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“Can we not talk about that part of my life ever again, please?” Reese asked on a sigh. “Especially at the dinner table.”
“Yes, can we get off this subject because it’s too damn fresh for me, too,” Stella said with a grimace.
Cassie planted a hand over Judge’s on her belly. “And that’s the part I’m not looking forward to.”
“Okay,” Trip said with a single clap of his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Some of us are still eatin’ and yeah, it’s fresh in my mind, too.”
“Lookin’ a little green there, prez,” Dutch said on a chuckle.
“He almost passed out,” Stella stage whispered. “Especially when—”
“Woman!” Trip shouted. “We’re done with this fuckin’ conversation.”
“I’m so glad I’m done. Three kids are enough,” Chelle said from down the table. “I can’t imagine raising an infant at this age. Especially with having two in college.” Her fingers were interlaced with Shade’s and their clasped hands sat on the table between their plates.
Two servers came in and began clearing the table and refilling waters, checking if anyone needed anything more before they hit the road and headed back to The Barn to do a little partying.
Share a bong. Share a sweet butt. Play a few games of pool or darts. Drink and enjoy each other’s company.
It was a tradition after a run and most of Whip’s brothers stuck around for that. He’d split as soon as he could and head over to the motel to join Fallon.
“Everybody ready to head out?” Trip asked, getting to his feet and pulling out his chained wallet from his back pocket. He removed a few Benjamins and dropped them onto the table. “Might not be doin’ this again for a while.”
Stella stood, too, wearing a frown. “Why?”
Whip saw the second Trip realized he fucked up, but the man recovered like a pro.
“‘Cause weather’s gettin’ nice and we can party back on the farm after the runs. With this size group, eatin’ here costs a shitload of scratch.”
“We have the money,” Stella reminded him. “And we don’t do it that often.”
“Yeah, but wanna watch our spendin’.”
“Trip,” she began.
“All right, let’s head out. I could use a fuckin’ beer.”
Everyone still sitting rose and began to file out of the back room and through the plastic accordion door that separated it from the main dining area. Whip was one of the last ones in line. He was in front of Trip and Judge who usually took the rear whenever the large group was on foot and on the move. Shade and Sig usually took the front. It reminded him of the formation they rode in but with the ol’ ladies in the middle. If the kids were with them, they were kept in the center of the group, too.
They had a system set in place for safety and it worked. It never had actually been discussed, but had come about naturally.
It was their job to protect the sisterhood and the kids and they all took that seriously. The Shirleys could be anywhere at any time. Jemma had been attacked and Dyna taken in the middle of the day in the public parking lot at the center of town. That proved no one was safe and everyone should stay vigilant.
When the group came to an abrupt and complete halt, Whip peered around Easy to see why everyone had stopped. He closed his eyes and groaned when he realized who brought the group to a complete fucking standstill.
Reilly and Shay. Two of the ol’ ladies who would recognize the woman sitting at the counter eating dinner by herself.
Fuck.
He’d been anxious to see her, but in private, not in front of all of his brothers and their women.
Fuck!
Even his brothers who’d been walking ahead stopped and turned back to see what the fuck was going on.
Fallon sat frozen with her fork halfway to her lips as she glanced over her shoulder at the huge group of bikers behind her. She probably didn’t notice him standing behind Easy and Dozer.
“What’s goin’ on?” Trip asked, plowing past them. “There a problem?”
“No problem,” Reilly told him. “Just stopping to say hello.”
Fuck. He needed to get up there, too, before Rev’s ol’ lady said something stupid. Because knowing Reilly, she would say something totally fucking stupid. He followed quickly in Trip’s wake.
Fallon placed her fork on her plate and, once she spotted Whip, shot him a smile that was a hell of a lot more than just a friendly greeting.
Fuck.
Trip glanced from her to Whip and back. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Woman, mind your biz,” Rev ordered his ol’ lady. “Keep movin’.”
“I don’t want to be rude, Rev. She’s one of our customers. And she’s eating alone.”
“I’m used to eating alone,” Fallon answered with obvious confusion on why that was a big deal.
“But there wasn’t any reason for you to eat alone tonight,” Reilly continued, “If Wh—“
