Edited to Add: The opening of this book has since been revised and added on to, but this scene will give you a good idea of Kevin’s character.

Here’s a first look at a short excerpt from How to Save a Life. This is unedited so please forgive any typos or mistakes I may have missed.

Chapter One

Stupid leather pants.

Kevin Price stood in the aisle of the crowded downtown bus and tried not to draw attention to himself.

Hard to do while flailing his body around, trying to get his right hand unstuck from the front pocket of the most ridiculous, tightest pants known to man.

Why the hell had he listened to Myles?

“It’s a sex club. You gotta look sexy.”

Asshole.

Jerk who’d offered to pick out his outfit for the night and ended up buying a pair of pants two sizes too small. On purpose. Kevin was sure of that.

He couldn’t walk into a swanky, underground sex club with one hand stuck inside his pants. He’d probably look like he was trying to grope himself as soon as he stepped inside. He might as well paint a sign on his forehead. Gay virgin here. First night in a gay bar.

Well, not his first, but pretty damn close.

The bus rounded the next corner, and the buildings went from the precise lines of concrete and glass to the graffiti-covered faded bricks and shattered windows of abandoned factories.

Almost there.

He’d been listening to the police scanner app on his phone for the past fifteen minutes. Not that he would’ve cancelled his plans that night if he’d heard anything interesting come across the scanner, but old habits and all that. Mostly, he’d been trying to get his mind off where he was headed. Then he’d gone to slip the phone and headphones into his pocket, and that’s when he’d found himself standing there with only one free arm, gyrating his hips, and mentally cursing out Myles.

He gave a tug, chaffing his wrist on the edge of the leather pocket.

Why would anyone wear pants like this?

To get laid.

If he could remember when he’d last had sex, he might’ve contemplated that longer.

He tugged again.

Nothing.

If this was a sign for how the rest of the night would go, he should pack it up and head home. Forget why he’d come.

Only, he couldn’t forget.