RR&R 01 Real (19 page)
responds
to you does not seize the opportunity to have sex with you.
I’m even wondering if my body is no longer attractive with the little fat I’ve gained the past years. Maybe my hair needs a new cut other than the plain length I wear it. I might wear bangs. Or add some highlights?
Stop staring at yourself, you look amazing in anything you wear,” Diane tells me this morning when she catches me checking out my butt in the full-length mirror at the entry of our room.
Remy booked Diane and I in a presidential suite again in LA.
want
, he won’t give to me.
liked
myself and that was enough.
This is our third night in LA, and he’s still in second place point-wise, but he’s been fighting like a champion. He’s worked out the best I’ve ever seen him, and all this ever since his eyes became electric blue again in Denver.
animal
. Hours and hours with Coach, and then he still seems as fresh as sunshine when he comes ask me to run with him the evenings. The energy in his muscles explodes like dynamite with every move he makes, and I can almost
see
his ATP source—the adenosine triphosphate in charge of transporting chemical energy throughout our cells—recycling so fast in his body, it’s like it doesn’t even take him usual eight seconds for turnover. I have
never
seen him so focused. So strong. Or so magnificent.
Every.
To my despair.
Pete and Riley are stoked. “Brooke!” Pete calls as I enter the Underground in the afternoon. Here in LA, the fighting ring is situated in the basement floor of one of the city’s most frequented nightclubs, and they’re expecting a full house of over a thousand. “Get over here, we need you.” Pete waves me into the locker room.
The whole sexy package of Remington Tate is seated in a bench at the far end while Coach wraps his right hand with tape.
I’ll never get used to the feeling I get when I look at him.
Nor the one I get when he’s about to fight.
I feel wound up like a spring and tighter than a triple knot.
He’s got his Dr. Dre beats on, and I think he does this to get in the fighting mode and zone everything out.
Come on over, Brooke, loosen up the man.”
Quietly, I lean over to pause his iPod, then I go behind him and seize his shoulders, methodically working my thumbs into his muscles.
There are a couple of knots I worked off his posterior deltoids and trapezius back muscles yesterday. They’ve been stubborn and keep returning, so once again, I work on both. He groans the instant my bare skin touches his. God. The low, purr-like sound is like foreplay to me. It steals into every feminine part in my body, especially those that have been run ragged with need. My cheeks start burning as Coach, Pete, and Riley watch us.
I drop my face so they can’t see my blush and resist the urge to draw my hands back. “Deeper.” Remington’s rough command reaches me, and my womb clenches helplessly as I go deeper. A large knot bites into my thumb, so I bring my other thumb to press with both. Remy lets his head hang forward and draws in a deep breath, and when the knot disintegrates under the pressure, his groan vibrates deep inside my core.
Good luck,” I whisper into his ear, drawing back, my fingers tingling from the contact we’d just made.
He extends out his arms as Riley slips on his black boxing gloves, a requisite for today, and then he taps them together. An alert from the door tells them “Riptide” is up soon, and he nods.
He rams his arms into his red satin coat and then trots out toward the wide hall that leads to the ring, and an entire farm full of animals awaken in my stomach, not just the butterflies. Dragging in a deep breath, I wait a moment to recover before I slowly wind outside to take my seat with the spectators.
The noise is deafening. Pete told me this morning that his fans are freaking out because Remy’s not leading the championship, and there seems to have been some serious demand for tickets tonight. As the last sixteen contenders unite, this is the first night Remington will fight Scorpion, up to the final. Scorpion is in first place now, and my nerves are killing me.
Hey,” Pete says, nudging me gently forward as he walks up behind me. “Get the hell up there. The man will be looking for you.”
Somehow I manage the impossible and both laugh and scowl. “He will
not
!”
Hating the thrill that shoots like lightning through my veins, I quickly scuffle toward the ring and for my seat as I hear Scorpion introduced.
Benny the Black Scoooooorpion!”
The face is oval shaped, and creamy skinned, and it carries a pair of hazel eyes. Eyes similar, in color, to mine. Eyes that, last I knew, belonged to Nora.
My twenty-one-year-old sister.
Nora.
possibly
be Nora.
She looks really, really bad.
Like the life has been sucked out of her, and all that remains are fake red hair, skin and bones.
She spots me, and my stomach sinks to my toes when I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that it’s her. Recognition flares in her eyes, and her hand flies up to her mouth to cover it. “Nora,” I gasp, and without thinking twice, I charge after her, shoving people aside as the bell for the fight chimes.
The multitude in the room erupts in cheers and screams, and my heart trots frantically inside my chest when Nora twists around and shoves through a throng of people in a sudden startling effort to get away from me. She’s blending through the crowd, into the darkness, and I’m frantic as I scream, “Nora? Wait. Nora!”
I can’t believe she’s running away. From me. I can’t believe that all the traces of youth vanished from her once vibrant face.
My sister.
Whom I shared bedrooms with, until I got my own place.
Who used to watch every version of Pride and Prejudice with me.
Suddenly the big, beefy man who’d been standing to her right grabs me and yanks me aside as I try to pass. “Stay the fuck away from her,” he snarls.
Paralyzed in a mix of surprise and fear, I forget all my self-defense moves except the groin one. I shift my weight and land my knee up. “Let go of me.”
He doubles over, but doesn’t release me. Instead his hands clench convulsively on my arms. “You little bitch, you leave Scorpion’s property alone,” he hisses, and I think the wet splatter that just hit my cheek was his spit.
She’s not his property!” Fiercely, I struggle to pry free as I simultaneously rub my cheek on the sleeve of my blouse.
A fresh wave of booing and shouting erupts full force across the room as the announcer yells through the speakers, “The victor, Scorpion! Scooooooorpiooooooon! Remington Tate has been disqualified from this round!
Dis-qualified
!”
Until I remember Nora.
please
.”
A multitude that for the first time in my life, shouts insults in my face.
They claw me as we pass. “Bitch. It’s your fault, you stupid bitch!”
My eyes widen in horror as I absorb the murderous faces of Remington’s fans, and I’m so startled I curl myself into his arms and let him usher me out without a single complaint. Pete, Riley, and Coach wait for us in the car.
Fucking shit!” Coach starts as soon as the door slams shut behind us and the limo pulls into traffic.
“
You're down to third. Third. Possibly fourth,” Pete glumly informs him, handing him a t-shirt and sweatpants he usually wears after a match.
“
You had this one down, Rem. You were training so fucking well you would have had his ass on a stick, man.”
“
I've got it, Coach, just relax.” Remington briskly shoves himself into his casual clothes without removing his boxing shorts, then he immediately pins me down to his side as if he thinks I’m going to fling myself out of the car.
ruined
Remy’s fight is an incredible sense of guilt for my sister. How could I not see my sister was in trouble? How could I have bought the bullshit she’s been feeding us, through postcards, for an entire year?
“
You’re in the worst placement you’ve been in years, man, your concentration is shit!”
“
Pete, I’ve fucking got it. I’m not screwing this up.”
“
I think Brooke should stay in the hotel next fight,” Riley mutters.
Remington’s laugh drips pure sarcasm. “Brooke comes with
me
,” he snaps back.
“
Rem…” Pete tries to reason.
Get back here, Rem, we need to talk to you!”
“
Talk to the wall!”
He shuts the door, and the sudden visual of him in that sexy attire that he wears after a match, a pair of low-hanging sweatpants and a soft t-shirt that hugs all his muscles, and that beautiful tan face full of concern and messed-up spiky black hair, makes my heart lurch and my legs want to run to him so I can feel the strength of his arms around me again.