I grew up loving her and looking at her as a cousin . . . before she morphed into a surrogate mother. She was never my mom. After Mom’s death, Jules tried to love me enough for her and my mom, but it was always going to be different. Annabelle was my best friends’ mom, and she was, and still is, just one of those moms you knew loved being a mother. She made it look easy, and if you were one of the lucky kids her kids loved, then she embraced you like you were hers. I used to love being at the Sinclairs’ house. “Oh my goodness, Mackenzie . . .” she gasps and steps between Nixon and me, then takes my hands in hers and looks at me. “Look at you.”

she glances over at her oldest son before looking back at me. “And why didn’t I know that you were both coming to tonight’s event?” Nixon leans in and kisses his mother’s cheek. “Sorry, Mom. I meant to stop by the house earlier in the week, but time just got away from me.” Annabelle’s eyes dance between the two of us. “It looks like there’s quite a few things that you got away without telling me, Nixon.” “Leave the kid alone, Belle,” her husband practically croons her way as he places a hand on his wife’s hip. “He’s coming over tomorrow for dinner after the Kings game.” “Am I?” Nix asks before he realizes what his father just did and shakes his head. “Well played, old man.” Annabelle beams, and Declan smirks. “I might be old, but I know exactly how to get my wife what she wants. See you tomorrow night, kid.” Then Declan leans in and kisses my cheek. “You should come too, Mackenzie. I heard Jules and Becket are in DC for the week. Bet it’s been a while since you’ve had a home-cooked meal.” “Takeout sweetheart.” Annabelle pats Declan’s chest. “Don’t get their hopes up.” “Thank you for the offer, but I’m on call tomorrow,” I tell them, unsure whether they know Nixon and I aren’t together. “Honey, you have to eat, and our house is closer to the hospital than the condos are.” She links her arm through Declan’s and smiles like the issue is settled. “It’s a one o’clock game. Dinner will be at six, and I expect you there. Now, I see Max Kingston, and I think since he’s got two of ...

“Dr. Dick at three o’clock.” Nixon leans his face into mine, and I can only assume it looks as intimate as it feels when his breath skims my skin. “He’s been watching you since we walked into the ballroom. I’ve gotta ask, Mac, if he bothers you this much, why don’t you report him?” I want to crawl out of my skin. Not just because I hate that he thinks I’m so weak I can’t report Dr. Dick. But also because I don’t want my pity date to know just how much he’s affecting me with barely a touch. “It’s not that easy, Nix. Trust me,” I quietly answer and suck in a breath as his fingers run over my bare back. “Nothing worth doing ever is,” he murmurs, even closer if that’s possible, and I feel that tiny touch everywhere. “Are you scared of him?” My words die in my throat as his fingers trail down my spine. “Uncomfortable is different from scared,” I admit on a shaky breath. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Mackenzie?” Why is his voice so damn sexy, and why am I finding it hard to speak? Another head shake. “Then why are you trembling?” he whispers, his warm breath skimming my ear. And damn him for noticing. “Mackenzie . . .” he murmurs, quietly demanding an answer. “Because it’s been . . .” I hesitate to finish my thought and luckily don’t have to when Lindy and Easton take their seats at our table. Loudly. “Hey lady.” Lindy smiles, clearly seeing my discomfort and loving it. I’m going to kill her. Easton waits for Lindy to sit next to me before taking the seat on her other side and...

Nixon takes my hand in his and moves us onto the dance floor. A slow Van Morrison song replaces the more upbeat tune that just ended, and he pulls me in close to his chest. His hand covers mine over his heart, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear my own heart skips a beat in return. Only this isn’t an arrhythmia as much as an overactive imagination. One of the things I’ve come to realize I was lacking in DC was human touch. It sounds silly with what I do for a living. You’d assume I touch people every day, so how could I be lacking it? But that kind of touch isn’t intimate. It’s just not the same. Not the way I’ve experienced it since coming home. I missed this. This . . . Dancing closely with a man. Hugging my friends. Holding my niece in my arms. It’s jumping on Nixon’s back and the way my brother kisses the top of my head. All the little things everyone else does so easily every day . . . everyone but me, and I’m only just beginning to remember what I was missing. Or it could be me just overthinking. Again.

“Sorry about him.” “What do you have to be sorry about? Your brother should be overprotective. It’s our job as brothers. Be grateful you only have one. Everly and Grace have three.” “I guess,” I agree, slightly mortified not only by my brother’s actions but also by my spiraling thoughts as I lean into Nixon’s warmth. “Why do I make you nervous, Mac?” I can’t blame him for the question. I’m doing a lousy job of hiding it. “It’s not you, Nix. I’m just not used to . . . this.” I blow out a breath, trying to figure out how to explain it to him without sounding like a fool. “To guys like you.” “Guys like me?” He does that thing again where he bends his knees so we’re eye to eye, and I really wish I knew why the hell I find that so incredibly sexy. “Should I be insulted?” Luckily, he seems amused, not annoyed. “No, Nix. I promise it’s not an insult. Not at all. Guys like you,” I stammer, trying to put my feelings into words. Words that will preferably not completely humiliate me. But I fear it’s too late. “Flirty guys. Touchy guys. Cool, confident, cocky guys . . . I’m not used to it.” He holds my eyes with his for a long beat before straightening back to his full, impressive height without backing away. If anything, he pulls me closer. Holds me tighter. “Wait a minute . . .” The grin he gives me should be illegal, it’s so potent. “The guys in DC aren’t touchy? Poor fucks don’t know what they’re missing. There’s nothing like a woman’s soft skin.” His fingers trail up my neck, se...

“Wait . . .” Nix draws out the words, and I know what he’s putting together. This man was never a dumb jock. “No boyfriend and no hookups . . .” The tick in his jaw reappears. That jaw is chiseled out of the same granite his chest seems to be carved from. “Not since tenth grade?” “There may have been a hookup or two in college . . .” I may also be stretching the definition of hooking up. Am I actually going to have this conversation on the dance floor of one of Kroydon Hills biggest events of the whole damn year? I drag my hand down his chest . . . his incredibly hard, beautifully muscled chest, and an idea begins to take shape. Probably a very, very, bad idea. One I’m not ready to give voice to just yet. No . . . Instead, I decide on a different approach. “Listen, we can’t all have beautiful women warming our bed whenever we want.” “Do you want a beautiful woman warming your bed, Mackenzie? Because I’ve got to tell you, I’d give my left testicle to see that.” I shake my head slowly, enjoying the way his eyes darken as he licks his lips like he’s the big bad wolf, and he’s hungry. “The left one?” I tease slowly. That cocky grin reappears. “Hangs lower than the right.” “Makes sense then. Sadly though, you’re not going to find me in bed with any woman. Beautiful or otherwise. Vagina is my day job. Not my night one.” The song ends, and the DJ announces the first course is being served as Annabelle takes the stage and the mic. The hunger lingering in Nixon’s eyes isn’t going a...

My brain can’t stop working through all the different possibilities. Can’t, not won’t. Because there is no possible world where the gorgeous woman at my side, who has charmed everyone she’s spoken to tonight, hasn’t had a hookup since college. I mean, she’s spent four years in her residency and another . . . what, three maybe, in med school? Then in a whirling flash of chaos, I try to wrap my brain around the possibility that Mackenzie Hayes has a different definition of hookup than the rest of the world. Because there’s no fucking way this goddess hasn’t had sex in almost ten years. Is there? Fuck . . .

“Your sisters told me this was just one friend going with another friend. But I’ve been watching you, Nixon. And you’re not looking at Kenzie the way you look at a friend.”