Page 25 of Striker’s Rebel

Heat rolls through me.

Ruth clears her throat.

Loudly.

I jerk my attention toward her.

She looks innocent.

Thomas absolutely does not.

“All right,” Ruth says. “Our work here is done.”

She hooks her arm through Thomas’s and starts steering him toward the stairs.

“I live next door,” he protests.

“Then keep walking when we reach the front door.”

He points at Striker. “If that chair survives you, I’m buying a lottery ticket.”

“No promises.”

“Braxton,” Ruth warns.

“I’ll try, ma’am.”

She beams.

Traitors. All of them.

A minute later, the stairs creak beneath them and I’m alone with Striker.

Without Ruth and Thomas filling the hallway, the silence feels closer.

“You know you don’t actually have to sit there.”

“Thought we settled this.”

“We settled that you were following me home. I never agreed to you destroying Ruth’s furniture.”

His mouth curves. “Chair’ll live.”

“You sound confident for a man whose knees are almost touching his ears.”

That gets a real grin out of him.

It changes his whole face.

My heart does something stupid, and I look away before he notices.

The house settles around us with its familiar little sounds, and somehow Striker doesn’t feel like an intrusion among them.

He came because he said he would.

He hasn’t used tonight as an excuse to push his way into my room. He hasn’t asked me for anything.

He’s simply here.