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Authors: Bijou Hunter

Rebound Biker

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.

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.

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