Real 3 Remy

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ponytail falling. I wanted to pull it down as I tipped her head back and kissed her.
You done? Riley asked from the door. You done ogling her? I could see him think.
Scowling, I grabbed my stuff as we headed off.
Now I ve been pounding the bags all of them as fast and hard as I can, and I still can t get rid of
all this extra energy. Pausing for a moment, I look at her on the sidelines, hot as fuck in her tight
exercise gear and ready to put her hands on me. I want them so badly, tonight I want to keep her for
hours in my room, working on my body.
On me.
Hours later, I m prepped and primed by the time I m in the Underground locker room.
My body engages when the announcer calls, Remington Tate, Riiiiiptide!
Screams burst across the arena, rushing through me. I trot outside, and I know exactly what to do
when I hit the ring. I draw it out for the crowd tonight, and I take my time tossing my robe aside and
making my turn, amused by the screams, the kisses flying at me, the banners.
And now, the famed and acclaimed Owen Wilkes, the Irish Grasshopper !
Grasshopper heads for the ring, and while the crowd takes him in, I look at Brooke. She sits with
her dark hair down while the corners of her sweet, little mouth are curled upward for me, and for as
long as I ve lived, I ve never seen something so pretty from up here.
The bell snaps me back to attention.
I head to center. Grasshopper is in my peripherals, jumping side to side like a fucking springboard.
He ll wear out soon. I wait and watch him. I see my opening on his side. I swing, slamming my fist
into his gut, knocking him out.
Remyyyyyyy! people scream.
The line of opponents keeps building as I fight my way to the Butcher. He s twice my weight and
three times as wide, but nobody cares about that. He draws blood, and so do I.
He takes the ring with the agility of a meatball. Then he looks at me. I look at him.
The bell rings: Ting.
We take positions and eye each other over our knuckles. Butcher is known to wait boxers out, but
I m impatient to get things going. My knuckles knock into his jaw several times; I start with easy,
quick hits, then I edge back and Butcher comes at me with a solid punch to the side that rocks me back
a step. It takes me a moment to get back in position. I inhale through my nose, then my arms shoot out
and I bury my fists, one after the other, into Butcher s flabby stomach. I back off and watch him swing,
and instead of covering, I take the hit. He slams me again.
Boo! Boohooo! the crowd shouts. I see his fist coming at me again, and I catch it with my face.
My head swings and blood flies from my mouth. That s better.
Straightening, I lick up the metal taste in my mouth.
He slams me down to one knee.
The screams intensify, and I know the entire arena must be looking at me, but I m only aware of her
eyes on me. I jump back to my feet and wipe my bleeding lips. Endorphins kill the pain. I glance at
her, but the look on her face gives me pause. She s white as paper. Hell, she looks ready to bolt. I m
so damned puzzled by the worry in her face, I take another punch. This one rocks my balance and
before I know it, I m bouncing against the ropes, something I never do.
REMY . . . REMY . . . REMY! the crowd starts chanting.
I m caked with sweat and my mouth is still bleeding when I straighten and notice Brooke is not
even watching me fight anymore. She s dropped her head and stares at her lap.
Fuck.
Yeah, that s the way to impress her, you fucking dickhead.
Clamping my jaw, I straighten and glance into Butcher s keen brown eyes. Playtime s over, I
growl, and I swing out one of my most powerful punches, feeling the crack of his ribs under my
knuckles. He crashes like a dead weight on the mat, and the crowd comes alive with a roar. Yeah! I
hear the collective yell, then the chant, REMY! REMY! REMY!
I stand by as the counting begins, and a knot of frustration and disappointment tightens in my chest [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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