He's complicated and complex, a labyrinth I want to lose myself in. He's my fighter, and I really want to fight to be with him.

I wanted a girl as perfect as Brooke, and instead, she gave me something I never knew I wanted: something perfect that looks like me.

What if someone comes?" I half-heartedly protest. "No one's coming here but you.

Brooke Dumas. I'm Remington.

I want your hands on my head.” I nod and edge back to make room for him. “Does it calm your racing thoughts?” He shakes his head, then takes my hand and spreads it open over his wide chest, his voice textured as he traps my gaze with his. “It calms me here.

You think you need me, little firecracker?” The gruff question travels all the way through me, and I have to press my thighs together to stop the tremor in me. “Baby, the way you need me can only barely cover half of the way I need you.” The unexpected sadness in his voice yanks my gaze back to his.

I love the way you work out,” I whisper. “I love the way you work me.