Take Me Home Tonight - Morgan Matson Page 0,111

again. That I’d somehow have to arrange with someone to get my purse later, because the place had suddenly turned as inaccessible as Fort Knox. “Thanks so much,” I said, gripping onto the keys as tightly as I’d ever held anything. “I can’t believe we got them.”

“I’m making, like, eight copies of Mallory’s keys whenever she gets back,” Matty said. “Because knowing her, with a door like that, this is absolutely going to happen again.”

“I can just leave these in the apartment when I go, right?”

“Or maybe with the super? That way she can get them when she comes home. I can text her and let her know that’s where they’ll be.”

“The super,” I echoed. I suddenly flashed to Cary, and his sweet smile, and how he hadn’t been able to stop looking at Kat. “Can I use your phone again?” I called I CRUISE one more time, and like before, it went right to voice mail. I left yet another message, telling him that I’d gotten a spare set of keys anyway, and he didn’t need to bother his uncle.

I handed Matty back his phone. “I don’t know how you’ve been getting around all night without one,” he said.

“It hasn’t been that bad,” I said, almost meaning it.

He smiled at me, checked the time on his phone. “I’d go with you to Mallory’s, but…”

“You have to go back to the USSR.” Matty laughed. “I get it. Say hi to Alyssa and Archie. Thanks for coming all the way over here with me, and for—everything tonight.”

“You want to come?”

“It sounds fun, but I think I’m just going to go get my stuff.”

“Understandable.”

We looked at each other for a moment, like before in his dorm—but this time without the awkward pressure of expectations. Before, there was someone I hadn’t known. And now? It was Matty. Somehow, unexpectedly, and against all odds—my brother.

I reached out and gave him a hug, and he gave me one back, picking me up off my feet for a second before putting me down again. “Bye,” I said. “Thanks again for everything.”

“This isn’t goodbye,” Matty said, shaking his head like the notion was ridiculous. “You’re coming to Margaux’s later, right? Hang on—let me get you the address.” He pulled a receipt out of his wallet, borrowed a pencil from the guard, and scribbled down Margaux’s address for me. I took the folded paper and stuck it in my coat pocket. “I’ll see you there?”

I just smiled. “Bye, Matty. I’ll see you soon.”

He grinned back, then pushed open the door, wincing slightly against the cold, putting his head down against it as he fell into step with the thinned-out Midtown crowd.

A second later, I stepped outside myself and looked around. I was twenty blocks away from Mallory’s apartment. I could walk there, even though it really was getting colder. There were cabs with lights on flying by, and I realized all of a sudden that I could take one. I had my nineteen dollars in cash, but I no longer had to hoard it, because the rest of my money and my emergency credit card—along with our train tickets and my keys—were at Mallory’s, and now I could get back in there. And even if nineteen dollars wasn’t enough to get me twenty blocks, it would be enough to get me close.

And that was what I should do.

It made sense. It was what I’d been trying to do all night, after all. Get back to Mallory’s. Get my things. No longer be broke and stranded in New York.

And yet…

Knowing full well this was a bad idea, I walked to the curb and put my hand up when I saw a yellow cab, the SUV kind, with its white light on. It pulled over, and I got in, slamming the door behind me and taking my nineteen dollars in cash out of my pocket, prepared to watch the meter closely and stop the cab at around fifteen, so I’d have enough for the tip and for all the extra charges I’d never understood but that were always added on.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. I looked at the clock on the TV screen playing Taxi TV. It was nine—which meant I could still make it.

And so, I leaned forward and said, “Josephine’s. In the Village.”

Meanwhile, somewhere on Highway 81…

TERI PULLED INTO THE PARKING lot of the Borderline. It wouldn’t have been her first choice—a roadhouse off the highway, a wooden-framed building with neon

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