Fallon (Henchmen MC Next Generation 3)

"I like some movies. I don't tend to go out of my way to watch 'em, though."

"Well, surely, you've seen the greats."

"Which are?"

"Oh, you know. Goodfellas, The Godfather, Die Hard, Pulp Fiction," I kept rattling them off to the blank expression on his face. "The Shawshank Redemption? The Usual Suspects? Fight Club?"

"I've seen Fight Club," Fallon said, nodding.

"Only Fight Club? Out of that whole list?" It wasn't even an exhaustive list. I had hundreds of 'greats.'

"Yeah."

"How is that even possible?"

"Dunno," he said, reaching for a semi-soggy mini taco. "But I have you here to educate me now," he added. "Pick something you like and I'll watch it."

That was a hell of a lot of pressure, wasn't it?

Movies were so subjective. Without knowing someone really well, it was difficult to know what kind of movie they might get something out of.

I guess out of that list, though, it had to be The Shawshank Redemption, right? It wasn't as re-watchable as the likes of Die Hard, Goodfellas, The Godfather, or Pulp Fiction, but the first watch had a huge impact. I wasn't sure I had met anyone who hadn't experienced a visceral reaction to certain scenes with Andy and Red.

"Alright, here we go," I said when I'd found it.

We watched that one, then moved onto Die Hard while we finished off the rest of the food.

"Are all of the 'greats' action-based?" he asked as we both slumped down in bed later, full, exhausted. The sun was starting to come up.

"No. I just kind of went with what I figured was in your wheelhouse. There are a lot of different 'greats.' Some are sad, some are mind-bendy, some just get you in the feels."

"Well, you'll have to show me sometime," Fallon invited, going flat, then curling a hand under my pillow, curling into me, then yanking me up onto his chest.

"I'd like that," I admitted.

"Good. And now we sleep."

Shortly after, he did.

I was awake for a couple moments longer, enjoying the feel of him, the smell of him, the strange, warm, floating sensation I felt inside at being near him.

I'd set out to hate the man.

He'd had everything handed to him that I'd needed to fight tooth and nail for.

He was cocky and too comfortable in his skin.

I meant to dislike him.

But over time, he'd forced me to begrudgingly respect him.

Then, maybe even like him a little.

Then, somehow, he made the worst night of my life one of the best.

And I was starting to think I could do a lot more than just like the man.

Like maybe I could even love him someday.

And on that thought, I slept.

Chapter Fourteen

Fallon

I had feelings for her.

It was as simple—and complicated—as that.

I'd been suspecting it for a while, what with the way my mind kept circling back to her no matter what I was doing. And not just running a highlights reel about fucking her, but wondering what she was up to, what kinds of movies she was always running off to, what her daily life looked like in the club, if I would happen to run into her again.

Then when she showed up at the door, and I got to see not just the MC president, and not just a woman who I really liked to fuck, but the woman she was?

Yeah, there was no denying it anymore.

I had caught some feelings.

And they were unexpectedly soft in ways I never could have seen coming.

I'd never been a soft man. Not in life, and never in bed. Sex had always been a mutually fun exercise for my partners and me. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was just sex.

But I couldn't call what happened in my room with her the night before "just sex." It would be disingenuous. It would be lying to myself.

And all during and after her breakdown, I felt the unexpected urge to wrap her up, to protect her from the world.

Danny.

Protect Danny from the world.

When, really, the world probably needed to be protected from Danny.

And, quite frankly, I'd seen it often enough in my parents' generation as well as my own what it meant when a man suddenly felt protective and possessive and soft toward a woman.

Of course, I always figured I would settle down someday. It came with the territory. All my father's men did it. Mine were starting to as well. You let yourself wild out for a few years, and then the right woman came—usually at the wrong fucking time—and you wifed her up, you had kids with her. That was how it went. That was what I saw for myself.

Someday.

You know, way, way in the future.

I felt like I was just getting my life together.

It was the worst time.

"Fuck," I hissed to myself, realizing I was following the playbook my brothers before me had written out and lived by.

Right woman, wrong time.