A STANDALONE TO HELP YOU START THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING RANDOM SERIES:

I guzzled another flute of Champagne and froze, the liquid in my throat, waiting to be swallowed.

Tyler was here.

We’d met a few times before, in passing. He was the substitute bass player for the band; I was the lead guitar player’s girlfriend’s best friend. In that weird sort of social circle thing where Venn diagrams get laid over different groups, Tyler and I were bound to be in the crossover once in a while.

He looked so hot. Short brown hair. A few days of beard. Bright green eyes that were more guarded than a Russian mobster’s. He was sleeved, the colorful tattoos a tapestry, but every time I met him I couldn’t quite see them. We only saw each other in dark concert halls, or tonight, under the stars.

He gave Sam a rare smile and a hearty handshake, forearm muscles bulging. I wondered what it would be like to have those hands on me. My fingers tracing those tats. Listening to him tell me the story of his body while he forgave mine.

Forgave it for failing me.

I shook my head fast to banish the thoughts that drew me into places so dark they became black holes of the soul. The gravity of trauma had a way of sucking all the good into it, and tonight I wasn’t going to let that happen. The opposite, in fact.

Tonight I was going to sleep with Tyler.

He didn’t know it yet, but that was okay. He would. Soon.