Series: Real, #3
Author: Katy Evans
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Expected Release Date: November 26,2013
Underground fighter Remington Tate is a mystery, even to himself. His mind is dark and light, complex and enlightening. At times his actions and moods are carefully measured, and at others, they spin out of control.
Through it all, there’s been one constant: wanting, needing, loving, and protecting Brooke Dumas. This is his story; from the first moment he laid eyes on her and knew, without a doubt, she would be the realest thing he’s ever had to fight for.
(Pre-order until 11/26)
LOVED this book from Remy’s point-of-view! It was really cool to get to read all of his thoughts and emotions during the major scenes. I really liked how this book was laid out with current events and then his flashbacks to their most pivotal moments. It really brought a well rounded look to the whole story for Remy and Brooke. And there are plenty of sexy, steamy scenes in this one too but all from Remy’s POV this time! Another excellent book from the Real series and I can’t wait to read Ripped. A fantastic 5 out of 5 books!
Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!
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The Seattle crowd is wild tonight. Backstage, the noise reverberates between the walls, bounces off the metal lockers in the room where I prepare with some of the other fighters. I watch Coach bandage the fingers of one hand, and all I can think of is how Brooke Dumas is out there among the spectators, sitting in one of the seats I bought for her.
I’m so jacked up I feel like I’m plugged into a fucking electrical outlet. Blood pumps heady through my veins. My muscles are loose and warm and ready to contract and strike anything in my path. I’m ready to put on a fucking show and there’s one girl, one lovely girl, that’s got me tied up in knots, that I want to see me fight.
I hand Coach my other hand and stare at my bare knuckles as he shoots off the same instructions he always says.
My guard . . . patience . . . balance . . .
I zone out, letting his words slip through me and into my subconscious, where they belong. Right before a fight, I find a calm. I can hear all the noise but listen to nothing. A clarity comes with fighting. Every detail sharpening in your mind.
This sharpness and awareness makes me lift my head to the doorway. She stands there like out of some childhood dream, looking at nobody but me.
She wears a pair of white jeans and a pink top that makes her skin look even tanner than it is and so damn lickable my tongue hurts inside my mouth. Neither of us so much as twitches as we stare.
Hammer steps into my peripherals, and when I see him head straight for her, my anger ignites.
With deadly calm, I grab the tape from Coach and throw it aside as I stalk over to her. Then, I position myself directly behind her and to her right, taking my spot in a way that lets the dipshit Hammer know I was born to be here. Beside, behind, and by her.
“Just walk off,” I warn him, my voice low but lethal.
He doesn’t seem inclined to listen, instead narrows his eyes in contest. “She yours?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
Nodding, I narrow my eyes and let my gaze burn into him. “I can guarantee you, she’s not yours.”
The asshole leaves, and I notice Brooke doesn’t move for a long second, as if she doesn’t want to step away from me in the same way I don’t want her to go anywhere. Holy god, she smells good.
I drag her scent to my lungs like a junkie, and suddenly every inch of my body wants to cup her hips and draw her into me so I can scent her more. She turns her head to mine and softly murmurs, “Thank you,” but quickly leaves. I duck my head and haul in as much as I can before she walks away.
I remain standing there, feeling dizzy, my shorts ridiculously tented.
“Riptide! Hammer! You’re up next!”
Exhaling as I hear my name, I glance narrowly at Hammer across the room, who seems amused as fuck that I am clearly in deep shit with this girl.
He’s in even deeper shit with me.
“Remington . . . are you listening to me?”
I whip around to Coach, who’s fixing that last bandage he couldn’t secure. I keep glaring at Hammer as Riley extends my satin robe, and as I ram my arms into the sleeves, I decide Hammer better be prepared to vacation in a coma for a while.
“I said don’t let that bastard get to your head.” Coach knocks his knuckles to my temples. “And that girl neither.”
“That girl’s been in his head since the first fight here,” Riley tells him with a smirk. “Hell, he wants to carry that girl around with him like an accessory on tour. Pete is drafting the contract as we speak.”
Coach pokes a finger into my chest and I feel it almost bending. “I don’t give a shit what you’re planning to do tonight with the girl. You keep your head in the fight going on right now. You got that?”
I don’t answer, but obviously I get it. I don’t need to be told these things. Half a fight is in your head. But Coach likes feeling useful, so I just roll with it and trot out. I’ve fought all my life to stay sane. To keep focused, driven, and centered. But tonight, I fight to show one woman my worth.
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