Remy

“Are you going to come fix it?”

She pushes to her feet but huffs as if she doesn’t want to. “Of course. Someone has to.”

I’m amused by her, how she acts tough and sassy with me. I like it.

She heads to the back of the bed and grabs my shoulders in her hands. She prods expertly into my tissue, and when she hits the spot, an annoying pain starts to awaken. I zone out of there and focus on the feel of her cool, little fingers.

“That ugly bastard landed a pretty hard one here. He landed a lot of hard ones. Does it hurt?” she whispers. She eases on her investigations for a second, then she pushes even deeper.

She’s pushing so hard, a fractionally amused part of me wonders if she wants to make me sound like a pussy and say, Yes. “No.”

“I’ll rub you down with arnica, and we’ll do cold therapy.”

She sounds businesslike as she works some nice-smelling oil into my skin. I hear the slick sounds as her touch slides over my skin, and I imagine turning around, lowering her down on my bed, and being the one who drags his hands all over her. Being the one who finds a slick spot that makes noise when I rub my fingers across.

“Does it hurt?” she asks.

“No.”

“You always say no, but I can tell this time it does.”

“There are other parts of me that are hurting more.”

“What the hell?” The door of the suite slams shut, and Pete storms into the master bedroom squealing like a freaking banshee. “What? The hell?” Pete demands.

A couple of seconds later, Riley joins the party. “Coach’s in a snit!” he rants. “What we all want to know is, why the fuck are you letting your ass get kicked?”

Brooke’s hands stop massaging my shoulders, and I swear to god, I want to pound their faces in for taking those hands away from me.

“Yes or no: You let him get in on purpose?” Riley demands.

I don’t answer.

But the look I’m sending in their direction is so clear, only a wall would not understand my fucking meaning—to piss off!

“Do you need to get laid?” Pete asks, glaring as he signals down at my lap and the painful, pulsing erection she just gave me. “Do you?”

Brooke mumbles something under her breath, and the moment she leaves, Pete fixes his attention on me. “Dude, you can’t let them do this to you just so you get her hands all over you. Look, we can arrange some girls. Whatever it is you’re doing, you can’t play these damned games like a normal person. You’re just torturing yourself, Rem. This is a dangerous thing you’re doing with her.”

My heart is pounding in anger and frustration. She. Is. Mine. Mine to take. Goddamn them for making me feel like I’m not worthy of her.

God.

Damn.

Them.

“You bet all your money on yourself this year, remember that episode?” Pete asks me, like I’m a fucking moron and don’t remember the million other times he’s told me this in a panic. “Now you need to defeat Scorpion at the final no matter what. And this includes her, dude.”

Teeth clenched, I keep my voice low as I fight to keep my temper in check, but my god, I want to punch them. Scorpion is a walking corpse. Nothing on this earth or on this planet will keep me from busting his face open and taking the title that belongs to me. He ruined my life once and that’s fucking enough for me.

“Scorpion’s a fucking dead man, so just back off.”

“You pay us to prevent this shit, Remy,” Pete counters, jerking on his tie as he paces around.

I rise to my feet and look at Riley, then wait for Pete to stop pacing and look at me. They’re my guys. My brothers. I pay them a lot of money to keep me from doing shit, and to keep me from screwing up. But I’m not screwing up with Brooke. Jesus, I haven’t set a fucking finger on her even when the thought of her under me is taking chunks out of my brain. I softly growl, “I’ve got. It. Under. Control.”

Shoving past them, I go grab my sweatpants and a T-shirt, then slam into my bathroom to change. I find Brooke in the kitchen, talking to Diane, and the mere sight of her round butt is a friendly greeting to my dick. Under control my ass. I’m a walking tornado of lust and it’s all because of her.

Stepping close behind her, I seize her wrist and tug her around to look at me. “Do you want to run with me?”

I want to be with her. Alone.

If I can’t fuck her yet, I want her close. I want her in my space, so deep that soon I want her space and mine to be the same—to be buried to the hilt in her, and she’s wrapped, hot and wet, all around me, and we’re just Brooke and Remington.

I can tell she’s alarmed by the tumultuous energy around me, and I can’t help but notice how cautiously she inspects my bruised chest.

“You need to eat, Remy,” Diane chides from the corner.

Smirking at her, I grab a gallon of organic milk from the counter and down it, then wipe my mouth with the back of my arm.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say, then I glance at Brooke, lift one eyebrow, and wait for her to answer.

The lady takes her sweet time.

“Brooke?” I prod.

Scowling thoughtfully, she keeps glancing at my chest. “How do you feel?” she asks, studying me with a keen, doctorly look I used to get at the Institute.

“I feel like running.” I peer into her gaze and dare her to deny that she wants to be alone with me too. “Do you?”

I count up to eight heartbeats, and she still hesitates, driving me insane, until she finally nods. “Let me grab my sneakers and put on my brace.”

I nod, and my mouth waters as she walks out of the kitchen to go change. God, this girl is going to be the death of me.

We run along a well-lit dirt trail that’s scattered with trees. As soon as we start, I pull my hood over my head to keep it warm and pump my fists in the air to keep the blood in my muscles rather than where it goes to when she’s around. The air is cool. She wears running shorts and a top that hugs her curves, and in my peripherals I see her breasts bouncing, her butt firm as her long legs take those sprinter strides.

Drives me fucking crazy.

“So what happened to Pete and Riley?” she asks.

“Out looking for whores.”

Her eyebrows go up as I keep punching into the air. “For you?”

“Maybe. Who cares.”

Her ponytail bounces and swishes side to side, and I like it. I like the way she measures her stride to mine, how our feet hit the dirt at the same time.

We pass a couple of other runners on the trail, but we keep going. Brooke is fit and fast. I’ve never had a training buddy, but I swear I could get used to this. To running with her.

We covered four fast miles easily before she stops and sets her hands on her knees and waves me forward. “Go on, I’m just gonna catch my breath, I’m getting a cramp.”

I search into my hoodie’s front pocket and pass her an electrolyte pack, then I bounce in place to stay warm and thrust my fists alternately in the air as her marshmallow lips part and she slides the pack over her tongue.

Fuck.

Me.

Standing.

All my blood rushes to my groin.

I’ve seemed to stop bouncing.

I don’t believe I’m even breathing.

Fuck me, she’s tonguing that packet right in front of me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t just stand here and watch like a dickhead. “Any left?” I ask.

She hands it over. I can’t help but notice she watches me as intently as I just did her as I push it into my mouth. This is what I want to do to you, I think as I look at her. This is what I want to do to your tongue, Brooke.

Sucking the remaining gel out of the packet, my body tightens when her taste slides through me. The packet has never before tasted like this. Sweet, but sweeter. It’s so fucking warm, and I’m so turned on, I suck every last drop as I look at her. Her lashes are lighter at the tips, and they sweep upward as she forces her gaze from my lips, to my eyes. Eyes that I’m fucking swallowing her with.

God, I want you. I want you now. I want you tomorrow. I want you the instant you’re fucking ready for me.

“Are they right? What Pete said? Are you doing it on purpose?”

She holds my stare with curious intent, and I’m trying to get my head straight, still rubbing my tongue on the packet. I’ve never waited so long to claim something I want, and I’ve never wanted anything like this. It’s driving me insane and crazy. Her breasts look perfect in her running gear. Her ass. Her legs. She’s delicious and I’m hungry. I am so fucking hungry for her.

“Remy, sometimes you break something and you never get it back. You never get it back.” Her voice falters, and she glances at the street and passing cars for a moment.

And just like that the lightness of tasting her is gone and my chest feels heavy. The YouTube video plays in my head and the instinct to protect her from everything they said and everything they called her only frustrates me because I can’t do shit.

“I’m sorry about your knee.” I’m not good with words, but as I slam-dunk the packet into the nearest trash can, I wish I were. I wish I could tell her how I feel thinking about her crying and helpless. I’m going to fucking protect her from now on if it’s the last thing I do on this planet.

“It’s not about my knee,” she counters. “It’s about you not taking your body for granted. Don’t ever let anyone hurt you, don’t ever allow it, Remy.”

I shake my head to appease her but scowl when I think of not ever getting hit again. She will never understand how much I crave her to touch me. Not only sexually. Her touch does crazy shit to me. I’m sick for it. I’m . . . sick.

Fuck me. She’s so beautiful and I’m so broken.

“I’m not, Brooke,” I gruffly tell her. “I just let them get close enough I can fuck them over. Little sacrifices in search of the win. It gives them confidence to get a couple of punches in, then it starts getting to their head, that I’m easy—that I’m not like they’ve heard I am—and when they get drunk on how easy they’re pounding Remington Tate, I go in.”

Her eyes brighten beautifully. “All right. I like that so much better.”

We keep running, our feet hitting the dirt, our breathing equal. Right here and right now, I’m just a guy running with a girl and, holy mother, how I want her.

“I think I quit. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow, I’d rather hit the sack now than require you to carry me to the hotel later,” she tells me.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

In the hotel elevator, several other people board with us, and instinctively I pull my hoodie lower over my head.

“Hold the elevator!” a couple shouts, and Brooke presses the button until they hop in. I grip her hips and pull her close to me once they board. Then I drop my head, close my eyes, and smell her. My body heats instantly, and I get so worked up, I imagine peeling off her top and scraping my palms over her skin until I’ve got her breasts nestled in my hands. . . .

“You feel any better?” she asks, her voice somehow different from usual.