He leaned back against the headboard, grabbed his tin from the nightstand and tucked a joint between his lips. Right before he lit it, he asked, “Whatcha gonna do today?”
She rolled over so she was no longer on her stomach and sat up. Her nose wrinkled when she saw what he was about to light. “This early?”
“Gotta deal with Dutch all day.” That wasn’t the real reason, but it was an easy excuse. Even though some days it was best to deal with Dutch while slightly stoned.
He flicked the Bic, put the flame to the tip and took a long draw on the joint to get it burning evenly. Once it was, he blew the smoke up and away from her.
“Well,” she started. “I managed to snag an appointment this afternoon at the salon you recommended. I may head down to the store to pick up a few needed items before getting my hair done.”
“Teddy’s gonna love you.”
“I’m sure I’ll love him, too, since the women spoke highly of him the other night when I asked.”
“Should be good. Whatcha gettin’ done?”
She raked her fingers through her messy hair. “Just a trim and highlights. I’m overdue. I hesitate to walk into any salon without a recommendation first. Not only because of hearing other women’s horror stories but I’ve had a few of my own.” She faked a shudder.
She spun around and settled her head in his lap, like she always did when he sat up in bed to burn a fatty.
“Like your hair,” he murmured, taking another hit and combing through her medium-length locks with his fingers.
She grinned up at him, captured his hand with hers, interlaced their fingers and pressed their joined hands to her chest. “Me, too.”
She was always linking their hands together and, fuck him, he didn’t mind one fucking bit. It seemed to ground her and if he was being honest with himself, it did the same for him.
It reminded him of how touching Stella calmed Trip down when he was losing his temper or how having Red touch Sig helped keep the VP from spiraling out of control.
Whip didn’t have a temper and so far, he hadn’t seen Fallon lose her shit over anything, but still… Fallon tended to touch him whenever they were near each other. She cupped his cheek often, held his hand constantly, played with his hair while they watched TV, settled her hand on his arm when they were walking. Sometimes she hugged him for no good reason.
Of course, since he wasn’t a stupid fuck, he didn’t deny her any of that.
If he was forced to admit it, he kind of liked it and quickly got used to the constant contact, something he never had before. He’d miss it when she was gone.
He took another long toke on the joint, filling his mouth with the smoke, and leaned over to put his lips against hers.
That was the only way she would share a joint with him. He wasn’t mad about the method, either. Like her touching him, he used any excuse to put his mouth on her.
She willingly stole the smoke from his mouth, held it deep and then turned her head to blow it out. He took one last drag and did the same before pinching out the end. He never took more than a few hits before going to work since he found it helped him focus.
Especially on Wednesdays.
“Know we’ve been doin’ dinner every night, but tonight…” What he had to say next might disappoint her but he needed to tell her. He didn’t want to just blow her off.
“Tonight?” she prodded, sliding the fingers from her free hand up his ankle to his bare thigh and back down. Her light, playful touch made the hairs on his legs stand at attention.
“You keep doin’ that, I’m gonna slide between your thighs again,” he warned.
She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “And I’d hate that, why?”
He shook his head. He could recover quickly, but not that quickly. And as tempting as that was, he’d really be late for work.
The good thing about crashing with Fallon in her room was he didn’t have to get up so early to go back to the bunkhouse before heading over to the garage.
“So, are you about to tell me that you can’t keep me company for dinner tonight? Got a date?”
“Actually, I do. Every Wednesday night.”
She moved until she was sitting crossed-legged on the mattress, facing him.
Fuck, the woman was goddamn gorgeous, especially freshly fucked.
Correction, especially freshly fucked by him.
“You really have a date?”
Damn. “Ain’t a date like what you’re thinkin’.”
“Is it with a woman?”
Was she jealous? Or was she just being her normal curious self?
“Yeah, but… Ain’t like that. It’s…” Christ. “It’s with my mom.”
He never talked about his weekly dinner with his club brothers because it would only give them more fuel to fuck with him.