I check the time. I need to get going or I’ll be late for practice. If traffic is bad, I’m screwed.
“If you have enough for a couple of days, we can come back.”
She nods distractedly. “Okay.” She starts to zip up the suitcase and I help her, then heft it to the floor.
I have to smile when she slides a pair of sunglasses onto her face and pulls the hood over her head. “Think that’ll disguise you?”
“Probably not. But at least they won’t see my swollen eyes.”
I follow her to the door. “What would be wrong with that? After what just happened, that seems pretty normal.”
She pulls a bright blue fake fur jacket out of the closet.
My eyebrows shoot up.
Catching that, she says, “No?”
“It’s a little, uh, flashy.”
“You’re right.” She exchanges it for a more anonymous puffy black jacket, now looking gangster with the hood over her head and dark glasses.
She pauses at the door of her apartment, lips pushing out sadly. “I was so happy to be here.”
“We’ll bring you back. Once things have died down.”
She nods and we leave.
“I’m going to get my car,” I tell her in the elevator. “You stay back and I’ll text you when I pull up out front.”
“Oh, shit. I forgot my phone.”
I roll my lips in and push the button to go back up. I’m going to be in so much trouble if I’m late.
I ignore the people on the street as I step out of her building and stride down the sidewalk, rolling Nikki’s suitcase along with me. I had to park two blocks away and around the corner I start jogging. In my SUV, I check the time again. Fuck me.
I have to go around a couple of blocks because Nikki’s street is one way. When I get there, vehicles are parked on both sides of the narrow, tree-lined street, so I stop double-parked, searching for Nikki at the door of the brick building. She appears and hustles out and toward my BMW X5 that I described to her. She’s in the front seat before the photographers even realize it’s her.
“Good job.” I put the vehicle in gear just as someone behind me lays on their horn. “Fuck off, I’m going, I’m going.”
Nikki gives me big eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pulling away.
“Yes. Someone yelled my name, so they did see me.” She bites her lip and rubs her palms over her jeans. “Where do you live?”
“Hoboken.”
“Right, right.” She swallows.
I turn onto Columbus. “This is a nice area. You’re really close to Central Park.”
“Yes. It is nice. Normally I can go out to the park or for coffee at one of the little places on Amsterdam or Broadway. To the bodega.” She sighs. “That’s the nice thing about New York. Nobody cares who I am. Until now.”
I try not to lose my shit as I maneuver the vehicle through traffic until we’re in the Lincoln Tunnel and zipping along, my gaze darting to the clock on the dash. Finally we’re pulling into the underground parking of my building.
“Well, this is handy for incognito exits,” Nikki says.
“I don’t usually have to worry about that,” I say dryly. “Come on.” I haul her suitcase out and we ride the elevator up to the eighteenth floor. My group chat with the other guys who live in this building—Benny, Crusher, and Dilly—is blowing up with questions about who’s driving today, answered by Benny, then a series of:
