#hopper fic

There was no use in running now. He had caught you red-handed, a little drunk and spacing out on the couch at a house party that was probably a little too loud for the host’s neighbours’ liking. Still, you turned over, sliding off the couch in defeat, shielding yourself from his condescending expression. Maybe if you tried, you’d be able to roll under the couch and hide from him forever. 

You heard him click his tongue above you in annoyance. 

“What’re you doing here, kid?” His gravelly voice held a flat tone, and you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head. 

“I’d ask you the same question, but I assume you aren’t here to party-arty-arty.” You mumbled into the rug. 

You rolled over onto your back, now looking up at him. Of all the house parties, in all of Hawkins, in all the world, he had to walk into the one you were at. 

It was bad enough that the chief of police caught you less than sober, rolling around on the rug at a house party, but it was even worse that he lived right next door to you. You’d get the mail in shame for the rest of your life.

“I’m not here to party-arty-arty.” He grumbled, words sardonic as he rolled his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at his distaste for your phrase. “We got a noise complaint.”

“Bummer.” You mumbled. Your hand crept up to his heavy boot, tugging on one of his laces absent-mindedly. He scowled, pulling his foot away. You dissolved into giggles, abruptly stopping as you saw the glare he gave you. “Lighten up, Hop.”

“I’ll lighten up once you get the hell outta here.”

You smiled up at him sheepishly. “I… don’t have a ride home.” 

He blinked at you incredulously before letting out a low groan, digging his palms into his tired eyes. “Shit.”

“That’s one for the swear jar!” You sang, holding out your hand as if expecting him to drop a dollar in it. He lightly smacked it away and you pouted defensively. “Government wage that bad, huh?”

He shushed you irritatedly, prompting you to let out another laugh. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if deep in thought. 

He couldn’t just leave you there. You were his neighbour’s daughter, for God’s sake. 

“You’re cute when you’re thinking.” You whispered.

He opened his eyes, ignoring your comment and the heat creeping up his neck. 

He exhaled sharply, crouching down next to you as he slid his jacket off, wrapping it around your waist. Then, in one movement, he hauled you up onto his shoulder. 

You exploded with laughter, your dizziness worsening as you hung upside down, thrown over his shoulder. 

He paused, taking care to pull his jacket down over your butt as your skirt rode up. He locked his arm around your thighs and made his way out of the house, boots clomping on hardwood and then gravel as he approached his truck. 

He took a second to breathe in the night air. His free hand snaked into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it nonchalantly, as if you weren’t slumped over his shoulder, ribcage shaking as you struggled to stifle your laughter.

You raised your arm behind you, toward his face, index and middle finger extended, asking for a drag. He pushed your arm away. 

“Nice try.” He scoffed, opening the door and helping you into the passenger seat. 

“Worth a shot!” You grinned. He shook his head, letting out a low chuckle. 

He leaned over you, pulling your seatbelt over your chest and buckling you in with a satisfying “click”. His eyes flickered to your face as you smiled dreamily up at him.

He felt his lips turn up in response, unable to control himself. 

“What’s got you smiling, huh?” He asked, curious. 

“You look rather handsome tonight, Chief.” You whispered, your voice lilting, sing-songy in your inebriation. You tugged his hat off his head, twirling it between your fingers. 

He looked at you, your shy gaze avoiding his as you clumsily handled his hat. 

His heart thumped. He turned away, clearing his throat, trying to mask his flustered expression. 

“You look rather drunk.” He replied, giving your reddened cheeks a tap. 

He rounded the truck, sliding into the driver’s seat, watching as you kicked your legs up on the dash with a loud thump, placing his hat over your face as you settled into your seat. 

His eyes travelled over your leg propped up so close to him, bent upward onto the dash. He grabbed your knee and shoved it back down, and he could tell you were giving him that mischievous smile, even through the hat that obscured it. His lips quirked upward. 

As he drove you back to your house, the bump and sway of the truck on the poorly paved roads lulled you to sleep. Slowly, the hat slid off your face as your temple dropped against the window. You held the hat in your arms, keeping it close to your lap as you dozed, the drinks you had earlier sending you to sleep quick enough. 

He turned to look at you, taking a drag of his cigarette as the other hand gripped the steering wheel as he navigated the roads. He slowed down, attempting to steer past the potholes so you could sleep in peace. Still, your head would knock against the glass every once in a while, causing you to frown in your sleep. He chuckled, watching your sleepy pout lit up by the streetlights that flashed by overhead. It was cute. 

He faltered for a moment, hesitating, before reaching over to hold your shoulders, trying to push you back onto your seat. 

Gonna give herself a damn concussion. 

Instead, you slumped toward him, your head, heavy with sleep, falling upon his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, glancing at you. You nuzzled into his side, lips parted gently. 

He swallowed thickly, trying to stay as still as possible, awkwardly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel though. Slowly, he relaxed, getting used to the weight of your body pressing into his shoulder.

Eventually, he pulled into his driveway. He hated having to wake you up, pausing to gaze at your peaceful, sleeping face before gently shaking you awake. He held back the urge to smile as you rubbed your bleary eyes, glancing around you as you realised where you were. 

“Alright, run on home, now.” He said, nodding toward your door. 

Your eyes widened, and you swivelled back toward your seat, yanking down the passenger side mirror. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” You mumbled, panic tinging your voice.

You smoothed down your dishevelled hair inelegantly, pressing the backs of your hands to your still inflamed cheeks in a futile attempt to cool them down. 

You huffed hopelessly, setting your forehead against the dash, letting out a little whine of despair.

“Okay, cut the dramatics…” His heart softened as you let out another pitiful whine, but he pressed on. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door-” 

“Hop, please don’t make me go home yet.” You pleaded with him, holding onto his arm. “I’m still buzzed, my parents are gonna be able to tell-” 

He opened his mouth to refuse once more, but began to panic when he spotted the glimmer of tears welling up in your eyes, your lip wobbling. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cr-” 

You gave one last convincing sniffle. 

He sighed, caving in. “Okay, okay-”

You gave him a toothy grin before lunging at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a grateful hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You squealed. 

“Alright, alright.” He sighed, patting your back awkwardly, feeling reluctant when it was time to break away from you. “Just until you sober up.”

He opened the door for you, letting you hold onto his shoulder for balance as you hopped down from his truck, making sure you were walking steady as he led you to his porch. You plopped down ungracefully, and he draped his jacket over your shoulders. 

The wood of the porch was cold and uneven beneath your thighs as you sat on the ledge, fiddling with Hopper’s hat in your hands. He returned from inside with a glass of water, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he sat down next to you. 

You looked at your feet as you sat in silence, the night breeze ghosting your face gently, crickets chirping in the distance. You heard the click of his lighter and turned to watch as Hopper’s face was illuminated by the fire as he lit another cigarette, his features bathed in the golden light.

You put on his hat, adjusting it so you wore it just like he did. He peered over and chuckled, flicking the brim. 

“Cute.” He muttered, before clearing his throat and turning away, awkwardly drumming his fingers on his thighs. 

“You think I’m cute?” You asked, looking up at him through your wide eyes. 

A blush crept up his cheeks. 

“Drink.” He said gruffly, holding out the glass to you. 

You ignored his gesture. You felt your cheeks warm even further, the effects of the liquid courage you’d had earlier taking hold now, stronger than ever. Your lips became loose, and you could tell you were about to be a little too truthful and that you’d regret all the words that were about to leave your mouth. Still, you spoke. 

“Because, I think you're cute.” You blurted out. 

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before regaining his feigned unfazed expression. 

“You’re drunk. Drink.” He spoke. 

“Like, really cute.” You swayed toward him. “Like, really, really-”

His hand splayed on the back of your head as he held your head up towards him, holding the glass to your lips, making you pause and take a sip. 

“Cute.” You finished. 

“I think I like you.” He made you take another drink of the water, the smooth, refreshing liquid sliding down your throat, a little slipping down your chin as he held the glass to your mouth. He used his thumb to wick the droplets away. “Like, really like you.” Another drink. “Whenever I see you-” Another sip. “I get all these butterflies in my stomach and I-” Sip. “Just can’t describe it. Like, I-” Sip. “I think-” Sip. “I think I like everything about you.” 

You went on like this for ages, Hopper holding the glass to your lips and interrupting you with sips of the water, as you rambled on and on about the huge crush on him that you’d been nursing for ages now, completely oblivious to the smug smile that was now gracing his face as he held you. 

After a good while of pouring your heart out, you seemed to run out of steam, panting a little at the rapid speed you had been talking at. 

“Feeling better?” He asked, you nodding in response. You were sobering up, but the burn in your cheeks still hadn’t subsided. You were blushing for an entirely different reason, now.

He nudged the small of your back, urging you to stand up. 

“Walk in a straight line.” He called out, prompting you to laugh as you did what you were told. 

“You gonna ask me to recite the alphabet backwards now?” You turned to him, smiling cheekily as he approached you. 

He hummed, as if in deep contemplation. “I think that won’t be necessary.” 

He threw his arm around you as he walked you to your door, pulling his jacket tighter around you. 

You stopped in front of the door, taking a deep breath of anticipation as you both stared at it. 

“Hop?”

“Yeah?” 

“You’ll wave at me from your window if I end up getting grounded, right?” 

Long nights on duty were disorienting, and definitely lonely. Despite knowing the next morning he would see the guys at the station, and the same waitresses at the diners and coffee shops, and, eventually, Joyce and one of the many children in her kids’ friend group, the late night patrols put Jim in a weird headspace. A very liminal headspace that reminded him a little too much of some of the weirder ongoings in the town.

It probably wasn’t a good look, but after nights like those, he would allow himself to sneak off to Gallyan’s. At least the name was somewhat discreet, and not something like “Peaches” or “Twin Spires”. Not that it mattered. He was the Chief of Police, and could get away with it. Or, the truth, he knew, was that people were aware of his less-than-professional behavior, and just let it slide. Who else was going to do his job? The law enforcement presence in Hawkins was small and bumbling, and hardly ever needed. The most he ever needed to do was break up fights outside bars, and even then he didn’t care to do that. 

It was a Tuesday night at Gallyan’s (more like Wednesday morning at 2am). Jim hadn’t been there in a few months. He sat in his vehicle, just outside the cheap neon signage, debating on if he was even really feeling it. He needed something to get him out of his funk. Not coffee, not pills, not something that would make it worse. He wasn’t particularly in the mood, but it was worth a try. 

“Okay…” he breathed out. He finished his cigarette hurriedly, and slammed the door behind him. 

Walking into the place, he kept his hat tipped low, and his blue jacket on, just covering his badge. The doormen were still well aware it was him, mumbling a greeting and not even asking for an entry fee.

The further in he got, Jim finally, slowly, removed his hat, brow staying low with his glance cast down. He shouldn’t have felt weird or bad about being there, but he recognized a lot of sleazy faces he’d detained in the past, and it was just uncomfortable.

“Hi handsome, how are you tonight?” a gentle voice asked him, right as he sat at a far away table.

“Fine…” Jim trailed off as he looked the woman up and down. She was all of five feet tall (maybe some change with the heels, but still tiny), and dressed in a very subtle, pink lingerie set.

Something about her short stature and black bangs seemed familiar. Those features weren’t super defining, but they stood out enough and he couldn’t tell why…

“I’m Goldie,” the dancer said, closing the space between her and the chief’s lap.

“Oh, like Goldilocks. Is that because of your long, blonde locks?” Jim smiled sarcastically, eyes trailing over her black hair.

“Mmmhmm. Don’t have three bears, though… Just looking at one big one.” She bit her tongue in a cheeky smile, sliding down onto his lap fully. 

Jim started fishing around for his wallet. As much as being called a “bear” surprisingly turned him on, he knew she was just trying to initiate a transaction. Fair enough.

“How much? $50? $100? I gotta say, I don’t think I’ve noticed you here before, but you’re probably one of the more expensive dancers, right?”

“I’ll take that, even though $50 is still a bit low…” She had to chuckle at him. “This one’s on me.”

“Nothing’s ever free, Goldie. What do you want? I had a long shift. Let me pay whatever you want upfront.”

Jim couldn’t understand why she was laughing again, or being sweet on him. Like genuinely sweet, and laughing as if she was shy about something.

“Listen, if you’re trying to offer some other services, maybe it’s best you don’t.” He clinked at his badge with his index finger.

“I’m not offering that,” Goldie sighed pointedly. “Let me give you this one on the house, and just join me out back for a drink after. My shifts get long and stressful too, you know. Sometimes I just want company.” There was that sweet little smirk again.

Goldie was talking to him like she knew him. He still couldn’t think if he’d known her from somewhere. But why him?

Most girls around the club had been dancing to a soundtrack of fast paced hair metal. It wasn’t terrible, but the energy was a bit much for that hour of the night/morning. However (maybe by Goldie’s subtle request), the next track eased into “Dance the Night Away”, a little more soft and mellow. 

Goldie’s moves were refreshingly gentle and loving. In fact, she had a hard time not looking back at Jim with heavy lids and a flirtatious glance. 

She sank against his broad, warm body, leaning against his chest and feeling his breath against her ear. He smelled smokey and like beer (even though he hadn’t had a drink yet). It was a fitting and weirdly endearing scent.

She placed his big hands firmly around her waist, allowing him to pull her over his crotch. The uniform fabric, from his thick thighs to the tightness below his belt, was so taut and inviting. Goldie couldn’t help but run her hands over those legs, lingering over the plush outer sides of his ass.

Jim used his firm grip to turn her to face him.

“Ah, ah,” she chastised, gleefully, “I’m giving the dance here.”

He replied with a small, shot down glance. She loved being so tiny compared to him and telling him what to do.

After a moment of some sways here and there, Goldie settled back onto the officer’s lap, squeezing her thighs around the width of his. She smoothed her little hands over his chest--his pecs straining slightly under his shirt. He was just so big all around.

“Don’t mind me…” She plucked open the top shirt button, and then the one after that. Seeing his chest hair peek out the top, she raked her pink fingernails through it. 

Her hands continued roaming around, gripping his soft waist, then his shoulders, then giving in to the urge to smooth her fingers over his rugged beard. She just about purred at the feel of it. Jim took notice, and discreetly slid his hands over her backside, all while offering a playful grin.

“Keep it over the panties, Chief,” she murmured.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She liked that a lot.

The song kept going as she continued to grind rhythmically against his crotch. His tight pants had only gotten tighter, and his hardness started to rub friction in the right spot for her. But she couldn’t let that happen. Not tonight, or at least not at work.

She pressed his head to her chest, trying to ease off of the grinding slowly. Even his stubble felt delicious against her bosom. He breathed in how much she smelled like cherry candy and whiskey--an interesting combo, but one that fit her small, friendly demeanor.

The song faded out, and just like that, Poison was playing over the speakers, and Goldie was off his lap. 

Jim was afraid that was it. Not only would he be left halfway pitching a tent, but he still didn’t know where he knew Goldie from.

Disappointed, he sank against his chair and lit a smoke. 

“Come on…” A tiny touch accompanied the voice. Goldie now stood beside him with a bottle of Evan Williams. “I’m off duty and so are you, so let’s have that drink.”

The big chief followed the petite dancer down the back halls and out an emergency exit. The bouncers wouldn’t have usually allowed anyone clearance, but they recognized Jim all too well, and could see that Goldie was leading him around, like a puppy.

They emerged into the brisk early morning air. Goldie, now draped in a big leather jacket, looked so small and so much younger than she first looked in the dim lights. 

She teasingly swiped the cigarette from Jim’s lips, smoking on it herself. “I gotta say, I’ve been hoping I’d get to see you here. It’s kinda weird.” She bundled herself against him for extra warmth, and he absent-mindedly wrapped an arm around her.

“Where have I seen you?” he smiled. In most other cities, if someone seemed familiar, it was just a coincidence or something. But Hawkins was small. People only had so many places to go, and so many people to run into.

“Do you remember doing Career Day a year and a half ago? At Hawkins High, for the seniors?” 

He sort of did. Most days were hazy due to weird hours, liquor, and boredom. 

“Guess you could say I didn’t take you up on the summer job… Or any of those jobs, haha.” She handed the stubby cigarette back to Jim.

That petite frame, the fluffy dark hair, the pink… It reminded Jim of a student who, after the Career Day presentations, awkwardly approached him. Super shy, and dressed very modestly in a pink sweater, pink tights, and a long blue church skirt.

The student, in question, bashfully asked if the station was hiring anyone to help with filing, or even cleaning and errand running. Jim told them to go speak to Flo if she wanted any help. But it didn’t seem to really matter. The girl kind of lingered, eyes looking him up and down while blushing.

“Sorry, had a crush on you,” Goldie blurted, a bit more bluntly than she meant. 

The corner of Jim’s lip curled up. He leaned his hip and shoulder against the wall, while slightly craning down to look into her eyes. “I’m probably old enough to be your dad.”

A giddy chill ran down Goldie’s spine. “I’m still a grown woman. I know my tastes. My tastes are pretty mature.” She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m into the dad-type.”

She glanced at him with a touch more lust in her words.

“So you had a crush on me. Huh.”

“Didn’t say it went away…”

Jim’s eyes darted around for a moment, masking the fact that he was a bit flattered and flustered.

Goldie could see through, though, and handed him the bottle of bourbon.

“So… if you want… I can give you my number, and maybe—“

“You come see me here again,” Goldie responded with a wink. “For now.”

Eyes from all angles of the room were on him the moment he walked in. A lot of hushed voices, some giggling, traced around him.

A lot of those glances were trailing up and down the officer’s tight khaki pants, lingering around the tautness around his behind and under his belt buckle.

“Hi Tracey... Oh, hey Rebecca...” Hopper mumbled here and there, recognizing a few of his “friends” in the class. In fact, it had become more obvious that most these ladies had either bedded him or flirted with him in some capacity. He kept his head down, disappointed he left his shades and had in the car.

Jim couldn’t remember clearly what he had been called in for. Something about an alarm going off or something possibly being stolen. This was bullshit for the mall security to handle, not him. He had better things to do. He didn’t, actually, but it’s what he would have told the mall staff.

On the other hand, an aerobics class full of ladies in leotards wasn’t the worst.

Heather, the instructor, shuffled up behind the officer in her black and pink 2-piece and big, black hair.

“I swear the alarm was going off and the back room looked off!”

“Off?” Jim asked, making his squinty-eyed face of doubt.

“Yeah, it looks like things were messed up and maybe some supplies was taken...” Heather grimaced, trying more to smile than appear embarrassed.

Jim sighed, eyeing his exit. “If you notice anything specific missing, give us a call. Otherwise, your security guys here need to start doing their jobs.” His brow lowered in annoyance.

As he made his way past brightly done-up ladies in stretchy fabric and leg warmers, the staring felt more intense than when he entered. He was, in fact, significantly bigger and taller than most, so the way he stuck out in the crowd of shorter women was comical.

“You should stay for a class sometime. No charge,” Heather smiled sweetly. She seemed to be trying to slow him down or keep him from leaving.

“Yeah, big ol’ me trying to keep up in here, I’m so sure. Thanks though.” His mustache stretched into a long line, the way it did when he offered an awkward smile, or uncertain look. “Y’all just wanna watch me sweat.”

“Yeah we do,” one voice whispered from some random corner.

“You’d be surprised,” Heather teased, “I’ve seen you sweat. I know what kind of endurance you have... Besides, little shorts and a crop top could be a good look for you.” Her smile dripped with sugar and dirty thoughts.

It wasn’t only her in that classroom imagining Hopper’s thick, fuzzy frame in a little outfit, cheeks peeking out from under little tight shorts. Not really fitting to his tastes, but he had also taken to wearing pastel Hawaiian shirts while off duty, so who knew...

Jim smirked at Heather’s attempt to flirt (it wasn’t NOT working). “I’ll consider it. Maybe you’d consider a drink sometime? Somewhere not in Starcourt?”

“Come to my class and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Jim smoothed his mustache and laughed softly. “Fine. We’ll see.”

A couple of low whistles and murmurs trailed behind him as he made his way to the exit.

“Oh, and you need some athletic shorts. The little ones. To move around in,” Heather called after him, a twisted grin on her face.

The young woman very willingly pressed herself against the hood of his vehicle, popping out her backside, strategically widening her stance.

“Cut that out and get off the vehicle. I will call back up if you make a scene.” The chief of police was exhausted. Just wanted to go back to the station and... well, not deal with petty theft from the local metalheads.

“Are you arresting me, officer?” She let her hands fall behind her back, resting just above the curve of her back. “You going to cuff me?”

“ExCUSE mE???” His tone was partially irritated, but more so baffled at what was just said to him. He had to make sure he hadn’t slipped out of it. He may have been wearing his dark shades, but his expression wasn’t hard to read; he was perplexed, and a bit agitated.

Hopper proceeded to unclip the cuffs from his belt and brace them around the offender. Something felt weird and maybe a bit humiliating that the woman had goaded him into it and was now making a bit of a show. People nearby who had been walking to their cars slowed down to watch the encounter. Most of them were women with little quirked grins on their faces.

The now-arrested woman in question had started making small grinding motions against Hopper’s pants, as he was partially draped against her in the cuffing process.

“Hey, HEY,” he barked in his usual frantic way. “None of that!” His eyes widened under his sunglasses. “Jesus Christ, what is with this?”

He moved back and clamped his big hands tight around her forearms, in some effort to get her to cooperate.

“Ooof, maybe harder... please?” She laughed giddily, her expression showing nothing but flirtatious humor at the whole situation.

Hopper just couldn’t comprehend. He wasn’t stupid, but sometimes he was as thick, thought-wise, as he was in his build. His biggest concern was that this display of disrespect was going to make him seem like a joke.

At no point had he ever realized that more and more women around Hawkins were absolutely thirsty for him.

He hated to admit that something was weirdly hot and confusing about this. He felt himself getting stiff. But he was working. Had to keep it together.

“How ‘bout you show a little respect,” Hopper grumbled. He wasn’t that fond of pulling the authority card because he believed it, but more because it was convenient at times. 

“Yes officer,” the young woman chuckled with the most put-on dainty voice. “I mean, ahem, daddy.”

Jim choked up. He felt himself turn pink. He tried his hardest not to let it be obvious, so reactively slammed a hand on the hood of the vehicle to steady himself.

“Young lady...”

“Oooo, you talk like a daddy too,” she teased. “Big Chief Daddy.”

Was she sticking her tongue out? She was!

More and more people seemed to have stopped to watch the “altercation”, which was making Hopper weirdly more anxious, embarrassed, and... turned on?

Now’s a bad time to learn I have a humiliation fetish, he thought to himself.

He had stepped back to get a better grip on the cuffs, now that Little Miss Trouble was fastened in.

Don’t think about the cuffs like that. Nope, not like that. Not now.

The woman turned her head as best as she could to look at the chief behind her. Her voluminous hair parted like a curtain to show a bratty, pleased expression.

“You know, I’ve never been roughed up by a pig before. Pigs are pretty gross. But I think I kinda like that.” A big, pleased grin spread across her red lips.

Hopper sharply removed his sunglasses. He probably shouldn’t have, as it was partially covering the frustrated blush around his cheeks. But he wanted to make one last effort at intimidation. He still had to do his job.

He glared very seriously at her, blue eyes angry under a heavy, furrowed brow. She responded by running her ankle along one of his legs.

How could he be so pissed and so aroused at the same time? But he couldn’t help the thoughts in his mind, let alone what was happening in his tight uniform pants. (If she turned her head any further she might just get too good a look there.)

“Seriously, that’s enough,” he said, attempting to sound calmer, but definitely more exasperated. He smoothed his mustache down with his fingers from the corners of his mouth, the way he often did when he was stressed.

“Oooo, I’d like to know what a ride on that feels like. I’ve never had a mustache ride from a pig before. I bet you eat pussy pretty good.”

She had gotten bold, biting her lip, not hiding her expression after that statement.

It was too much. The forbidden imagery of letting such a sassy little woman sit on him, maybe step on him, call him “daddy” and “pig”... The idea of draping her over his knee and spanking her... Even the image of her crawling on top of him and squeezing her thighs around his face, all while he eagerly licked his long tongue deep in her... That was all too much.

He couldn’t just let her go, with much of the town watching, especially with the record she had stolen very obviously on the ground beside her feet.

“Okay, that’s it. Come on, let’s go.”

The chief knew this was going to be a mistake—a mistake for awkward reasons—but it was better than just letting her go. Maybe.

He grabbed the offending party and guided her into his vehicle. Surprisingly, she calmed down with the quips, and just let him seat her inside.

After giving the station a quick head’s up on the radio, they drove off, silently for a bit.

“Still pitchin’ a tent there?” the woman laughed.

Hopper didn’t want to answer.

“It’s okay. Maybe we can revisit some of this handcuff stuff when I’m not being taken in. I’m free most Tuesday evenings.”

The officer rolled his eyes.

“I mean it.”

By this time they had stopped right in front of the station entrance. Jim was trying to figure out his words. He hated admitting that maybe he wanted to take her up on it.

“Look, just behave in there, okay?” He sighed, gesturing to the door. He knew he’d regret that wording.