Tempting (Red Lips & White Lies Book 1)
Chapter 10

The next morning comes too fucking early, and I’m filled with the kind of excited energy that only comes before the start of a new season. The first games are always the worst, preseason or not. I wasn’t lying when I told Mac the team was gelling in practice, but until you’re on the ice in an actual game, you just don’t know what’s going to happen.

When I was drafted to the Revolution, they’d just won the Stanley Cup and lost their coach. Coach Kane, my old college coach, came on board, and we all worked our asses off that following season to win our next Cup. But that was three years ago. We’ve made it through the first two rounds of playoffs these past three seasons, but we haven’t been able to bring the Cup home again, and I want it so bad I can fucking feel it in my hands, like a phantom limb or some shit.

As soon as the captain turns off the seatbelt sign, I lean back and pull my hat down over my eyes. We’ve got an hour left. If I can tune out Leo next to me, it shouldn’t be too bad.

“Move,” is growled to my left.

Or maybe not.

I look over to see Easton staring down Leo, and my brother is grinning like a little bitch. “Sucks to be you, brother,” he snorts as he stands up. “Try not to kill him, Cap. We need him on the ice today.” And as Leo moves into the aisle, the asshole laughs. “Plus, he seemed to make your sister happy when she was over last night.” He salutes Easton and disappears down the aisle of the plane. Clearly with a death wish because I’m going to fucking kill him later.

Easton drops down into Leo’s seat and groans. “Does he have an on-off switch or something?”

“Has he ever?” I don’t bother moving. Not yet.

“Guess you’re right. You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you and my sister, Sinclair?”

Jumping right in. I can respect that. Still not gonna tell him shit, but I can respect it.

“How long have you known me, man?” I wait. I didn’t know Easton well when we were kids. He was a few years older than me, and he moved to Las Vegas once he was drafted a year after moving to Kroydon Hills. “I mean, if you want to just go by how long I’ve played for this team, it’s four years. If you want to get technical, it’s more like fifteen.”

“She’s my baby sister, Sinclair.” His voice doesn’t carry a warning. It’s more like a plea. “My inexperienced baby sister.”

When I raise a questioning brow, he shakes his head. “Don’t ask. My wife talks about as much as your brother. Trust me when I say I don’t want to know all the things she tells me. A man just doesn’t need to know.”

I sit up and fix my hat, more willing to show him a little respect, now that it’s going both ways. “Then you should know she’s a friend, and I’m helping her out.”

Not a lie. It’s all in the details.

He doesn’t actually want to know more than that, whether he realizes it or not.

“Yeah . . . Just friends. That’s how it starts.”

“Friends, man. That’s it. Nobody’s getting hurt. No asses need to be kicked. No threats need to be issued. I have sisters. I know what you’re feeling,” I try to satisfy his concern and ignore the piece of me that can’t wait to call Mac later.

“You also have parents, Nixon. Kenzie and I have each other. And before you say it, yes, we have Becket and Juliette too. But it’s not the same. Kenz and I have been through hell. Unless there was ever a time in your life where it was only you and your sisters, you don’t get it. For days, it was just us in a house with grandparents we didn’t know. Then we were thrown in Becks and Jules’s house. It was still just us until it wasn’t. That kind of trauma forges a bond you don’t get. Be fucking grateful. But also be real fucking scared. Because my wife, my kids, and my sister are untouchable. And if you fuck her over. If you hurt a hair on her head . . . If you make her shed one tear—I’ll destroy you. I don’t give a shit that your sisters are my wife’s best friends.”

“Yeah, man . . . If I hurt Mac, my sisters would be the first ones to skin me alive. But I’m not going to hurt her. Like I said—friends,” I tell him as I try to absorb everything he just told me.

He cracks his neck and closes his eyes. “Yeah. That’s what I used to say about Lindy too. You’re fucking screwed, Sinclair. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

“Consider me warned.” I pull my hat back down over my eyes. “Any chance you want to sit there for the rest of the flight? Leo never shuts the hell up.”

He reclines his seat and closes his eyes. “Wake me up when we land.”

Hunter

You pay me to handle this shit, Sinclair. But I can’t handle shit until I talk to you.

Stop ignoring me or I’ll fly out to your Leave it to Beaver-ville fucking Mayberry-esque town and knock on your damn door.

Season starts in two weeks. Fucking answer me.

I’m standing in the box, waiting for the second game of the day to end with thirty seconds left on the clock when Easton slides next to me. Coach played him first period but pulled him from goal for the second and the third. No need to take chances with the best damn goalie in the league. Not when we’re up by three.

We won the earlier game too, and most of us barely touched the ice.

Fucking exhibition games.

“You going out after the game?” Easton asks like he’s not fishing for more than an answer.

“Nah, man. I’m going to bed. You?” I watch Leo deke Calgary’s defensemen and shoot, but instead of the beautiful swishing sound of a clean goal, it’s the clink against the bars of the net instead. Damn. That should have been a beautiful goal.

“Betting your brother’s gonna want a drink after that shot,” he pushes back.

I look away from the ice as the buzzer rings, signaling the end of the game. “Good thing there’s twenty-two other players on this team then, isn’t it?”

“You’re calling Kenzie.” He doesn’t pose it as a question, and I think our goalie’s gonna give me whiplash.

“What the hell, Hayes? You gonna pass notes in class for me too?” One minute, he’s threatening me, and the next, he’s asking if I’m calling her. “Are you trying to set us up now?”

“Fuck off, shithead. I’m just testing you.” His voice holds a thread of teasing, and I can’t decide if he’s serious or not.

“Did I pass?” I ask as the guys skate off the ice.

“To be determined.”

I don’t bother to tell him I’m calling his sister or what I have planned when I make that call.

Kenzie

The delicious, grease-fueled scent of West End cheeseburgers and truffle fries hits me as soon as I walk through my front door. Again . . . ? I drop my keys on my counter, grab a can of diet Coke from the fridge, and a roll of paper towels because I may be a surgeon, but I never remember to add paper plates or napkins to my grocery delivery order. I slip my shoes off before I walk into my living room and unsurprisingly replace Monday Night Football on my TV. “You smell like Jose Cuervo and bad decisions. What are you doing on my couch, Callen?”

He pushes a to-go box my way with a lopsided grin. “First. It’s Don Julio. Second. I wanted to watch the game, and the girls are watching some reality shit on our TV. I brought you a BBQ bacon cheeseburger as a peace offering though. Please don’t make me go back. When Bellamy and Caitlin watch that shit, they scream at the TV.”

“Like you don’t scream at the TV during football games.” I take the spot next to him and moan when I open the burger box. My God, that smells good. “Where are Maddox and Killian?”

Once upon a time, the five of us girls lived in that condo.

But for the past few years, it’s been a different five living there.

He offers me a shot of tequila, but I shake my head.

“I yell at football games. You’re supposed to yell during football. They’re watching ballroom dancing.” He looks at me with scared eyes. “Dancing, Kenz. I can’t get behind yelling at the TV during the cha-cha. I shouldn’t even know what the freaking cha-cha is. Please don’t make me leave.”

I lean my head on his shoulder and relax.

I’m not sure how many nights we spent this way in college.

Too many to count, for sure.

“Who’s winning?” I ask as I pop a salty truffle fry in my mouth.

Damn, that’s good.

“New York,” Callen growls back. He hates New York. The New York Nighthawks have been the Philly Kings’ rivals since the dawn of time, according to almost every Philly Kings fan. Well, them and Dallas. “Just let me stay until half time. The dancing should be over by then.”

I hold a fry up to Callen’s mouth, and he bites it out of my fingers.

“I mean, you did bring me truffle fries.”

Callen ends up staying until the end of the game, which is good and bad.

Good, because it’s kept my mind off the phone call I’ve spent my entire day hyper-focusing on. Bad, because when my phone rings at nine-forty-five, it’s sitting on my coffee table, face up, when Nixon’s name flashes across the screen.

Callen looks down at the phone, then laughs and snatches it when I try to grab it. “You two are going to be trouble.” He swipes his finger across the screen. “Hey, man.”

“Callen Sinclair—Give me that phone.” I practically jump to snatch it out of his hand before he hands it to me and mouths the word trouble.

“Go.” I motion toward the door and refuse to look at the screen until the door slams shut behind Callen. “Hey.”

“I told you to be naked, Mackenzie,” Nixon growls through the phone, and he sounds like a man holding on by a thread.

Something about that voice gives me a boost of confidence I didn’t know I had.

“Did you want me to get naked on the couch with Callen, Nix?” I bite back with a little extra sass in my voice as I lock the front door behind Callen.

“Sounds like we need to set some ground rules here, Kenzie.”

I don’t like when this man calls me Kenzie.

Everyone in my life calls me Kenzie.

Everyone except Nixon. To him I’ve always been Mac. Maybe Mackenzie. But when he calls me Kenzie, I know he’s not happy with me.

I turn off the lights in my living room and walk into my bedroom. “What kind of rules, Nixon? Because I’m pretty sure not getting naked with Callen is just a given. Not sure it needs to be a rule.”

“Has Callen seen you naked? Because if you tell me he was the douchebag you slept with in college, I might just kill him, and that could make Thanksgiving a little awkward.” His lips tip up at the corners, but somewhere, hidden deep down, I think he might actually think that.

“No, Nix. Callen has never seen me naked,” I reassure him as I get comfy on my favorite old Queen Anne chair and kick my feet up on the matching ottoman. It’s one of the few things I have that was my mom’s. Pale blue upholstery with beautiful white cherry blossoms and butterflies embroidered into the fabric. It’s always been my favorite spot to do my homework, study for tests, and go over my charts for the next day. Sitting here is like getting a hug, and since it is my homework chair, I decide I’m feeling cheeky and going to use it for whatever tonight’s homework is going to be.

“Rule number one—” Nixon’s beautiful blue eyes deepen. “No one else sees you naked while we’re doing this.”

My back immediately goes up. “Amendment request.”

“I thought you were a doctor, not a lawyer, Mac.”

Okay. Well at least we’re back to Mac.

“I was raised by a lawyer,” I warn him. “If no one is seeing me naked, no one is seeing you naked either.” I may not know much about what we’re going to be doing, but I know my hard lines. And that’s a biggie for me.

“The only people seeing me naked are the guys on the team. I can’t do much about that.”

“So can the guys on the team see me naked too?” I tease, not at all worried about anyone at all seeing me naked, except hopefully Nixon.

But that’s yet to be seen.

“Fuck no, they can’t, Mackenzie.” There goes that possessive tone again, but this time I think I’m starting to understand it. And I’m definitely starting to like it.

“Okay, so no one sees either of us naked in a non-locker room situation. Got it.” I snuggle deeper into my chair and wonder if I should have gone somewhere . . . sexier. The tub maybe? Should I light a candle? “Okay. I need some direction here, professor,” I tease. More accurately, I guess I’m attempting to flirt. “Generally, when I get homework, I know what it is so I can study. I’m a notes kind of girl. Care to tell me what you want me to do?”

Why in the world am I this nervous?

Oh right. Because the hottest man I’ve ever known is on the other end of this FaceTime.

“I want you to talk to me, Mac.” There is something about the way he says it. I can’t place my finger on it, but it’s sexy.

“What do you want to hear?” A hesitant waver is easy to hear in my voice, and the playful look on his face turns predatory.

“Tell me—did you like it when I touched your pussy?”

Damn. He went there.

I lick my lips and nod, but Nix isn’t happy with that.

“Words, Mac. Tell me. How did it make you feel?”

I’m suddenly grateful for the dark room that gives me some semblance of cover.

“I felt . . . sexy.” I remember the way my cool skin heated, just like it’s doing now. “Hot. But with chills.”

“Did you want more, beautiful?”

I almost nod again but stop myself. “Yes . . . I wanted to feel your hand under my thong.”

“That’s a good girl. Where did you want my hands? Did you want them on your legs? Your ass?”

“No,” I whisper as my body heats.

“Did you want them on your cunt, Mackenzie?” He leans back on the bed, and I get a delicious peek at his bare chest.

Damnit, Nixon. Don’t you ever wear a shirt?

“Answer me, Mac.”

Oh hell. “Yes. I wanted you to touch my pussy, Nix. I wanted your fingers to circle my clit.”

“Yeah . . . ? Is that how you get yourself off? Show me, Mac.”

“What?” I gasp, not sure I can do that in front of him. “I . . .”

I bite down on my lip, forcing myself to stop that line of thought. “I’m dressed. I thought you wanted me naked.”

“Changed my mind. The first time I see you naked, I need to be able to touch you. But I want you to do it for me tonight. Show me how you get yourself off. Pull the phone back and show me what you’re wearing.”

Oh damn.

Maybe I should have changed into something sexier.

I pull the phone back and show off my cute pink pinstripe lounge shorts and white v-neck tee.

Nixon’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, and even that movement is sexy.

“Good girl. Now drag your hand down your body. I want you to feel your soft skin.”

I close my eyes and do as I’m told, trying hard not to feel foolish.

“That’s it. Now tell me . . . Do you use one finger or two when you play with yourself?”

“T-t-two.” The word gets caught in my chest as I circle my clit. “I . . . I don’t touch it at first. I circle it. I tease myself for a minute.”

Now it’s Nixon’s breath catching in his throat. “Are you doing it, beautiful? Are you thinking about what it would feel like to have my hands on you, Mac? My hands are big. They’re strong, and they’re rough. Imagine one of my hands is cupping your ass while the other is working your pretty little swollen clit until you’re begging me, and I can’t wait another second to taste that sweet pussy.” I gasp and open my eyes, locking them on Nixon. “That’a girl. You want to ride my face, don’t you, Mac? You want to come for me? Tell me.”

“I want . . . I want you to come too,” I stammer out through short breaths, continuing to work myself.

“Don’t worry about me. This is for you, Mac. Now show me. Fuck your fingers like you’re going to fuck mine when I get home.”

“Oh God,” I whisper into the darkness, completely mortified as the tremors of my orgasm chase down my body. I bite down on my lip so hard, I’m surprised I don’t taste blood as I come harder than I think I ever have.

“Fucking gorgeous, Mackenzie.”

My already hot cheeks flush hotter, but not from embarrassment. More like empowerment.

“Next time, I want to get you off too,” I tell him, high on my post-orgasm endorphins.

“Don’t worry, baby. You will.”

Baby . . . Did he just . . . ?

Nixon must catch his faux pas because his face hardens in the next second.

“You passed with flying colors, Kenzie.”

“I was always good at solo projects, Professor Sinclair. It’s the team assignments that are a little harder for me.” I try to play into it, when I really want to call him out on his swift change of tone. “Guess I better practice. I’ll see you when you get home later this week.”

“Oh, there needs to be plenty of practicing. And good girls get rewarded for hard work.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I like straight A’s. I’ll be waiting for my reward.”

And remembering this night whenever I’m in the mood to practice.