Summer Rebound (Dating Season Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  “Yeah, that could work,” I say. “It was a little hazy.”

  “Probably from the smoke he’s blowing up your ass,” Austin mutters, moving toward the kitchen.

  I follow him and watch as he wipes down the already clean counter. “Why don’t you like him?” I finally ask.

  “Why do you?”

  The gauntlet has been thrown down. My list of reasons seem a tad inadequate.

  Why I Like Dune:

  He’s sexy, duh.

  He has a pierced cock that I’m trying my best to experience again.

  I don’t know.

  “He quotes poetry and gave me flowers and was nice to my grandma.” Much better. I place my hands on my hips and give him a mighty hard stare. “And, most important, we have chemistry, and he likes me.”

  “If you have three seconds to spare, you’ll have to put that in your spreadsheet,” he says, turning to drop the sponge in the sink. “You’ll need a new column for all of it.”

  Good thing he’s not facing me to see my face erupt in fire. Maybe I was louder that day than I thought? He knows. And he knows I now know, judging by the smug look when he turns back around.

  “Actually, I don’t have any time at all. Don’t wait up, my king. I’m off to see my prince.” With that, I wink and leave. But I only make it a few steps out of the kitchen, before I peek my head back in. This man baked me a moon-shaped cake and I don’t want to leave with tension in the air. “In case you were wondering, sponges were invented by accident in nineteen thirty-seven from a defective batch of foam.”

  He smiles. “Thank you. I was definitely wondering.”

  I’m feeling pretty good about my artwork and mature decision to smooth things over with Austin as I Uber to the bar to meet Dune.

  When I arrive, Dune waits outside for me, leaning against his bike. Thankfully, Austin’s wet-blanket attitude didn’t put a damper on my attraction. Just the sight of his jeans, T-shirt, and vest causes an insane flip flop in my belly. On my approach, his eyes travel from my sandals, up my sundress, and stop on the artwork.

  A lazy grin lifts his lips. “What’s that?”

  “You like?” I stop in front of him. “It’s our path...on a misty morning.”

  He rubs his thumb across the path which is now dry. “You know what I’d like better?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve inspired me. I want to take you somewhere.”

  Surprises never bode well for me. He takes my hand and we cross the empty street.

  “Something tells me if I ask where we’re going, you won’t tell me,” I say as street lamps light our way down the sidewalk.

  “That would be an accurate assessment.”

  He leads me a few blocks to a blue concrete building with tinted windows.

  “What’s this?”

  “Skin Deep.”

  “Cool name. Care to elaborate?”

  “It’s an exclusive members-only tattoo shop.”

  “Are you going to get another tattoo?”

  “You are,” he says, opening the door.

  I laugh. “I don’t think I’m ready for a real one.”

  “Just check it out.”

  Despite my reluctance, we enter the shop. A blonde-haired man, wearing punky glasses, greets us from behind a horseshoe-shaped counter.

  “Hey, man,” he says. “You here for more work?”

  “No, she is,” Dune says. “Max, this is Chloe. It’s her first time.”

  “This is Sharpie.” I point to my arm. “And I haven’t decided to get one yet.”

  “Pretty impressive. You drew that?”

  I nod, basking in the praise as Max leads us to a room with drawings of three-eyed animals on the wall.

  “You’ll never forget your first time,” he says.

  Sometimes, things spiral out of control. Art is discussed, and you feel a kinship with a fellow artist. You decide you want to add some honeysuckles to the flowers from the meadow, because you love honeysuckles. Ten minutes later, you’re seated in a tattoo chair, and you don’t really know how you got there.

  Max readies his equipment—all reassuringly sterile—and I close my eyes when he wheels up next to me.

  “Breathe,” he says. Unfortunately, I have forgotten how.

  The saran-wrapped padded leather armrest of my torture chair is crushed beneath my fingertips. Chilled sweat erupts on my hot forehead as I clench my teeth with enough force to turn them to powder. His torture device connects with my skin with rapid pricks of fire.

  “If there is hell on earth, this is it,” I say. At least I try to. What comes out is more of a strangled groan.

  The torture stops. “You okay, Chloe?” Max asks.

  “It’s too soon to tell.”

  “Give us a minute,” Dune says.

  Max wheels his chair away and tosses his gloves in the small hazardous waste trash can. “I’ll get you some water.”

  When he’s gone, Dune leans in and traces a finger along my cheek. “You gonna survive?”

  “I’ve endured worse.” For the record, I have not.

  “Why don’t you open your eyes and watch? Might make you feel better to see what’s going on.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Thank you, though.”

  “Sometimes pain can be pleasurable.” He licks his lips. “Intense pain can be like a sexual experience for some people.”

  “Maybe he isn’t doing it right?”

  “You want him to make you come?”

  My eyes widen. “What? No.”

  “Relax”—his sensual voice is just the right octave to make my body react—“let it feel good.”

  I lower my voice to a hush, “I’m all for having a light spanking, or my hair pulled, okay? You can even choke me. A little. Gently.” Like I said, I’ve learned a lot from romance novels. “I’m just not into pain that makes me bleed.”

  The only sound is the light whoosh of air through the vents above me. “God, you turn me on,” he breathes out. “I want to get between your legs and eat you out, right now. While he marks your skin.”

  My mouth opens, but no words form.

  “The honeysuckle symbolizes happiness. Did you know that?” The warmth from his hand sears my skin.

  “No, I didn’t know that. I picked it because I like to lick the little bead of dew from the tip of the stem.”

  His eyes drop to my mouth and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. “Lick, huh? You don’t suck it off?” A flush creeps across my face. “Why are you blushing?”

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Max might hear you.”

  “And? You’re my woman, and I don’t care if another man hears.”

  “Well, you said that thing…” I hesitate. This is not what I expected when I made the rash decision to come here tonight. This is way out of my comfort zone, but for some reason I’m not making any real effort to leave.

  “What thing?”

  “You asked if I wanted him to make me come. Which, I have no idea how you thought that was going to happen.”

  “Oh, he could,” he says, slipping a hand inside my sundress to palm my breast. “For some people, a tattoo is erotic. The sting of the needle is like a bite to the nipple. Or a slow lick to your clit and then a nip with teeth.” His eyes sweep over the exposed skin of my thighs. “Every pass of the needle over the skin is sensual, like nails digging and scraping into your back during a hard fuck.” I stare at his mouth, mesmerized by the low husky tone of his voice. “Your body heats. Your heart races. It builds in intensity until you feel as if you’re going to come. You fucking want it. You need it.”

  I clench my thighs together. What is going on? I need to get out of here before I shove his head between my legs. Or...I could do it. One leg, then the other over his shoulders, my heels pressing into his back, his face buried between my thighs.

  “You ready to finish?” Max asks, just as Dune removes his hand.

  “We’ll see.” I take a chug from the bottled water he offers me. “M
aybe I’ll faint and won’t even feel the rest.”

  Dune’s phone buzzes. “Fuck, I have to take this,” he says, brushing past Max and out of the room.

  “Maybe I should come back another time?” I look down at the artwork on my reddened skin.

  Max sits, using his inked-up legs and Converse-clad feet to roll up next to me. “I’ve barely touched you yet.”

  “I really don’t want to do this anymore,” I whisper. “I think I just want to go home.”

  He slides a hand along his scruffy jaw. “Look, you’ve got an inch line.”

  “That can mean something, right? Like, a reminder to not cross a line.”

  We both stare at my arm as if it’s suddenly going to blossom.

  His teeth rake along his bottom lip, with a piercing much like Dune’s, then stop. “Why did you want this?”

  I sigh. “Dune…”

  “Stop right there.” He leans back in his chair. “You never mark your body for anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t marking my body for him.” I was marking it about him. Ugh.

  He narrows his eyes, studying me. “I don’t believe you. But I believe you know better now.”

  I tilt my head at him. “You’re a wise man.”

  He spreads some ointment on my line and covers it, giving me instructions how to care for it. I move to get up as Dune returns.

  “I’ve decided I’m not ready. Thank you, Max.”

  “Any time.”

  I tip him for his thwarted work, then we head outside and although I don’t want to mark my body for him, I do want to finish what Dune started while we were alone.

  “Something has come up,” he says, thwarting my plan of going to his place before I can even voice it. “I’ll walk you back and take you home.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. “Yeah.”

  Since this isn’t the first time he’s put me off, as we rush back to his motorcycle, I have to wonder… is he Breaking Bad?

  Nine

  Granny Mae is right—perseverance pays off. Just when you think something will never happen, it does.

  “Want to come over to my place?” Dune’s text reads.

  My fingers squeal with glee as they type, “I’d love to. What time?”

  “An hour?”

  “Perfect. Have something to share with you. See you soon.”

  Ah, we’ve reached the milestone of sharing things. For lack of a better comparison, this would be the part of a novel where meaningful things happen. What did I do to level up? Possibly that trick with my tongue on his perineum. Thank you for that bit of wisdom, romance writing gods. He sends me his address and I shower and shave all my bits, and dress in record time.

  “I’m going to Dune’s house,” I announce with satisfaction to Austin and Lucy.

  Lucy gasps and bounds from the couch. “Let me smell you.”

  I tuck my chin to my neck as she rushes toward me in a blur of tanned limbs. “Why? I showered.”

  “Excuse us,” she says over her shoulder to Austin, taking me by the elbow with a firm grasp and leading me to the kitchen.

  “I’m going to share a secret with you,” she whispers, releasing me at the counter. “But it’s between us, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve never shared this with anyone. But I feel I’d be derelict in my duties as Austin’s significant other if I didn’t share this with you.”

  They’re not married, so I’m not sure a significant other is an appropriate moniker. But that’s neither here nor there. “Well, my curiosity is piqued.”

  And stays piqued, because instead of telling me, she chews her pink glossed lip while fingering the strand of pearls around her swan-like neck, studying me. “After the camping trip, I’m invested in you two making it, so…” she trails off.

  “You’re really fantastic at the suspense building,” I say. “Please, tell me.”

  “You want your scent in his house. You want it everywhere, Chloe. All over, in every nook and cranny. All the most frequented places in his home.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a subconscious mind trick.” She leans against the counter, speaking in a hushed tone, “He won’t be able to stop thinking of you. Guaranteed. It’s like magic, but not black magic. In biker terms, you’re marking your territory.”

  Ah. Lucy uses trickery. Simple, yet brilliant. “I didn’t know this.”

  “I did a campaign with a new company and learned pheromones are the secret to attraction. Just a few drops in your perfume is all it takes to imprint yourself.”

  Honestly, and I can’t tell her this, I’m not sure I want to imprint myself, just yet. I know from the Twilight movies that imprinting is permanent, and I still have a lot to learn about Dune. Even my tattoo artist sees that. “I’m more of a lotion girl. I’m sure I exude my own pheromones?”

  She leans in and sniffs me. “You smell like soap.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Men are most attracted to floral scents,” she says. “And vanilla is always an excellent choice. Hold, please.” She reaches in her Prada bag and produces a square bottle of perfume. “Dab this behind your ears, on your neck and wrists. And then find places to lay your scent. His pillow, couch, anywhere you can.”

  I do as I am told, because while I’m uncertain whether Dune is my lifelong mate, it doesn’t hurt to dabble in trickery to ensure he stays around long enough to find out. “Thank you,” I say. “It’s really nice of you to share your secret with me.”

  I’m extra nice because I feel extra horrible for wanting to immediately disinfect the house to rid it of her scent. If she is a romance heroine, I’ve got to try not to become the villain. And that’s an even better reason to mark Dune’s house, so I once and for all get rid of this Austin thing.

  “I’ve got to say… I’m still so surprised by you and him. He’s not who I thought you’d end up with, at all.”

  Something tells me not to ask her to expand on that, but I do, “Who do you picture me with?”

  “Well, it’s hard because you don’t really go out. But I can see you with an accountant, just not a biker accountant. But again, Boring Belinda really shocked me, too.” Her words have no time to offend me when she pulls me in for a tight hug. “I feel like we’ve really bonded.” She releases me. “I’m glad we get along so well. I haven’t really done the whole bonding thing with females. Ya know? My therapist thinks it’s an abandonment issue because my mom went on a sabbatical to France for a few years when I was seven.”

  Fascinating. Lucy has a tragic past. I knew I needed one.

  “And what do you think about that theory?”

  “I think I’ve just been busy building my career. I want to be president by the time I’m thirty-five.”

  She really is goals. Women like her deserve to be the heroine.

  “What are you two doing?” Austin asks.

  “Just girl talk,” Lucy says, smiling, and semi-breaking girl code. “Wanted to give Chloe some pointers on how to make this permanent with Dune.”

  Austin’s eyes slide to me as he passes on his way to the fridge. “She’s a smart girl. I think she knows this isn’t permanent. Unlike the line on her arm.”

  Touché. Lucy rolls her eyes, but of course, it’s in a cute way. If I did it, I’d just look like the bitchy secondary character.

  “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr. Sunshine. I have to get going or I’ll be late.”

  While Austin’s head ducks in the refrigerator, Lucy rubs herself against the counter in what I’m guessing is a reminder for me to mark Dune’s home. I smile and give her a thumbs-up before Austin turns around and hurry outside so I’m not late.

  As I approach my car, Austin calls out to me, “Chloe, wait up.” He jogs over to me and holds out a small spray bottle. “Take this.”

  “Do I really smell this bad?”

  “It’s pepper spray.”

  “Austin—
”

  “Just take it,” he cuts in. “I’d feel better knowing you have something to protect yourself.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m an adult,” I remind him.

  “I’m very aware of that,” he says in a low voice.

  Awkward settles in, because I shouldn’t be wishing he meant that in a non-brotherly way.

  “Thank you,” I say, turning away from his penetrating stare to escape.

  His arm shoots past me, brushing against my breast in the process of opening the door. Wild horses gallop through my chest. And they shouldn’t. He steps away as if I electrocuted him and I bolt into the car to hide my disgraceful hardened nipples. “Okay, see you later.”

  When will this crush ever abate? I drive away without checking the rearview mirror. My future lies ahead, not with the guy standing in the driveway. And ideally, it’s where the GPS leads me, and not to jail when I start smuggling arms for an MC.

  Why can no one ever tell me things in advance?

  The directions on my phone lead me straight to...the gates of Pres’s house?

  “How can I help you?” a man’s voice asks.

  “Tell people to stop surprising me?” I answer and then laugh to play it off because this is a biker gang. “Dune, please.”

  The skull-emblazoned gates swing open, and I follow the drive to the front of the house where Dune’s bike sits parked amongst a row of several other Harleys. I park, grab my purse, and roll with it. Sigh. When I step onto the porch, I get a weird vibe that someone is watching me. My eyes slide to the right and I am being watched. But not by someone. By something.

  I stop mid-step. A hairy white creature, with owl-sized blue eyes, sits on its haunches staring at me. Tiny bottom teeth protrude from the exaggerated frown on its face.

  “Help,” I whisper. Whatever the thing is, it looks enraged by my presence.

  For minutes our gazes lock, mine stunned, its judgy, until it rises and takes a step toward me.

  “No! No!” I shriek and reach for my pepper spray.

  In a flash, Dune appears in the doorway. But instead of shrieking too, he scoops it up…and cuddles it? “Did Chwoe scare you, widdle fwuffer-muffin?”