Mine (Real, #2)(66)

Now Pete is attached to me like a Siamese twin.

He’s the Man in Black and is now carrying a stun gun, pepper spray. You name it, Pete’s got it. He even wears an intimidating frown today, like everyone should stay away.

“You take yourself way too seriously,” I joke.

“What the man wants, he gets,” he says with a chuckle.

A swarm of bugs awaken in my stomach as we head to our seats, first row to the right side of the ring. And it feels like a lifetime since I watched a fight. Excitement mingles with nervousness, and unfortunately the heartburn that seems to have remained after all my first-trimester nausea promises to come back with a vengeance.

“Remington bought the full box so you don’t have people bumping close,” Pete explains to me as we reach our seats, and I notice that the two seats to our sides and the two behind are empty.

Pete nods to someone across the ring, and I follow his gaze to see big ol’ Josephine standing there, keeping an eye on us. “Where did Jo come from?” I ask, happily smiling at her and pleased when she smiles primly back at me. She stands, somehow, like an army man, and she manages to act very polite and discreet while at the same time looking incredibly intimidating.

“She had stuff to take care of and flew commercial to catch up with us. She’ll be rooming with Diane and will be on your tail whenever Remington is not by your side.”

I would have probably protested if I didn’t like her so much, and if I hadn’t heard how happy she was to have landed a job that clients usually hired men to do. So I keep smiling at her as Pete and I settle down and start watching the first matches.

“Where’s Remy?”

“Bring out Remy!”

The crowd yells as the ring is vacated for the fourth time, and by the time the chant starts, there’s only one name audible in the entire arena. “Rem-ing-ton, Rem-ing-ton, Rem-ing-ton!”

“The organizers loooove making the public have to ask for him,” Pete says with a chuckle.

And finally, the speakers flare. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! Bitches and manwhores! Girls and f*cking boys! You want him? You got him! Say hello tonight to yourrrrrrr one, yourrrrrr only, Remington Tate, RRRRIIIIIPTIDE!!”

My Riptide! my mind excitedly screams. My Riptide. My my my. Mine tonight, mine always.

All across the room, the people stand on every side of the ring. Some frame their hands around their mouths and yell, while others are jumping and waving posters with his name on them.

“Remy, I’d die for you, Remy!!” a voice behind me screams.

Joy bubbles in my veins as he comes trotting out.

His perfect strong posture and relaxed shoulders, his RIPTIDE robe covering the hardest muscles in the world, makes my nipples peak and all my body throb with need. As the lights from above focus on him, I greedily take in his dimpled face, but my gaze snags on the red lipstick marks on his jaw. And on his mouth.

I blink in confusion.

He grabs the ropes and swings inside, landing stealthily as a cat who already owns the squared space of that coveted ring, and then the robe comes off and Remington is on complete glorious display. I see him, but I’m still confused as to what I see on his boyish face; those marks, red and blotched all over his beautiful tan, until the truth starts sinking and sinking and sinking inside me, and each one of those kisses feel a little bit like a whiplash.

A thousand and one insecurities I didn’t even know I had rear up inside me.

I imagine manicured hands touching his skin . . . lips on his lips . . . his growls for somebody else . . . his calluses rasping against somebody else’s skin. . . .

A burn starts up in my eyes as Pete quietly tells me, “Brooke, it comes with the life. He doesn’t ask for the groupies—he just wants to fight. It’s no big deal.”

“If I can just get the rest of my body, other than my brain, to understand that,” I say miserably, and it feels that a black cloud of pain has dropped over me like a cloak on all my light.

A couple of seats to my right, a woman pulls on her hair and screams, “Riptiiiiiiiiide! I want to drag you to my room and f*ck you till I can’t walk!”

Lord, I want to hit that bitch so bad.

And there he is, beautiful and magnificent Remington Riptide Tate.

He does his turn, and I feel such pressure in my chest, I curl my hands around my baby and stare at the small little swell it now makes. I never regretted being pregnant, but now I feel so pregnant and so stupid.

I breathe, slow and deep, while all my insecurities gnaw on my insides. We’re going to have a family together. I will be a mother . . . but he will still be a fighter, surrounded by young, pretty groupies who will do anything to have him.

Brooke Before Pregnancy would probably feel nobody could ever take him away from her.

But Pregnant Brooke feels a little bit at a disadvantage. Because maybe it hurts a little that he hasn’t asked me to marry him. Maybe he doesn’t even want to?

Why would he even bother, when I’m his already?

“Brooke, he’s looking at you,” Pete murmurs excitedly.

Still feeling more unsteady than I’d like, I drag in a deep breath and continue staring at my lap, at the stupid linen dress I wore when I prettied up for him this morning.

“Brooke, he’s staring blatantly at you,” Pete says, now in alarm.

The crowd quiets.