It was meat and pickles, and I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped from my mouth when I tasted the tang of homemade pickles. One of the things I missed about Grandma was her homemade pickles.
“Don’t do that,” Tank growled at me.
‘What? I ain’t doing nothing.” I turned to look at him, and he squirmed, lifting me off his lap and placing me back down. A hardness hit my backside, and I froze and felt the heat rise in my cheeks at the same time.
“Keep still.” He waited for me to start eating again before he tucked into his own sandwich.
I was racking my brain, and couldn’t remember a single time that my ex had that reaction when I sat on his lap. He would never pull me onto his lap like Tank had; he had always kept me at arm’s length, and come to think of it, he was most likely already cheating on me. Before my sister came along, I was just too naive to see it. I was the safe bet, and now I was all churned up inside, seeing how deep the betrayal had really been.
“What’s up?” Tank asked, having felt the change in me.
“Noth’n,” I murmured back and took a large bite of my food so that I couldn’t talk.
“Talk to me.” He whispered in my ear, so close I could smell the coffee he had just sipped.
“Just silly,” I said after forcing the mouthful down my closed-up throat.
“Tell me.” He waited patiently for me to talk, something I hadn’t expected. I always thought of bikies as full of agro and no patience, but I have been learning that my assumptions were all wrong.
“My ex never pulled me on his lap, like ever, and when I had sat on his lap, he never reacted as you do. Did.” I whispered, afraid to say it out loud.
“Then he was an i***t, blind and stupid, to not see the gorgeous woman he had before him.” He kissed my ear and rubbed his itchy beard on my neck, and I liked it.
This kind of affection I was sadly lacking, thinking all this time that something was wrong with me.
I never liked the frilly lace, the lots of makeup, and the almost-not-there, shorter-than-short skirts. Shorts were acceptable, but skirts showing what you got underneath were never my style, more like my sister than me. It made me feel undressed, and I could never understand how anyone could wear something like that in the middle of winter. I dress for comfort, not style, which is why I thought something was wrong with me. I never conformed to the fashion of the day. I like jeans and a blouse because they’re best for riding my bike and keep me warm.
“Thank you.” I finished my sandwich and coffee, and wiggled my way off his lap. He sighed and let me go.
We finished off the area, and I examined the bikes that had been brought in. One was the Prez bike; he wanted me to get a good look at it and come up with ideas for the paint job. I had already pictured what I thought he would like in my head. I needed a few hours on the computer to draw it and colour it before showing it to him.
“This one we call baby, because of its age, and it’s one of the smallest bikes here.” I agree it was old, the knuckle and panheads were babies, I give him that, not the oldest, but indeed hard to get parts for.
Dinner was casual, the guys put on the BBQ, and the girls made salads. We had fun, and it was peaceful, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed. My cheeks hurt from all the laughing I had done, I didn’t get to help in the kitchen, and the girls refused to let me clean up. Never in a million years would I have thought this lifestyle was like this. This group was mainly ladies; they do try to have a couple of days, and the kids get to join in. The single guys go to town and have fun for a few hours, not interested in the domestic side today, represent.
“You work hard, honey, no need to work in the kitchen too.” Cricket had said, When I got up to help clean up.
“Don’t be silly, I should help,” I replied, thinking nothing of doing the dishes.
“No, honey, you go rest up.” I got the message loud and clear. Sticks gave me the look that said,
“Do as I am told with this.”
Tank POV
Max worked like a wild cat, rushing about and getting her workshop exactly the way she wanted. I have never seen a woman work as hard as a man before. I heard the guys chatting about her, how diligent she was, and were bagging her and talking about how sceptical they were that she could use everything in the shed, now seen as her workshop.
I believed in her and her abilities.
One look at what she had been doing while working at the bike shop and at that fantastic paintwork on her bike was more than enough evidence. Still, some have to see to believe, thinking that Mike had let her get away with things a guy wouldn’t, they are in for a shock. I noted who was the worst of the bunch and will ensure his bike is always at the bottom of the repair or touch-up list.
The gathering was fun, better than in the past, when I would not join in, eat, and then run. However, this time I stayed, held Max on my lap, and talked freely with the guys, even had a few laughs. Max had the table in stitches with some of her quick retorts; she was the life of the table, and others came to join us as the night wore on. Even the Prez managed a laugh or a slight chuckle, something he doesn’t do very often, but seeing him laughing raises the enjoyment of the night. If the Prez was angry, the whole gang feels it, but when he’s like this, they all relax and have fun.
We have been under a lot of pressure lately, following the loss of a longtime rider. We had been a little lost, finding the laughs, not the fake but real laughs, was rare at this time, but Max managed to bring to the table something we needed, even if we didn’t realize it, a good belly laugh.
By the time the night grew colder and I was watching Max yawning, it was time to call it a night.
“Come, it’s time for bed, you look buggered.” I chuckled as she yawned again, and any chance of denial fled,
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.