Imaginary Lines (31 page)

“Or until you no longer love me,” I whispered.

“That,” he said firmly, “is never going to happen.”

I tilted my head.

He smiled with absolute tenderness and shook his. “You don’t get it, do you?”

I was lost. “Get what?”

He hooked one arm around my waist and drew me toward him. “Tamar.” He leaned his forehead against mine and smiled. His other hand cupped the back of my neck. “Tamar, you were always the girl I wanted to marry.”

I gaped at him.

He shrugged, completely at peace with himself now that he’d put this out there. “It’s true.”

“You didn’t even know I was
alive
for years!” I burst out.

He raised a brow, but it didn’t stop him from smiling. “Oh, I knew you were alive. Remember that time at Tahoe when you slipped into my bed, wearing those tiny shorts and tank top?” He scoffed fondly and looked away, shaking his head. “You nearly killed me.”

My jaw was completely open. “Abe. I told you I loved you and you
shut me down.
”

He grinned at me and reached out to caress my cheek. “That was because I didn’t understand then that I loved you back. I was confused and young and an idiot, and I was moving across the country. And you were so damn perfect and I was terrified.” He shrugged. “I figured it out pretty quick.”

“You did,” I said flatly, not because I felt flat but because my emotions were so haywire that it was either flat or flailing widely. “Quick. It was four years before we spoke again.”

“Well. I needed to figure out my shit. You needed a life without me. I needed to grow up. And I knew that when I did, I’d find you again.”

“How?”

He grinned at my indignant tone. “I always knew where you were, Tammy. I knew I’d know if a guy popped into the picture. I knew that when it was time, we would happen.”

I was still trying to rearrange my view of his worldview to align with what he was saying. “And what if I didn’t move to New York? How long were you going to wait? Forever?”

He looked sheepish. “Well. I had a deadline. If you didn’t come back into my life by next New Year’s, I was going to get back into yours. I figured five years was enough time.”

“You’re crazy,” I burst out, but I was grinning.

He placed his hands on my waist and pulled me closer to him. “You told me once that I was emotionally a bad choice, because you didn’t think I’d be as invested as you were. You wanted a relationship with someone who was head-over-heels in love with you.” He paused and smiled. “I thought about telling you that I was, but I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t think you’d believe me. But it’s true, Tamar. I am mad about you. You make me feel like the moon to the sun—I’m nothing without you, dark and lifeless.”

I traced a line down his chest. “You love me,” I said in wonderment. “You really love me?”

He placed the sweetest, truest kiss in the history of kisses to my lips.

I drew back, and I was still smiling, crazy smiling. I thought I might smile forever. “Abraham...was that a marriage proposal earlier?”

He smiled that lingering smile that reached his eyes and my heart. “I’ve had a long time to think about this. You haven’t.”

I could feel the pounding of my heart against my rib cage, and I knew I’d only have one response as long as it beat. “I still know what my answer would be.”

His smile widened. “That’s good to know.”

* * *

The Leopards had revoked my press privileges to their properties, and they could pressure other venues to refuse me entrance, as well, but they couldn’t keep me out of the annual Sports in New York party. SNY was going into its ninth year, and all the major sports media showed up, as did major celebrities from all the city’s teams. This year, it was being hosted by the Darlington department store, one of the largest downtown. It was an exquisite building with windows that had been flown over from France and polished marble tiles. They cleared out the first floor for us, and filled it with pennants and food.

I could have stayed home and avoided running into an abundance of awkwardness, but that didn’t appeal to me. Nor to Tanya who, per her MO, gave it to me straight. “You can either wimp around or you can keep doing your job.”

I chose the latter.

But it was hard, walking around the room and realizing I was being very purposefully shunned, not just by the Leopards, but by the other football teams, as well. While other sports players weren’t as obvious about it, it was very clear that no one wanted to be tainted by me. They didn’t kick me out, but they cast a wide berth. Where before, they had regarded me as a helpless, almost cuddly guppy, floundering flounder, they now seemed convinced they’d been mistaken, that I’d turned into a shark with a taste for flesh. Of the feline variety, if you will.

Abraham was there, of course, but I’d firmly told him that he wasn’t to come near me no matter the provocation. If no one knew we were together, no one could hate him. Simple as that.

He’d agreed because I’d pulled Lysistrata’s old ploy and told him we wouldn’t be sleeping in the same bed if he didn’t behave. He clearly didn’t believe me, but it did drive home that this was important to me. So instead, he stood lurking in a corner, trying not to be so obvious about watching me. So far, I wasn’t impressed, but it did shore up my nerve.

I was trying to keep my shoulders square and work up the nerve to approach one of the guys for a word, even if mostly expletives spewed out. But as I plucked a fortifying mini-cannoli from the buffet, the velvety, textured tones of Gregory Philip swept over me. “Well, if it isn’t Ms. Rosenberg.”

My vocal cords hardened too much to correct his mistake, and I barely managed a brittle smile as I turned to face him. “Mr. Philip.”

His smile was smoother, but no more sincere. “I’m surprised you made it.”

I strove for flippant. “The weather’s not that bad.”

“Not outside.”

I pressed my lips together.

He followed up on his advantage, leaning forward until the gap behind us nearly closed. “Do you feel good about yourself, making mountains out of molehills? Costing these boys, this city, their future?”

I lifted my chin. “Why haven’t you cancelled the contract with Loft Athletics?”

He rocked slowly back. “You’re persistent.”

“When I care about people’s safety.” My gaze flickered past him, scanning the crowds for Abe. He stood against the wall, one amidst a circle of people, expressionless, eyes fixed on us.

Philip turned, as well, almost nonchalantly, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “Ah, the earnest Abraham Krasner. It’s his future you’re ruining, you know.”

The knot that had formed in my stomach as soon as Philip started speaking tightened. “Please don’t play games with me, Mr. Philip.”

He arched a brow. “Even though that’s what I do professionally?”

Game-masters never ended up in the healthiest positions. Not every berry contained antioxidants. “What I write shouldn’t affect him at all.”

Across the room, Abe turned to football socialite Lucinda Levine and leaned down so close that his lips brushed her cheek. My body, which had been numbed by cold, flushed hot.

Philip laughed. “Of course, maybe he’s moved on already. You’re not anyone’s favorite person right now, Ms. Rosenfeld.”

A movement alerted me to a new presence at my side. “Are you harassing my reporter, Philip?”

He smiled, and it looked slightly less like the awful mastermind expression he’d favored with. “Ah, Tanya. I’m thrilled.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Only when you’re making money or torturing souls.”

“And aren’t those your favorite entertainments too?”

She tossed him a disdainful look and steered me away. “Don’t listen to him,” she instructed in a low voice. “That man’s scum.”

Well, I hadn’t been going to say it, but yeah.

Abe was at my side in seconds, and I glared at him. “I told you to stay away.”

Tanya looked at him. “What are you doing here, Krasner?”

“Trying not to take a swing at the owner.” He tried to take my hand.

I took it away and frowned. “That’s like a fifty-thousand-dollar handhold.”

“I don’t care.”

Tanya shook her head. “You kids.” Then she frowned. “You get fined for talking to her? You two still together?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“Yes.” Abe remained staunch.

Tanya’s pencil-thin brows rose.

I shook my head. “No, you can’t print that. That’s not a story.”

“Come on. The Leopards trying to break up true love? People will eat that up like candy.”

“No, I don’t want to put Abe in the spotlight anymore.”

Her lips twitched. “Precious. Fine, I’ll hold for now. But I’m keeping it for when we really need to pull you out of the trenches. Look, there’s Jensen Clay. Go find out why he crashed his car two nights ago instead of studying the playbook.”

“Don’t let Clay be an ass to you,” Abe warned.

I wanted to kiss him lightly, but didn’t, of course. “I can handle Jensen.” I nodded at Tanya, and took off.

* * *

The rest of the evening went all right. I left twenty minutes after Abe and hurried down the frozen streets toward our meeting spot. Snow drifted down, silencing the city.

A hand reached out and caught mine. Abraham whirled me into his arms, kissing me softly. Snow melted down on our skin as his mouth explored mine. His gloved hands were rough against my cheeks, but he was warm, and he was safe. I leaned my head against his chest and sighed. “That was a horrible night.”

“I wanted to punch Philip.”

“Thank God you didn’t! As it is, you’re probably going to get fined.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care.” I shook my head, indignant. “He couldn’t even be bothered to get my name right! Called me ‘Rosenberg.’”

Abe started laughing. “I don’t think that was a mistake.”

“Um, I think it was. It’s not my last name.”

Abe couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s the last name of famous traitors from World War II. Soviets.”

I stared at him. “Were they Jewish?”

“Yeah. Lived in New York, too.”

Well, that was awkward. “Oh my God. He called me a Soviet spy.” I paused. “Do you think he came up with that on the fly or has he’s been waiting to use it all week?”

Abe leaned his head against my shoulder. “I hope he’s been storing it up for months.”

“It’s not actually a bad pun. Rude. But not bad.”

But now Abe’s laughter dried up, and he lifted his head. “It was rude. In fact, you know what? I didn’t like anything about that. Not how they treated you. I didn’t like not defending you. We’re going to have to cut this secret stuff.”

“No, we’re not,” I said just as stubbornly. “Because then you’ll get in trouble.”

“I don’t care. Fuck them. I want to go out with my girlfriend, I’m going out.”

He knew that wasn’t an option. “Abe, we can’t be seen together.”

“They’re not running our lives. Dammit, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. We’re going to go to the movies and get Chinese food and to hell with the rest of them.”

My lips twitched. “What, are we going to go in disguise?”

He stopped pacing and stared at me, roguish light illuminating his face.

It must have been contagious, because laughter burbled out of me. “You know, I always wanted to be a redhead...”

Chapter Twenty-Five

We painted my hair red with twenty-four-hour dye and then blew it dry. The straightened length of my hair always shocked me; it flowed well below my shoulder blades. I liked the red, and kept staring in the mirror and giggling.

When I came out of the bathroom, I struck a pose. “Introducing the new locks of L’Oreal.”

Abraham grinned slowly. “I still think you should wear black leather. You know. Just to make sure no one will be able to recognize you.”

I laughed. “More like you should wear a beard.”

He tilted his head. “And maybe a Bisons’ jacket.”

“Ha! Then they wouldn’t let you back on the team, even without my help.”

To be truthful, we weren’t actually concerned that anyone would recognize us. I might be famous in the news, but certainly not to household name status—more like “that reporter girl who wrote about her NFL boyfriend’s concussions.” Even Abe didn’t rate household recognition, which was reserved for Carter, Lindsey and perhaps the new rookie QB. As long as we stayed away from the haunts of League staff, we’d be in the clear.

But it still leant the excursion an illicit thrill, and I’d been delighted for a reason to dye my hair, even if it would wash out next time I showered. We made up elaborate backstories for each other—I was a fugitive from Greece trying to escape an assassin after witnessing a politician’s murder, and Abe was WHO—and then buried our disguises in layers when we bundled up in all the layers necessary to face the bitter winter wind. We probably could have walked straight into the Leopards Stadium and no one would have recognized us, not with all the down jackets and scarves and hats.

We went to a cash-only restaurant in Chinatown for lunch and ordered mango bubble-tea and loads of food, just like all the other Jews who’d settled in for the day. After that, we headed to the movies for a double feature of Audrey Hepburn.

We were in such a good mood afterward that Abe suggested heading over to the rink at Rockefeller Center. I raised my brow at him. “Can you even ice-skate?”

He looked affronted. “I can take down three-hundred-pound men. I think I can ice-skate.”

I tilted my head. “I don’t think those two have anything to do with each other.”

I’d ice-skated when I was little, in the pre-California days, and I’d been decent enough at it. I had trophies. I mean, everyone who took skating classes got trophies, but still. They were very exciting.

Once we’d moved to the Bay Area, there were a lot less chances. The city put a rink up in Union Square, and there was something delightful about skating underneath palm trees, but it was ridiculously expensive so I hadn’t gone very often.

But I was more than willing to go with Abe.

When we arrived, a long line curved outside the booth. Abe frowned at it. “Usually, I’d just cut to the front, but I’m guessing that wouldn’t go well with our supposed anonymity.”