Page 10 of Striker's Yield

That wasn’t true. I had tons to worry about. One of them being what I’m going to wear. Essentially, I’m going on a date with a guy I’ve crushed on since the first time I saw him. Today, he’d spoken to me for the first time and in doing so, freaked me out even more than I thought possible.

I’d come home, showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, lotioned my skin, and did minimal makeup. I wasn’t big on heavy, never was. I stick to a light foundation, a bit of blush, eyeliner, and mascara. I dressed in another pair of jeans, these with rips in them at the knee and on the thigh. I went with another T-shirt, this one with an Alice in Wonderland theme that says ‘We’re all mad here’ and has the Cheshire cat on it with his grin.

I probably should’ve gone with something more appealing, maybe even sexy, but I didn’t. He’s the one who said we were going out. Not me. I didn’t want to. A part of me is screaming caution, stop, and don’t go any further. But since he’s supposed to be here imminently, I’ve no choice but to yield and see what happens.

A knock on my door draws me out of my thoughts, my panic nearly getting the best of me. I could possibly not answer the door. He’ll go away. Maybe go to the café to find me, but I won’t be there. I’d be here, hiding, closed in to my apartment.

I couldn’t do that, could I?

Another knock comes, and I find myself moving toward the door.

I look through the peephole and nearly lose my breath at the sight of Striker standing there.

Oh my.

His hair looks damp, like he’d taken a shower. Or it’s most likely coming from the rain since it’s still pouring outside.

Either way, he looks great. I shouldn’t be opening the door to him. I should make him think I’m standing him up.

“Open up, Autumn. I already know you’re in there,” he says, loud enough for me to hear through the door but not exactly shouting.

Taking a breath, I step back, unlock, and open my door. I barely get it fully open before he’s pushing through, bags in his hands.

“Close the door, babe,” he says, heading toward my kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I ask though I do it while closing the door, eyes on his backside. The way the jeans form to his ass is an impeccable sight.

“Figured with the weather being shitty, you workin’ all day, we’d do Mexican and put a movie on.” Striker sets the bags on the counter and starts unloading. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I went with a bit of everything. That way, you could pick and choose what you want.”

Well, you couldn’t go wrong with Mexican in my book. I loved it. “Where did you get it from?”

“Only place worth eating in town,” he answers, lifting his gaze from his task to grin at me. “Come over here and pick what you want, then we’ll figure out a movie.”

“I don’t have cable or anything,” I tell him, not in the least bit embarrassed.

You’ve got a smart TV. You don’t need cable as long as you’ve got Wi-Fi,” he announces.

This is true.

I have a subscription to Hulu and Paramount Plus. I couldn’t go without NCIS and now Fire Country. I find myself fascinated by Bodie on that show. He’s hot, and his build reminds me of Striker’s. And when it comes to NCIS, nothing beats watching Gibbs do his thing. That and Tony, the way he is with Ziva. You could tell he is in love with her. The two of them had an instant connection.

“What apps you got?” he asks, nodding at the TV, then looking at me to see I still hadn’t moved. “Babe, seriously, get your ass over here and pick out what you want.”

I come out of my stupor completely and make my way to the counter, what I don’t do is answer him. Instead, I look at the different clear container lids and spot one that has the three amigos in it. It’s my favorite, thatand the pollo con crema.

Deciding to get a plate, I move to the cabinet where I keep my dishes and pull out two plates. No reason to eat out of the containers.

I set the plates down and open the lid on the three amigos.

“You didn’t answer me about the apps, babe,” Striker says while I scoop out a bit onto a plate.

“Hulu and Paramount Plus,” I answer and set the container back down.

“No Netflix?” he asks.

“Um, no.” I shake my head and lift my gaze to his. “I don’t need it. There’s nothing on there I’d really want to watch.”

“Right.” He grins and makes his own plate, taking the rest of the three amigos, and adding a burrito with cheese sauce slathering it. “You done makin’ your plate?” he asks, nodding to the small portion I served myself.

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