Later, Hop picked me up and took me to the bar and Hop did all this again without pushing me to share what had happened with Dad.
For some reason, we weren’t on his bike. We were in the Ram, so there were opportunities to talk on the way to the bar, as well as when we shared a Lanie-approved evening meal of bar food including hot wings, fried mushrooms, and stuffed potato skins. He just didn’t force me to talk. Not about that.
We ate. We drank beer. We chatted. We laughed.
Hop, without my drama, his kids, or sex, was mellow and amusing. I knew this since I’d known him for years but having all that to myself, his body close, our knees brushing, his attention solely on me, felt so good it was hard to process. Not because I wasn’t letting myself do it, just because I’d never had anything so simple and good.
And right.
I’d dated a lot. I’d had more than my fair share of male attention. I’d been treated to posh restaurants, the finest champagne and effusive compliments. Elliott, in his geeky, sweet Elliott way, gave me all of that in spades.
Hop gave none of that to me.
But that date was the best I’d ever had.
Bar none.
Feeling very good about all of this, the remains of our grease fest laying in front of us, new beers having recently been added, I turned to Hop. We were sitting side-by-side at a round table facing a now empty stage so when I turned and leaned in, my breast brushed Hop’s arm and he immediately gave me his attention.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything,” he replied.
Another excellent answer.
I smiled and leaned farther in, something Hop liked and I knew it when he twisted to me, lifting his arm to lay it on the back of my chair as he moved closer.
“You know the Club talks,” I started and watched his face change. His expression wasn’t guarded but it was clear he was bracing for what I’d say next.
“Yeah,” he prompted when I said no more.
“Well, all the boys have nicknames,” I told him something he knew. “But you don’t. Your name is Hopper which is kind of… unusual.”
His expression cleared and he moved closer to me as he grinned. “You wanna know how I got my name.”
“I’ve always been curious,” I shared.
His grin got bigger and his eyebrows inched up. “Always?”
I took a breath.
Then I let him in farther.
“Yeah. Since I found out that was your real name. Always,” I confirmed.
He took his arm from the back of my chair, slid his fingers through the hair at the side of my head, then rested it back on my chair, all this while grinning, this time with approval.
Only after that did he begin.
“My dad, if given the choice, which he wasn’t, would have been in an MC. No doubt.”
There was not much there and yet, there so was.
“Uh…” I mumbled in an effort to communicate this to him. Hop’s grin became a smile and his arm gave my chair a jerk so our thighs were plastered together and I was super close.
“My younger brothers are named Jimmy and Teddy,” he told me. “Jimmy’s a high school gym teacher and basketball coach. He’s got an ex-wife who married a man who makes a lot more than Jimmy does and she doesn’t hesitate to rub his nose in it. They have two boys. Now he’s got a new woman who is the shit. She treats him like a king, loves his kids. So his ex can be as big a bitch as she wants. He’s got it good so he doesn’t give a fuck.”
I nodded and Hop went on.
“Teddy apprenticed to be a cabinetmaker, made journeyman and about two days later, decided he wanted to be an electrician. He went all the way with that and now he’s apprenticing as a plumber. His whole life, he’s been restless. The fact that he’s had three professions and five ex-wives and he’s in his early thirties lays testimony to that bullshit.”
Although this was all fascinating, most especially how it was even possible to have five ex-wives and be in your early thirties, it didn’t explain Hopper’s name.
“Well…” I started and Hop kept smiling at me.
“What I’m sayin’ is, Dad got in there before Mom could do shit about it and he named me a name he liked. The name he thought sounded like the name for a biker. Hopper, James, and Theodore don’t go together, so you can take it as Mom learnin’ her lesson and layin’ down the law after me. Mom was good at layin’ down the law. Dad was good at gettin’ his balls busted. Lookin’ back, I get this. She was a knockout and still is. Beautiful. But hard. Tough. Bossy. And sometimes mean. He took it as long as he could, and when I say that I mean he ate that shit every day of his life until he couldn’t eat it anymore. He left her and the next day bought his first Harley. Now he has three. I reckon it was part born in me, part given to me by my old man, since he took me, not Jimmy or Teddy, to the bike shops all the time. He talked to the salesmen, the customers, practically fuckin’ salivatin’, wishin’ he was livin’ his dreams. Now he lives the life he always wanted but he doesn’t live it how he wanted because she’s not in it.”