Collide (a Collision novella) Read online

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  Collide (a Collision novella)

  Copyright © 2019 Laura Dunbar

  L.B. Dunbar Writes, Ltd.

  https://www.lbdunbar.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Cover Design: Juliana Cabrera/Jersey Girl Designs

  Content Editor: Melissa Shank

  Editor: Jenny Sims/Editing4Indies

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  More by L.B. Dunbar

  Keep in touch with L.B. Dunbar

  Nibble of After Care

  Another Nibble The Legend of Arturo King

  About the Author

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Silver Fox Former Rock Stars

  After Care

  Midlife Crisis

  Restored Dreams

  Second Chance

  Rom-com for the over 40

  The Sex Education of M.E.

  The Sensations Collection

  Sound Advice

  Taste Test

  Fragrance Free

  Touch Screen

  Sight Words

  Spin-off Standalone

  The History in Us

  The Legendary Rock Star Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale

  The Truth of Tristan Lyons

  The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance

  Paradise Stories

  Abel

  Cain

  The Island Duet

  Redemption Island

  Return to the Island

  Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore

  Hades

  Solis

  Heph

  Dedication

  For readers.

  For loving Tommy and Edie in After Care,

  And wanting to know more about Gage and Ivy.

  Here is your story.

  Thank you for the inspiration.

  1

  GAGE

  I fell in love with Ivy Carrigan the moment I collided with her.

  And she instantly hated me.

  “Ow,” I huff as a waif of a girl knocks into me.

  “Excuse me,” she snaps as she slams into me.

  The collision forces our bodies to twist away from each other and then spin to face one another. It’s almost like a small motion dance. I expect her to instantly recognize me—I’m Gage Everly. Instead, she glares.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she glowers, rubbing the shoulder that knocked into my chest. She’s like a little steam engine, puffing as she rolls the sore shoulder.

  “You’re the one in a rush, gorgeous. Pay attention.” The endearment sets her off even more, but it’s true—she’s gorgeous with a capital G. Blonde waves cascade around her elf-like face. Blue saucers for eyes and pinkish lips begging for a kiss or wanting to chew me out.

  “Don’t you gorgeous me, slick. Where’s Tommy?” Okay, chew me up it is. Of course, for just a second, I think she called me a dick, and I imagine her gnawing at the particularly eager body part, wanting those lips wrapped around it. Then I register the name.

  “Tommy?” Who the fuck is he, and why does he get a chance with this girl? Then again, she looks hell-bent on skewering him, too.

  “Lawson Colt to you, I suppose. Uncle Tommy to me.” Her emphasis on the relationship label uncle has me straightening, ignoring both the strain in my jeans and the sting at my sternum where she ran into me.

  “Uncle?”

  “Yes, where is my uncle?” She speaks slower as if I’m an imbecile. As if I don’t understand how this chestnut, clearly roasting on a fire, can be related to Lawson Colt, the legendary guitar man. His sound, along with Kit Carrigan’s smoky female voice, arrests a crowd like no one I’ve heard. I stare down at her blue eyes, bright as sapphires but sparking like the flames of a Bunsen burner. She’s looking to torch me.

  “Is that what the girls call him? Not daddy?” Some of these pretty young things have daddy issues, calling guys old enough to be their father by the moniker to fulfill their sexual fetishes. She can’t be more than twenty. Too bad she’s into old guys almost twice her age. I’d like to be into her.

  She flinches at my comment, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re disgusting.”

  Whoa. I’ve been insulted plenty in my life. Even have my own daddy issues from the very thing. More like mommy issues as my dad left, and Meredith raised me. But this girl, and the way she slings her insult, wounds me. My hand clenches at my chest.

  “That hurts,” I pout, sticking out my lower lip while wondering what a nip of hers would taste like. I like a girl with a little sass. Without thinking, I step forward, and she steps back in the hallway of the Microsoft Theatre in Los Angeles. My band is the opening act for tonight’s sold-out performance of Kit Carrigan and her band, Chrome Teardrops.

  “If I don’t find my uncle, you’ll have more to contend with than a chest wound.” Her eyes dip to said chest and stares. I’m wearing a threadbare T-shirt hanging loose on my lean body. I’ve been drinking too much lately, searching for my muse. I write songs, and my mental inspiration has escaped me. With the way this chick looks at me, I want to contend with her. I could use a little fight, a spar of some tongue, and then a jab into her sweet center. Her back hits the wall behind her, and I raise my arm above her head. More equal playing field, I decide as I tower over her a bit.

  “Let’s talk about contending.” My voice dips as do my eyes. In this position, I can see straight down her open shirt to the swell of her tanned breasts. Her chest heaves, and her breath hitches. I think she’s going to give into me when her mouth opens.

  “I’d rather discuss castrating.” With that comment, I’m pushed back by two small but forceful hands. The motion catches me off guard, and I stumble back. My hands reach for her upper arms to steady myself, and then I take it one step further and tug her against me. My mouth lands on hers. Hard.

  She bites me.

  I deserve it, I realize with shock, and pull back. “You b—” I don’t finish my thought as her mouth collides with mine, soothing the harsh snap of her teeth. Her lips soften but move over mine with a sense of urgency. She’s devouring me as though she wants to swallow me whole, like she wants to bring me inside her.


  “Slow down,” I mumble against lips refusing to release mine.

  “Not slow.” She struggles to speak, her lips still pressed to mine. My back thumps against the wall behind me, and her tight little body leans along the length of mine. I don’t know what she’s doing to me. I mean, I do. I’m not opposed to wall sex, backstage sex, or even spur-of-the-moment sex, but this is crazy out in the open. With this girl’s mouth on mine, I’ve lost my mind. I’m not thinking straight as I spin her. I’m not conscious of us taking the three short steps to a door. I’m not coherent of falling through the door, then slamming her against it, and locking the knob. Her mouth hasn’t left mine.

  Sweet God, this girl can kiss.

  And the moment darkness envelops us, her hands roam. My shirt rises against my chest, exposing my skin to the heat of her palms.

  “Quick,” she mutters, and I follow her lead. My fingers reach for her jeans and unbutton them. She kicks off her shoes as the tight denim slides to her ankles. I’d like to take some time with her. Smell the heady scent of her sweet pussy suddenly filling the air in this small space. My mouth wants more than her lips; it wants a taste of that spicy core, which my fingers briefly discover drip for attention.

  “No time for that,” she groans, giving into my momentary foreplay until she has my jeans at my hips. My mouth sucks at her neck as she gives my dick a sharp tug. My knees bend, and I’m at her entrance. She’s climbing up my body, securing her legs around my hips, and I pin her to the door.

  “Condom,” I grunt, feeling myself spinning out of control. What are we doing in here? I don’t even know her name.

  “No time,” she repeats, choking on the words as she maneuvers herself to fit the tip of me against her slick folds. This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. And I don’t know who moves first, but with one determined thrust, I’m inside her, and we’re both groaning at the sensation. She’s burning hot, and my dick pulses at the surrounding heat. I pull back, but her ankles lock under my ass, pressing me forward.

  “Fast,” she murmurs into my neck, taking small sips of my skin. My hands cup her ass, holding her against me, as I increase the pace to match her need. We sprint to the finish line. Grunts and groans. Slick skin slapping. The thud of her body against the door. The desire to release a burning fire ripping through each of us.

  “Harder,” she purrs, nipping at my skin like when she bit me earlier, but not as fierce, not as intent to break me.

  “Gorgeous.” The endearment strains in my voice, letting her know I’ll give her whatever she needs.

  “I want to feel it,” she whispers near my ear, and I shiver at the plea. My hips have never moved so fast. My dick slides in and out of her sweet cunt, setting a pace I’ve never achieved before. The friction is divine, the heat of her enticing; I feel the clench of her channel and then sweet relief. I jet off inside her like I know I shouldn’t. It isn’t supposed to be like this—unprotected, wild, near obscene—and still be fucking perfect. Literally.

  My heart races in my chest, ready to burst through my ribs. The pressure practically hurts as reality sets in. She’s still pinned against me.

  “Did you come?” I ask, lifting my head and feeling like an ass for asking. I’d been so into how she made me feel, made me lose my mind, that I hadn’t thought about satisfying her first.

  “Get off me,” she says in a low voice so cold, so distant, so hurt. I pull back instantly, and when my dick leaves her body, a suction sound mixes with our haggard breaths.

  “Did I hurt you?” Dear God, what just happened?

  She doesn’t speak as my seed slips down her inner thigh. I reach for the release, hoping to clean it off her when her delicate fingers wrap around my wrist.

  “Don’t,” she says, her voice shaky.

  “What just happened here?” I ask, swiping a hand through my chin-length waves, feeling a bit shaky myself.

  “I made you have sex with me,” she answers, pulling up her jeans and fastening them back into place.

  Sex? That was an out-of-body experience. That was beyond infinity. That was...

  “Wait? Did you enjoy that?” Again, I sound like a wuss. Of course, she enjoyed it. I’m Gage Everly, rising rock star. Man on the edge. Most sought-after bachelor. Our band was breakout artist of the year. Still, I feel the need for her approval and to cuddle her.

  She shrugs. What the fuck? I notice she still hasn’t answered if she came or not, and I feel like a schmuck for asking. I feel like an even bigger ass for wondering if she enjoyed it. Enjoyed me.

  I hike up my jeans and tuck my pride inside along with my dick still covered in her scent.

  “What’s your name?”

  She doesn’t answer me but spins to open the door. The bright light from the hall assaults us, and I recognize we are in some kind of closet.

  “Hey,” I snap, following her out of the dark space. I reach for her arm but don’t touch her as I see Lawson Colt at the opposite end of the hallway. He stands with his arms crossed over a broad chest and his feet in a wide stance. His expression reads curious until he sees me behind this small girl making her way toward him. She sends up a salute, and I’m uncertain if she’s signaling farewell to me or greeting him.

  “Hey,” I call out once again, slighter weaker, and she turns to face me. Her eyes take on a new look, one of sadness, emptiness, and shame. She walks backward as she stares at me. Two fingers come to her lips and then she drags them forward pointing at me. Did she blow me a kiss? Was that a kiss-off? She shakes her head, her lips pursed, and twists her body back toward Lawson.

  “Uncle Tommy,” her voice calls out, turning to dripping honey.

  “Baby girl?” he questions. His arms remain over his chest, his stance one of a man ready to pounce. I don’t hear any other exchange between them until she steps in front of him. He swipes a hand over her cheek, and she turns for the door to her left. In seconds, she disappears without a glance back. Without a name. Without a number.

  Lawson Colt glares at me, and then he follows the girl into the room. The door closes.

  What the fuck just happened?

  2

  IVY

  My mother taught me how to feel about men. You don’t need them, but for one thing, she’d say. And even then, it can be questionable. I’ve set out to prove her wrong even though most days, like today, it backfires.

  My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t believe I did what I did. Again. A random guy in a random hallway. It has to stop. It’s been months since it’s happened but still. I know why I did it today.

  “The cancer’s back,” I snap at my uncle, spit literally leaving my lips. Tommy Carrigan, aka Lawson Colt to the world, is the only father figure I’ve had. My own dad thought life without us would be best, so he took his shortly before I turned three. Drug overdose, the tabloids read, just like they spilled the news of her.

  “Why is it Guitar Central knows these things before me?” The e-magazine isn’t really a rag, and surprisingly, as a kid of a famous entertainer, I do occasionally read it for the history of music. This particular news came across my feed because I have all my social media tagged for alerts about her.

  My mother.

  The once reigning rock queen Kit Carrigan.

  “She didn’t want you to worry?” I hate it when my mother does this. She makes decisions for me, about her, about us, as if I’m a child and only mother knows best. “She knew you’d rush here, and she didn’t want you to give up on your dream.” Dream? It was my mother’s dream for me to go to college. I wasn’t against it, but when she was first diagnosed, I was eighteen and feared she’d die right away, so I didn’t want to leave her.

  Nothing will take me from my babies. Not even cancer, she’d admonished. As if she could control the disease like she tries to control everything. Her love life. My life. Her band. She’s a diva in many ways but keeping her feelings close to her chest, and everything else on a short leash has made her a powerhouse in the industry. Female rock star. Advoca
te for single mothers. Speaker on breast cancer awareness.

  “When did you find out?” I ask Uncle Tommy and then brace myself for the answer. I’m sure it’s probably been weeks because I’m always the last to know. “And why am I finding out from a tabloid?”

  “You know you shouldn’t believe everything you read in that trash.” My uncle’s smoky voice, rough and scratchy, typically soothes me, but not today. Today, I vibrate with anger and a need for answers.

  “Don’t avoid the issue,” I demand, my voice sterner than I feel. My legs still shake from the energy I expounded with Gage Everly. Yeah, I know who he is, but I can’t let a pretty face distract me from the issue at hand.

  “I’m not avoiding. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.” Need to know? As if I didn’t need to know her cancer was back. He also means he’ll tell me what Mother has deemed appropriate and nothing more without her permission. It’s amazing to consider he’s her older brother when she clearly outranks him. She’s the success he wasn’t with Colt45, a band he started with his cousin, Denton Chance, and another guy named Tucker Ashe. They were a few-hits wonder until they crumbled. By then, my mother had arrived in California and was pregnant with me. She had the voice of a fallen angel, and she and my dad were trying to make it as a duo until his death.

  “Well, what do I need to know?”

  When Tommy’s head lowers, I know the news won’t be good.

  “There’s nothing they can do this time.”

  “How can that be true?” My mother had a double mastectomy, an aggressive measure to remove everything. She’d gone too long thinking the aches and pains and strange fevers were from the wear and tear of her profession. She didn’t take care of herself. When the doctors discovered her initial lumps—note multiple—they operated with the hopes of removing every dangerous cell. My mother did chemotherapy, which was hard to hide from the band and her fans, so she took a break and planned to do a few revival concerts for her comeback.