Page 95 of Striker’s Rebel

I look down at her.

Two years ago, I asked her the same question.

Now there’s a wedding ring on my hand, our daughter sleeping down the hall, and June standing barefoot in the kitchen we share.

“Yeah.”

“That’s all I get?”

My hand slides around her waist.

“Got more than I ever thought I would.”

Her eyes soften.

“I love you, Striker.”

“Love you too, Rebel.”

She lets the moment sit for maybe three seconds.

Then her mouth curves.

“You’ve gotten soft.”

My hand tightens at her waist.

“What’d you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again.”

“Soft.”

I stare at her.

June grins.

“Maybe thirty-eight is catching up with you.”

“Keep running that mouth.”

“Oh, touchy too.”

I back her toward the table until the edge catches behind her thighs.

Her grin changes.

There she is.

“Still think I’m getting old?”

“I’m gathering evidence.”

“Yeah?”

“Very carefully.”