Page 11 of Striker's Yield

“Um, I suppose I could do a burrito as well.”

Without a word, Striker loads the second burrito onto my plate.

Once we’ve got our plates loaded up, I follow him to my living room and remember I didn’t offer him a drink.

“Um, do you want tea or something?” I ask, setting the plate down.

“You don’t have beer?” He cocks a brow, taking a seat.

“No, I don’t drink.” It was true. Before everything, I could have a great time and not have to drink to do it. I was perfectly fine with sweet tea, which is basically all I ever drink except for my coffee or the occasional herbal tea. “I have tea and water.”

Striker stares at me a beat before nodding. “Tea it is, then.”

“Okay, be back,” I mutter and rush to the kitchen, somewhat in a hurry to get away from him. I don’t get why he makes me so nervous.

“You mind if I download Netflix? We can log in on my account.”

“I suppose.” Reaching into another cabinet, I grab him a glass. Fill it and top mine off.

He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t, either, while he downloads and pulls up Netflix. Moments later, he’s got it up and put it on a show called Wednesday.

“This show, Lila had me watch it with her. It’s good,” he explains, setting the remote down and picking up his plate.

Without giving any regard to him saying the show was good, I curl in the corner of my couch, though it’s not far enough from Striker.

For a short while, I can ignore his closeness. Mostly because he’s right, the show is good. But I also absolutely love the Addams Family movies, so it goes to say I’d love this show.

By the time I finished my plate and set it down on the coffee table, Striker had already finished his. He’d gotten comfortable having stretched out, legs on the corner of the coffee table, his boots off it, thankfully. Not that it would really matter, it’s a cheap coffee table. Striker also stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingertips touching, more like brushing my shoulder.

His touch, no matter the briefness of it, is more than enough to send my nerves into overdrive. My nipples feel hard against the light padding of my bra, and my panties feel damp. I’m by no means a virgin, but it’s been well over a year since I’ve been with anyone. And I haven’t even tried to give myself an orgasm. I’m always too exhausted to even think about it, let alone finding someone to give me one.

After the first episode, Striker lets it play into the second one, only he doesn’t keep the distance between us. He leans in my direction, wraps an arm around my shoulders, and tugs me toward him. For the next however many minutes, he keeps me tucked into his side while the show plays, but I can’t focus on it.

All I can think about is how good he feels and the smell of his cologne. It’s going to my head, and I can’t deal with it right now. It’s too much.

Finally, I find the courage from somewhere deep inside to clear my throat and tilt my head enough to ask. “What are we doing here?”

Striker dips his head so our noses are nearly touching. “We’re chillin’ and watchin’ Wednesday.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why all of a sudden you decided we were having dinner together, let alone watching TV.” Believe what he says, right, easy. Someone doesn’t do something without altered motives.

“What makes you think I haven’t been thinking about it for a while and just decided to finally act on it?” he asks.

“Because I’m not blind.” I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm in my voice.

“Wanna explain that?” He shifts, cocking a brow.

“Means, I know I’m not your type. You’ve never noticed me before, and suddenly you’re here,” I state, also not hiding my annoyance.

Striker shifts, twisting until he’s facing me, and he reaches out to curl his fingers around my neck. “Alright, Mama, I was gonna give you at least tonight. Let you get to know me.”

Mama?

Earlier, he’d called me Babe, now he’s calling me Mama? What is going on in his head? I’m not anything to him.

“I don’t get what you mean by letting me get to know you. Why would I want to do that?”

Striker’s eyes shimmer like he knows something I don’t. “Mama, you want to know me. I wanna get to know you. So, I’m gonna tell you here and now, we’re gonna get to know each other together. Starting tonight . . .”

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