“They feel it, I know it, and it sucks. Kids feel everything. Even if you’re careful, you can’t hide shit from kids. They suck stuff up like a sponge. Struggled with that, did what I could, burned in my gut every time I had to pretend to be nice to her, realized I wasn’t teachin’ them a good lesson by not bein’ true to me. I’m not a dick to her. I don’t get up in her face. I just avoid her. This has the added bonus of not givin’ her the opportunity to get up in mine.”

I had a feeling I knew what that meant.

“So she’s not a big fan of yours either?”

“She wasn’t. She’s learned. Took a while but she figured out what she had and lost. Tried to be friends. ’Way she fucked me, I wasn’t down with that. She wasn’t stupid enough to try to get back together. She knew that was a no fuckin’ go in a big fuckin’ way. Now, she just avoids me like I do her ’cause she doesn’t like to be faced with what she created.”

“What did she have and, erm… lose?”

His head cocked to the side. “Babe. Me.”

I studied him, thinking I knew what that meant too.

“So, you loved her?” I asked.

“Made a family with her,” was his answer, which I thought was an answer but it also was not.

I let that go.

“How did it go wrong?” I asked, and he leaned further toward me.

“You don’t have enough time for me to explain all the ways it went wrong, that’s how wrong it went. Honest to God, spent a lot of time thinkin’ about it and I do not have any fuckin’ clue what I was thinkin’ about, starting shit up with her. She was never sweet. She looked good. She was great in bed. She doesn’t hold a candle to you but, until you, she was the best I had. But told you, I like a challenge and that was Mitzi. Her parents were assholes, both of them, hated their daughter, hated the life I led, made sure we both knew it. Freaked me out because it was like Mitzi fed on that, got off on it. Figured it out too late that one of the reasons she was with me was because she hated them right back, maybe more, and she got a kick out of shoving me right up their asses.”

That was not good, either, and it did make Mitzi sound like a bitch in a way that leaned toward the c-word.

I felt my brows rise on my query of, “Seriously?”

“Serious as shit. She was a rebel in her fuckin’ thirties. Hadn’t found her way. Hadn’t found herself. Still stickin’ it to her parents like she was a teenager throwin’ a shit fit because they didn’t like the posters of the bands she had on her walls and, I’ll repeat, doin’ this in her fuckin’ thirties. Bitches that hang around bikers, babe, you gotta be careful. I wasn’t.”

“What does that mean?” I asked carefully, seeing as I was sort of a “bitch” who hung around bikers.

“You got to have sat with Brick after he was fucked over enough times to know,” he answered.

I had, indeed, sat sipping a beer while Brick did shots after a woman broke his heart, and I did it more than enough times.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

“They take advantage of a tough guy with a soft heart. That’s what he picks. Strung out, needing to be fixed, unfixable; he gets fucked in the end. Then there are the ones who have an idea about bikers and they got problems. They think they’re gonna get worked over, torn down, dominated. They want that shit and I know you’re gonna think that’s all kinds of whacked but it’s also the goddamned truth. Had a woman in my bed, honest to Christ, babe, she asked me to punch her. Punch her. Not spank her, not even smack her, which I wouldn’t do, but fuckin’ hit her. Begged me for it. That shit got her ass kicked out of my bed.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, staring at him, unable to take this information in.

“Not fuckin’ with you,” he told me, going back to his sandwich.

“I… that’s… that’s crazy,” I told him.

He took a bite and his eyes came to me as he muttered, “Yep.”

He finished chewing, swallowed and continued his tales of lunacy.

“That stuff you said the other night about where old ladies fit in the life of a biker, club then bike and all that shit, women are drawn to that. They don’t think enough of themselves to find a man who thinks the world of them so they look for a man who’ll fit them in kinda close to the top and they’re down with that. They think that’s makin’ out good. Others are so weak all they wanna do is party, get high, get laid, and lay everything on their old man’s shoulders, so they can keep partying, getting high and getting laid. Shit’s whacked. They’re all over. Next hog roast, honey, I’ll point them out. They come back again and again hopin’ one of the brothers is not gonna read them and know what they’re buyin’ if they go there. Fuckin’ crazy.”

“Was Mitzi like that?” I asked, digging into my chips.

“No, Mitzi was just a bitch on a mission ’cause her head was messed up and I didn’t spot that either. Didn’t like her folks because they didn’t like me but, outside of being judgmental pains in the ass who hated a daughter who hated them back, they’re decent enough folk who I think genuinely wondered where they went wrong with their girl. And not sayin’ Mitzi pulled the wool over my eyes bein’ sugar sweet. Just didn’t know what was under all that hard but I did know I wanted to find out. What I found was, I’d hit spots of soft that felt good, warm, lasted awhile, and I thought I’d struck true. Then the hard would close around again and I couldn’t breathe. In the end, there weren’t any soft spots left to find.”

“That sounds awful, Hop,” I whispered.

“It wasn’t a fuckuva lot of fun, Lanie.” He did not whisper.

I licked my lower lip and gave it time before I told him honestly and quietly, “You know, people talk.”

He held my eyes. “I know.”

“They don’t talk much,” I shared.

“I know that, too.”

“But they said it was ugly.”

He drew in breath then stated, “Yeah, it was and what this is, over sandwiches in your office, is not even half of it. I’ll tell you because you’re with me, you gotta know. But I’ll say, lady, I’ll tell you when the time is right for you and this is not it. I’m not keepin’ shit from you. But things you gotta know for the now, my kids are good. I’d rather their lives be steadier but I went back to her more than once to give them that and got nothin’ but a rough ride when I did. They didn’t need to see their dad go through that. But in the end, she fucked me, babe. It was not pretty and you do not fuck me. You can be a bitch. You can bust my balls. I’m not gonna lie down for it, but there’s a lot a man will do for his children. But never, ever fuck me. She fucked me. We cope by limiting our time in each other’s space to near to nothing. It works. For you, that’s the end for now.”

When he stopped speaking, I held his eyes.

Then, hesitantly, I asked, “Are you… looking for soft spots with me?”

It was then he held my eyes for one beat… two… three.

Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

I felt my eyes narrow.

“Hop,” I called.

He kept laughing, his head now bowed, hand up, waving at me to give him a moment.

Yes. Apparently what I’d asked was that funny.

“Hop!” I snapped. His head came up and his eyes caught mine. “I was actually being serious,” I informed him.

“I know,” he choked out.

“Stop laughing!” I clipped, short and angry, and he abruptly stopped.

Just as abruptly, he pushed out of his chair and rounded my desk, and before I knew what he was doing he was bent into me, hands on either side of my head, his face all I could see.

“You put yourself in front of bullets for your fiancé,” he whispered and my breath stopped. “Baby, you don’t have any hard spots.”

“I—”

His hands on my head pressed in gently just as his forehead came to rest on mine.

“You don’t, and just so you know, that is not why I’m with you or why I want you, the fact that you’re the kind of woman who did that for him. What you did was beautiful, the ultimate, but it’s who you are that interests me.”

He had to stop.

“Hop, you need to take your hands off me and step back.”

“Worried what your staff will think?”

“I don’t care what they think,” I retorted. “But you’re being sweet again, saying nice things again and getting to me, and I need a break and I want to finish my sandwich.”

“I’m getting to you?”

“Step back.”

His eyes held mine a moment before he muttered, “I’m getting to you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Babe,” he called.

I rolled my eyes back.

“Wanna know part of who you are that interests me?”

“Are you going to say something nice?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

I watched his eyes smile.

Then he started to speak and, per usual, he did it against my wishes.

“Part of who you are that interests me is that you don’t care what they think. I walk into your cush offices, you say ‘hey, honey’ and don’t even fuckin’ blink. Wearin’ motorcycle boots or a suit, it’s all the same to you. And a woman like you, so knockout gorgeous, most movie stars would give their left nut just for you to walk up a red carpet on their arm, a banker’s daughter who sleeps in unbelievably soft sheets and drives a sweet ride ninety-nine percent of the population can’t afford acts like that. Now that interests me.”

Okay, I was back to him getting to me.

“I’ve decided to be un-biker-friendly,” I announced, and watched his eyes smile again.

“Too late.”

“Figures,” I mumbled.

“Right. I’m here, kiss me, we’ll finish our sandwiches and then I’ll let you get back to work.”