Page 102 of Make Me Yours
Thankfully, she takes pity on me. Or maybe she doesn’t want to watch me unravel in real time. Either way, she rattles off the name of the restaurant.
Then, as if she hasn’t just thrown gasoline on an openflame, she adds casually, “I actually think Lilah and Knox would make a rather handsome couple, don’t you? He could use someone sweet and caring in his life.”
Instead of responding, I storm out of the locker room, hell-bent on finding out exactly what the fuck is going on. In less than five minutes, I’m sliding behind the wheel of my car, pulling out of the parking lot with my hands clenched so tightly around the steering wheel my knuckles turn white.
The drive to the restaurant should be easy, but traffic is a nightmare. The streets are packed with businesspeople, tourists, and locals, all moving at their own pace. Horns blare, cab drivers weave aggressively through lanes, and pedestrians jaywalk.
I barely notice any of it.
My mind is locked on one thing.
Lilah.
Who’s probably sitting across from Knox and laughing at something he said. The guy thinks he’s a real funny fucker. He’s able to turn on the charm any damn time he wants. It’s exactly how he smooth-talks women into his bed. I’ve seen it play out more times than I care to count, and I don’t want that to happen with Lilah. I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he touches one blonde hair on her head.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to slap a friends-with-benefits label on what we have.
Maybe I should have been honest about how I really feel.
But I was afraid of pushing her away.
In that moment, I would’ve said or done just about anything to secure her agreement.
Although, one of the damn rules I should have laid down is that there’s no going out to lunch with any of my teammates.
Hell, no going out with anyone.
Period.
And she sure as shit isn’t going to become a personal assistant to any other man but me.
I grind my teeth, shifting lanes and catching a glimpse of the Chicago River to my right. The midday sun reflects off the water, shimmering against the backdrop of towering steel and glass skyscrapers.
I can’t stop thinking about how much I’ve loved having Lilah in my space these past few weeks. The way she relaxes on my couch with Waffles, hums to herself while puttering around my kitchen, or wanders through the penthouse in one of my T-shirts. It never fails to tug at something deep in my chest.
She’s turned my place into something it never was before.
A home.
My mind tumbles back to the way she bites her lip when she’s deep in thought, or how her perfume lingers in the air long after she’s gone.
This isn’t just jealousy.
It’s a gut-deep, possessive kind of frustration. The kind that tells me I’m running out of time to figure this out before someone else steps in. I hit the gas a little harder as I take the next turn before pulling onto the street where the restaurant is located and cutting into a parking space the second one opens up.
Of course he’d take her to one of those trendy Chicago spots with exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s the kind of place that caters to lunch meetings, startup tech bros, and the weekend brunch crowd.
I push open the door, the bell above chiming with my entrance, and scan the dining area.
It doesn’t take long to find her.
She’s near the back, sitting at a small corner table, legs crossed, laughing at something Knox just said. Her smile is infectious. It’s the kind that hits low in my gut and squeezes.
And I hate how good they look together.
Not because they’re a thing but because theycouldbe. That’s all it takes for my jealousy to spike like a fever.
My jaw tightens as I cross the restaurant.
