Once again I’m left wondering if I somehow managed to read an entirely different book than everyone else. I don’t get it. I mean, what the fuck is this book? Is it for real? It can’t be for real. Is it Beautiful Disaster fan fiction? It sure reads like it: poorly written story about an underground fighter who is god’s gift to women, quickly becomes unhealthily obsessed with speshul snowflake heroine and throws a fit or twelve. Except this time Bipolar Disorder serves to excuse the distasteful Alpha behavior and up the stakes. And remember how everyone wondered how Travis could stay so in shape when he never worked out? Well, THIS GUY works out for NINE HOURS AT A TIME. So he earned that EIGHT PACK, okay?!
I’m trying to think of a single thing that I didn’t completely loathe about this book and am coming up short. There is nothing remotely good, nothing remotely sexy, nothing remotely REAL about Real. Reality has no place in that world. Like the so-called sexual tension that everyone is raving about? Off the charts stupid. Who even acts like that? From the moment Brooke and Remington meet, they’re just doing THE MOST. This is what happens, basically:
Brooke: I can’t believe you dragged me to this underground fight to see some guy you want to bone, Melanie.
Melanie: I’m such a whore!
Brooke: Everyone is a whore except me.
Melanie: I know! You’re so classy in your frilly collared shirt and perfectly presentable high-waisted pants! I’m nothing compared to you!
Brooke: Cool. That’s what I was going for.
Melanie: Look, there he is!
Brooke’s vagina: Oh, CLENCH!
Bimbette: RIP ME A NEW ONE, RIPTIDE!
Melanie: HEY RIPTIDE, OVER HERE!
Remington Remy Riptide RIP Tate: *looks*
Melanie: NO, A LITTLE TO YOUR LEFT AW SHIT.
Brooke: Yep. ME.
Brooke’s vagina: Sloppy wet clenchity CLENCH!
Remington’s Eyes: Glimmering amusement. Warm, unbearably intimate things.
Brooke’s Vagina: HOMG CLENCHING SO TIGHT
Remington’s Eyes: Lust. Want. Need. Claim Mate.
Brooke’s Vagina: ZOMG SO WET DRIPPING SOAKED PANTIES STILL CLENCHING
Melanie: Good thing your OCD makes you much too classy to hit that.
Brooke: You’re a slut, Melanie! I’m leaving!
Remington: Psh, TOTAL K.O. Gotta go see about a girl.
Brooke: Who’s sniffing me?
Remington: *growls* NAME.
Brooke’s vagina: SPLOOGE. CLENCH. SPASM.
Bimbette: EVERYONE IN HERE WISHES THEY WERE YOU, BROOKE! WE’RE A BUNCH OF WHORES AND SLUTS! YOU’RE SO LUCKY!
Melanie: Her name is Brooke
Dumbass Dumas! Here is her phone number! I’m really invested!
Remington: *marks her while panting and growling and sniffing* You Brooke. Me Remington. Bye.
Brooke: WAH. HE PROBABLY WON’T EVEN CALL ME.
This is the entire BOOK. They hardly ever spend any time apart and so it’s scene after scene of him speaking in this husky, thick, hoarse, rough, guttural voice (lust!) and wearing low-slung sweatpants while she rubs his anterior deltoid or whatever, girl parts clenching (71 mentions of clenching in this book! SEVENTY ONE!). Or they’d be telling each other secrets with their eyes while they play each other songs that have Deep Lyrics that are Hella Trite (songs like Iris and Anyway You Want It? What? First of all, STOP. Second, who are these 24 year olds? They never listen to anything from the past decade!). Remington pants and salivates in her presence, and is always smelling her and his friends tell her how wild she makes him, prostitutes tell her how they’re really bad at their jobs because they can’t even get him hard because his dick only responds to HER now, he saved her from an egging and carried her off to loving nurse her “wounds”, he gets his fans to buy her red roses (GAH), and STILL she whines about how he doesn’t like her afterwards and how maybe she’s fat. GTFO. WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED?
Brooke: “Am I pretty?”
All of the secondary characters serve as foils for Brooke and Remington. The women are constantly re-affirming how classy and beautiful and smart Brooke is by giving her approving looks and constant compliments. They’re all described as sluts or whores except for one or two. No man is as big and muscular and hot and desirable as Remington. None of the fighters he goes up against, and certainly not any of his friends. Like Pete, Remy’s
soul brother personal assistant.
“Do you have any brothers, Pedro?”
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.”
MY eyes widened when I read the words “little guy”. Seriously? Why was that even necessary? I could’ve sworn he was described as tall initially. But OF COURSE Remington dwarfs him. And then, because everyone has to bow down, Pete has to chime in and talk down about himself? What?! He’s a…book? I don’t even understand what that means, to tell you the truth.
I’m so tired of these books that are nothing more than ruminating on how HAWT SAUCE the hero is. And it’s like every book tries to one-up the one before it. Oh, that guy was sexually abused? Well, if you think that’s sexy and tragic, wait until you see THIS guy! He’s BIPOLAR! Just line after line and page after page of descriptions of how mind-blowing his eye color, physique, penis, facial hair, cheekbones, etc, are. The guy can’t just be hot. He has to be SCORCHING. Every woman must melt at the sight of him, their panties sliding to the floor. None of these men have personalities, by the way. Everything is so centered on how good-looking they are and how fucking virile they are. Men want to be them, women want to be with them. Not a moment goes by that their magnificence isn’t remarked upon, it’s so draining. SO DRAINING.
So Remington’s a bull, eh? Well, now he’s a LION:
The man eats for three fully grown, hungry lions.
He has a blast up on the ring, and makes it appear like he’s a lion, and his opponent a mouse, and he’s just playing with it.
He scents the back of my ear. Then I feel his hand, scraping down my hair, softly petting me. His tongue follows, lightly lapping the place on my neck he bit in the shower. He drags it along the curve of my shoulders, my ear, awakening every inch of my skin. I feel like he’s a lazy lion, bathing me with his tongue, licking and nuzzling me.
Lions ain’t shit. Guy eats for THREE OF ‘EM. Take that! Seriously, why is this dude constantly smelling and licking her and saying things like, “You’re my mate and I claim you.” WHAT IS HAPPENING?! Not cute. I’m sorry, did I not notice that I was reading a paranormal romance? Is Remington Tate a fucking werelion? It sure would explain his constantly changing eye color which is supposedly because he’s Bipolar? Nope. You’re dumb. The way that mental illness was fetishized in this book was so disturbing. Absolutely shameful.
I’m not even going to get into the dwama with her baby sister and Remington’s foe, Scorpion (check my updates).
Or how horribly parents are depicted in this book.
Or the incredibly dumb ending that involves Remington in a hospital bed and Brooke writing him a sappy letter, telling him that she’ll alway think of him when she hears the song Iris.
And WHO edited this thing?
I’m gonna stop typing now because there’s just too much. Too much to talk about.
I’ll just leave you with this song:
Every guy here’d love to be you, Riptide
Even when taking your lumps
There’s no man in town as admired as you
You’re everyone’s favorite guy
Everyone’s awed and inspired by you
And it’s not very hard to see why
No one’s slick as Riptide
No one’s quick as Riptide
No one’s neck’s as incredibly thick as Riptide’s
For there’s no man in town half as manly
Perfect, a pure paragon!
You can ask any Pete, Coach or Riley
And they’ll tell you whose team they prefer to be on
No one fights like Riptide
Douses lights like Riptide
In a boxing match nobody bites like Riptide!
For there’s no one as burly and brawny
As you see he’s got biceps to spare
Not a bit of him’s scraggly or scrawny
That’s right! And every last inch of his face is full of hair!
P.S. SRSLY, THIS IS THE WORST BOOK I HAVE EVER READ. It’s so offensive! I judge everyone who likes this, not even going to lie. SORRY I’M NOT SORRY.