Free Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2) by Roxie Noir Page B

over, then took Jack and Houston’s hands.
    Holy shit , thought Jack. I can’t believe this is happening .
    Then Elvis stepped in front of the microphone, holding a spiral-bound notebook in his hands.
    “Dearly beloved,” he said, his bad accent in full force, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of,” he looked more closely at the notebook, “Houston, Jack, and Kirsten. If anyone has a reason that these three may not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
    Both the showgirls sat quietly, one looking at her nails.
    “Well then,” said Elvis. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
    Kirsten giggled quietly, and Jack had to bite back a laugh of sheer delight.
    “Do you, Houston, take this man and this woman, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you all shall live?”
    “I do,” said Houston, without blinking.
    Then he looked at Jack and grinned.
    “Do you, Jack, take this man and this woman—”
    “I do,” said Jack, his stomach doing flip-flops inside him.
    Elvis raised his eyebrows and soldiered on, even as the three of them started laughing.
    “Stop it,” Kirsten hissed. “It’s my turn, I want to get it right.”
    “Do you, Kirsten, take these men as your lawfully wedded husbands, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you all shall live?”
    “Yes,” said Kirsten, then caught Jack’s eye, her forehead crinkling a little. “I mean, I do?”
    Elvis remained unperturbed, reaching into his pocket and coming out with three simple silver bands. He stared at them for a moment, then handed them to Houston and Jack, one by one.
    “That’s hers,” he said about the smallest one. He held two more up, squinting a little. “But I think these are the same.”
    Jack slid Kirsten’s on, she slid on Houston’s, and Houston slid on Jack’s. Jack flexed his left hand a couple of times, the ring already feeling strange there.
    Elvis cleared his throat.
    “By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husbands and wife. You may kiss,” he said. He tossed the notebook away and grabbed an acoustic guitar, sliding the strap over his head.
    Houston bent to kiss Kirsten, his hand on Jack’s back, pulling his mate in toward them until their faces met as well in a strange, slightly-awkward three way kiss but then before he knew it, Jack was laughing and so were Kirsten and Houston. Then he was kissing her and then kissing Houston, the other man pressed against him, Kirsten between them as Elvis began to sing Viva Las Vegas .
    The showgirls, seated in the front pew, looked politely bored.
    Houston grabbed Kirsten again, picking her up and walking back down the aisle with her while she whooped and yelped. Just as they went through the big wooden door, she tossed the bouquet back into the chapel, where it landed on one of the pews.
    The three of them spilled back into the brightly lit casino hallway. Jack felt high like he never had before — still very, very drunk, but elated, like he was soaring above everything.  
    Right in the middle of the hallway he grabbed them both and kissed them again, Kirsten’s veil getting in the way as the air conditioning kicked on and blew it over her face.
    “Come on,” Houston said. “There’s a limo waiting outside the west entrance.”
    “Where’s that?” asked Jack, putting his arms around Kirsten from behind, resting his chin on her head.
    “West, I guess,” said Houston.
    It took them a while to figure out where west was, but at last, they spilled out of a revolving door in front of a bored man holding up a whiteboard that said HOUSTON TWIST.
    “That’s me!” Houston shouted, holding up both arms like he’d just scored a touchdown.
    The driver didn’t say anything, just held open the back door, and Houston practically dove in, followed by Kirsten and Jack, tumbling on top of him, landing in a pile of giggles on the limo’s