Tempting (Red Lips & White Lies Book 1)
Chapter 2

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 with a woman half his size. Especially this one. Mackenzie is barely five-five and might be a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.

My mind drifts to her standing in the shower. Her damp hair hanging down around her shoulders. Bubbles lathered on her wet skin . . .

Fuck—that’s a pretty fucking picture.

When I grin, he rips his hand away, like he knows what I just saw in my mind, and wipes his palm on his starched khakis like he just touched dog shit. “Zane Richardson. And you are . . . ?”

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 together.

“Well then, 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 championed research and resources for neurodivergent kids in Kroydon Hills. Guess I’m going to a gala.

“But I’m sure Kenzie can manage without you, Mr. Sinclair.”

The way he says her name, like she’s an expensive toy he’s been denied . . . I don’t like it.

“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 until the following week. I’ll be escorting her.”

“Oh, Nix. You don’t have to⁠—”

I squeeze her hand, and she purses her lips before she can finish her sentence.

“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, wanting to see her reaction.

“Scared? Of Dr. Dick?” she scrunches her nose.

“Dr. Dick?” I ask, laughing as it dawns on me . . . Richardson . . . Dick. “Dr. Dick. That’s perfect for that douche.”

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 capture spiders and set them free in the backyard when my sisters screamed. “Consider me warned, doc.”

She climbs on and locks her knees in at my waist, and yeah . . . I need to get my mind out of the gutter.

I adjust her and try to ignore the feel of her soft skin and the way I wonder if it would taste like sugar on my tongue.

Doctor or not, this woman might be more dangerous than I thought.

Kenzie

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.

It only takes a few moments before the doors open onto our floor, and we step out because—as if this night hasn’t been humiliating enough—Nixon is basically forced to walk me to my front door since we’re the only two condos on this floor.

“Here you go.” He slides me down and off his back, and I ignore the way his muscles bunch under my touch. That is a whole lot of muscle. “You’re home and in one piece.” Nixon’s eyes trail down over my face to my dangling pink shoes. “Might want to retire those though. Pretty sure I saved you twice tonight.” Then that damn smirk comes back out to play again. “Three times, if you count Dr. Dick.”

“Oh. My. God,” I gasp, forgetting that I was about to yell at him for insinuating I should chuck my favorite heels . . . even if he’s right. “You can’t call him that to his face, Nix.” I don’t mention that I, along with half the staff, call him that behind his back. “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 department, it’s a good cause.”

“Nixon—” I try to stop him, but my words die on my tongue with his devious smile.

“See you next Saturday at six forty-five, Mac. Now go inside so I can go to bed.”

“What?” I ask, utterly confused, but Nixon ignores the confusion and looks from me to the door.

“Go inside and lock the door so I can go to bed, Mackenzie,” he tells me in that same gravelly voice, and I’m pretty sure he’s serious.

“You’re not my babysitter, Nixon,” I warn him even as I take a step inside and leave my hand on the door.

“Nope. But I am your fake boyfriend, Mac. Now shut the damn door and lock it.” His baby-blue eyes crinkle in the corners as one side of his lips tip up in a sexy, nearly predatory grin, and I suddenly wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.

Guess we’re going to replace out.