He headed toward the curb, where a shiny black Cadillac Escalade with darkened windows sat with its motor idling. As he reached for the passenger-door handle, he didn’t even glance around for her, and she realized he’d forgotten she existed. The story of her life.

“Wait!” She made a dash across the street, dodging a taxi and a red Subaru. Horns blared, brakes squealed, and Champion looked up. He flipped his cell shut as she finally stepped up on the curb.

“I haven’t seen anybody run a pattern like that since Bobby Tom Denton retired from the Stars.”

“You were going to leave without me.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You didn’t look!”

“Things on my mind.” At least he held the back door of the rapmobile open for her, then climbed in at her side. The driver moved up the passenger seat for more legroom before he turned to check her out.

The driver was big and terrifyingly buff. Tattoos decorated a massive set of arms and the wrist he’d draped over the steering wheel. With his shaved head, wise-guy eyes, and crooked smile, he had a Bruce Willis’s evil twin thing going that was sexy in a very scary sort of way. “Where we off to?” he asked.

“Elmhurst,” Heath said. “Crenshaw wants me to see his new house.”

As a Stars fan, Annabelle recognized the name of the team’s running back.

“The Sox are up two-one,” the driver said. “You want to listen in the back?”

“Yeah, but unfortunately I have some business I promised to take care of. Annabelle, this is Bodie Gray, the best linebacker who never played for Kansas City.”

“Second-round draft pick out of Arizona State,” Bodie said as he pulled the SUV into the traffic. “Played two years for the Steelers. My right leg was crushed in a motorcycle accident the day I got traded to the Chiefs.”

“That must have been terrible.”

“You win some, you lose some, right, boss?”

“He calls me that to piss me off.”

Bodie studied her in the rearview mirror. “So you’re the matchmaker?”

“Marriage facilitator.” Heath swiped her mocha Frappuccino.

“Hey!”

He took a drag on the straw, and Bodie chuckled. “Marriage facilitator, huh? You got your work cut out for you with the boss, Annabelle. He has a long history of lovin’ and leavin’.” He made a left on LaSalle. “But here’s what’s ironic …The last woman he was interested in—some pooh-bah in the mayor’s office—dumped him. How’s that for a laugh?”

Heath yawned and stretched his legs. Despite his pricey wardrobe, she could easily imagine him in jeans, a ratty T-shirt, and scuffed-up work boots.

Bodie turned onto Congress. “She dumped him because of the way he screwed around on her.”

Annabelle’s stomach sank. “He was unfaithful?”

“Big-time.” Bodie made a lane change. “He kept humpin’ his cell phone.”

Heath took another swig of the Frappuccino. “He’s bitter because I’m successful, and he’s screwed up for life.”

No response from the front seat. What sort of weird relationship was this?