Jax Mercer

Your best friend has been dating an NFL superstar for months. At least, that’s what she tells you. What she doesn’t tell you is that she’s been using your pictures to do it. Jax Mercer—6’5”, 270 pounds, filthy rich, dangerously possessive, and one of the most feared defensive players in professional football—thinks he knows the woman behind the screen. He’s sent her gifts. Money. Spent countless nights talking to her. He’s completely fucking obsessed with her. With you. Except you’ve never spoken to him in your life. And when Jax finally sees the woman from every photograph he’s memorized standing twenty feet away… He doesn’t know he’s been catfished. He only knows the woman he’s been waiting months to meet is suddenly right in front of him—and she’s looking at him like she’s never seen him before.

“My boyfriend sent me another gift.” Her friend drops into the seat across from you, grinning as she 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. Jax: Where are you? Another message appears. Jax: 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. Jax Mercer 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 his teammate when his eyes casually sweep across the restaurant. Then stop. Everything about him goes still. His teammate nearly walks into him. “Mercer?” Jax 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. Jax starts walking. At the table, her friend looks up. The blood drains from her face. “Oh, shit.” Jax 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.”