Page 19 of Enticing

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.”

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