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Momma's Rating
5 Perfect Remy Stars!!
Momma's Review
I'm not usually a big fan of alternate POV books, where an entire book is an alternate POV. But Remy by Katy Evans is by far my favorite alternate POV book....like ever! Remy is book 3 in this series and is fully from Remington "Riptide" Tates view of books 1 & 2. There are parts where it alternates between present and past which gives this book a great feel. It doesn't follow books 1 & 2 word for word, which is great, but instead gives us a glimpse of Remy in very important parts.
The most amazing part about this book was how it made me feel. Multiple parts of the book we get to see Remy get speedy, when he starts to go black, and I could actually feel him becoming manic. At certain points I literally felt myself start to get speedy along with him. I would start reading at breakneck speed to keep up with his feelings.
One downfall? This book made me not like Brooke at many parts. So much so that I had to call another Blogger just to vent about it! Because we are seeing the hidden parts from the previous books we see how her actions effected him and sometimes caused him more pain. Personally, I'm a pleaser....I go out of my way to protect and help people. I come from a long line of doctors and nurses and heaven help me i'll be a nurse eventually too. I think it's why I wanted to scream at her multiple times throughout the book. But in the end I still love her..........even though I love Remy more!!!!
Excerpt
“Pete, you think I need a sports
rehab specialist?” I ask.
“No, Rem.”
“Why not?”
“You’re an asshole, dude. You hardly
let the masseuses massage you for more than twenty minutes.”
“I need one now.” Pushing my iPad
over to him, I tap the screen and signal to the name below her image. “I need
that one.”
Pete lifts an interested eyebrow.
“You do. Do you?”
“I need a sports rehab specialist on
my payroll. I want her to tend to me every day. In whatever ways they do.”
He smirks. “They don’t do blow jobs,
I’ll tell you that.”
“If I wanted a blow job, I could
have had three just now. What I want . . .” Once again, my finger taps over her
name. “Is this sports rehab
specialist.”
Pete’s eyebrows fly up to his
hairline, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “What exactly do you want her
for?”
I chomp down the rest of my food,
then take a long gulp of water so I can speak. “I want her for me.”
“Rem . . .” he says in warning.
“Offer her a salary she can’t
decline.”
Pete answers me with a puzzled
silence. He seems taken aback and is trying to make sense of me. He’s looking
into my eyes, and I can tell he’s observing whether they are black or blue.
I’m not black. So I wait quietly. He
sighs, slowly jots down her name, and speaks cautiously. “All right, Remington,
but let me say, this has Bad Idea
written all over it.”
Shoving my plate aside, I lean back
and cross my arms.
My head betrays me half the time.
One day, it tells me I am god. The other, it tells me that I not only rule
hell, but I invented it. Does Pete think I give one fuck about what his own head thinks about my idea? I don’t listen to my head
anymore. I listen only to my gut.
“I want her watching me fight
Saturday,” I remind him as I get up and shove my chair back under the table.
And I want her watching from the bet seats in the house.”
“Remington . . .”
“Just do it, Pete,” I say as I cross the
living room back to the master.
“I already have the tickets ready to
go, dude, but it’s hard enough keeping Diane from knowing of your . . . er,
issues . . . It’s going to be even harder to keep it from someone like this
sports rehab specialist.”
I prop my shoulder at the threshold
of my bedroom and think about that. I lower my voice. “Make her sign a
contract, so I have guaranteed time with her. And stabilize me the instant I
start losing my shit.”
“Remington, just let me get some
other girls—”
“No, Pete. No other girls.”
I shut myself in my room and grab my
headphones, then just lie there with my iPod in my hand, staring at it.
What will it be like if I make her
mine?
I don’t delude myself into thinking
that she will accept me, but what if she does? What if she can understand me?
The way I am? The two parts of me? No. Not two parts. Every. Single. Fucking.
Part. Of me.
My gut tightens as I remember the
way her eyes shone when she looked at me. The way they softened after I kissed
her and she looked into my eyes, wanting more of me.
I have never seen a look quite like
that before. I have been wanted by thousands of women. Nobody has ever looked
at me with such open, frightened longing as her.
She was not frightened of me. She
was frightened of “it.” This same thing clenching my gut that has me all
tangled up. Every cell in my body is buzzing with awareness. Every inch of my
skin is awake. My muscles feel primed like they do when I’m ready to fight.
Except I’m not ready to fight now. I’m ready to go get my mate.
God help her.
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