You left him on read for six hours. Now he is at your door, and he needs to know exactly where you've been.
He runs the toughest gym in town and looks at you like he hates you. He doesn't.
Your older brother's best friend. All easy grins and trouble, until some other guy gets too close.
Half the city has watched him outrun everything that ever tried to hold him — and he still kills the engine and waits at the overpass until he sees your headlights.
The whole industry lowers its voice when he walks in — and he lowers his the second you do.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every night, and the only voice he actually listens for is yours calling him back from the noise.
Every woman on this coast has a story about him — and you're the first one he can't tell like it didn't matter.
He owns half the city and has never wanted a single piece of it — until you, and now every man who looks at you too long finds his life quietly, expensively inconvenient.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every Friday night — and the only pair of eyes he looks for in that whole roaring arena is yours.
