I went to my panties and jeans.
Hop went to the toilet.
I was leaning against the wall and, with no small amount of difficulty, tugging my jeans over my boots when Hop crouched at my feet, his hands out to help me.
My jeans successfully pulled over my boots, I straightened. He did too and slid an arm loose around my waist as I tugged them up, zipped, buttoned, and belted them.
“Um… not big on putting these back on after they’ve been on the floor of a public bathroom,” I murmured, giving my panties in my fingers a little twirl. “And I don’t have a purse.”
Hop’s eyes got dark but he said not a word, grabbed my panties and shoved them in his front pocket.
Knowing my panties were in Hop’s jeans pocket, my thighs quivered.
“Just so you know,” I started, feeling suddenly nervous, “I’ve never had public handicapped bathroom sex before.”
“Just so you know,” Hop returned, grinning, “I haven’t either.”
“Uh… okay,” I muttered, finding it difficult to hold his smiling eyes and wanting to look at his shoulder. Instead, I lifted my hands to rest them there.
“Stall sex with a skank, yeah,” he went on and my head jerked. “Twice,” he continued and I felt my lips part. “Though, a private handicapped restroom is definitely the way to go with a lady. I’d never do you in a stall.”
He was teasing so I relaxed.
Slightly.
“I don’t think I could do a stall,” I shared.
“Like I said, wouldn’t do you in a stall.”
My lips curved up. “It’s good we agree on that.”
“Yeah,” he replied and tipped his head to the side, asking quietly, “You good?”
I did a mental assessment.
I was.
Shockingly, I not only was good. I was very good, and in more ways than one.
“Yeah,” I answered. It was his turn for his lips to curve up, and then they came to mine for a touch.
When he finished with that, he led me to the door while I asked, “So, is that true? Twice?”
“Yeah, it’s true.”
Wow.
“Bikers don’t have boundaries,” he imparted, unlocking the door, but he didn’t open it so I looked up to him. “Pleased as fuck to learn my woman doesn’t either, babe. I think you clued in when I started fuckin’ you against a wall about a minute after you got me in here that I thought that was hot, but just in case you missed any of that… that was hot.”
I stared into his eyes.
Hop stared into mine, not done. “You keep getting better and better.”
He did too.
“Well, good to know,” I started softly, “that I’m returning the favor.”
His face went dark, his eyes went hot and he growled, “Fuck, don’t do that shit.”
“What shit?” I asked, perplexed at his expression and tone.
“Did you against a wall in a bathroom and you bein’ sweet makes me want it again.”
“I think the kids and my parents will wonder where we are.”
“That’s why you can’t do that shit.”
“Okay, I’ll stop being sweet.” I gave in.
“Be obliged.”
I grinned.
Hop looked at my mouth.
I swayed into him.
Hop looked into my eyes.
“You go out first, lady. I’ll follow in a few.”
I nodded.
He dipped his head and gave me another lip touch.
When he lifted his head, I got on my toes and gave it back.
He gave me a squeeze.
Then he let me go and I went out first.
He followed in a few.
Thankfully, the kids were engaged in a sack race by the time we returned so they had no clue we’d been gone, and my parents didn’t rejoin us until fifteen minutes after we got back.
As for me, I stood in the Colorado sun at the base of a magnificent mountain in the heart of God’s country feeling good. Feeling steady. Feeling fabulous.
Finally.
* * *
“I’m going out to take a walk,” I called from the door of the spacious, well-appointed, six-bedroom “condo” owned by my parents’ friends. It was currently occupied by me at the door in my coat, Dad in front of the TV, and Mom already in bed with her crutch even though it was only eight-thirty. “The night feels great. I’ll probably be a while.”
“Lanie!” Dad called back and his voice was closer than I expected it to be.
He was coming my way.
“Later!” I cried, slipped out, closed the door and hustled my booty on its way toward the village.
I pulled my cell from my pocket, found the text Hopper sent me and scrolled through it. Then I followed his directions out of the posh area where I was staying with my parents, through the village, and into the denser area of attractive condos where Hop and the kids were staying.
I found his, walked up the open flight of steps at the side and knocked on the door.
Seconds later, it was thrown open.
Molly looked up at me then turned to shout into the condo, “Finally! Miss Lanie’s here! Now we can play Pictionary!”
She raced into the condo, leaving the door open and me outside.
“We aren’t playing Pictionary!” I heard Cody yell.
“We so are!” Molly yelled back.
“We aren’t. It’s gay!” Cody shouted.
“Games can’t be gay, boy. People are gay, games aren’t, and it isn’t a bad thing to be.” I heard Hop’s rumble but it was coming my way so I stepped in and closed the door.
“Dad!” Cody cried.
“Shut it,” Hop warned then appeared in the entryway.
I pulled off my jacket.
Hop’s head, looking back into the condo, turned to me.
My heart warmed and my lips smiled.
His eyes dropped to my mouth and his teeth caught his lower lip.
I’d never seen him do that. It was a good look so my legs trembled but I managed to stay standing as Hop made it to me.
“I’m getting Pictionary,” Molly yelled as Hop rounded me and took my jacket but did it close.
His lips came to my ear. “Wish I could kiss you.”
I wished that too.
I twisted my neck and caught his eyes.
At the look in his, my legs nearly buckled.
“We should play Wii. They have a Wii, we should play it.” I heard Cody declare.
“We have a Wii at home, Cody,” Molly told him.
“So?” Cody asked.
“Though, this shit is killin’ the mood,” Hop muttered, and I grinned as I moved into their condo.
It was spacious too but warmly, not architecturally.
“Hey, Cody,” I called.
“You like Wii?” he called back.
“You wanna say hello?” Hop suggested from behind me in a way that was not entirely a suggestion.
“Yo, Miss Lanie,” Cody mumbled, wisely taking up his dad’s thinly veiled order.
I smiled at him.
Molly materialized at my side. “Do you like Pictionary?”
I looked down at her. “I do, but we can’t play.”
Her face fell. “Why not?”
“Because it’s a moral imperative to play boys against girls and we’d whup their butts. I’m sort of creative, do it for a living. This means I never lose at Pictionary,” I announced.
“Dad and me’ll kill you,” Cody declared.
I looked at him and threw out the challenge, “Impossible.”
He hurled himself over the back of the couch, racing away, shouting, “I’m getting Pictionary!”
My work done, I moved to the couch and sat down.
Already this was better than TV with Dad.
“Nice work, lady.”
This was murmured in my ear by Hop. I turned my neck. He was behind the couch but bent toward me. I caught Hop’s smile and gave him one back.
/> He straightened and moved away while Cody raced back with the game and got on his knees beside the coffee table. Molly moved in to help him set up.
I took in a deep breath and let it out right before I felt cold on my arm. I looked down, saw a bottle of beer pressed there, and lifted a hand to take it even as I tipped my head back to smile my gratitude at Hop.
He smiled his acceptance.
Definitely better than TV with Dad.
Pads and pencils disbursed, timer at the ready, we settled in and I played Pictionary with badass biker Hopper Kincaid and his two kids.
The best.
The best I’d ever had.
And, incidentally, Molly and I whupped their butts.
Three times.
* * *
Hop and I were standing outside his condo door making out, me in my jacket, him in his thermal henley.
This was lasting awhile and I was going with it, hoping Hop knew the drill inside where his kids were getting ready for bed, so he’d know how much time we had to enjoy what we were doing.
I was also going with it because we’d never just made out, it leading nowhere but to the goodness of taste and touch, bodies pressed together in the cold.
It was fabulous.
Eventually and regrettably, he broke the connection of our mouths but not our embrace.
“Gotta make sure they’re good,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I muttered back.
“Also gotta let you know, before you got here, got a call from an old buddy of mine. He’s gonna be close. In Denver for the first time in a while. I don’t wanna miss seein’ him. We were tight back in the day. It’ll be good seein’ him but my only shot is Monday night.”
This was a disappointment but still I said, “Okay.”
“Want you to come with me.”
I held his eyes in the outside lights.
I’d made a decision. It wasn’t conscious, it was intuitive. Going with my gut, leading with my heart, I was moving forward not thinking about the consequences.
I’d let Hop in.
That day, I’d eaten breakfast, spent the day and played Pictionary with his kids.
Was I ready to meet an old buddy?
“I’d like that,” I stated before my brain could catch up and do something other than go with my gut and lead with my heart.
“Good,” he replied on a grin, then his arms tightened and his grin faded. “Check in in the morning. Wanna take your pulse.”
Afraid for a long time where my gut and heart might lead, I hadn’t listened to them for years. It was good to know, from Hop’s concern, I could trust them again.
“I’ll call.”
“Do that,” he murmured.
I grinned.
He touched his mouth to mine.
When he lifted his head, I whispered, “I better let you go.”
“Don’t ever do that.”
His words flowed through me in a way I couldn’t help but press close, angle my head and push my face in his neck.
“Are you real?” I asked his skin.
“Baby, you’re standing in my arms,” he answered.
“Please be real,” I whispered.
“Feel this.” He gave me a squeeze. “I’m real, Lanie.”
I drew in breath, drawing him in, then I pulled back and looked at him.
“Okay, then I won’t let you go but I will say good night.”
“That, I’ll accept,” he replied, his lips curving up.
I moved in to touch mine to his. He let me then shifted to kiss my forehead.
He let me go and I moved to the stairs. Hand on the railing, I looked back to where Hop stood in the doorway.
Hop was watching me and, for my troubles, he gave me a grin and a chin lift.
I returned the grin and raised it with a wave.
His grin turned into a smile.
I let his smile feed me as I skipped down the last few stairs and headed to the village.
It was late and, I hoped, late enough my mom would be passed out so my dad would have joined her.
I felt guilt that I’d left them to play Pictionary with Hop and his kids. But Mom was down for the night and Dad wasn’t a brilliant conversationalist, preferring to stare at a television set and let the screen mute the guilt he should feel at what his deception and disloyalty had manifested upstairs in his bed.
He didn’t need me around for that.
I slid inside the door to our condo, closing it quietly, feeling the house at rest and letting the tension that had grown during my walk ebb, knowing that I’d timed things right. I could just go to bed, look forward to checking in with Hop tomorrow and endure the best part of my parents’ visit. The end of it.
Hand on the banister and foot lifted to walk up the stairs to my room, I stilled when my Dad’s voice hit me.
“I know what he is to you.”
I turned at the foot of the stairs to see him standing there, his fingers curled around a cut crystal glass of Scotch. He rarely drank. He let Mom do the drinking. His addiction was betrayal and he indulged in that liberally.
“Hey, Dad,” I said quietly, my mind reeling to find the right way to play this.
“You think you two are being clever but you didn’t hide it. Maybe your mother missed it and his kids are too young to understand, but I didn’t miss it,” Dad declared and I looked at him.
He was angry.
But I was thirty-nine and I didn’t need my father’s approval in regards to who I spent time with.
So I straightened my shoulders and declared, “Hop and I have known each other for a long time. Recently, we got together. His kids don’t know yet.”
He shook his head and took two steps toward me before he stopped and asked, “Lanie? Seriously?”
“Seriously what?” I asked back.
“Seriously, you didn’t learn a lesson that it was impossible to miss when your last choice got you in Critical Care for six days?”
That was a blow he meant to land viciously, and he succeeded brilliantly.
“Dad—”
“And this one, this… this… man is worse. By far. My God, when was the last time he cut his hair?”
“I’m not sure when Hop does or does not cut his hair is the measure of a man, Dad,” I replied.
“You would be very wrong, Lanie, and I’ll point out again, not for the first time,” Dad shot back.
Blow two. Direct hit.
“You don’t know him,” I returned.
“I don’t need to know him. One look at him and I know the kind of man he is.”
God, I hated that from anyone, but especially my father.
“Sorry, but unless you have clairvoyance, something like that is impossible,” I bit out.
“I don’t need clairvoyance when I have age and wisdom, Elaine Heron. The first of those are creeping up on you without you seeming to realize it, your life wasting away, and the second seems to have escaped you.”
“I’ve known Hopper for eight years and you’ve known him less than a day and you think you can stand there and tell me you know him better than me?” I asked.
“We can start with that. What kind of name is Hopper for what kind of man?”
I had to admit, unlike all the other guys, Hop didn’t have a nickname that the brothers used almost exclusively to refer to him and I’d always been curious about that. One of the many inconsequential (but I found fascinating) facts I’d learned about Hop before I was with him was that his name actually was Hopper Kincaid. Seeing as he already had a name that fit, the boys didn’t bother giving him another one.
And I liked it.
But I wondered at it.
“I don’t know,” I answered Dad. “The name his parents gave him?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he bit out.
“I like his name,” I returned sharply. “I like pretty much everything about him.”
Dad took two more steps toward me, stopped again and hissed, “Lanie, wake up. Do it now before
you waste your life. No children, no decent man to look after you, no future. Before you’re dragged into yet another world that is not good for you in any way, by a weak man who takes the easy path of life, and you find yourself paying for his choices.”
His words, each one…
No.
Each syllable slammed into me, breaking something I was holding together by a miracle.
And when it broke, there was no way to hold back what it was keeping at bay.
So I let it rip.
“Would that Papaw took the time before he died to warn Mom of that very thing,” I clipped and Dad’s head jerked. “You gave her children but you took away everything else, being a weak man who chose his own selfish needs over his family. You cannot stand there and say Hop is not decent, at the same time sinking in the mud you stepped in your own damned self. All that while Mom’s passed out cold upstairs, losing herself in a bottle because she can’t cope with the fact she lost her husband three decades ago. But he didn’t have the courage to cut ties and walk away so he tortures her with his selfishness every single day.”
His face turned to stone before he made an attempt to do something he couldn’t do. That was, putting the lid back on his boiling over pot of deceptions.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you,” I leaned toward him, “fucking do.”
“Remember who you’re speaking to and who you are, Elaine. That language—”
“Go fuck yourself, Dad,” I snapped and his head jerked again.
“I cannot believe you would dare—”
I took a step toward him and hissed, “Believe it!” I leaned back and threw out both my hands. “You know, when you go to her, you don’t just fuck over Mom. You fuck over Lis and me. Every time. Every time you go to her, it says, straight up, you do not give one single,” I leaned into him again, “shit about any of us.”
“This, this right here is the effect of spending time with that Tyra friend of yours and the kind of people her husband and your friend Hopper are.”
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding my head. “Yes, Dad. This right here is the effect of being around people who are loyal, decent, and honest. This right here is the effect of being around people who do not let other people mess with their heads or screw them over. This right here is the effect of exactly that. And, in about five seconds, there’ll be another effect. The effect of me walking upstairs and packing my bag. After that, the effect will be me walking out of here. After that, the effect will be you having to explain to Mom tomorrow where I’ve gone. And after that will be the effect of me explaining to Mom that I’ll speak to her if she doesn’t call me drunk off her ass but I am never again speaking to you.”