We Have Till Dawn

He chuckled. “You list traits about yourself that I usually abhor and do anything to stay away from, and yet…” He released a breath and shook his head. “You’re all I can think of, Nicky.”

There was no stopping the shit-eating grin on my mug.

I was fairly certain it was the first time he’d called me by my name, too. Or nickname.

“Nicky,” he repeated to himself. “Normally, I don’t even like nicknames.”

“Fuck normal, baby. I like that I stand out.” I grabbed his hand and kissed the top of it, then linked our fingers together and rested them on the narrow seat between us. “Who doesn’t wanna be memorable, right?”

“Memorable… That’s an understatement.” He smiled wryly. “You’re very…colorful.”

Both good and bad, I assumed. I bet I shook up his gray existence, but it didn’t take a whole lot to do that. He came from a typically WASP-y line of golfers, investors, and yacht club members. I knew enough about him that it wouldn’t take more than a Google search to find out exactly who he was, and the reason I hadn’t done that was because I didn’t wanna see just how different we were. Too different wasn’t a positive thing. Too different was frightening in Gideon’s world.

I was his spice.

The scratch to his itch…

Fucking hell.Chapter 7Sueños, the place where dreams didn’t come true, but you could have a good fucking time. Latin remixes of pop songs blared out of the speakers as usual, and the walls screamed of Mexico, Puerto Rico, and the Caribbean with murals painted by Camila.

“Nicky! Don’t even try to sit down before you’ve said hey!” Valeria hollered from the bar. “Mama! Nicky’s hea’!”

I grinned and turned to Gideon. “Grab us a booth. I’ll be there in a minute—unless you want me to introduce you to Camila and her four loud daughters.”

He widened his eyes. “I’ll pass.”

Thought so. I could tell he was already tense, and we’d just gotten here. But no matter how small the bar was, it was probably packed by his standards. To me, a place wasn’t packed until you could smell at least twenty different perfumes. To him, it was when the booths were filled.

I smacked a kiss to his jaw, then made my way to the bar, where I elbowed myself in between two men.

“Hey, darlin’.” I reached over the bar and kissed Valeria’s cheek just as her mother appeared from the back.

Camila and her girls had been a big part of my teenage years. I’d gone to school with the youngest, Isabella, who was the coolest goth chick in Brooklyn, but it was safer to introduce them to Gideon one at a time.

“Nicky, what’s this I hear about you leavin’ Brooklyn?” Camila asked, looking offended.

“Don’t listen to gossip!” I didn’t know who to blame. Anthony wasn’t one to spread that shit around. “It’s two months, and then I’ll probably be crashing at Anthony’s again.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned forward, and I dutifully kissed her cheek too. “Don’t tell your abuela. You’d break her heart.”

“Ay, with the drama,” I laughed. “If you know, I’m shocked she doesn’t.”

“Whas’at supposed to mean?” she hollered.

“Nothin’!” I insisted. “Can I get some service? I brought a hot date.”

I looked behind me and—oh man. I kinda adored him. He’d found a booth, and he was currently wiping down the table with a disinfectant wipe.

“The Suit cleaning the table?” Valeria asked. “Sofia just wiped them down.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t getting into it with them. “Anyway.” I twirled a finger.

Camila gave her daughter’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be in the office. Don’t be a stranger, Nicky.”

Isabella appeared next, and we bumped fists as Valeria delegated my drink order to her sister, which suited me just fine. Valeria could move on to the other patrons and water down their drinks while Isabella gave me doubles of everything.

I ordered a gin and tonic, a beer, a glass of red, and a Blue Lagoon for some variety.

“Didju hear about Maxine from school?” she asked, pouring Gideon’s wine.

I nodded grimly. “Nonna told me. I hope she gets full custody and that her two-bit fucker—” I flipped my fingers under my chin “—goes back to Rikers.”

“Seriously.” She arranged all four drinks on a tray and asked if I wanted to open a tab.

“Nah. I don’t think we’ll be here that long.” I handed over my card and grabbed the tray.

“Ay. Before you saunter off.” She swiped my card with one hand and poured two shots of tequila with the other, and I chuckled and shook my head.

I took one of the little glasses and threw it back, hissing at the burn in my throat.

She swallowed her shot without making a single grimace—unless one counted her smirk.

I pocketed my card. “Bitch. Later.”

“Later, hoodrat.” She blew me a kiss.

Lifting the tray over my head, I started making my way through the crowd, and I nodded and hollered hellos to a handful of people I knew. Ed Sheeran’s “South of the Border” began playing as I emerged in front of the little booth Gideon had picked, and I bobbed my head to the beat and spun my imaginary turntables. My Friday had gone from ice cream sundae at the keyboard in a quiet apartment to having drinks at one of my favorite bars with the man of my fantasies. Safe to say, I was in a good mood.