"Be nice to people on your way up because you'll meet them on your way down." –Wilson Mizner

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Like most of my questionable life choices, the overnight trip to Vegas masqueraded as a good idea at the time.

"What isn't fabulous about this plan?" Ava, my best friend, asked me two days ago after she suggested going. "We get out of L.A. for a night and finally catch Torin's band. You've been saying how much you want to see them play for ages, and you haven't left your condo in weeks."

She was right on all counts, and especially the part about me being a recluse. It's what I do when I'm neck-deep in research for a new novel. Ava knows this, and it drives her bananas when I decline her invitations for weeks on end, but she understands why I do it and loves me anyway.

I owed her a night out, though. Countless hours of holing up at home with only my laptop and news articles about a murder case for company also had me starting to climb the walls. So I said yes, and now here we are in Sin City, smack in the middle of casinos and chaos.

It still seemed like a good idea as recently as three minutes ago, when Ava and I abandoned our blackjack table in The Auriga and headed for Nebula, the casino's hidden speakeasy where our friend's band has a standing Saturday night gig. It hit me then, as we glided past the cacophony of clinking poker chips and whirling slot machine chimes, that I'm in this for the long haul tonight. Me, the sleep fanatic who's usually watching TV or reading a book in bed by ten o'clock. Torin's band doesn't go on until eleven, and he already texted Ava about the after party at his house when they're done.

The bar had better have energy drinks to keep me standing.

"Ava Sinclair plus one."

The doorman checks a list and unhooks a rope to let us inside a room that looks like a cozy café adorned with a starlit ceiling, flickering candles on each table, and twinkling fairy lights in every corner. I'm confused when we walk past people sitting at tables, since the café is small and there's no stage in sight, but Ava appears to know where we're going. We follow someone to a door marked as a supply closet. It turns out to be the entrance to a small enclosure outside of another metal door that's opened for us a moment later.

"Isn't this great?" Ava's hazel eyes sparkle as she nudges me forward.

I step inside a lounge decorated with dark wood, tufted velvet sofas, ornate chandeliers, and a starlit ceiling like the one in the café. A crowd has already gathered at the bar on one side of the room, and another one is forming in front of the empty stage.

"Hold us a spot near the front," Ava says. "I'll get our drinks."

"I don't drink when I'm writing a book," I remind her. "It disrupts the flow."

"You aren't writing a book tonight. You're in Vegas, at a bar, enjoying life."

She winks at me and takes off before I can ask for something with caffeine in it. I resign myself to a single drink and make my way to an unoccupied spot close to the stage.

"Delaney Sharpe," a familiar voice booms from behind me. "How did Ava manage to drag you out of L.A.?"

Torin sweeps me into a hug the instant I turn around. "Didn't she tell you I was coming?" My words are muffled by his shoulder.

"She did, but I had to see you here with my own eyes first. It's been forever." He loosens his hold and takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. "You look amazing, by the way."

I'm not sure how my current vampire ways of staying indoors all day, tapping at my keyboard, and barely letting my skin see sunshine have led to a compliment about my appearance, but I'll take it. I did at least make an effort to add curling-iron beach waves to my normally straight blond hair, and I let Ava talk me into wearing a short silk skirt she just happened to bring with her. The knee-high black leather boots I'm wearing also snuck along for the ride to Vegas, since Ava grabbed them from my closet when she came to pick me up this morning and declared herself my stylist for the day.

"Kind words from the glamorous rock star." I pretend to look Torin up and down. He dyed his hair an indigo-tinged black at some point since I last saw him, and the color makes his blue eyes stand out even more than they already did. "You need to share your eyeliner tips with me."

"Everything I know, you and Ava taught me in the dorms. Where is she, by the way?"

"At the bar, hopefully not buying shots. She should be back soon."

"No shots?" Mischief lights up his face. "Come on. All your best dance moves come out with those."

I groan, recalling the last time the three of us did shots together at our college graduation party, eight years ago. Torin and Ava swear they deleted any incriminating photos and videos from that night, part of which involved me dancing on top of a bar with the most attractive guy I had ever laid eyes on, whom I'd spent the last semester of college crushing on from afar. His name was Phoenix Alden. He was a theater major with an agent and a couple of TV and film roles on his IMDb resume, and he'd had an entourage of women following him around campus every time I saw him.

I was too shy to approach him until the alcohol made my inhibitions disappear. Phoenix asked me out that night and I said yes, which was another decision that seemed fine at the time but led to disaster in the end. I don't do shots anymore.

"Mixed drinks are safer for all of us," I assure Torin. "You and the rest of the band don't want me turning into your uninvited tambourine girl."

"I doubt the guys would mind. And what happens in Vegas..."

"Oooh, are we discussing finding a hookup for Del tonight? Because there are some prospects I spotted at the bar."

Ava hands me a glass filled to the brim with God knows what. She sets her own glass on the stage, then flings her arms around Torin.

He laughs and hugs her back. "Nash is single, and he's sticking around for the after party tonight. You never know what might happen."

"I'm not hooking up with your guitar player," I inform him. "That's trouble waiting to happen and about a million red flags."

The problem with red flags is that I'm attracted to them. Or I used to be.

"You say that now, but who knows where the night will lead?" He exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Ava. "Speaking of Nash, I need to find him before we go on. See you after the show?"

"We'll be there," Ava promises. "Tell Nash that Del is showing up just for him."

"You two are the worst." I look up at the ceiling and then take a sip from my glass, trying not to choke on the strong taste of vodka and sugar. "What is this?"

"A vodka ginger ale. Your first of many tonight, as we scope out your prospects. Now that I have you out of your condo, my mission is also to get you laid."

"What prospects?" I protest. "I'm here for one drink and to enjoy the music. That's all."

"That's too bad, since the guy who just walked over to the bar looks like your type."

I turn around so I can see the bar from where I'm standing. If I humor Ava and pretend to check out who she's talking about, then tell her I'm not interested, she might let this drop. "What guy?"

"Tall, dark hair, wearing a white shirt and black jeans."

I scan the patrons at the bar and spot who Ava means. I start to reply, but then stop, no longer able to form words when I catch sight of something that knocks the air out of my lungs.

No, not something. Someone. I'm struggling to breathe.

It can't be him. Torin would have warned me. Christ, Ava was just at the bar and she would have come running to let me know. Phoenix's sun-streaked, shaggy hair is unmistakable, though, and so are the tattoos covering the bronzed skin of his arms.

He's here. In Las Vegas. In this bar. The ex-boyfriend who waltzed out of my life without an explanation or goodbye before he attained the status of a Hollywood god for a hot second and then lost it just as fast.

I am not prepared for this tonight. I would not be prepared for this on any night, in any lifetime.

Ava snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Wow, I must have been spot on about that guy being your type. You should see how hard you're staring."

I rip my eyes away from the horror movie my night just became and take another gulp from my glass. The liquid burns my throat, but the sensation jars me back to reality enough that I remember how to speak.

"Tell me you didn't see him and didn't know he would be here."

"See who?" Ava's auburn waves bounce around her shoulders as she twists her body for another peek at the bar.

I shuffle to the side, trying to hide behind her as I risk another look. The spot where Phoenix stood less than a minute ago is vacant. Shit. Where did he go?

Ava faces me again, wearing a puzzled expression. Then her eyes widen and her mouth forms a small O.

"Del." A hand lands on my shoulder. I would know Phoenix's voice and touch anywhere.

Vegas is turning out to be the worst idea Ava and I have ever had.