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Center of Gravity

By:Lina Andersson

Mitch, and he smiled at me.

“How’s the back?”

“It’s okay. It’s getting better. Probably because you’re spoiling me. Not sure what I’ll do when you get back to work.”

“Not gonna happen in a while. Dad’s already told me to take whatever time I need. There might be some club stuff, but for now they’re in agreement that we’ve earned some time together.” He stroked my cheek. “And they know you need help.”

“I do,” I admitted.

“The other Old Ladies will help you once I go back to work, too. So don’t be afraid to ask them.”

“You know I was so eager to get you involved in this because I knew I would need help, so I’m gonna ask for help.”

“That the only reason?” he asked with a laugh.

“Definitely.”

“Sure,” he mumbled and leaned over to give me a kiss. “Guess there’s no point in asking you to marry me then?”

“What?”

He smiled. “Marry me, Gimp.”

“Did you seriously called me Gimp when you asked me to marry you?!”

“Sure did. When that cast is gone and you’re fit for it, think you’d walk down the aisle for me?” He kissed me instead of waiting for an answer. “I’ll buy you a white cane.”

“And a Russian wedding dress?”

“Yup.”

“Pavlova cake?”

“Absolutely.”

“Just so you know, Russian weddings go on for days.”

“I think that’ll be very popular among bikers, then,” he laughed. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes,” I confirmed. “You get points for how you asked even if you called me Gimp.”

“Yeah. I figured going down on my knee and make a big spectacle of it would just make you uncomfortable.”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted. “But I would’ve said yes no matter how you asked.”

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