“Suppose I were to say I’d help you,” Pete says, his thoughtful brown eyes turning to me, “what would I need to do?”

“Nothing, really.” Shrugging, I go throw my gum to the nearest trash can and smile privately when Pete immediately tags along. “Except help me keep Remington from finding out that I went to see her?” Lifting one brow, I survey his reaction. I’ve never been sneaky, but I can’t let Remy into this, it goes against all my protective instincts toward him. “You understand this is something I have to do, don’t you, Pete? From what I saw, Nora needs a serious reality check, and I need to talk some reason into her.”

“I understand,” he agrees, with a slight nod, as we prop ourselves against a pillar. “I just don’t like what will happen when Rem finds out.”

“He won’t. Melanie will help me get a message to my sister in the next fight. I’ll fix a meeting with her at a nearby restaurant, and you’ll only have to cover me when I go.”

“Brooke, he’ll have my head if something goes wrong, and I’m a little bit too attached to it, you understand.”

“Nothing will go wrong. I’ve taken more self-defense classes than I know what to do with. The only guy I haven’t been able to knock down is Remy.”

Pete bursts out laughing. “You knocked that man flat off his feet, Brooke.”

“You’re funny, Pedro.” I’m delightedly grinning now, which makes my puppy-dog eye perhaps not very effective. “Come on. Help? Please?”

A thoughtful frown crosses his features, and he taps his chin twice as he goes deep in thought. “Only if Riley goes with you and your friend when you go to the meeting.”

“Thanks, fine. Yes! Thank you, Pete.” Yielding to the impulse, I give his hand a quick squeeze and realize I’ve grown attached to everyone in the team. I’m dreading the time my three-month stint ends. Do I want to stay or do I want to go?

I want to stay. There’s no question about it. But I at least have to escort Nora safely home, if I’m lucky to convince her, and then, afterward, decide what I’m going to do, depending on how things with Remington are doing. The thought of leaving unsettles me, even if it’s only temporary. “Do you have any brothers, Pedro?”

“Rem.”

My eyes widen and I can’t believe this little guy is going to surprise me again. “He’s your actual brother?”

“Not blood brother, hell, we don’t look anything alike! I’m like a book and Rem’s a bull! I don’t have blood brothers … my soul brother is Rem.”

I’m thinking how sweet Pete is to think of Rem as a soul brother, and if Rem is my soul mate, then Pete is my soul brother-in-law … So here I am thinking stupid things, when here comes my best friend in the world to thankfully save me from my thoughts.

There she is. Right out of a Legally Blonde movie. My sweet Melanie, hauling a flashy pink suitcase behind her and with her blond hair loose and a pair of sunglasses atop her head. She’s not a bimbo, but she sure likes dressing like one. As an eclectic interior designer, she brings the touch of eccentric to her person too. As far as she’s concerned, everything goes well together. And today she looks like a rainbow, lighting up my world.

“Mel!” Leaping forward, I wrap my arms around her and let her wrap me in her slim arms and her Balenciaga fragrance.

“You look like you just got a damn peeling on your skin, you’re absolutely glowing, you bitch,” she says, pushing me back for a narrow-eyed inspection. “And wearing a little dress rather than exercise gear, well, well, well now.” She appears thoroughly impressed, and then immediately her female instincts hone in on Pete, and her voice goes to the do-me-lover tone. “Well, hello there.”

“Hello again, Miss Melanie,” Pete says.

“Oh, Pete, call her Melanie, Melanie, call him Pedro. Come on, let’s get you in the car,” I tell them.

“I brought you a little present,” Melanie says once we’re in the back of the Escalade we rented, and she produces a huge packet of condoms—extra-large and ribbed for her pleasure—from her big travel purse. “In case you want to wait a little longer to pop those babies Remy wants?” she taunts, waving the abundant string in the air.

“I don’t need these, girl, you can go right ahead and put those back in your bag. I’ve got a capsule in my arm that puts out hormone, remember?”

“Oh! So you can actually feel everything during…”

“Everything,” I happily say, and my body clenches remembering every. Single. Inch. Of Remington Tate inside me.

“Brooke, you have a seriously horny look on your face. Tell me everything about you and that sex god!” Melanie demands.

My eyes widen, and then, laughter takes me over so hard, my head falls back and I clutch my stomach. “You did not just call me horny.”

Melanie grins wide and varies her tone. “Horny. Horrrny. Hornyyy. You can’t even say his name without looking hornaay. Hell, I can even feel your horniness in your texts. Especially that drunken one, you closet alcoholic.”

Belatedly I realize we’re so excited, we’re having a totally personal conversation in the back seat while Pete drives, and suddenly I can feel a hot red flush creeping up my cheeks. Grabbing Mel’s hand, I twitch my eyes in Pete’s direction so she knows we can’t keep saying “horny” with him around, for the love of god. Not that I don’t trust him, but he’s a guy. This is personal, damn it.

“Ahhh,” Mel says, and nods, then she squeals and hugs me again, and I just let her give me some love and give her some back, because I just missed my bubbly little Mel.

So she ends up talking to Pete about the weather in Chicago, which is windy but sunny and frightfully chilly in the evening, and then I take her to lunch.

After some whoppingly large salads and panini, I take her to the presidential suite with two rooms that Remington booked for him and me. Nobody uses the extra room, and while Melanie has a separate room, I decide to invite her over to this empty bedroom for a while so that we can lounge around and chat without anyone overhearing.

For hours, we’re both barefoot, each in a queen bed, catching up.

She tells me Kyle is dating someone and that Pandora went back to chain-smoking ever since the battery on her e-cigarette stopped charging and the FedEx shipment for a replacement got delayed due to bad weather. Obviously it wasn’t Pandora’s day that day. And then Melanie wants to know everything about me, so I tell her about him. The songs we share, the time I bashed Scorpion’s goonies with those bottles. I also tell her about Nora.

“She was always too innocent for her own good, but what do you suppose she was doing sending those fake postcards?” Mel asks in complete puzzlement.

“I don’t know, I just can’t get over the fact that she ran away from me when I tried to see her.”

We think about it some, both frowning hard in concentration, then she sighs. “Honestly, Nora was always an adorable little airhead. Maybe she just needs some redirecting?”

“Maybe so.”

“Now stop with the wandering and tell me about your drool-worthy new romance.”

Rolling onto my stomach, I swing my legs up behind me as a dreamy sigh works up my throat. Remy is working out and I think he planned to run today, and I miss not having a run with him. I miss stretching him, watching him. But it feels so good to talk, I’m fairly bursting with things to say that I’m having trouble vocalizing.

“It’s so crazy, Mel.” I’m whispering reverently even though there’s no one around to hear. But confessing this is so monumental for me, I can’t even say it any louder than this. “I've just never felt like this. Every time Remy touches me, Mel, I feel a thousand good things rush through me. Better than endorphins. I think its oxytocin, you know how powerful they say it is? The cuddle hormone? But I’d never felt it before.”

“You love him, stupid!”

I wince at that, then nod vigorously. “I just don't want to say it out loud,” I admit, my heart already doing hopeful turns and twists in my chest at the thought of being loved back by him.

“Because?”

“Because he might not feel the same!” The mere thought makes me heartbroken.

How do emotions work with Remington? Can you love and unlove someone with your different mood personalities?

It hurts to think about it.

The front door closes out in the living room, and footsteps sound on the carpet before he appears at the door. My heart accelerates at the sight of him. He wears a damp black t-shirt that reads “Chicago Bulls” in red letters, and today the sweatpants hanging low on his narrow hips are red. He looks so hot, so doable, and so manly and comfortable in his attire, my breasts seem to swell up inside my bra.

“Hey, Melanie,” he says when he spots her.

“Omigod.” Her eyes are round as pizzas as she straightens on the bed, obviously awed by those delicious dimples and finger-tempting messed-up black hair and heart-robbing blue eyes. Her hand flies up to her mouth. “Ohmyfuckinggod, Remington. I’m such a huge fan.”

He doesn’t answer back because his head has swiveled in my direction, and now he looks straight at me, and I can’t help the way the sight of him affects me. My entire body responds and I feel instantly tight inside, damp and achy.

“Hey.” He uses an entirely different tone on me, and when I respond, my voice is also different. Huskier.

“Hey.”

I’m unsettled to my core.

He does that to me.

He unsettles me in any way. In every way.

From his electric baby blues, to his muscled arms, to his dimples and the way he looks at me right now, studying me top to bottom, like he doesn’t know what part of my body to lick and bite first when he peels my white linen dress off me…

“You have dinner yet?” he asks me in that roughened voice.

I nod.

He nods in return. Then asks me, his voice still in that pitch that seems sensual and deep and just for me, “You coming to bed later?”

I nod.

And he nods in return, his eyes glimmering in excitement, then he lifts a lazy hand to Mel.

“Bye, Melanie.”

“Bye, Remington.”

He shuts the door behind him, and I still can’t breathe.

“Brooke, that guy is in love with you. Even I felt butterflies for you, and they were so big they were like bats in my tummy.”

The bats she mentions are in my stomach too, flying up to my chest, I swear nothing can calm these down. “It could be anything,” I counter ,while inside me, I can’t help but hope like crazy. “It could be lust. Obsession?”

“It’s love, you fool. Why else would he bring me here but to make you happy, you goose! Are you going to tell him?”

My stomach winds up at the mere thought. “I can’t yet.”

“You used to love to be the first, Miss Olympic Contender,” Melanie reminds me.

“This is different. I don't even know if he can say it back to me.”