Tempting (Red Lips & White Lies Book 1)
Chapter 5

Netflix needs to stop asking if I’m still watching and start refusing to play the next episode until I move the wash to the dryer.

—Kenzie’s Secret Thoughts

Itoss a piece of popcorn in my mouth and tell Netflix, that yes, in fact, I do wish to continue watching the show I’ve been binging for hours and also confirming that, yes, I do not have a life. Why can’t they just accept that I need a brain break, and Stranger Things always does the trick. Especially season one.

My phone pings with a notification that my Chinese food was just delivered to my doorman, so I force myself to pause the TV right before Steve and Nancy are about to have sex. Poor Barb. I throw on my comfy white beach sweater over my tank and slide my feet into my ancient Uggs. It might not be high fashion, but it’s better than my boobs falling out and flashing our doorman, Chadwick. I’m pretty sure that man hasn’t seen boobs in real life since the turn of the century.

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. Hence, your pupils appearing to dilate.

When I get nervous, I turn into a human encyclopedia.

And this is why I don’t date.

Well, not the only reason.

Not even the top reason, really.

Lack of time . . . Lack of trust . . . Lack of decent men . . .

The list goes on.

We haven’t even gone on our fake date yet, and I’m already a nervous wreck. How am I supposed to make any of this believable tomorrow?

Better question—what the hell is wrong with me?

This is Nixon. My best friends’ brother who knew me when I had braces and bad glasses. It’s never been weird between us, and now I’m making it weird.

And now I’m arguing with myself.

Way to go, me.

“Oh 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 Chinese and Netflix.”

“Mackenzie Hayes . . . are you asking me to Netflix and chill?”

A ridiculously loud, obnoxious laugh slips past my lips. “If Stranger Things and General Tso’s sounds sexy to you, then I guess I am. But really think more Netflix and veg, less Netflix and chill. I need a night where I don’t have to work or think or cook, or really even do laundry, since I haven’t moved the wash to the dryer in about three episodes now.”

The doors ding and open, and Nixon takes the greasy bag of food from my hands. “Sounds perfect.”

Umm . . . Yeah. I guess it kind of does.

“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.

“So 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 replace 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 country before he was traded home. It’s not like most players spend their entire careers in one city, playing for one team.

“I’ve thought about it,” he shrugs, nonchalantly. “But I’ve got it good where I am. I don’t know . . .” he muses. “But seriously, Mac. You’ve got to stop being so damn hard on yourself. You’re not standing still. You’re a freaking surgeon, which is amazing. You’re delivering babies. That’s so cool.”

He takes a bite of his egg roll, then pushes away Gordie when he lifts his head, wanting to see what Nix is crunching on. “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 through my mouth, pushing back the pain. “Mom used to always tell me I was going to be a doctor. She used to notice, even at the beach, I hated my hands to be dirty. She knew then I was destined to be a doctor. Not just any doctor. She always said I’d be a surgeon. I guess I wanted to give her one last wish. But I want to be part of the miracle of life. So I got it in my head I wanted to deliver babies.”

“Mac . . .” Nixon wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes, and I open my eyes to look at him. His face is a mask of emotion. “I can’t imagine how hard that had to be.”

I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong. No doctor only gets to experience the good days. There are plenty of bad ones, and those bad days are horrific. You know you’re going to be a memory in the worst day of someone’s life. But I also get to be a memory in the best day of someone else’s. Those are the days you enjoy.”

Nixon’s big hand runs up and down my arm. “You’re pretty amazing, Mackenzie Hayes.” Gordie takes advantage of the way I’m leaning against Nixon and jumps up, resting his paws between us and drags his tongue down my face until I’m laughing. “See? Even Gordie agrees.”

“Yeah, well you’re not too bad yourself, Nix.” I allow myself another minute tucked against him like this, then scooch back and pick up my chopsticks, needing some space. I point at the dumpling left on his plate. “You gonna finish that?”

Nixon studies me, probably trying to figure out why I just jumped away like my ass was on fire. When he comes up without an answer, his easygoing smile slips back into place, and our melancholy conversation is long forgotten. “All yours, Mac.”

I pick it up, and before I get a chance to eat it, he bites it right off my chopsticks.

“What the hell?” I giggle.

“Guess I decided I wanted it after all.” His smile transforms his whole face, and then he winks and rises to his feet with Gordie snapping at his heels as he cleans up our mess.

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.

Kroydon Hills Hospital is pulling out all the stops tonight for their annual fundraiser, and you know how much all the beautiful people in this town love to show up for a good cause. We all know what that means, don’t we? According to my calculations, if we take one-part stunning sirens donning gorgeous gowns, add a shot of delicious men in sexy suits, and shake just right, we’re bound to create the tastiest cocktail.

Stay tuned for the results . . .

#KroydonKronicles