Summer Rebound (Dating Season Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  Reasons To Not Have S-E-X:

  Pulled a muscle in my vagina getting off his bike

  Migraine, possibly from the nipple zapping

  Nauseous

  That last one wasn’t a lie, actually. I ate an entire box of Ho-Hos trying to come up with excuses not to have s-e-x. Another thing the article pointed out was that in order to have a functional long-term relationship, we need a deeper connection. Obviously, I knew this, but when you’re overcome with lust, you kind of forget how to think. So I need to detox from the physical and get my head together.

  Making pottery will be good for us as a couple. Except, Coco is particularly frowny today and I really need her to get over her dislike of me and cooperate. Her round blue eyes watch me with disdain as I set up the wheel.

  “Pottery can get a little messy,” I explain on his dad’s patio, since he still hasn’t won his own house back.

  “I like messy,” he says, stroking Coco’s Muppet-fur. Sunlight glints off his lip ring, and I do my best not to let it mesmerize me.

  “First, you take this ball and throw it.” I demonstrate the clay throwing and well, Dune does not seem interested until I spin the wheel and use my hands to work the clay into a shape.

  “S-h-i-t,” he spells, “looks like you’re working my d-i-c-k.”

  A heavy weight of disappointment settles on my chest that this, too, is sexual, but I kind of forget that when he says, “Daddy is going to try it now.”

  Visions of our leather-vested babies toddle into my mind. “You’re really sweet when you say that to Coco.”

  His husky voice causes the fine hairs on my neck to stand on end when he says, “I wasn’t talking to Coco.”

  My hands slip along the wet clay as I stare at him. “I don’t understand?”

  “I was talking to you. Haven’t you ever called a man daddy?”

  “Yes. My dad,” I answer, feeling like my bonding tutorial is spinning out of control faster than the pottery wheel.

  “Tonight when you c-h-o-k-e me, I want you to call me that.”

  My clay collapses. “I really don’t think I can do that,” I say. “See that line on my arm, I kind of can’t cross that one.”

  “We’ll try it,” he says. “Life is about pushing boundaries.”

  “I’m just not sure I can call you that while we’re f-u-c-k-i-n-g.”

  “Why? It’s like saying I’m the man who takes care of you.”

  Pres’s deep voice interrupts our conversation, “Dune, impromptu meeting. Need to go over some numbers with you.”

  “Sorry,” Dune says, “I have to go.” He places Coco on the ground and I swear she hisses when he walks over to me. “Meet me this evening. I’m racing to get my house back. I’ll text you where to go.”

  That sentence alone should have me rethinking my sanity. He wagered his home away, and I’m still fixated on the way his dark hair flops over his eye, like it too refuses to be tamed.

  Dune brushes his lips against mine before scooping up Coco. “Mommy will have to finish you another day.”

  Coco’s eyes grow from saucers to plates, nearly touching her tiny helmet. I’m sure mine are as large, because I’m not ready to be a stepmother. My brilliant idea to bond no longer seems brilliant. Instead of romance novels, I should download self-help books. Dune disappears inside, but his dad lingers as I clean up my mess and start packing the portable wheel. Bet Dune never called him Daddy, or he would see how weird it is.

  “You’re a nice girl, Chloe. His cat seems to like you.”

  I wipe my hands on a towel. “I thought she hated me.”

  “Nah. She’d claw your eyes out if she did.”

  Well, that’s disturbing. I make a mental note to purchase goggles. “Listen, my boy can be reckless, but he loves hard.” Why is that appealing? “It takes a strong woman to love men like us. His mother wasn’t. Make sure you are.”

  I nod and he leaves me standing in confusion. The pressure is overwhelming as I drive away, because I have no idea if I’m strong enough to love myself, much less Dune.

  “Why do you look so glum?” Charlotte asks as we lounge on a grassy hill near a construction site, waiting for Dune’s race to start.

  After today’s events, I needed moral support and Charlotte’s presence calms me. If you’d told me at the start of this relationship that two months later I’d be watching my boyfriend stand by a Harley with his biker friends preparing to win back his house while I’m dressed in a leather catsuit gifted to me by Lucy for my birthday, I would have probably laughed. And then did it anyway, because I make horrible decisions.

  “I had a terrifying vision that I choked Dune to death.” I’ve not been able to shake the sense of dread of having to “work on it.”

  “Chloe”—Charlotte’s brows pull together in a unibrow—“do you have those kinds of visions often?”

  “Oh my gosh, no,” I exclaim. “I’m kind of appalled you think I’m a secret psychopath.”

  I explain the kinky sex situation. And everything after.

  “Whoa,” is her response. “You’ve gone far beyond daring. You may need to back up, turn around, and drive back to start.”

  I pluck a blade of grass and run it through my fingers. “Why can’t he just quote poetry and make love to me in a meadow?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I need to tell him, but I don’t want to shame his kink.”

  “There’s a chance he’ll take it off the menu.”

  I shake my head, wishing it were so. “I swear I saw cans of unopened red paint in his dad’s garage. Oh God.” My head whips to her. “He’s planning to make a Red Room, isn’t he? Charlotte, I am not that pain tolerant.”

  “I gathered that from the one-inch tattoo.”

  Why didn’t he gather that? You need a magnifying glass to see my attempt at ink. What part of “I don’t like pain” did he not understand?

  “Of course, at times, he will probably want me administering the pain, not receiving it, which somehow feels even more daunting. I read some think-pieces on dungeon mistresses as research. I think I might”—it’s hard to admit, after all this work—“I might not be a bad girl.”

  Charlotte, as I already knew she would, literally falls over laughing.

  I swat at her arm. “Stop it. If I fall over, it will ruin my Sandy-from-Grease vibe.”

  That just sends her into more hysterics. “That explains the getup.” She hums “Goodbye To Sandra Dee,” before segueing into an INXS song. It takes a second, but then I can’t help it, I’m laughing too. Though I personally feel the vintage-Domme look suits me.

  “All jokes aside,” she says, composing herself, “are you still into him? Like butterflies in your stomach?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “But...we’re only having sex. I’ve tried, and I can’t seem to tip us over into something more. And even if I could, I don’t have the backstory to be a dominatrix. Even if I’m dressed like one right now.”

  I’ve spent ample time online reading up on the BDSM lifestyle and I know in my heart it’s something he won’t give up. And I don’t want to end up with my hair on fire like Mildred. It’s not Lucy’s hair, but I do like it.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  Her dark eyes meet mine. “Aren’t you always?”

  “For the most part,” I say, watching Dune and his friends huddle around their bikes. “I really want to fall in love with Dune. He’s so hot. And he’s...hot. That vest, and the bike, and the tattoos. It’s a lethal combination.”

  “Ugh, I know,” she says. “But Chloe, how much is the attraction based on the bad boy appeal? I’m not judging, because I picked him for you based on that, but from a psychological perspective, the good girl wants the bad boy based on the hope she can change him.”

  “I know I can’t change him.” I sigh. “Those romance books really made me want this to work. But can it?”

  “Well, they’re an escape from reality.“

  “Tha
t’s pretty much what Austin said. He said they cause unreal expectations because they say everything a real man wouldn’t.”

  “Just because he doesn’t say them doesn’t mean other men won’t.”

  “That’s part of the appeal, I guess. Finding a man who makes you feel like you’re his entire world.”

  “Do you really want to be someone’s entire world? That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Well, not to the point that I can’t breathe. Don’t you dare make a choking joke. But someone who would never lie or hurt me? Or dump me when something better comes along? Sure, I’d like that.”

  “Those are givens, Chloe.”

  I’d like to believe that’s true. But so far, I haven’t experienced it. Dune hops on his bike and rumbles up the hill over to us.

  “Chloe, I need a kiss for luck.”

  “Swoon,” Charlotte whispers.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  Dune is sitting sexy on his bike when I make it over to him, stacking mental bricks on my wall with every creaky leather step.

  “Damn, you look hot,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I can’t wait to have your hands around my throat while you’re wearing this.”

  Ugh. I was hoping he’d say something like “I can’t wait to get my house back and show you around.” But I am prepared. Even his tattoos aren’t making a dent in the armor I’ve erected.

  “Is that something you must have?”

  “Yeah,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You’ll like it once you get the hang of it.”

  This choking thing is a hard limit for me.

  I can’t believe I’m about to say this… I think I need to break up with him before I accidentally murder him. But I can’t use my fear of auto-erotic asphyxiation as the reason. “This is bad timing, I know, but…”

  He revs his engine, drowning out my words.

  “Hello, um, could you not do that? I have something important to tell you. I think...”

  The faint sound of sirens wailing interrupts me.

  “Fuck,” Jackal shouts. “Cops.”

  “Oh my God,” Charlotte says, popping up from her seated position. It’s easy to do in jeans.

  Dune revs again when the sirens get louder.

  “Get on,” he says.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “I can outrun the cops, don’t worry. You won’t get arrested.”

  “Well, I can’t leave Charlotte.”

  “Get on, Chloe. There’s always a casualty.”

  Leaving a friend behind is my hardest limit of all, so I stop procrastinating. “Dune,” I say. “I have always admired you.” He smiles, but looks back at the flashing lights approaching and pats his seat again. “I think you have a novel approach to…everything. And numbers…well, I did not know numbers could be so fun.”

  “Numbers are fun, right? I can go from zero to sixty in three. Here, you’ll really want to be wearing a helmet for that part.”

  “AnywayyouarereallysuperbraveandIlikethataboutyoubutitsfranklytoobraveformeIthinkweshouldseeotherpeoplehereisyourhelmetIamsorry!” I throw out as fast as I can so it’s over, and also so he can race off.

  He does, and as he zooms away, I hear his voice faintly on the wind, “Remember me at tax time! Refer three friends and receive a discoooouuuuunnt…”

  And then he is gone.

  Twelve

  The Fourth of July is an explosive holiday. And I don’t mean the fireworks. I may literally explode from envy seeing Lucy in the kitchen in her underwear while Austin makes her breakfast. Well, not underwear exactly, some kind of yoga shorts that show her SuperButt cheeks. Something I would never dare to wear, even though this is my summer of daring. I sigh, because I failed at that too.

  Of course they are happy while I’m single yet again. Why am I faulty? Is it my diet? Lucy is going to enjoy egg whites with kale, prepared by a barefoot tousled-hair god who is enraptured with her, while I pull a frozen cheesecake out of the freezer.

  “What are you doing tonight for the Fourth?” Lucy asks, taking a seat at the breakfast table.

  “I’ll probably pull out the pottery wheel or read a book.” All I need are tiny violins to finish off how pathetic that sounds.

  “No Dune?” she asks. “It’s a holiday.”

  “And I would think this is his favorite holiday,” Austin says, dropping a chunk of butter into the skillet. “I picture him lighting a firecracker in his mouth for thrills.”

  My cheesecake lands on the counter with a thunk, and I remove a knife from the block. “I’m afraid we won’t be seeing him until tax season.”

  Austin takes the knife from me and runs it under hot water. “Did he go to jail?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Turns out the police were going somewhere else than the race site.

  On the drive home, I felt I needed to give him a further explanation for my breakup, so I sent him a text explaining my reservations about his kink and my accidental homicide vision. Charlotte agreed that was the mature thing to do, even if she was still smarting that he was willing to sacrifice her to get away. As if. Hoes before bros, always.

  Anywho, long story short, Dune said he’d miss me, but he understood and if I ever wanted a booty call, he was down. As long as he was in town and Coco wasn’t home.

  I slice a generous piece of cheesecake from the foil tin, place it on a saucer and take the rest over to the table. See, I’m a good person. I didn’t take the whole thing. So why can’t I have nice things?

  “What’s he doing? Out of town?” Lucy prods.

  I take a seat. “We broke up.”

  “Oh,” she says with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Austin says, separating eggs with one hand. Show-off. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  “I’m not,” Lucy says. “He was fun.”

  Now I feel worse. Lucy would’ve tied him up with her hair, choked him, and called him Daddy with no qualms.

  “I think Chloe thinks craft fairs are more fun than jumping into a volcano. And I would agree. I’m not going to say I’m sad to see this end, because it seemed his break-all-the-rules mentality only applied to her rules and not his.”

  The way he says it gives me an inappropriate little flutter as I shovel in cheesecake and watch him cook. Was Austin jealous of my relationship with Dune? Score. Maybe he’s planning to give me the “he was all wrong for you” talk again. I can’t imagine anything more romantic in my depressed state. But thankfully, I don’t have to chastise myself for that shameful thought, because he says, “Now we can stop keeping all our best jokes about him to ourselves.”

  “Austin,” Lucy says, with a slightly cringe-y face. “Maybe it’s too soon?”

  “Wait, what?” I glance between them. “There’s more jokes?”

  “Oh, man,” Austin says, sliding a perfect omelette onto Lucy’s plate, “you do not know how hard it’s been to hold back.”

  “That was you holding back?” I deadpan, remembering all the times he did not hold back.

  He nods. “Want us to cheer you up and show you what you’ve been missing?”

  They’re an “us” and I’m not anymore. “Sure.”

  Lucy and Austin do an impression, clearly oft-practiced, of what they think Dune must be like in bed.

  “Oh yeah, count the number of pumps I do!”

  “One pump…two pump…” Lucy is… Is she imitating the Count from Sesame Street?

  “Threeeeeee pumps, now slap me around! Harder!”

  Oh, dear. That hits a bit too close to home. Utterly horrified, I rise from the table, nearly knocking over my chair, and flee the kitchen, cheesecake in tow.

  “Chloe,” Austin says, “come on. Don’t go.”

  I turn around and re-enter the kitchen. “I’ll have you know, I broke up with him only for the sake of my future children. And out of respect to them, I don’t think you should make fun of him.”

  The fact that Dune conjured up babies is really something I didn’t
expect.

  “Aw,” Lucy says, with sympathy in her eyes. “We were just trying to make you feel better. That’s what friends do when you have a breakup. You need to think you’re not to blame, even if you are.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, unsure if I do. “I’ve never broken up with anyone before. So I’m fragile right now and wondering if I made a mistake.”

  “You didn’t,” Austin says.

  Deep down, I know he’s right.

  “Why did you break up with him?” Lucy asks.

  Knowing they use cuffs, and who knows what else, I can’t bring myself to spill the specifics about Dune’s sexual proclivities and the Daddy thing, so I condense the truth into the short version.

  “Because he thrives on adrenaline and I thrive on…” I sag against the counter. “I don’t know what I thrive on but I know it’s not that. I’m lucky to be alive. And even if I could change his behavior, I don’t want to. I don’t want to stifle him. He needs to be free and live his best biker life.”

  “Ah. He was a freckling,” Lucy says, digging into her breakfast.

  “What’s that?” I settle back in my chair.

  “A summer fling,” she says. “It’s when you have a summer romance, but you realize they’re not who you want to spend your life with. It usually fades, like freckles from the sun, when autumn rolls around.”

  “I love that,” I say. Autumn would have been three months. Although, I ended it on the third of July, which is fitting.

  “Who knows, maybe he’ll re-emerge next summer, like freckles.”

  “Oh God,” Austin says, with a roll of his eyes. “Can’t we just let him ride off into the sunset and let Chloe focus on her business? Must we already resurrect him?”

  He slides a plate in front of me with a beautiful crescent-moon-shaped omelette. “You’re too good to me,” I say.

  And he really is. I don’t deserve this omelette. If he only knew how many times I wished Lucy to be a freckling. To thank him, I clean the kitchen after we’re finished eating and make sure everything is neatly arranged in the dishwasher, as he likes it. It’s a nice distraction and gives me time to find the positives over the last few months.