Page 103 of 5 Rounds

I watch in fascination as arousal lights a blush on Remy's cheeks. And I know in that moment that it's going to be a long, exhausting night for both of us. It's possible I won't be able to peel myself away from her even days from now.

After a few heartbeats, she settles and begins distractedly playing with my ears again. "I think I started falling in love with you the night we sat on the couch," she says thoughtfully. "You were nothing like I thought you were." Her eyes snap to mine as she hurriedly tacks on, "Not that I thought you were a dumb brute—I didn’t. I never thought that. I feel like you thought I was a judgmental bitch before I even moved into the house. But you were so quiet and fight-focused that I didn't know anything about you except that you were arrogant and you had a different woman in your bed every weekend. But I never thought you were stupid."

I wince at her words. I always knew in the back of my mind that my womanizing days would catch up with me, but I never thought I would actually care. But right now, I feel the strange need to explain myself.

I pull out of her and settle on my side against the couch cushions, holding her tight against my body so we're still facing each other. I run a finger down her side and over her hip when she throws her leg over me. "Remy… I'm not proud of the fact that I've been with so many women," I begin. I can't quite look her in the eyes while I say it, so I focus on my finger running along her skin. "Partly because it seems ridiculous to think about it now, but also because it took you from me. I hate that I told Jax what I did, and I hate that you believed it so easily. I just never liked anyone enough to keep them around, so women just became stress relievers. I know I said it before but I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you were just a booty call."

A warm smile lights up her face and she cups one side of my face. It feels natural to turn and kiss her palm. "You don't need to explain anything to me. Itwashard to know how you felt about me—and whether or not it was just sex between us—but I think that was just because we were both guilty of not being upfront about it. The Jax thing was just a misunderstanding. I don't care about any of that."

I feel my heart explode with admiration and happiness at her admission. My lips stretch into the most content smile I’ve felt in weeks. I lean forward to kiss her, weaving my hand into her hair and holding her to me as I press my mouth against hers, taking my time memorizing the shape of her lips. I never thought I would enjoy kissing someone as much as I do with her.

Eventually I pull back. I continue stroking her hair, not wanting to let go of our contact. "You're different than I thought you were, too, you know. Not that I ever thought you were a—what did you call it? A judgmental bitch? Maybe a little bit of a know-it-all, but that's not a bad thing." I grin as she frowns and lightly slaps my shoulder. "You weren't that far off with your assumptions about me, though. Iamarrogant and selfish. I have to be for fighting. All the other stuff that people assume about me because I'm a fighter… I never fault anyone for it because I never take the time to prove them otherwise. So, I don't blame you for thinking the worst of me."

Then a huge grin splits my face. I realize I have the perfect opportunity now to tell Remy the secret that I've always wanted to share with her—the one that I've always wondered if it would shake her opinion of me.

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at my suddenly gleeful expression. "What?" she asks hesitantly.

"There is one assumption that you were wrong about, though. Wanna know what it is?"

She pulls back to get a better look at my face, and I watch her eyes dart over my face as she tries to find some hint about what I'm going to tell her. "What?" she asks suspiciously.

My grin widens. "I'm not sexist. Not even close. I admire women more than a lot of men I know, so I would never look down on them or make assumptions about what they can and can't do."

Her suspicion changes to confusion. "But what about—"

"The first time we met?" I finish, knowing exactly what she's thinking about. "Yeah, I wasn't being sexist. A new ballet studio had just opened up next door, so we had been getting women at the gym all day long that were looking for the school. I think they had the wrong address listed on their website. By the time you came in that night, I had directed about thirty women to the studio. You looked exactly like the other girls had looked: nice clothes, wide eyes, and a ballerina bun in your hair. So yes, I assumed, but it wasn't from being sexist like you always thought."

Her eyes widen as I talk. By the time I'm done, her jaw has dropped, and her mouth keeps opening and closing. She clearly doesn't know how to respond. After a few seconds—during which I grin gleefully at her speechlessness—her mouth snaps closed, and she looks at me with an incredulous expression. It's almost like I'm watching her brain rework the very foundation of her opinion of me.

"Why didn't you tell me that?" she finally asks.

I finally let myself chuckle at the situation—at the memory of Remy yelling at me after I directed her to the ballet studio. "Because I liked how feisty you were. I only ever met women who threw themselves at me, so hearing you tell me how you really felt and not pulling any punches was a breath of fresh air.”

She glares and slaps my shoulder again. "You’re so cocky," she mumbles. My grin widens.

"Don't get me wrong, you being feisty also became incredibly annoying when you loved to point out my playboy ways and shit on me every chance you got. But it was attractive at first. And you'll never convince me that I was wrong about it being your defense mechanism because you were so attracted to me.

She gapes at my blatant arrogance, and I can't help the raucous laugh that bursts out of me at the sight. The sound startles her out of her shock because she turns a full-force glare on me and shoves my chest with both hands. "You're such anass," she growls.

I laugh again as I roll myself on top of her to pin her to the couch. She tries to wiggle out from under me, but I keep her caged in with my hips and arms. Instead of letting her escape, I lean forward to press my lips against hers. At first, she's stiff with anger, but I continue to kiss her as I wait patiently for her to relax. After a few seconds, I feel her sag into the couch. She grips my arms as her mouth starts to move against mine.

"I wanted you, too," I murmur against her lips. I nip her bottom lip before pulling away to look down at her. "You were one of the hottest things I had ever seen. I just didn't want to admit it because I knew you didn't want me, and because you were Jax's little sister. You were off limits. But I always wondered if you were a freaky little thing under those professional clothes." She rolls her eyes at my statement but doesn't correct me. My blood suddenly heats at the knowledge that I get to see just how freaky she can get now that she's mine.

Oblivious to the filthy thoughts now running through my head, she says, "We still have to figure out the best way to tell Jax. I have no idea if he's going to be upset."

I lean down to nuzzle her neck and press a kiss to her shoulder. "I'll tell him. If he's angry then it'll be at me, not you. But I'm pretty sure he already knows because that motherfucker is a psychic or something. He can read me like a book."

At that, Remy chuckles. "Me, too. It feels like he always knows what I'm thinking." Her expression turns thoughtful as she studies my face for a moment. "Right now, he only knows that I've been miserable for the last few weeks. But I think as soon as he sees that I'm happy, he'll understand. That's the only thing he's ever wanted for me, anyway."

A smile lifts the corners of my mouth at the thought of Remy being happy. But then the first half of her comment hits me and the smile drops from my face. I cup her cheek and gently caress her skin with my thumb. "I was miserable, too," I tell her softly. "I don't ever want to feel that way again. I don't ever want to be without you again. Please tell me I won't have to be."

She holds my face in her hands and forces me to look at her—forces me to see the raw truth in her expression. "You and I will never go through that again. It's you and me. That's it. We're it."

I exhale a ragged breath at her promise. I didn't realize how much I needed her to say it until just now, and I feel the grip of uncertainty loosen around my heart. Joy takes its place.

I lean down to once again press my lips against hers. She returns the kiss eagerly, as if we're using it to seal the promise of "us."

"I love you," she murmurs against my mouth. I sigh at the perfect sound of those words on her lips.

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