I make a circle with my finger and thumb. “More than okay.”
Grumbler turns and winks at me. “This is the wedding photo we’re going to have framed.”
“Sergeant-at-arms!” His prez’s voice booms out. “Your woman’s fuckin’ naked.”
I’m not showing that much, am I? Glancing down I check my boobs are constrained as Grumbler tenses. Then, I feel him relax.
He dismounts and takes something Lost is holding out. Alicia laughs loudly, as he helps me into the leather cut he’d obviously had prepared for me. On the back it says Property of Grumbler.
He walks around me as I’m still sat on the bike. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers to me. “Never thought I wanted a woman of my own, but I was just waiting for you, Mary.” His forehead touches mine. “I was going to give you my rag later, but this works.” He swings his leg back over the bike. “Take more pictures, Blaze.”
Blaze does. More than one click show others are doing likewise. Laughing, I glance around and see Kristen giving me a thumbs up.
“Throw your bouquet!” It’s Patsy’s voice.
With a laugh, I do, blindly throwing it over my shoulder and hearing a scuffle behind me.
“What the fuck? Asshole. One of the girls was supposed to catch that.”
“That was mine!” I hear Kristen complaining. “Mary, throw it again.”
Twisting my head, I see Dusty gripping my wedding bouquet tightly, holding it triumphantly high, up and out of Kristen’s reach. She places her hands on her hips and glares at him.
“She can’t throw them again. It would be bad luck,” Grumbler says, holding his stomach as he’s laughing so hard. “Seems you’re jinxed now, Dusty.”
“What?” Dusty, who’d probably leapt for the flowers as a prank, seems flummoxed. “That’s just superstition, isn’t it?”
“No,” I call out. “You caught the flowers, you’re next.”
Then I’m clutching my man’s back, laughing just as hard as he is, while the handsome long-haired biker stands, looking bemused.
Chapter Forty-Two
Grumbler
I told Mary she’d made me the happiest man alive, and that was only the truth. I’d laughed at Dusty’s confusion and knew we were all going to get mileage yanking his chain about him catching that bunch of flowers. Yeah, fun times to come.
But my amusement pales into insignificance as I lead my wife, my old lady, into the clubhouse, suddenly choked up.
No more will my big two-wheeler be the only female in my life, though she’ll still have a place in my life. I’ve two flesh and blood ones to care for now, and who knows, in the future, maybe one more.
The club girls, who today are fully clothed in quite passable dresses, together with Patsy and Alex have spent time getting the clubhouse ready. There are banners and balloons, as well as a large table overflowing with food. And fuck me, I didn’t expect that, a cake decorated with a bride and groom on a Harley.
As everyone comes up to us in turn, my attention is on making sure my old lady is greeted respectfully, which she is.
I take a moment to nod at Fagan, Jon Boy and Kurt, who start carrying in equipment, then busy themselves setting it up, for once obscuring Alex’s pole which she uses for dancing. I have to jump back as Tyler comes running past.
“Hey, Tyke,” His dad stops him with a hand to his shoulder. “Take it slow, okay?”
Mary’s eyes follow him, and then her hand goes to her face. “Oh my, he’s so damn cute. He’s got his own cut.”
I eye the kid knowing well his leather bears Junior Prospect on the back. I think he’s up to the fifth or sixth version now. “Long story,” I speak into her ear. “But a good one. I’ll share it one day.”
When we’ve greeted all the brothers, I lose sight of my woman, seeing her after a moment with her friends, Kristen and Terra. I grin again. I may not be close enough to hear the conversation, but Kristen is glaring, and miming trying to catch the bouquet. Switching my gaze to the other side of the room, I see Dusty, who’s still carrying said flowers as though he doesn’t know what to do with them.
Then I’m caught up, accepting more congratulations.
“Nervous?” Mary asks when she returns to my side and we get a moment to fill our plates with some of the amazing spread.
“Fuckin’ terrified,” I admit.
“You used to be used to this,” she says, with a smile.
I did. But that was many years back. “Never faced an audience like this, babe.” Not one I know could make my life a living hell if I make a fool of myself. A club full of strangers is different. If you fuck up, you can forget it once you walk out.
Jon Boy waves his hand, indicating the guitars on their stands. I raise my chin back and watch as he carefully tunes them.
The jukebox is playing. After looking around, making sure most people have had their fill at the tables. I know it’s time.
The drum kit is set up ready to go, I note, checking with expert eyes. Kurt’s picking up his bass, and Jon Boy has the strap of his own guitar already slung around his neck.
I kiss Mary, hard, as though taking strength from her.
“Good luck,” she tells me, holding onto me for a moment.
“The things I fuckin’ do for you, woman.” But in truth, I’d probably do anything if it puts a smile on her face.
Moving closer to the stage, I give my old friends the prearranged signal. Jon Boy steps to the front of the stage.
He taps the mic. “Good evening. First, congrats to the lovely couple and thanks for letting us join in the celebrations today.” He raises a beer bottle in a toast, then places it on one of the speakers. “I’m pleased to introduce for your entertainment tonight, Spitting Gravel.”
I snort. They’ve used our old band name. The name that came from my gravelly voice and our even then love of motorcycles.
Then, as Fagan hits
