Enticing (Red Lips & White Lies Book 3)
Enticing: Chapter 6

She needs air to fill her lungs and books to fill her soul.

—Addie’s Secret Thoughts

I look over my spreadsheet again and cringe. I’m basically stealing from Peter to pay Paul each month. But at this point, I’m going to have to start blowing Peter to get him to hand over more money because my bank balance is going to be in the negative once I pay December’s bills. Poor Peter is never getting paid back . . .

I smile at my horrifically inappropriate thought, thinking back to all those Sundays spent in church, trying to remember if Peter and Paul were saints or apostles and eventually decide it doesn’t matter. Either way, that thought is going into one of my books because it’s too good not to use. I might be going to hell, but the line is going to stay. I add it to my notebook, then quickly slam it closed as Izzy walks into my room.

“Mom . . .” she whines, with a smear of chocolate covering her cheek, giving away exactly what she’d been doing before coming in here. “I’m bored.”

I push away from my desk, where I’ve basically been writing any extra second I can replace this weekend. Because when inspiration strikes, you harness that bitch for all it’s worth. Apparently, my inspiration comes in the form of an incredibly gorgeous six-foot-four-inch hockey hottie whose velvety voice I hear in my mind even when he’s texting me. My knees crack as I squat in front of my daughter and run my thumb over her chocolatey cheek.

Such an old-ass twenty-five-year-old.

Thanksgiving looked different this year than it had for her in the past, so I did my best to make the long weekend as exciting and adventure-filled as possible. We baked. We explored Gran’s attic for old Christmas decorations and decorated the house. And today was spent in front of the fireplace, watching a holiday movie marathon on TV that started with The Polar Express and worked its way through basically every animated holiday movie I’d ever seen.

One of the worst things about having to start over is having to make new traditions when you liked the ones you already had, so I basically cheated. I took our old traditions and made them look new and exciting for Izzy’s sake while Lennox chilled, strapped to my chest in a carrier.

Have baby, will travel.

“Izz . . . it’s almost time for bed, and you’ve got school tomorrow. Are you bored or are you tired?” I ask, knowing already that it’s the latter, but wanting her to come to her own conclusion.

She plays with the braid that’s lying over her shoulder, debating how she wants to answer me. The deep dimple in her right cheek popping hard. “Can we call Aunt Cori before I go to bed?”

Always my little negotiator.

“Do you promise not to fight me about going to bed?” I counter because it’s never just an easy win with this kid. I wish I had a tenth of her strength.

Her left dimple comes out to match the right one with her triumphant smile, and she climbs on the pink velvet couch Gran has had in this office for as long as I can remember. “Deal.”

I grab the iPad and FaceTime Cori, who answers after a few rings. “Hey, sissy,” she smiles as she flops on her bed.

“Hi, Aunt Cori,” Izzy answers before I can. “We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Izz-a-boo. But I’ve only got a few more weeks before the semester is over and I get to come visit. Did you have a fun Thanksgiving?” Cori’s words are meant for Izz, but she’s looking at me when she asks. She wanted to come here for the holiday, but I wouldn’t let her. She doesn’t have the extra money to spend, and there was no sense going into credit card debt just to see us for the weekend when her semester ends soon and she’ll have to get back up here for winter break.

I settle in on the couch and get Lennox situated to nurse, listening to Izzy and Cori’s conversation and knowing I did something right.

My girls are happy.

They’re safe.

And most importantly, they’ll never know a life where they aren’t.

At least, if I can figure out a way to get through the next year I have to wait to start getting the royalties on the book I published a few months ago.

Why the hell did I decide to go with traditional publishing and not just publish independently? At least then I’d control everything myself.

I close my eyes and kiss Lennox’s sweet-smelling head, lulled into a rare moment of pure peace as Izzy excitedly tells Cori all about our weekend adventures, and Lennox wraps her tiny hand around my finger.

Izzy fills Cori in on everything, not skipping a single detail until she’s playing with her hair and yawning, and my sweet sister hangs on her every word, letting Izz tire herself out.

Every word that is, until my daughter mentions the guest we had over for dinner earlier last week.

“Wait.” Cori’s voice catches excitedly.

Shit.

“Back up, Izz. Who came to dinner?” Cori asks, and never skipping a beat, my feral little five-year-old lies down, with her head on my lap and looks up at me upside down with a devious smile on her lips.

“Coach Leo did. Aren’t you listening, Auntie?”

Fuck me.

“Coach Leo . . .” Cori drags out, and I shift Lennox to my shoulder to burp and maybe also to hide my face from my sister’s all-too-observant eyes. Yup, I’m a coward, using my kid. Go ahead and judge me. “Your hockey coach?”

Izzy holds the iPad above her face, inadvertently blocking me from Cori’s prying eyes, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Uh-huh,” Izz agrees. “He plays real hockey at the rink too. Coach Cohen said Coach Leo is the fastest player in the league.”

Hero-worship much, Izz?

Yet another reason to keep Leo Sinclair away. I don’t need Izzy getting attached to anyone else. It’s not fair to her.

“Wait.” Cori’s voice changes, and I know that tone. Damn it. “Leo Sinclair?”

When Izzy and I stay quiet, Cori practically shrieks. “Holy shit, Izz-a-boo . . . Is your coach Leo Sinclair? Adelaide Juniper James,” she screeches. “Get on this goddamn screen right the hell now.”

“Language, Auntie . . .” Izzy chastises Cori, but it doesn’t matter. I’m officially screwed.

“Sorry, baby. But Auntie needs to talk to Mommy.” Cori changes her tone, knowing my kid will make her put a dollar in the swear jar when she comes home in a few weeks.

“Sweetie . . .” I say softly to Izz. “How about you go get your book bag together for school tomorrow and pick out what you want to wear. I have to talk to Aunt Cori for a minute, then I’ll be in to tuck you in, okay?”

Izzy sits up and hands me the iPad, scowling. “Can we read another chapter tonight?”

“One, Izz.” I run my hand over her hair. “A short one.”

She puckers up at the screen and blows Cori a kiss. “Night, Auntie.”

I watch her skip out of the room, and my shoulders sink.

“Okay—pinning the whole Leo Sinclair thing for a hot second, but don’t think we’re not coming back to that, sissy—have you gotten her tested yet? You know your kid’s a genius, right?”

God, I love my sister.

“Coraline . . . I can’t afford to get her into a different school yet, so the test doesn’t make a difference. Her school doesn’t want to move her up a grade, and I understand it, but there isn’t much more they can do for her there, so we’re still doing extra here. She loves the extra homework more than any kid ever should.” They haven’t actually tested Izzy’s IQ yet because she’s so young, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need a test to tell me my kid is gifted. She’s so much smarter than any typical five-year-old should be.

I may have been reading Goodnight Moon at her age, but Izzy and I are working our way through The Secret Garden. She’s been speaking in full sentences since she was three, and she sounded like she was ten instead of a toddler. She deserves more.

“I’m doing the best I can,” I whisper, scared if I say the words to myself or out loud one more time, I might finally break. And when that happens, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Coraline’s face softens, and I take the time to really look at her. “You look tired, sis.”

“Finals are almost here. I’ve got one more semester left after that.” She shifts and sits back against her pillows. “I’ll be fine. Now tell me about dinner with Leo freaking Sinclair. And don’t leave out a single detail. Like, is he as hot in real life as he is on TV? Holy shit. I can’t believe he was at the house and I missed it.”

Coraline is a bit of a hockey fangirl. Unlike me, who avoided the sport and basically anything else that had to do with my dad for as long as I could, Cori loves it. She loves to skate. She loves the sport. And she loves the players.

“What’s left to tell? He’s one of Izzy’s coaches. My car wouldn’t start the other night after her first class, and he offered to give us a ride home. It was starting to sleet, and I didn’t want to keep Izzy in a car with no heat, so I took him up on his offer. Izzy invited him to dinner. He came. He ate. He went home. The end.”

Even I know I’m full of shit, and I’m aware enough to know I’m not the most self-aware person in the room.

“Slow down,” she stops me. “Izz invited him to dinner?”

“Yes. Mac ‘n cheese and meatloaf.” I attempt to make it sound as mundane as possible, not wanting to entertain her train of thought. Because if I know my sister like I think I do, her train is about to go off the tracks.

“And . . .?” she pushes, wanting more.

“And nothing.”

Yup. Totally full of shit.

“Adelaide . . .”

I lean the iPad against the arm of the sofa and adjust Lennox in my arms as she squirms. “What do you want me to tell you, Cori?”

“Tell me how it made you feel to have a man in your space again. Tell me you were okay afterward. Tell me you didn’t have nightmares after he left, because I haven’t seen you let a man in your space in over a year.”

“Coraline—”

“Don’t Coraline me. I was there when you finally left Gavin. I saw you. I know you. So you tell me all that, then tell me that hot man got your phone number and you’re going to go out with him. Because Addie, seriously, no man is coming to dinner to eat meatloaf because a five-year-old invited him to.” I know she’s teasing me a little to lighten the subject, and I appreciate it.

“It was the mac ‘n cheese,” I murmur.

“Bullshit,” she coughs. “Addie . . .”

“I was okay after he left,” I admit a little more forcefully. “He seems like a good guy. Izzy likes him, and Lennox loved him. He was some kind of baby whisperer.”

“Oh shit. Hot and he’s good with the kids? Does he have big hands too?”

A giggle presses behind my pursed lips. “Jesus, Coraline.”

“Shut up, you know you looked.” She’s not wrong, and her eyes light up in teasing glee because the little tart knows it. “Did he ask you out?”

“No,” I whisper, and my blood warms as I think about his text.

I’m not asking yet. But when you’re ready, I will.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’ll never be ready for that.

“But I wouldn’t have said yes if he did.”

I don’t tell Cori about the text. She’d just lecture me, and I’m not in the mood.