There’s a knock at the door— loud, impatient. You already know who it is before you even stand up.

Your parents are in the middle of laughing at some story their friends are telling, and across the table, their son, the one they keep trying to set you up with who is the total opposite of your boyfriend. He gives you a polite smile. You force one back, excusing yourself as casually as possible before heading to the door.

When you open it, Corey is standing there, his brown eyes flicking past you into the house. His jaw is tight, hands shoved into his pockets, but you can see the barely contained frustration in the way his chest rises and falls.

“The fuck is this?” he mutters, low enough that no one inside can hear.

“Corey, not now,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder.

His gaze hardens. “You got some posh little dinner goin’ on and didn’t think to tell me?” His eyes shift, landing on the guy still sitting at the table, and his expression darkens. “Who the fuck is that?”

Your heart pounds. You can already tell this won’t end quietly.