Summer Rebound (Dating Season Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  Dune throws an arm on my shoulder and introduces me to his biker friends.

  “Jackal and Angel, this is Chloe, my old lady.”

  The look of horror on my friends’ faces can’t deter my pleasure that I’ve reached the esteemed old lady status.

  “She’s youthful and in her prime,” Charlotte interjects. “Quite bendy!”

  “No disrespect intended,” Dune says with a sheepish grin. “It means she’s my woman.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte says. “Don’t mind me then.”

  Austin cocks a brow and I challenge it with a lift of my own.

  Lucy interrupts our dueling eyebrows. “This is so fun,” she says. “I love camping.”

  Of course she does. She probably whispered to the animals on the hike here. They probably set up her tent for her. I vow I’m going to love it too.

  I’m out of my element and I do not love it. And I’m still competing with Lucy. Not to complain, but who goes hiking after a hike?

  Dune points to a wooden sign with a diagram of a winding trail that’s labeled in bright red letters Advanced. “Let’s do this one.”

  To my surprise, Lucy says, “I don’t know about this one.”

  “I know,” I say with gusto. “I know it’s going to be fucking great. Come on, pussies.”

  Reading those romance books really gave me a whole new level of comfort with words. If only I felt comfortable with this trail. Silver lining—I have all the technical rock terms I learned from Dune, so at least Lucy will be impressed by those, as we topple over the side of a cliff.

  Charlotte, ever the practical one, asks questions about the dangers pinpointed on the map, and after hearing Dune’s answers, my friends decide to stay behind and prepare for my party.

  I don’t blame them, because the trail is not for beginners. Just because I understand their hesitation doesn’t mean I don’t stare at them with longing as they walk away, willing them to change their mind.

  “Let’s do this, brother,” Jackal says.

  They fist bump and we set off.

  While I’m climbing a mountain with Dune’s friends, my friends are back at the camp, probably drinking canned wine and eating Cheetos. What am I even trying to prove?

  Dune is sweet, though, helping me along the way. Even riding me on his back for a bit. The trail ends in a glorious wildflower meadow full of pink mountain heather. I sink my weary bones down into the aromatic field and stare at the blue sky. Puffy clouds float across at a slow pace, kissing the distant crags.

  “Now I know why you thought the trail would be worth it. It’s gorgeous up here.” This is life, stopping to appreciate beauty.

  “Yeah,” he says, “it is.”

  He’s looking at me, though, not the flowers. Whether I can handle the frenetic pace of Dune becomes a non-issue when he picks a bouquet and hands them to me. An ache settles in my chest, and every bit of struggle to get here is now worth it. Maybe there’s something to picking the road less traveled, after all.

  Seven

  Whoever invented the portable shower is my hero. So is Jackal for arriving early to set it up at Dune’s request. The thought he put into that precious amenity cancels out the fact I spent the entire day hiking and can’t feel my legs.

  “I’m so thankful I didn’t have to bathe in a stream,” I say to the girls. “He really thought of everything.”

  “Chloe, he’s ah-mazing,” Lucy says as we sit by the thankfully allowed fire, sipping chilled beer. “He was so eager to do something special for you. Hope you don’t mind the camping suggestion. I know you’re not an outside girl, but I figured this would be a little PR for you as an active person.”

  Even if she makes me feel like a freakish vampire who never sees the light of day, I can’t be offended by her words, because she’s the reason I had fancy shampoo and conditioner. She even took care of my clothes situation while they were at the mall and picked out the Biker Bitch shirt and bedazzled jean shorts I’m wearing. I can’t wait to see what features on the hoodie I’ll be donning as the sun sets.

  “I don’t know if she needs any PR,” Angel says. “She’s already his old lady.”

  Thank you, Angel. I like her a lot.

  “Speaking of old lady, I didn’t realize you were so serious,” Charlotte says.

  “I kind of didn’t either,” I admit out loud. “But yay.”

  “I knew when Austin invited me to his place, we were serious,” Lucy says with firelight flickering off her glossy hair. Even in this heat, it’s smooth as glass. “A man’s home is his sanctuary and once you’ve been there, it’s real.”

  Her statement unsettles me and I shift in my chair. Though Dune’s made it biker-official, our relationship doesn’t feel real yet. For a man who structures his life with lists and spreadsheets, he lives by no other rules.

  I glance over to where the guys are huddled, whittling or something. “I haven’t been to his place yet.”

  “Why?” Lucy asks.

  “It’s only been…” Wow, it’s been a little over a month, and I’ve only seen him a handful of times. “He’s busy, so things are pretty spontaneous.”

  That makes no sense, but I don’t have an answer so I just spewed out some words.

  “Biker men are a different breed,” Angel says. “Jackal claimed me only four days ago and my head is still spinning.”

  “Claimed you?” Charlotte drawls out with wonder. “Why is that hot, when it shouldn’t be? It’s like you’re a territory.”

  “It’s different, for sure.” Angel smiles. “I don’t see him that much, but when I do, nothing compares.”

  That appears to be the theme in the books I read. Women accepting the nomad men because they are exceptional at sex. I can relate.

  “Party time,” Dune announces. “Let’s open your gifts.”

  A frenzy of activity takes place and several pretty packages appear for me to rip open under a sky filled with twinkling stars. It’s perfect.

  “I made you this,” Dune says, handing me a carved piece of wood. “A better walking stick. I whittled in our special number.”

  “I love it,” I say, softly. While Charlotte “aws” I stand on tiptoes to brush my lips against his and recite a line from Motorcyle Mayhem: Book Seven, The Reckoning, “I only have myself to give you. It’s not much, but it’s worth something.”

  “Damn, girl. You’re making me feel things.”

  I’m horrible, but aren’t we all?

  Just when I think nothing can top the moon-shaped cake Austin baked from Granny Mae’s recipe, he pulls out his guitar.

  “I wrote a song.”

  Flames flicker an orange glow as Austin rests the instrument on his lap and softly strums. His raspy voice sings about a girl rewriting history so a moment can repeat itself. The moment where she realizes she’s in love. My gaze slides to Dune, who listens with narrowed eyes, and I force my lips into a smile. It’s just a song. It’s not like he’s singing about me. Lucy sways gently to the music with eyes closed, mouthing the chorus. It can’t be about anyone other than her, because she’s so secure in herself. And that’s why she’ll always be the heroine. She and I are two different genres, so I snuggle into Dune’s side, ignoring Austin’s stare, pretending I don’t care who it’s about, ready to star in my own story.

  Day two of camping is better than day one. If I keep telling myself that, I might believe it. Today we’re canoeing, because there are still muscles I apparently haven’t discovered. This time in my arms. It’s like rapids kind of river rafting too. Like, maybe I might die? Water rushes downstream at an alarming pace as the men ready the canoes.

  “I can’t believe she found you a leather swimsuit and had a birthday girl patch sewn on,” Charlotte says, shaking her head. “You still look hot.”

  “That’s because I am hot.” The one-piece suit that zips up the front and rides high on my hips is tantamount to having a scorching car seat seared onto my body. I look over to where Lucy stands in a daring red bikini. “My b
oobs may literally catch fire. How do they wear those vests all the time and not melt?”

  “It’s their lifestyle,” Charlotte says. “Have to respect the commitment, even during river rafting.”

  Maybe my suit is pleather and that’s why it’s so uncomfortable? The stiff material creaks when I bend over. But I’m grateful, because otherwise that would make me a petty bitch. Not today, Satan.

  “Off subject, but who is Coco?” she asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Dune had to leave the night we met because she was sick. Why?”

  “This morning, I was getting coffee and overheard Jackal ask Dune how Coco was doing. When I asked Angel who Coco was, she clammed up and said it wasn’t her story to tell.” She nudges my shoulder. “So I thought you’d tell it.”

  “If I find out, I’ll let you know.” I’m all kinds of curious, but getting anything out of Dune is near impossible. It’s like a secret society I can only access through my new favorite books.

  “Ready?” Dune asks, stalking toward me in an arousing display of bare chest and vest.

  Because I value my pitiful life, I hesitate until Lucy squeals and holds an oar above her head. “I’ve always dreamed of this,” she says with a wiggle of her hips.

  Austin smiles at her display, and I look away. Last night, when we retired to our tents, I crawled onto the blow-up mattress with Dune and promptly passed out from exhaustion. When I woke in the middle of the night and poked my head out of the tent to make sure the grunting I heard wasn’t a wild boar, I caught an unmistakable sex shadow show on the wall of their tent. Figures, Lucy was bumping and grinding while Comatose Chloe slept in both her hoodie and also Dune’s, because it’s cold at night in the mountains even in summer.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  “Front or back?” Dune asks.

  “You shouldn’t say things like that unless you plan on getting naked,” I taunt in a low voice, brushing past him. Romance heroines have anal all the time, and right now, I’m willing to sacrifice my virgin butt to the God of Bad Boys to get out of river rafting. With a loud squeak of leather, I crouch by the boat, and push my booty out in what I hope is an enticing way.

  “You’re so bad,” Dune says. “Get in. I’ll reward you later.”

  “Chloe,” Austin calls out, sprinting over to us. “Wear this.” He holds out a life jacket.

  “She doesn’t need that,” Dune says. “I’ve got her.”

  “I’d feel better if she wore it,” Austin says, jabbing it at me.

  “I’ve got her,” Dune says.

  “You sure about that?” Austin says.

  “Do I look like I’m not sure?”

  While they silently communicate by staring at each other, Lucy calls out, “Come on, babe. Little sister will be okay.”

  “Thanks for your concern, but I’m good.” I turn toward the canoe. “Let’s do this.”

  Like a twisted version of Noah’s Ark, we enter canoes two by two and drift away with the current. It’s not as bad as I thought. Dune and I take the lead, moving far ahead of the pack, and it’s exhilarating.

  “We’re going to go a little off course,” Dune says steering us left in a zigzag until we catch air paddling through frothy water churning over rocks. As I scream, it’s apparent that not accepting the life vest was an unwise decision. If I go over in this heavy ass leather suit, I’ll sink right to the bottom of the frigid water.

  “Paddle harder,” I yell, gripping my oar so tight it’s fused to my hand. “Are you even fucking paddling back there? Dig, man, dig!”

  “The worst part is coming up,” Dune shouts. “Keep it steady and straight.”

  “You realize water moves, right?”

  He calls out instructions and somehow, I remain focused on staying alive. It’s amazing what you can do when your life is in danger.

  Lucy’s squeals of delight behind us are like salt in an open wound. Our canoe tosses precariously as water crashes over the side, and I wait for my life to flash before my eyes. It doesn’t. Probably because I’m too boring.

  Once we’re past the “worst part,” and the water calms to a tranquil flow, my pulse continues to race. Like might-be-having-a-heart-attack racing. Never have I experienced anything like that. Dune acts like we’re on a vacation cruise and steers us over toward an embankment and behind an overhanging tree.

  “That was wild,” I say. “But I will never be so foolish as to refuse a life vest again.”

  “Told you I had you.” He pulls out his dick. “Only thing better than the wild is fucking in the wild.”

  He strokes the hard length. “Remember I told you I’d think of what I wanted when you lost our bet?” I nod, fixated on the way he’s pleasuring himself. “Blowjob. You were so sexy out there, I need to claim your mouth.”

  “What if someone sees?”

  “Let them see.”

  I’m into it, actually. Turns out there’s something irresistible about these daredevil sex addict types, because I twist around and crawl between his splayed thighs. “Suck me,” he says.

  One thing I gleaned from romance novels is to make sure I use eye contact, which is impossible while I place kisses along his cock.

  “Where’s your piercing?” I ask.

  “Took it out for the trip.”

  Bummer. He moans when I flicker my tongue against the sensitive skin on the underside of the head.

  “You’ve got a beautiful mouth,” he says. “Rub my dick against it.”

  Pre-cum leaks from the tip as I gloss my lips.

  “Mm, yeah,” he pants out.

  I glide his thickness down between my breasts and borrow another line from Ava. “Feel how fast my heart beats for you?” I tap it against my chest, and add a few of my own words so I’m not an outright thief. “Thump. Thump. Thump.”

  He sucks in a ragged breath. “I want to fuck your tits.”

  Now I feel silly for complaining about the zipper. It’s perfect for this moment. I ease the metal down to cradle his dick in my cleavage. No one has ever titty banged me, and I’m amazed at how sensual it feels. With an instinct I didn’t know I possessed, I squeeze my breasts tighter and lick the tip every time it shoots up.

  “Oh God,” he says, jerking faster and reaching out to pinch a nipple.

  The way he moans, the way his abs contract when I take him in my mouth, causes my clit to pulsate. I want to get myself off with him, but in an unselfish move, I slip a finger to his perineum and caress the sensitive skin.

  “Holy fuck. Suck me faster.” His head falls back on another loud groan. “I’m going to come. You feel too good.”

  I suck tighter, relaxing my throat and taking him as deep as I can without gagging. It’s all so daring. Especially, how public it is, a fact that really hits home as Dune finishes and comes all over my face. I look up and see that Austin and Lucy’s boat is only a couple rapids away.

  How embarrassing.

  Or thrilling? Austin seemed to have an impressed look in his eyes before he smirked at me self-righteously. Judge away, buddy. This is why you didn’t get a near-death blowjob.

  “You look so hot with my cum on your face,” Dune says.

  Thankfully, I can clean my face in the river. Dune is a good man and insists on fingering me until I think I might die again. This time, an exquisite death. We head back to camp, and I avoid Austin while we pack up our things.

  Overall, the trip was a success. I think. Until Dune dodges my not-so-subtle hints to let me go home with him. Maybe he’s not that into me after all?

  Eight

  Just got done with work. Meet me at Handle Bar, Dune’s text reads.

  Since I haven’t seen him this week, due to his endless biker activities after work, I should be rolling out of bed at breakneck speed. But I’m not. My body is only interested in relaxing after the camping trip. It’s a whole mood.

  Most important, I’m at a really good part in my novel. Ava may love another man, and the thought I might not get the ending I want is
too much to bear. But the fact that a heroine would never lie in bed rather than go to her man isn’t lost on me. I toss my novel aside and pad to the living room where I catch Charlotte, her fiancé, and Austin watching Sons of Anarchy on mute while reciting Dune lines at the TV. All three of them are crying with laughter.

  “You guys.”

  Charlotte gasps. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair of us.”

  “Not fair to Charlie Hunnam, anyway,” Austin says. “Wasn’t Dune on an episode of COPS last week?”

  “Oh my God. He was not. Actually, honestly, I don’t know. It does seem sort of on-brand,” I admit. “Maybe he is hiding a gambling ring at his house.”

  “Or a meth lab,” Austin suggests, to more of Charlotte’s giggles. He needs Tattoo Jesus.

  I smile too because it is kind of funny how him dodging inviting me to his place has resulted in nefarious theories from everyone. I’m feeling a bit like an old lady in name only. It’s not that I want to be attached at the hip twenty four seven, but it would be nice to advance to more than weekend thrill seeking. A sleepover would be nice. But also, if I want to feel closer to my boyfriend and farther from Austin, I should probably be spending more time with the former than the latter. “I’m going to go draw some fake tattoos on with a Sharpie and then go see him.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Charlotte says.

  There was a time her words were true. But the daring side I’m exploring so would. And does. In my art supplies, I find what I need to create an homage to our hike, complete with a road and flowers, on my bicep. A romantic gesture like this should definitely get me an invitation to his house.

  “What do you think?” I preen for the trio and explain the meaning behind it.

  They’re impressed with my skills and assure me it looks real. Until Austin touches it and smears a patch of my beautiful buds.

  “Oh damn. I’m sorry,” he says, looking less than remorseful.

  “It’s fine,” Charlotte says. “It looks like an early morning mist has settled on the trail.”