Page 21 of Make Me Yours (Chicago Railers Hockey #1)

LILAH

I grip the kitchen counter, hoping it will ground me in the here and now, as my heart continues to slam from waking up entwined with Steele. There’s no way to forget how his body heat soaked into me. Or the low raspiness of his voice as it wrapped around me like a blanket, cocooning me in comfort.

Above all else, Steele has always made me feel safe.

But that’s not necessarily the case right now.

Something else besides friendship is brewing beneath the surface.

Something bigger.

Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Because once we cross that line, there’s no going back.

Unfortunately, my body doesn’t care one bit what my brain is screaming.

I’m flushed and restless. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive, like I’m barely holding myself together. My thighs are clenched, as if that will be enough to chase away the heat that’s coiling low in the pit of my belly.

What I need more than anything is a distraction.

Breakfast.

Right .

I need to make breakfast. If I can just focus on that, maybe I’ll feel normal again by the time I have to face Steele.

I open the fridge and pull out the eggs, setting them on the counter with hands that won’t stop shaking. After sucking in a deep breath, I exhale, trying to talk myself down from the ledge.

This is Steele we’re talking about.

The one constant in a life that’s been unraveling since the day I caught my boyfriend fucking another woman.

I need him to stay Steele.

Uncomplicated.

Solid.

Steady.

“You okay, lucky charm?”

His voice from behind me has everything tilting sideways again. It’s low and raspy. Even though it’s still thick with sleep, it’s edged with concern.

And just like that, my composure fractures. I close my eyes for half a second before forcing myself to turn around.

That’s a big mistake.

Huge.

He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, skin still flushed from sleep. His sweatpants hang loosely around his hips, and his dark hair is a tousled mess I want to sink my fingers into.

No.

No.

No.

Don’t think like that.

My mouth goes dry as my brain short-circuits.

He looks unfairly good .

Even worse than that?

I see it now.

The sharp jawline .

The carved lines of his body.

The way his gaze tracks me, as if I’m something he wants to unwrap.

When did Steele become that guy?

His eyes search mine as he steps into the kitchen. “You ran out of the bedroom like your ass was on fire. You sure you’re good?”

Unable to continue staring at him, I spin back toward the stove. I need something— anything —to focus on besides the six-foot-three problem that just walked into the kitchen. He’s not even crowding my personal space and I feel knocked off balance.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, cracking an egg against the side of the pan a little too aggressively.

It splatters everywhere.

With shaking hands, I grab a spatula and try not to think about how I helped him shower last night or dried him off. Or how I watched water slide down every inch of that ridiculously sculpted body like it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever witnessed.

If I’m being honest, it just might have been.

God, I need help.

The professional kind.

I move around the kitchen like a hummingbird, grabbing things I don’t need and opening drawers I’m not even thinking about. I’m flustered and uncoordinated, and the worst part is, he’s not saying a damn thing.

Just watching.

Calm and still.

Like he knows the reason I’m unraveling and he’s willing to patiently wait me out.

He’s always been steady and loyal. The one person who’s never let me down .

What I need most right now is for him to stay that way. Especially when everything around me has imploded.

My job.

My living situation.

My entire future is now riddled with uncertainty.

And my parents have never been the supportive type.

But Steele?

He’s always been my anchor. I’m afraid of what will happen if we rock the boat and venture into something more. Especially if it doesn’t work out.

Would I lose him too?

I don’t think I could deal with that.

I’m jerked from the turmoil of my thoughts when his hand brushes across mine.

“Let me help,” he says, voice low and easy, like we’re not standing on the edge of something that might break us wide open. “You’re going to massacre those eggs.”

“No, I’m not,” I lie.

He arches a brow. “Lilah. That egg has already died twice.”

Despite everything, a laugh slips free from me. It’s half-mortified and half-relieved. I step aside, giving him room to maneuver. He grabs a fork and starts whisking the rest of the eggs with practiced ease, completely unfazed by his lack of clothing.

I try not to stare, and fail spectacularly.

When he turns his back to me, I let my gaze wander for just a few greedy seconds. I’m struck by the wide spread of his shoulders and the subtle flex of his forearms as he moves. And don’t even get me started on the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck.

These aren’t things I’ve ever noticed before.

Or maybe I have and I just didn’t allow myself to see them.

“I didn’t realize you had skills outside of hockey,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them .

He glances at me from over his shoulder as a lazy, knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t fool yourself, lucky charm. I’ve got lots of hidden skill sets. And I’m more than happy to show them off. All you have to do is say the word.”

My eyes widen as heat creeps up the back of my neck, and I get the distinct feeling we’re not talking about scrambled eggs anymore.

“I believe you,” I say, hoping it comes off playful, and not like I’m barely holding it together.

This conversation feels all sorts of dangerous . And yet, some reckless, curious part of me is tempted to push it further.

But I don’t.

Are you kidding?

Of course I don’t.

Because even with the air thick between us, crackling with things neither of us are saying, I’m still afraid of what it could mean if we cross that line.

So instead, I pivot, pointing to the eggs in the pan. “Better watch those, or they’ll burn.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” he says, refocusing his attention.

We move around each other, falling into an easy rhythm that’s comfortably domestic.

It shouldn’t feel like this.

Like home.

All I can think about is how different this is from what I had with Devon, who never once stood beside me while I cooked or asked how I liked my eggs or teased me just to see me smile.

With Steele, it feels like he sees all of me.

Even the parts I’m careful to keep hidden away.

The tension between us is still there, coiled and pulsing, but it’s gentler now. Like it’s shifted from wildfire to something that’s more of a slow burn.

He pours the eggs into the pan and then starts stirring. I grab plates, trying to distract myself with tasks that don’t involve ogling him or confessing things I’m not ready to reveal.

“Thanks for helping,” I say after a moment.

His shoulder bumps mine. “Always.”

That one word lands deep. It echoes in the part of me that’s still trying to figure out what steady looks like.

Because Steele, standing here in the kitchen, making breakfast like we’ve done this a hundred times before, feels precariously close to something permanent.

That’s when I realize I never asked how he’s doing.

Oh my God.

How could I forget about the hit he took last night?

He’s throwing me off so much, I’m not thinking straight.

And that’s never happened to me before.

I search his face. “How are you feeling?”

He takes a moment before answering. “I’ve got a slight headache and some soreness. Nothing a little time won’t fix.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I pause, then admit, “You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

I nod. “I know. Guess it’s an occupational hazard.”

He smirks.

When the eggs are done, we move around each other with quiet familiarity, piling plates and refilling coffee. It’s almost easy to forget that I woke up in his bed, practically naked, our bodies tangled up in the sheets. Or how scared I am that our relationship might be changing.

But then he offers me a mug, and our fingers brush. That’s all it takes for everything to slam back into me. It would be impossible not to notice the way Steele looks at me now is different. Like he sees more than his friend standing before him.

I take a sip of coffee, trying to hide the fact that I’m unraveling all over again .

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks.

I nod, even though the answer is more complicated than that. “Yeah. Just tired.”

His eyes remain on me for a beat longer than necessary. “Really? I slept the best I have in years.”

The truth is that I did too.

Pressed next to Steele’s strong body?

How could I not?

Although, there’s no way I’m about to admit that.

Instead of responding, I lower myself onto the stool beside him and push a bite of eggs around my plate. The silence between us stretches, strangely comfortable, until his phone buzzes on the counter.

He picks it up, brows pulling together as he scans the screen. “It’s Coach. He wants me to swing by the arena and check in with the team doc this morning.”

I glance up, concern flickering through me. “Should I drive you?”

His gaze lifts to mine and lingers before he smiles. “Nah. Stay here. I’ll grab a ride.”

The words are simple. Easy. But the way he says them is like he’s not just thinking about himself. He’s thinking about me . As if he somehow understands that I might need the quiet more than he needs the company.

A part of me wants to go with and make sure he’s okay. To be near him in a way that doesn’t feel purely platonic anymore.

But another part, the one still rattled from everything that’s shifted between us, knows a little space might be exactly what I need to figure out what the hell is happening before it all spirals out of control.

“Okay.”

After a few more bites of breakfast, he stands and carries his plate to the sink. “I’m gonna shower and head out.”

I nod. “Sounds good. ”

He pauses at the threshold of the kitchen as a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Unless you’d like to offer your assistance again?”

That’s all it takes for the memories to crash over me. The way his slick skin felt beneath my palms, how his muscles flexed under my touch, the heavy steam swirling in the air around us, and the quiet that settled deep inside me the moment I laid my hands on him.

Heat surges through me, threatening to pull me under.

“Lilah?”

I blink. “No. I think you can handle it on your own.”

He smirks. “Probably. But it’d be a hell of a lot more fun with you.”

I clear my throat, along with those lingering images. “I’m going to take my own shower and get dressed. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Suit yourself.” With a chuckle, he saunters out of the kitchen like he didn’t just set my internal temperature on fire.

I can’t stop from watching the way his muscles shift and flex with every effortless move as he walks down the hall.

Yup… a little space is exactly what I need to get my head on straight again.