Page 42 of Striker’s Rebel

Striker.

The Damned Sinners’ Enforcer.

Making me dinner in his kitchen like this is normal.

I don’t know why that gets to me.

It does.

He glances over. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

I smile. “You’re very domestic for someone named Striker.”

His mouth twitches.

“Careful.”

“With what?”

His eyes hold mine.

“Keep looking at me like that and you’re gonna find out how domestic I’m not.”

Heat slides low through my stomach.

Well.

There goes normal.

We eat at the small kitchen table, talking about Ruth and Thomas until the edge left over from the clubhouse finally eases.

When we finish, Striker picks up both plates and carries them to the sink.

I watch him rinse them.

“You cook. You clean.”

He glances over his shoulder. “You taking notes?”

“Maybe.”

“Planning to grade me?”

My gaze drifts over the width of his shoulders before I can stop it.

“I haven’t decided.”

That gets his full attention.

He turns.

The teasing leaves his face.

He sets the plate down.