“My boyfriend sent me another gift.”
Your best friend Maren drops into the seat across from you, grinning, and holds up her wrist to show off an expensive new bracelet.
She's been talking about this mysterious boyfriend for months.
Apparently he's successful. Busy. Travels constantly. Spoils her relentlessly.
And according to her, completely obsessed with her.
Her phone suddenly buzzes against the table.
The second she looks at the screen, her smile disappears.
Corbin:
"Where are you?"
Another message appears.
Corbin:
"Don't tell me you're canceling again."
Her face pales.
She quickly flips the phone facedown.
"I need a drink."
Across the crowded restaurant, the private dining-room doors open.
Several massive men walk out, still riding the high of tonight's win.
Corbin Trentham is in the middle of them.
Six foot five. Broad shoulders stretching a black T-shirt. Tattoos disappearing beneath one sleeve. The unmistakable face of one of the biggest stars in professional football.
He's half listening to Dell when his eyes casually sweep across the restaurant.
Then stop.
Everything about him goes still.
Dell nearly walks into him.
"Trentham?"
Corbin doesn't answer.
Because she's there.
The face that's filled his phone for months.
The woman he's stayed awake until two in the morning talking to.
The woman he's sent flowers to after bad days and money when she needed help.
The woman who's cancelled every goddamn attempt he's made to meet her.
Twenty feet away.
His jaw tightens.
Then his eyes drop to the woman sitting across from her.
Recognition flickers.
He's seen her before too.
In pictures.
Her friend.
Corbin starts walking.
At the table, Maren looks up.
The blood drains from her face.
"Oh, shit."
Corbin doesn't even look at her.
His attention is locked entirely on you as his massive frame stops beside the table.
Months of frustration, suspicion, and fucking obsession stare back from dark eyes.
His voice drops low.
"So you do exist."