Monroe doesn’t watch Lowell like a woman in lust. I’m unsure how no one considers what seems obvious to me. Denial, probably. Decades of fucking bunnies have led to several “surprise” kids. The club girls come and go, with an average of six around at a time. Over my lifetime, there’s been maybe thirty. Any of them could have gotten knocked up and left town without mentioning the pregnancy to her biker baby daddy. Especially if the father was married to a ballbuster like most of the club’s old ladies.
This is one more reason not to force things with Monroe. If she and I don’t work, I’ll be in a weird position. If I bail on Elko, how many people will think Monroe sent me running? Does that mean I have to stick around for a while to protect her reputation? How long is enough? I don’t need more problems to solve.
So, I wait and wonder. Until one night, late after most people have left, I corner her in the bar. Monroe’s eyes widen and warm when she realizes I’m blocking her path. I say her name. She says mine. Unable to wait any longer, I have to enjoy a taste.
I lean down and plant a quick, deep kiss on her naturally swollen lips. Monroe leans closer, allowing me to take us to the next level. Why don’t I have her jump on the back of my Harley and go for a ride? We could finally get down to the core of what’s happening between us. I know she wants me. While she stares at Lowell in an overly obvious way—just begging for him to notice—her glances at me are sneakier. I’ve caught her checking out my ass more than once.
Yet, I end the kiss and back off after nearby people laugh and break the spell. I don’t want an audience. I also become very aware of how Monroe is living a lie. Her truth could ruin everything. Best to wait until she admits why she really moved to Elko.
I’m probably too passive. I could have taken charge weeks ago. When I do finally start pushing things, my moves go sideways. Never did I think Topanga would slap Monroe. Lowell’s wife isn’t normally violent, and she seems to understand how he might cheat on her with the bunnies.
However, I’m the one who set this in motion. For weeks, everyone whispered about Monroe and Lowell. Yet, he never reacted to her staring. Not even to tell her to fuck off. I suspect he’s embarrassed by her behavior and ignoring it feels easier. Except Monroe’s too chickenshit to say anything, either. Nothing would ever happen at this rate.
That’s why I filled my mother’s head with worries about Monroe going “Fatal Attraction” on Lowell. I knew Barbie Jessup wasn’t capable of keeping shit to herself. First, she gossiped to her sister. Since Bambi was even less able to keep her mouth shut, she soon told Bronco’s wife, Lana, and my mother’s best buddy, Fairuza. While the latter didn’t care who’s fucking who, the former was tight with Topanga. Soon, Lowell’s wife showed up at Rooster’s in the evening and refused to leave. Old ladies never hang out at the clubhouse at night, but Topanga plopped her ass down tonight and just stuck around.
I expected her to make a scene with Lowell, not Monroe. But I misjudged how insecure Topanga was about her man and the new, hot thing at the Overlook.
That’s why Topanga lost control of her insecurities and slapped an unprepared Monroe across the face.
Sure, I feel like a dick for setting in motion this moment. But it does the trick. Monroe spits out what I’ve suspected for weeks. She doesn’t want to fuck the club’s VP. He’s just her long-lost daddy.
Well, now what?
MONROE HOBBS
I’m not a stupid person. Though I’m not winning any genius awards, I do enjoy my Hawking-moments. Like choosing to run away from home to meet a stranger. Yeah, that was a real brainiac move.
Why am I hiding in the most obvious place? Is there a reason why I don’t out myself with Lowell? Will I ever learn to walk well in heels?
Elko doesn’t look like much to the outside world, but the Ohio town is run by the Executioners Motorcycle Club. According to my mom, this is where she once lived. She worked at a bar dubbed Rooster’s, lived in an apartment with other club girls, and got knocked up by a sexy biker named Lowell Sinema. Then, one of the club wives—referred to as honeys or the even more charming “old ladies”—threatened to bury her somewhere if she didn’t get rid of her baby. Mom didn’t think to tell Lowell. Maybe because she feared he’d actually do what the old lady only threatened. Or possibly Needy Hobbs isn’t all that bright, either.
Now, I’m here, working at Rooster’s Tavern and living at an apartment complex called the Overlook. All while trying to build up the courage to tell Lowell who I am.
My plan—half-assed as it might be—was to walk into the Executioners’ clubhouse and out myself as his daughter.
Except I took one look at the overly masculine bar and the frowning face of head club bunny Jena, and I lost my nerve. I’m not a wuss about life. I know suffering comes with joy. Blah, blah, blah. But that doesn’t mean I was ready to be rejected. Or to find out that Lowell Sinema wasn’t the man built up in my head over a lifetime of my mom’s stories.
So I chickened out.
But my fake blonde hair and big natural boobs won me a spot as a club bunny. I get to live rent-free at the Overlook. A few days a week, I waitress at Rooster’s or the club-owned restaurant called Bambi’s Bar & Grill. I have a roommate and new friends, and life is just fucking great.
Did I mention fucking? Yeah, as a bunny, I’m expected to fuck and suck and, I don’t know, squirt maybe, for all these men. Almost twenty guys! Not all at once, I’m sure. When I take the job, I don’t know my plan. I clearly won’t fuck my dad. Will I fuck his friends? What if Lowell asks me to suck him off? If he does, can I explain the situation while simultaneously vomiting in horror?
Chickening out wasn’t just weak. It was dumb. Now, I’m on borrowed time.
But then my hero steps in and calls dibs on me. Yeah, nothing more romantic than one man insisting his friends can’t pound a strange woman he’s looking to monogamously pork.
While Conor Jessup calling dibs isn’t particularly classy, his declaration offers me the opportunity to get closer to Lowell without worrying about dodging dicks. I mean, I’d just fuck Conor, right?
And that would never be a problem.
Conor’s a dark-haired James Dean, but without all the sullen, woe is me, “Rebel Without a Cause” bullshit. Absolutely yummy, he literally struts through life. Well, possibly if someone were chasing him, he’d run. Otherwise, he’s a strutting master. I bet he could channel those hip movements into a very vigorous fuck.
Yet, rather than tipping me over and porking me something stupid, Conor pretends to be shy. He flashes me smiles and offers me a single pussy-clenching kiss. That’s it! Why call dibs if he wasn’t planning to take advantage of my available snatch?
I assume I should be patient. Arriving in Elko, I had my big plan. Then, I stumbled into the club bunny life, but I still expected to take charge. Except I’m not that kind of person. My uncle Clive calls me a rutter. I get comfortable and just settle in.
“You lack hunger,” he would randomly announce during dinners at his house where I lived for years. “Long ago, your get-up-and-go just got up and went. You best see if you can track it down.”
I only nodded when he said shit like that. What else was I supposed to do? I considered yelling, “Life should be comfortable! Fuck hunger! My get-up-and-go can stick it up its ass!”