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Why doesn’t that thought make me happy anymore?

Did his panic attack already wrap me around his finger?

Fuck him.

“I still need to drop Pixie off with the neighbor real quick. Maybe she can watch her for a few hours.”

Harriet is a lifelong New Yorker who lives one floor below us. She’s pushing eighty but still sharp and walks her two Westies every day. I ran into her a couple days ago when she asked about all the reporters outside. It didn’t surprise me that she had no idea who owns the apartment upstairs. That’s what I like about the old lady—she lives in a different world where punk rock probably doesn’t exist.

Of course, she happily takes Pixie and even wishes me a great time at the concert.

Yeah, this is definitely going to be great. The way Aran is right now, it can only be entertaining.

I follow Fox and Aran through the courtyard and climb into the black SUV in front of Muvi’s. While Aran turns slightly away from me, nervously bouncing his leg as he stares out the window, Fox tries to make conversation.

“Ever been to the Vanguard, Koh?” he asks as he turns onto the main street heading south.

“No,” I answer, even though I know the club is somewhere in Brooklyn. “But my friend Nahla knows it well.”

“There’ll probably be a ton of paparazzi. I can drop you somewhere else if it’s too much.”

“Oh, it’s definitely too much,” I say, checking my buzzing phone. Nahla already texted which bar she’s waiting at. “You know Piewy’s?”

“Yep. Want me to drop you there?”

“Yes, please.”

When I put my phone away, I notice Aran watching me. His expression is hard to read. He’s grown detached, like he’s put the mask back on—the cold, emotionless one he’s worn around me all week.

“What?”

He doesn’t say a word, just glances at Fox and turns back to the window.

I can’t figure him out. Less than an hour ago, I was sitting on the couch next to a completely different person. If I didn’t find the guy so damn attractive, none of that would’ve happened. But it’s getting harder to ignore him. I can tell myself he means nothing to me all I want, but one look from him—even when he’s unintentionally radiating pure arrogance—does something to me. I feel pulled toward him.

I shake my head internally.

Why do I always pick the wrong guys?

Why does it have to be men who know exactly how to manipulate me? I’m so fucking done with this.

No—wait!

I didn’t pick Aran Graves.

Fate threw us together, which is even more fucked up.

After a silent ride, Fox drops me off in front of Piewy’s and hands me the two tickets. While they head to the Vanguard, I step into the sports bar.

I’m actually excited to spend the evening with Nahla on such short notice, but I’m dreading the confession I have to make. She still doesn’t know Aran Graves is my new roommate.

“Koh!” she shouts across the bar, waving like crazy.

When I reach her, she jumps off her stool and hugs me. “I love you!”

“Because I got Grave Sinner tickets?”

“Yes!” she squeals. “Holy shit! How did you get those?”