Page 40 of Sapphire's Gem
“Prez?” Mr Dickenson questioned.
“I run the Portsmouth Chapter of the Royal Harlots MC.”
“You’re a gang member?” Jennifer exclaimed, and I laughed. “You find that funny?” she demanded.
“I don’t find ignorance funny at all. Especially in a so-called educated company,” I retorted. Jennifer’s mouth dropped open as Gramma began laughing. “I said I run a motorcycle club. The emphasis is on the word club. Not a gang. Please don’t insult me further.”
“You ride one of those Harleys?” Gramma asked.
“Yes, I have a Lowrider.”
“Shall we order?” Jennifer interrupted with a sniff.
“Sure,” Wylde replied. “How’s things going, Pops?” Wylde asked, passing me a menu.
“All’s good, boy. It looks like you’ve been busy,” Pops replied with a nod at me.
“Sapphire likes to keep me on my toes. She’s a handful like Gramma,” Wylde replied.
“Wylde,” I murmured.
“Why do you call him Wylde?” Megan demanded. “His name is Hayden.”
“He’s Wylde, because, well… he’s wild where it counts,” I said, and Wylde turned and kissed me. I smiled against his lips and felt his own grin.
“You’re amazing,” he muttered.
“Are you ready to order?” Jennifer demanded rudely as a waiter approached.
Jennifer, Megan, Mrs Dickenson, and Marla all ordered a version of salad, and I wrinkled my nose. The hell I would.
“Sure, I’ll have the sirloin steak with peppercorn sauce and sauté potatoes. Sweetheart, what would you like?” Wylde asked, turning to me.
“I’ll take the same with salad, please,” I replied.
“You’ll eat all that?” Megan demanded, appalled, and looked me over.
“Yes. Wylde hates women who have salad for lunch and pick at it like a rabbit. He can’t stand them. What was it you said to me, babe? Ah, yes, a woman who is all skin and bones doesn’t make an attractive bed partner. Men like something to grab; luckily, I have the tits and ass to keep you happy even though I’m slender,” I said.
The waiter choked on a laugh as he took everyone’s orders and scurried away.
Gramma burst into gales of laughter as the other four women looked insulted.
“Too true. Who wants to take a stick insect to bed? Give me something to grab any day!” Tom exclaimed.
Wylde laughed and clapped his grandfather on the shoulder. “True, Pops, true,” he agreed.
“We are at lunch. Do you mind? Please mind your language, young lady,” Malcolm snapped.
“Why?” I retorted, and Malcolm appeared taken aback that I’d challenged him.
“Because I asked, show some courtesy.”
“Respect is earned, and you’ve not gained mine.”
Malcolm looked nonplussed. “What, because you’ve got money, you think I should automatically respect you? Dude, get a life,” I continued, and Wylde slung an arm over my shoulder. Delight was rolling off him in waves.
“How long have you two known each other?” Malcolm inquired with distaste.
