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“Really, Whip? How can you not notice them? They remind me of action figures. After you left this morning, I went out to grab breakfast and they were out here eyeing up Agnes.”
They were doing what? “They exchange words with you?”
“The pretty one said she was a really sweet ride, that’s it. The one with the scar just stared at me with empty eyes like a serial killer.”
Mercy could very well be a serial killer. But hold the fuck on… Which one was the pretty one?
It didn’t fucking matter.
Did it?
No.
Were they hitting on Fallon?
They’d better not be.
Like he could do anything about it. He’d end up wearing his tongue as a tie and dismembered in probably five seconds flat if he tried.
“How ‘bout you just stay away from them,” he muttered.
“Why? Do you think they’re dangerous?”
“Don’t know them, Fallon. Got no clue if they’re dangerous. That’s why I’m tellin’ you to stay away from them.” He handed over her helmet. “If you’re wearin’ this, put it on so we ain’t late.”
She smiled up at him.
He shook his head. “You don’t know her. The second we’re late, she’ll start blowin’ up my phone.”
Fallon laughed softly and patted his chest. “She loves you. And I say that with confidence since I learned a lot about her in the past three weeks.”
It wasn’t quite three weeks, Fallon had come along to two of their weekly dinners. Tonight would be the third and probably the last.
His mom would be disappointed.
So would Whip.
He straddled her Scout and held out his hand to help her climb on behind him. This wasn’t the first time they’d taken her sled. It was such a sweet ride, he had moved the one he had on his bucket list up a few spots.
Less than a half-hour later, and after they pulled into the lot of the restaurant that Reese had recommended, he shut down the Scout and scanned the lot. His mother’s SUV wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He slipped his phone from the inside pocket of his cut and checked his texts. His mother’s was waiting for him. She would be about ten minutes late.
“Mom’s runnin’ late. Wanna hang out here or grab a table?”
Fallon climbed off the back of her sled and pulled off her helmet, shaking out her hair. Like always, he watched her do it. Something about the way she did it always turned him the fuck on.
Christ. If they had more time and a private spot, he’d be pushing for that threesome with Agnes.
“We can wait out here for her since it’s beautiful out tonight.”
That it was, and it had nothing to do with the weather.
Instead of getting off the sled, he shoved the key fob deep into the front pocket of his jeans, spun around until his ass was perched sideways on the seat and both boots were planted spread apart on the blacktop. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, sandwiching her tightly between his thighs.
Since they had ten minutes to waste, he was dying to know, “What’s your plans after tonight?”
“Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow.”
“After tomorrow night, then.”
“I wasn’t planning on leaving until after the party.”
He froze and his fingers dug deeper into her hips. “What party?”
Fallon’s head tipped to the side and she stared at him for a few seconds with her eyebrows pinned together. “The party your brothers are having for you at Crazy Pete’s Saturday night. Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Holy fuck. “Who told you that?” He was going to strangle whoever it was. Probably Reilly and her big fucking mouth. Rev’s ol’ lady was always fucking meddling.
Just like she did with the delay of the damn oil pan.
It turns out, she had been the reason Fallon had to stay in town longer, not because an oil pan wasn’t available. When Dutch had found it hidden in the back room, Rev had yelled at her. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Of course, she bugged her eyes out at her ol’ man like she hadn’t done anything wrong. “Because I saw the way they looked at each other. And I—”
“She was playin’ fuckin’ matchmaker. For fuck’s sake!” Whip screamed. “Why you women gotta be a busy body like that?”
Reilly had the fucking nerve to shrug it off. “I was just helping.”
“Lee!” Rev shouted.
“What? I want Whip to be happy.”
“He don’t need a woman to be happy,” Rev told her. “In fact, men are happier without one.”
Suddenly, the garage went silent. Most likely more than one asshole puckered.
Reilly’s head had cocked. If she’d been holding a gun, that would’ve been cocked, too.
“‘Cept for me,” Rev had backpedaled quickly. “Much happier havin’ you as my ol’ lady.”
“Nice save, but yeah. That head you wanted later? You can kiss that goodbye.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rev muttered, scrubbing a hand over his head.
