Karina guides me up a winding driveway with a python-tight grip around my waist. The gate at the bottom was open, cars stacked against curbs to either side. Despite the evidence of a gathering, we’re the only ones moving in the night. Not that the night is over in Los Angeles at 3 a.m.—far from it.

This isn’t Karina’s boyfriend, Frank’s, house, where she promised we’d do a mellow night of beer, pizza, and a movie. Ohhhh no, my terminally impulsive friend decided we needed to crash a party in the Hollywood Hills. Wearing jeans and tank tops, with lank hair and skin that smells faintly of grease.

That we’re going to stick out like sore thumbs doesn’t bother Karina one bit. And though I wish it didn’t, it does bother me. I don’t like attention. Especially the kind that comes from men and women whose pets wear nicer clothes than I do.

“Why can’t I ever say no to you?” I mutter.

She laughs. “Because I know what’s good for you. Besides, when are we ever off early enough on a Saturday to hit a party?” She squeezes me hard and plants a kiss on my cheek. “And we haven’t celebrated your graduation yet, or the fact you got into med school. I’m so freaking proud of you.”

“Buy me ice cream or something,” I say dryly.

She snickers. “How about some free booze instead?” Another squeeze. “We don’t have to stay long. It’ll be fun. Prime people-watching.”

I sigh and squeeze her back. “Okay. Sorry I’m being a brat. I had some rough tables tonight.”

She just nods, knowing exactly what I mean. When you spend hours on end playing a foul-mouthed, ornery woman for money, sometimes it takes a few hours to remember you’re actually a nice person.

I peer at the house ahead of us. Two stories and well-lit, it’s done in the Spanish style popular among Southern California’s wealthy, cream stucco with ornamental ironwork over the lower windows and vines covering the arched entryway. The front door is closed, but a seductive, electronic bassline comes from inside.

“Who lives here?” I ask.

“Someone rich. Mitchell or Malcolm or something. Raul said he’s in the business.”

“And which of his businesses was Raul referring to?”

She laughs. “Good point. Well, given the size of this house, the fact the guy is white, and the Ferrari parked next to a Bentley over there, I’m pretty sure it’s not telenovelas. So, that leaves porn or drugs.”

I sigh.

I can’t wait to get out of this city.

* * *

The party isn’t as bad as I feared, and ten times worse in other ways. Oddly enough, Karina and I don’t stick out at all. The crowd is a strange mix of glazed-eyed artsy types, bohemian-chic twenty-somethings, and a small contingent of men wearing the remains of business attire.

Unsurprisingly, within minutes of arriving Karina sees someone she knows. After depositing me near a tropical fish tank with a bottle of Corona and promises to return, she disappears.

The abandonment is standard behavior for her, but I don’t really mind. She’s a social butterfly and I’m a loner, but it works for us—I rein her in when necessary, and she forces me out of my shell. Perfect symbiosis. And I know she’d never leave me if she thought I wasn’t safe.

She’s one of the few people I’ll miss.

“Are you here alone?” asks a voice to my left.

I lower the bottle from my lips and glance at the speaker. Male. Mid-twenties. Too much hair gel and not enough sunblock. Still using textbook pick-up lines.

“Nope.”

“Cool, cool. I’m John.”

“Hi, John,” I say with the bare minimum of politeness.

He clears his throat. “Can I get you another drink?”

A masculine snort draws my gaze to a nearby wall, where I discover blue eyes watching me. Or rather, watching poor John trying to flirt with me.

When the voyeur notices my regard, a dark eyebrow rises and his lips twitch behind a tumbler of liquor. His gaze narrows, cataloguing me head to toe without shame.

I return the favor.

He’s older than me, late twenties or early thirties, and still in work attire. White dress shirt open at the collar, loose tie. Dark slacks and shiny black shoes. A suit and tie on a Saturday makes him a… real estate broker? Lawyer?

Short, messy brown hair. If he uses gel, it’s the expensive kind. His face—now that it isn’t half-covered by his glass—reminds me of a young Michael Fassbender, all rugged symmetry and potent masculinity. He has that special scruff only certain men can master, the kind that tells the world he’s too busy doing important things to shave, and his job doesn’t care because he’s just that good.

He’s 100% my type. Two years ago, I would have convinced him to take me home for the night.

Two years is a lifetime ago.

I stare at him until white teeth flash in a knowing smile. The suggestion in his curved lips snaps me out of my daze. I turn back to John, who’s waiting for my reply.

“Thank you, but no. I need to find my friend.”

His hopeful expression crashes and burns. “Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll see you later?”

“Sure,” I say noncommittally, and go in search of Karina.

I don’t see Blue Eyes again, or John, and it takes me an hour and three more beers to find Karina.

No one else talks to me. No one invites me into one of the back rooms, where I see people periodically disappearing, then emerging wearing newly acquired euphoric expressions.

Given the eclectic crowd, I’ve already surmised it’s not a porn party. After watching the conveyer belt of anxious people IN, euphoric people OUT, I now know it’s drugs. And definitely not pot.

Mitchell, or Malcolm, or whoever is a drug dealer. A white-collar one, from the ambiance and what looks like free party favors. A supplier, maybe.

I couldn’t care less.

I’m tired, and buzzed, and need sleep. Whatever everyone is on is making for a frantic upswing of noise, so I search for a quiet corner to text Karina. Spying empty chairs out on the back patio, I head for the sliding doors.

Halfway there, someone collides with my back. A small, feminine elbow hits my ribs and a fist finds my kidney. The force rocks me forward. If not for the back of a nearby sofa, my face would’ve become personally acquainted with expensive Spanish tile.

Oh, hell no.

Ready to break a fucking nose, I whip upright and spin around.