Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
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.