Enticing: Chapter 5

“Dude. Who’s that?”

I leave Hendrix in the dust and walk right over to the beautiful blonde who demanded my attention just by fucking breathing in the same room as me. Her hair is up in some kind of messy bun with a pen sticking out of it. Dainty glasses are pushed high up on the bridge of her nose, drawing my attention to the pale freckles dotting her creamy skin and flushed cheeks. “Fancy meeting you here. You stalking me?”

Her long lashes flutter as she blinks up at me and steels her spine. “I was here first, Sinclair. Maybe I should be asking you that.”

“You gonna introduce me, brother?” Hendrix slides in next to me, and I want to tell him to read the fucking room and give me some space. But as Addie’s eyes dance from me to Hendrix, the discomfort there is the only thing I can focus on.

“No. Now go pick up the pies.” I shove him away, and the asshole laughs before I turn back to Addie. “That’s just my little brother. He’s harmless.”

“What the hell is in the water in this town that it breeds giants?” she asks before her blush deepens, almost as if she doesn’t realize she said it out loud.

I lean against the chair in front of me and across from her and can’t help the stupid smile I know I’ve got when her eyes trail over my chest. “That’s what happens when your entire family are athletes. They breed ’em big.”

She closes her sticker-covered MacBook and slips it into the bag at her side. “Does he play for the Revolution too?”

“Nah. He’s in Chicago. We’re hoping he can get traded here at some point. But Chicago had an earlier pick the year he entered the draft, so we knew we wouldn’t get him.” I look around Sweet Temptations for the girls but come up empty. “No Lennox and Izzy today?”

Her smile is soft and unguarded for a change before her wall slips back in place. “No. Mrs. Murkey takes Lennox a few hours a week while Izzy is in school so I can get some work done.”

Addie pushes out of the chair and slides a brown leather bag across her chest, clearly done with this conversation, even if I’m not ready to be. “Did you hear back about your car?” I scramble to keep her talking. “I could give you a ride home if you want one.”

Long blonde curls tumble out of her haphazard bun as she shakes her head, not angry but definitely frustrated. “I’m sure it’s hard to believe after yesterday, but I really don’t need a white knight riding to my rescue.”

Soft words back up my original thought.

This woman is frustrated with herself, not me.

That leaves room . . . That I can deal with.

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t have a horse or a sword then. Seriously though, can they fix your car?” I’m not sure why I’m so invested in her answer, but there’s absolutely no fucking doubt in my mind that it’s got something to do with the insane way I’m pulled to her.

“Your brother is waiting for you.” She looks past me to Hendrix.

“He can wait.” I adjust my stance to block her view of the counter and hopefully all three family members I know are standing there, nosy as fuck. “Better yet, he can get a ride home with the guys he’s talking to. They’re family, and we’re all going to the same place this afternoon.”

She looks sad as she plays with her bag. “Oh yeah? Big plans?”

“My family is doing Thanksgiving today because my Uncle Callen and my dad have a game tomorrow.”

Her teeth drag over her pouty lower lip, and I swear to all that’s holy my dick instantly goes rock hard. Fuck me.

“Uncle?” she asks, confused.

“Let’s just say my family is big, and crazy, and we like to tease Callen that he was an oopsie baby,” I laugh.

Her flush deepens as she wraps her hands around the leather strap crossing her chest. “That sounds nice, Leo.”

“You could come, you know?” Shit. Why did I say that?

My family will never let me live it down if I bring a woman to a family dinner.

Funny enough. . . I don’t think I give a single fuck if they care.

Not sure when that happened.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t.”

“Do you have Thanksgiving plans?” I ask her, unwilling to let her go just yet.

Her sad smile returns as she shakes her head. “Just me and the girls this year.” She pats my chest and inches by me, while I try to ignore what that simple touch just lit the fuck up inside me. “I’ll see you later, Leo. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Addie,” I whisper as she walks out.

The night before Thanksgiving was the biggest party night of the year when we were in college. Hell—it was the biggest party night when we were in high school too. Our parents typically go to the big Beneventi holiday party at Sam and Amelia Beneventi’s each year, and we’d all get drunk anywhere we could sneak off to. Now that we’re all legally able to drink, you’d think we’d end up at a bar. Especially since our buddy Maddox owns the hottest bar in town.

But do we?

Hell no.

Okay . . . not exactly.

Busy bars tonight are for amateurs.

After dinner at Grandpa’s, my brother’s and I still end up at West End. But instead of being crammed in with a crowd of drunk assholes shoving against us, we’re hidden away in the back room with our closest friends and absolutely no paparazzi, enjoying good beer and bad poker.

Not a bad way to spend a night.

Once I fold my first hand—because let’s face it, in hockey I’m a fucking killer, but cards . . . not so much—I make my way over to where Hendrix stands, arms crossed over his chest, watching from the makeshift bar Maddox has set up for us, not even a bartender in sight to be selling us out to the gossip rags. “No drink tonight, man?” I ask, unable to ignore his empty hands.

“Nah, man. I’m good. I’ll be the designated driver.” Unsettled, he looks back over at the guys. “You know, as much as I miss being here with all of you, I really do love playing in Chicago. It’s nice when you actually get to have something just for yourself instead of having the whole family involved in everything you’re doing.”

Kinda shocked to hear that coming from the baby of the family.

Pretty sure if he mailed his laundry home, Mom would still wash it for him.

“If you say so . . . You doing okay, Henny?”

“Fuck. Not you too,” he grumbles, hating the stupid nickname our sisters love to use for him.

I shrug and grab another beer.

Between Hendrix’s weird mood and Callen’s bad one, I’ve had enough of moody fucking Sinclairs.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, trying to be a good big brother.

“You wanna tell me about the smoking hot blonde you were talking to today?” He doesn’t bother pulling his eyes from the guys at the poker table, but at least he lowers his fucking voice before he asks.

“Not really,” I answer. Not really sure I want to talk about Addie. Not yet.

“Damn. It’s like that?” Now he turns to me, intrigued. Hendrix was never good at being told no. Total youngest child syndrome.

I get it. I’m a lot of things, but pushy isn’t one of them. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Guess that means it’s time for me to talk . . . Problem is, I’m not sure I know the answers yet.

“Listen, brother . . . I’m not sure what it’s like yet. She’s different,” I admit, unsure what the fuck I’m even talking about as I hear myself. “I don’t know. I met her yesterday, and there’s something . . . I just don’t know what yet.”

“Second time you used that word, man.” He leans back against the bar and throws a handful of peanuts in his mouth as I stare at him. “Yet. You telling me she didn’t fall at Leo Sinclair’s feet like women always do?”

I mull that over.

Yet . . .

“Nah. There was no falling. I’m not even sure she can stand me, to be honest. But I guess I’m not willing to give up . . .”—I trail off, then grin—“yet.”

“Wanna tell me why?” he pushes.

“Beats the hell out of me.” I take a pull from my beer and think about the electricity that passed between us when she touched me earlier. Addie was pretty damn careful not to touch me last night. Not even when she took Lennox from me. But today . . . “I don’t know. I just have this feeling.”

“You sound like Dad,” Hendrix tells me, almost like it’s predetermined we’re all going to end up just like the old man.

“That such a bad thing?” I push. “Mom and Dad made it look pretty easy, considering everything they balanced on top of the five of us.”

“What fucking house did you grow up in? It was a constant balancing act. Especially before Dad retired from football. It was chaotic as hell,” he argues with a warmth in his words.

“The chaos was half the fun. And yeah, I doubt it was easy. But seriously, man, look at them tomorrow and tell me you’ve ever seen another man look at his woman the way Dad still looks at Mom.”

“Fuck . . . you’re really into this woman.”

The utter disbelief in his voice should irk the shit out of me, but I’m too busy wondering if he’s right.

I wait until late the next day to send the text I’d been thinking about all damn day.

The little bubbles on Addie’s response start and stop a few times before nothing comes through, then they stop completely.

Damn.

That’s cold.

It takes her almost thirty minutes before she decides to answer me.

There she goes with those damn dots again.