We Have Till Dawn - Cara Dee Page 0,2

three decades. She just turned thirty the other week.

“Fine,” she conceded eventually. “If you’re happy, I’m happy, and you deserve to be celebrated.”

I smacked another kiss to her cheek before I slid onto the middle stool. I was definitely in the mood for some celebrating.

Chris clapped me on my back and said the rest of the drinks were on him tonight.

“I knew it was true. Once you’re flush with cash, everything’s free.” I reached for a bowl of bar nuts and grabbed a handful.

“Gross, Nicky,” Ruby chided.

I ate them noisily, much to her displeasure.

“I need older friends,” Chris muttered into his glass.

“You wouldn’t dare abandon us,” I told him.

“Please,” Ruby snorted. “You’d get bored in a second.”

That was what was funny about Chris. In our little group of friends, he was the mellow, mature guy. Around his work buddies—the older ones, not the young weekend warriors who did more coke than Tony Montana—he was restless and reckless.

The only time Ruby and I saw that other side of him was when I had a gig. My brother and I, along with two of his friends, had a band together on and off, and Chris jumped in as our bass player when Marco was a no-show. And with six kids, that happened frequently.

It was how I’d met Chris. He’d been at one of our shows, and when Marco had to split, I’d jokingly asked the crowd if anyone played bass. A hammered Chris had put his fist into the air and volunteered. Marco hadn’t dared to put up a fight about whether he’d let Chris borrow his instrument.

It was a great memory of mine, even though our gig had sucked. Chris still had plenty of talent.

We left the bar right around the same time as the sun was glowing red and slowly dipping between two skyscrapers.

I had a good buzz going on and hoped we’d try that new place near Ruby’s building.

“When do you get your keys?” Chris asked, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet. Or phone. Or both.

“Already got them,” I replied and shrugged on my jacket. Fall was here. Chris liked to point out that I should get a “grown man” jacket, presumably one like his countless different coats, blazers, and windbreakers. But there was nothing wrong with my army jacket; I wore it in the winter too, just with a hoodie underneath. “Anthony’s helping me move some shit over to the studio tomorrow night.”

I was only bringing two or three duffels, my keyboard, and a guitar, but I couldn’t lug it all on the subway unless I wanted to go back and forth all day. My brother had a car, so that helped.

When I caught Ruby yawning, I mock-gasped and pointed at her. “What the fuck?”

She groaned and threw an arm around me. “I’m sorry, but I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been up since four.”

I cast a downward glance at her feet. No wonder she was suddenly taller than me. She was wearing six-inch heels. I hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m getting you an Irish coffee at the next place,” I told her.

She winced.

“Ruby.” I couldn’t believe it. She was calling it a night. I could feel it.

“I’m tired too,” Chris admitted. “I gotta be up at six tomorrow for a meeting.”

It was just barely dinnertime!

“I’m disappointed in both’a youse.” I shook my head and stepped closer to the curb.

We went back and forth for a while; Ruby promised to make it up to me when we met up for breakfast on Saturday after my first session with my mystery client, and it made me feel bad. She wanted to make sure I’d be okay, and I was giving her shit, knowing full well that she worked insane hours. So, in the end, Chris and I stayed on the sidewalk after hugging Ruby goodnight, and we waited until she’d disappeared into her building farther up the street.

I wasn’t ready to head home to Brooklyn. I had a key to a new apartment that would be mine for the next two months, and I had someone to share a cab with me over to the Garment District.

“What’s good to eat in your neighborhood?” I asked as we got into a cab.

Chris blew out a breath and patted his flat stomach. “I’ve had too much Arby’s.”

I liked Arby’s.

“There’s plenty along Ninth,” he went on. “Some good sushi and Italian.” He paused. “The bagel vendor on the corner across from the 7-Eleven is probably the best in Manhattan.”

Good to know.