Rebound Biker Read online

  Rebound Biker

  Bijou Hunter

  Copyright © 2015 Bijou Hunter

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  *****

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information about this author visit:

  http://www.bijouhunterbooks.com

  Dedication

  Freckles, Tigger, Pooh, and Roo for owning my heart

  Mustang Sally for the millions of pep talks

  Candy Girl Miranda for keeping me sane and helping me grow

  Saucy Sarah, Hardcore Patty, and Seductive Stacie for knowing the genre

  Rebound Biker Summary

  Looking for a sexy rebound after her divorce from the dullest man on earth, Meredith baits her former high school sweetheart Winston into being the one. The sex might be hot, yet he has bigger plans than a wham bam thank you ma´am reunion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  About Bijou

  Chapter One

  Meredith

  So Long, Snoozefest

  Sandy Moon sounds like the name of a party chick. Confident and sassy, she'd be someone people gossiped about on Monday mornings. Oh, did you hear what Sandy Moon got herself into last weekend?

  In reality, Sandy Moon was my husband for seven years. As of a month ago, he's officially my ex-husband.

  "It's not the seven year itch, Meredith," he said on the day he asked for a divorce.

  "Huh?"

  "Like the Linda Ronstadt song."

  "Rosanne Cash," I corrected. "And the song was Seven Year Ache."

  "You'll be fine," Sandy said, patting my hand as if I was a dog he never wanted.

  I replay the conversation in my head a lot, each time reacting differently. Sometimes, I yell. Sometimes, I cry. Occasionally, I fantasize about beating him to a pulp.

  In reality, I only nodded. When Sandy claimed we didn't need lawyers, I knew he was scared of my parents' law firm. We divorced amicably with me keeping the house and most of our savings. Through the entire process, I feel nothing. I want to believe I'm in shock, but I doubt it.

  "You were bored," my little sister Bethany says one day at lunch. "You were sleepwalking and hadn't woken up. It's why you didn't slap that bitch silly."

  Bethany is impulsive and often stupid when it comes to men. With Sandy, she is spot on.

  "I'll survive this," I say as we eat lunch.

  "You were married to the most boring man in the entire fucking world," Bethany mutters, dangling a fry from her lips like a cigarette. "And he dumped you for being too dull. Survive that, daddy's favorite."

  The day Sandy and I signed the divorce papers, I still craved a reason to be hurt. I wanted to feel something about my failed marriage.

  "Was it another woman?" I asked.

  "No, Meredith. I told you that night. I can't waste my life any longer. I need to live, not simply exist. Our life is tedious. I know you can't feel how boring it is, but our life is suffocating me."

  I did feel our dull life. I simply wasn't as weak as my banker turned wild man ex-husband. I accepted the boredom and chose not to whine. Now I am divorced.

  "What comes next?" I ask Bethany and our best friend Maria Zulma during another lunch at our favorite cafe.

  "You need to let loose," Zulma announces. "Stay up late, don't shave your legs, get drunk, and find a man that'll make your toes curl."

  Bethany snorts. "If you want to catch a sexy bastard, shaving your legs will probably come in handy.

  Nodding, Zulma laughs. "Yes. Very true. You have those long legs. Wax them up really shiny then go to a bar and attack a real man. No more weak losers like Sandy. Get a man who doesn't sneeze around animals or giggle when he hears the word pussy."

  "Zulma isn't wrong. Those giraffe legs will draw you plenty of attention in a bar. You find one hot guy and make no promises. Hell, no names. Just go wild and fuck until you forget you wasted ten years on a douche.

  "Ten years," I say, thinking back to when I met Sandy in college. "I knew he was the one that first day. The perfect boring husband."

  Bethany rolls her bright blue eyes. "You need to let loose and I have the perfect guy."

  Flash forward to the Monday after my first blind date. The experience is a reminder that my little sister harbors a deep-seated hatred for me.

  "He was awful," I tell Bethany at a coffee house. "He smelled weird."

  "That's his pipe. Or his bong. I can't remember what he was into."

  Bouncing her son Alejandro, Zulma laughs. "Beth Anytime gave you her sloppy seconds. I hope you didn't catch anything."

  I share Zulma's smile while Bethany shrugs. She's never minded her slut nickname. I often suspected she either started the nickname or at least helped spread it around our high school.

  "Isn't there a way for me to cut loose without dating someone gross?"

  "Why date?" Bethany asks. "Why not party? You spent all that time with a dull ass schmuck. You'll need to fuck a lot of wild men to wake up your bored-to-death pussy."

  "Poetic, twerp."

  Bethany grins. "This weekend, we'll get drunk and find you a man to fuck. Someone who isn't marriage material. A guy looking for a good time. With you waxed, I'm sure we can bait someone decent."

  "I don't know."

  Bethany grabs my hand dramatically. "You were dumped by the most boring person on the face of the planet because he found you too fucking dull. You're in desperate need of letting loose and being bad. Now shut the fuck up and let me teach you how to have fun."

  Despite her less than inspiring pep talk, my idiot sister is right. I've spent my life being practical except for a few wild months in high school. I married a nice guy, got a good education, worked hard at my stable job, and saved money for a house in a safe neighborhood. Despite my solid planning, I end up divorced months before my thirtieth birthday.

  It is time to try something else.

  Chapter Two

  Winston

  Just Call Me Woody

  Bad women are my poison. Been that way all my life. They cheat on me. Steal my shit. Disrespect my family. The last one even hit me over the head with my laptop. She is the last straw, so I'm swearing off bad women.

  I need a good woman. Hell, I don't even have high standards. I just want someone I can turn my back on without worrying about my safety.

  After I dump the last chick, my brother Kemp offers to set me up with a nice girl he knows from the gym. His wife Mira then begs me to go out with a girl she knows from work. Everyone seems to know a girl I should date. No way am I stooping to a setup. I'll find a woman on my own.

  My blood brothers and those in my club already snatched up the only good girls I know. Some guys in the club are married to women who'll tear off their nuts over hurt feelings. Those men thrive on the drama. I figured I was the same way. I was wrong.

  The last one was Nomie. She was an adorable attention whore and dumber than a doorknob. She often couldn't figure out the easiest shit, like how to work the laptop she brained me with. Her stupidity made me feel like a king though.

 
I was her hero for remembering her passwords. I was her knight in shining armor for finding her keys on the table where they always were. I was a sensitive poet for nodding obediently while she whined about her latest drama.

  Nomie was easy except when she wasn't then she wasn't worth the effort. Eventually, I needed her to remember passwords and locations of keys. After a long day at the construction site, I wasn't in the mood to listen to her made up problems. I needed her to be a grownup. Unfortunately, I mentioned this desire to her and she reacted in her normal drama whore way.

  No more stupid chicks, drama queens, or bad girls who wanted to feel me up while my mom gave Thanksgiving speeches. I'm done with the bullshit even if I have no idea where to find a good girl.

  While I'm not a religious man, God proves His existence the night Meredith Gordon walks back into my life.

  Our eyes meet and she smiles in the sloppy way women smile when they're drunk off their asses. I know she's been partying hard before arriving at the bar. I also realize she doesn't remember me.

  I remember her though.

  During her junior year in high school, Meredith was going through the lamest version of a wild period I'd ever witnessed. I was the cherry on top of her rebellion. She flirted with me then ran away when I flirted back. The chick was funny. I still remember what she said before I took her virginity in the woods near our houses.

  "Don't give me herpes or my dad will sue you."

  A week later, my mom pulled up roots and moved us to another town. I sometimes wondered what happened to Meredith after her wild streak ended and she returned to her natural good girl ways.

  "I'm looking for a rebound!" she announces to the bar. "Nice guys need not apply."

  I recognize her friends. One is her slutty little sister. The other is her nerdy bilingual friend who screamed at people in Spanish when they crowded her in the lunchroom. Hell if I'm not having a high school reunion at Pete's Stinky Dive.

  I'm all smiles until a fucker named Roddy makes a move for Meredith. I step in front of him.

  "Sit down."

  "You sit down," Roddy mutters, his gaze on Meredith's long bare legs.

  "I'm going to shove a screwdriver down your throat if you don't sit down."

  Roddy thinks I'm kidding until he spots the screwdriver I pull from my pocket. "You're nuts."

  "Just horny. Now go sit down."

  Roddy returns to his chair while I slide the screwdriver back into my pocket. I have no intention of going to prison over a chick, but I don't mind throwing a few punches if necessary.

  "Oooh," Meredith coos when I step next to her and say her name. "I'm Meredith."

  "I know," I chuckle, tapping the bar to get a fresh beer. "Don't you remember me?"

  Her big blue eyes haven't changed much since we were teens. Bright and way too expressive for her own good, they shine as she pats my face.

  "I do remember. You were the stripper at Zulma's bachelorette party." I laugh as she feels me up and tugs at my blue tee. "Woody. I remember you."

  "Woody, huh?" I say, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Zulma took the plunge into matrimony, but what about you?"

  Meredith sighs. "I married a schmuck."

  Nearby, Bethany laughs and drinks her soda.

  Ignoring her sister, Meredith whispers, "He left me for no one."

  "Well, isn't that better than cheating?" I ask, slowing her down as she chugs a beer.

  "He would rather be alone than be with me. I'm not sure that's better. I mean, I'm good in bed. I'm a giving lover," she says then laughs along with her sister and Zulma.

  "Who cares?" I whisper in her ear. "The schmuck is gone. Fuck him."

  Caressing my face with both hands, Meredith gives me a naughty smile. I remember how gentle she was in the woods. Even nervous, she touched me with care.

  "I'm looking for a rebound guy. I know you strip for lots of women and they all want you, but I only need a rebound. You could be that guy."

  "I bet I could be a lot of things," I murmur, tugging her closer. "Wanna dance?"

  "Hey, fucker," Bethany says, shoving us apart. "I remember you too."

  Meredith stands behind her sister, swaying to the music. After focusing on a clearly sober Bethany who narrows her eyes at me, I glance at Zulma jumping around on the dance floor.

  "How did you end up as the designated driver?" I ask Bethany. "I remember you being a wannabe lush in high school."

  "Shut up, Jamie."

  "It's Winston now."

  "Don't care."

  "Are you going to tell me I can't dance with your sister?"

  "No, I'm cool with you dancing with her. Fucking her too. All fun shit, but if you hurt her or give her a STD or God forbid post a porno of you two on the Internet, I will kill you. This threat isn't some bullshit little girl hitting you with her fists kind of crap. I'm a fucking pharmacist. I have access to drugs to snuff you out in ways that the cops will never figure out."

  "Still protecting your big sister. I love that about you Gordon girls."

  Bethany's angry face softens. "Meredith needs to party. You're hot, so have at it."

  Stepping out of my way, Bethany slaps her sister on the ass then walks toward her friend on the dance floor. "I'll lead, Zulma."

  While the other women square dance, I take Meredith's hand and guide her to the dance floor. Like another sign from above, Cherokee Fiddle begins to play. I've always loved the song and my mom still hums it while she cooks dinner. Now I have Meredith Gordon in my arms and my favorite song on the jukebox.

  "You really don't remember me," I say, swaying.

  "You're not Woody?"

  "No, baby, I'm not."

  Meredith stares hard into my eyes and I can't look away. Not when I see those puffy lips puckered like she's waiting for a kiss. I haven't thought about those lips in years, but the memories come back to me now. The way she gnaws on the bottom one when nervous. I even remember how they felt on my skin.

  Meredith is the girl I never figured I'd have a shot with, but here we are again.

  "Woody," she whispers. "Will you be my rebound guy? "

  "Sure, baby, but only on one condition."

  "What's that?" she asks, nuzzling my neck with her sweet lips.

  "Stop calling me Woody."

  "Is that just your stage name?"

  "Jamie Winston," I say, pressing my lips to hers. "Back in the camping tent in Harbor Hills, you and I got to know each other pretty well."

  "Jamie?" Her eyes study my face. "You were so sweet to me until you went away."

  "I'm back now."

  "Yes, you are," she says, tugging up my shirt and eyeing my hard stomach "You still look great. I've gained twelve pounds since high school."

  "I don't see the extra pounds. Maybe I will once I get you naked."

  Meredith giggles in a way I doubt she giggles when sober. We sway to the music until I lean forward and kiss her long neck. A sigh from her is all I need to feel like a fucking prince.

  Bethany gestures a finger across her throat when I announce I'll drive Meredith home. I love how the sisters remain protective after so long. I once watched Meredith push a kid into the bushes for badmouthing her little sister. Of course, Meredith then sobbed at the thought of being expelled from school. She wasn't, but I remember how important staying out of trouble was for her. Now she's leaving with me.

  Meredith babbles the entire drive home. She tells me about her schmuck husband, psychiatry practice, and even how much she hates waxing. Once I get her home and rest her back on the bed, she stops talking and smiles up at me.

  "I've never brought a man home before," she whispers while kicking off her heels. "I'm on birth control. I never forget either. I'm conscientious that way. Do you have condoms? Lots and lots of condoms."

  "After all my cheating girlfriends, I get tested a lot and I'm as clean as they come."

  "I'm ready to be plowed," she says, giggling and wiggling on the bed.

  Grinning, I shake my head. "No
worries, Meredith. I like my girls sober enough to say yes."

  "Yes," she murmurs as my fingers graze her bare thigh. "I can say yes in Spanish too, if it helps."

  "Close, but not enough."

  Meredith slides her fingers through my hair. Her gaze is soft, yet barely conscious. I feel her fading away as the liquor catches up to her.

  "Don't leave," she whines, wrapping her legs around my hips.

  Resting next to her on the bed, I explore her face with my fingers. "Oh, I'll be here in the morning."

  What I don't say is how tomorrow night, she'll be sober and her yes will make us both very happy.

  Chapter Three

  Meredith

  Sunday Smiles

  I wake up to find a sexy half-naked man in my bed. Giving my buzzed brain a chance to reset, I stare at his tattooed and muscular back.

  Too much tequila. Loud music. Zulma singing Womanizer on repeat. Too much beer. Bethany whining how being the designated driver wasn't a good look on her. A stinky bar where I drank more beer and danced with this sexy man.

  Jamie Winston.

  His skin is still golden. Back in high school, he often worked on cars in his driveway. I pretended not to notice, but Jamie saw through my lies. He knew I had a crush on him much like every girl in school. He usually dated rocker chicks sporting thick black eyeliner and bright red lips. Those girls dismissed a nerd like me, but Jamie noticed.

  We were together for one week during my wild phase. He was about to move, so I took the plunge and lost my virginity in a camping tent in the woods near our houses. Over the years, I wondered about him. Now he is in my bed.

  More than once over the years, I've imagined Jamie during sex with Sandy. I often assumed I'd romanticized my first boyfriend, making him more delicious than he truly was.

  In reality, the man in bed with me is a million times better than my memories.

  A ridiculous blushing fit comes over me as I scoot up against the headboard. Covering my face, I struggle to be the adult woman I know still exists. I'm not a teenager and Jamie isn't my first boyfriend. I'm a professional woman, dammit! Unfortunately before I regain my composure, he rolls over and smiles at me. I'm fairly certain my face is tomato red as I smile back.