Imaginary Lines (13 page)

“I’m meeting someone for dinner and he’s here—I didn’t think he’d be here this soon.”

“You guys going anywhere interesting?” Carlos asked.

Why hadn’t I thought more about the overlap between my work and personal life? Not that Abe was my personal life. I mean, he was. But he wasn’t...

Whatever.

The point was, was it bad that I hadn’t mentioned that I was going to dinner with Abraham Krasner? Then again, how was I supposed to bring that up? It would sound a little awkward—oh, yes, I’m going to Ryan Carter’s for dinner. No big deal.

I smiled. “A dinner party.”

Tanya’s door swung open. “Kiddos, Abe Krasner’s downstairs in the lobby. Carlos, go down and find out what he’s doing here. Get a picture, too.”

I froze and my eyes widened. Was it overkill to curse again?

Mduduzi leaned back in his chair. “The hell is he doing here?”

Oh phew. Oh phew, oh phew. They hadn’t put two and two together.

Tanya shook her head. “I have no idea, but as long as he’s in our building, he’s not leaving until we get him.”

I cleared my throat. “Why don’t I go?”

Carlos was already out of his chair and grabbing up his key card. He patted me on the head fraternally as he shook his head, in a clear mimic of Tanya—I just couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “Sorry, kid. You have to earn the honor of running after celebrities later.”

I smiled awkwardly and nodded. And tried not to look super conspicuous as I grabbed up my cell.
One of my coworkers is coming down to take your pic.

There was a pause, and then to my shock, my cell phone rang. I almost dropped it. Who called in response to texts? Beside my mother.

I mean, unless you texted something really bad. “Hello?”

Abe’s voice came across tinged with displeasure. “You set me up?”

What? No! “I didn’t! Someone must’ve spotted you and called up to my boss.”

“I’m not giving an interview right now.”

“I don’t think they want an interview,” I mumbled into my cell as I walked into the corner. “Just a pic. Maybe to tweet it.”

He groaned. “Fine. If you do it.”

Oh, God. “Abe, no. I’m the rookie reporter—I don’t cover celebrities.” Another silence stretched, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t let that go to your head.”

“What if I say you or no one?”

Carlos had to be almost to the lobby by now. Or he could already be there, watching Abe talk irritably into his phone. “I’d say you’re not that stubborn.”

Now surprise flavored his words. “You don’t think I’m stubborn?”

I shrugged. “You’re go with the flow-y.”

“And you don’t think rivers are stubborn?”

Huh. Come to think of it, rivers were incredibly stubborn, as long as everything flowed in their direction. This was a problem. “
Please
don’t do that. I’ve only been here a month. It’ll be weird.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Um, nothing really. Abe’s existence didn’t contain blackmail material. “I won’t tell your mom you were the one who broke the Wedgwood vase when you were sixteen. Be there in two minutes.”

“Wait, don’t hang up, you’re my excuse—”

I hung up with a smile.

Shrugging on my coat, I waved goodbye to the guys. Mduduzi gaped at me. “Don’t you want to stay for the Krasner gossip?”

I made what I hoped was an expression of great reluctance. “I would, but...”

He nodded. “Right. You’re late for your friend.”

Please
,
don’t connect the dots.
“That’s right.”

I hopped in the elevator and buttoned up my coat, anticipation speeding through me and making my fingers tremble. When I stepped into the lobby, I saw him immediately—or more, saw the direction all the heads were turned in.

Abe stood in the corner, holding his cell in a loose grip, a polite smile on his face as he spoke to Carlos.

Then Abe caught sight of me and his gaze brightened. I smiled back, but also held a finger to my lips. For some reason, I didn’t really want my coworker seeing me interact with Abe. It felt...weird. Unprofessional. Like I shouldn’t be hanging out with someone I was supposed to be interviewing.

For the first time, it struck me that it might legitimately be unprofessional. But that was ridiculous, right?

Abe rolled his eyes at my silencing, and I started to creep past them.

“Tamar.” It was Carlos who spoke my name and beckoned me over. “Have you met Abe Krasner?” To Abraham he said, “Tamar is one of our newest reporters.”

Abe smiled. “We’ve met.”

“So is there something we can help you with?” Carlos kept his tone light, but he couldn’t help his clear fixation on Abe’s answer, or the way he canted his body forward liked he was ready to catch the story of the year spouting from Abe’s lips. As though Abe had come here just to share a secret.

Abe could see it too, and he grinned widely. “Just picking something up.”

Carlos tried to puzzle that out, because surely by all accounts, Abe had stepped into the Today Media lobby, talked on the phone and done nothing else. “Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Grinning even wider, Abe nodded goodbye and started to walk back out the doors. Carlos and I exchanged a quick look—his intrigued, mine trying very hard to convey equal surprise—when Abe turned back. “Hey, either of you know if there’s a Duane Reade around here?”

I shot Carlos another glance, this one to let him know I was going for it. “There’s one on my way to the subway. I’ll walk you by it.” With a quick nod at Carlos, I ran after Abe.

He started laughing almost as soon as we cleared the doors, but I found myself oddly indignant. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

He grinned at me. “Didn’t you?”

Maybe the smallest bit. “I’m not so good at subterfuge. I’m not even sure
why
we were doing that.”

He raised one brow. “I was following your lead.”

I lifted my face into the crisp October breeze, much brisker here than at home. “They don’t know we know each other.”

“I see how it is. I’m your dirty little secret.”

I snorted and retorted without thinking. “Please, you wish you were my dirty little secret.”

He grinned straight ahead, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You sound awful certain about that.”

I blushed slightly, and he knocked into me. “Come on, admit it, I’m irresistible.”

I raised my head to the sky. The lopsided sliver of moon smiled down at us. “You’re something, all right.”

“Talented?”

“Not quite...”

“Gorgeous?”

“Nope.”

“Clever?”

“Not that either, I’m afraid.”

We needled each other all the way to the subway. I couldn’t stop grinning.

And I’d never admit it, but he was spot-on with all his descriptors.

Chapter Eleven

Ryan Carter lived on the Upper West Side, so we caught the 1 train (I giggled every time the conductor said
this is the number one train
because I felt like he was validating our collective awesomeness) and took it up to Lincoln Center. Carter’s apartment was only a few blocks off, and the day was nice, and the company was good. I almost could have walked forever.

Carter, to my utter non-surprise, lived in an absolutely gorgeous building made of sandstone and marble, with an elevator that whisked us straight up to his apartment while I was still trying to brace myself. Abe didn’t even knock on the door, but just pushed it open. I hesitated outside, trying to work up my nerve.

Abe raised a brow and came back for me. “What is it?”

I stood at the doorway, unable to push myself to take those last few steps—into the home of quarterback Ryan Carter, into the presence of so many fabled presences. “It’s just—it’s a little overwhelming.”

He took my hand. “Don’t worry. They’re all great.” He tugged me through.

A wash of people spread out throughout the room, filling the apartment to the brim with muscled football players and their partners, and I recognized so many of them. But even more were anonymous, the trademark of this game, where the faces changed but the brand stayed the same.

Sometimes I wondered what we were loyal to.

But here, clearly, they were loyal to each other. One of the oddest and most impressive traits about the New York Leopards was their unusual closeness. On most teams, the offense was encouraged to form strong bonds with each other outside the game, as was the defense, but it wasn’t unusual for rivalries to spring up in the same team between the opposing sides. Yet here were members of both, mingling and laughing. People sometimes made fun of the Leopards for being so clean all the time, but part of me thought that they couldn’t actually help being so likeable.

Abe steered me through the crowd easily, until we’d reached the entrance to the kitchen. A girl stood there, and Abe stopped right behind her. “Hey, Rach.”

From the back the young woman Abe addressed looked immaculate; a small black dress wrapped around her body with a flare I could never pull off and pearls dangled from her ears. But her hair, wrapped in a chignon, looked similar to mine, if somewhat sleeker. She was taller than me, but then again she wore heels.

She also kept dropping cherry tomatoes from a vegetable plate on the ground.

“Dammit,” she muttered without any real fury when the red fruit slipped from her fingers a second time. “Why am I incapable of picking one of these up?”

“Because you’re a waking klutzy-girl stereotype,” Abe offered, reaching behind her and scooping up a tomato from the plate.

She swatted his hand away, but even as she did she was turning with a ready smile. “I am not. I’m just not trained to catch things.”

“Most people don’t need to be
trained
to catch things.” Abe nodded at me. “This is Tamar. Tamar, this is Rachael Hamilton—she lives here.”

For a moment my brain blanked. I was aware Ryan Carter had a girlfriend; it had swept through the sports world—or at least the female half—when he went off the market. But she’d never spent much time in the tabloids with him, just the occasional mention. She was a pretty, ordinary-looking girl with soft bright eyes. She might not have been quite as girl-next-door-y as I was—perhaps a little more striking—but she was Ryan Carter’s girlfriend.

How surreal.

She stared at me for a long moment, her lips parted slightly as though in deep thought.

Then I held out the bag of hermits. “Thanks for having me. I brought cookies.”

“Oh, thanks.”

She took them slowly, turning the bag over with more than due diligence, and nervous energy started coursing through me. Was someone allergic? Wait, no, there was nothing in them to be allergic to. “Is something wrong?”

She looked up and tilted her head slightly. “No...they’re just exactly like the ones Abe makes.”

Relief filled me. “Oh, well, he also uses my grandma’s recipe.”

Now her attention flicked to Abe. “You know her grandma?”

He popped another tomato in his mouth. “Her dad.”

They locked eyes. I watched as Rachael’s brows slowly crept up.

Abe flashed a wide grin at her, before glancing at me. “Come on. You should really meet Mike.” He caught my hand and pulled me away.

I could feel Rachael’s eyes as we walked away, and wondered what she thought it meant, that Abe knew my dad.

Abe stopped in front of a cluster of guys. They all thumped him on the back, these tall men built like battering rams with necks that were optional. I thought they might break each other with the force of their welcome.

Abe stepped back and flourished a hand at me. “This is Tamar.”

They did that guy chin nod at me. I’d spoken to Dylan before, the good-looking one with the tats, and he was looking back and forth between us with narrowed eyes. I also recognized Troy Garza, and Keith Washington. The latter had met me briefly in the hallway a few weeks ago, and I’d asked him the occasional post-game question. He nodded hello and gave Abe a speculative glance.

Troy Garza handed me a beer. “You in town visiting?”

Huh. Shit. “I actually just moved here.”

“Yeah? What for?”

Why couldn’t this guy be self-centered and forget to ask questions? “New job.”

He grinned. “You gonna tell us what it is?”

Well, only now that there was no escape. I squared my shoulders and smiled. “I’m a reporter at
Sports Today.
”

Conversation ground to a stop.

“A what?” Garza asked with narrowed eyes.

Dylan Pierce cocked his head at Abe, like
what were you expecting?

Keith Washington smirked.

But Garza didn’t seem ready to drop it. “You brought a fucking reporter here?”

Abe’s chin went up and he stepped up in front of me. “Hey. Language.”

Garza rolled his eyes. “‘Scuse me. A
goddamn
,
motherfucking
reporter.”

I put a hand on Abe’s tense biceps. “Abe.”

But he didn’t seem in any move to leave it be. “You got a problem with that?” He sounded like a white knight, leaping to my rescue, and it did something funny to my insides.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?”

I looked right to see Ryan Carter, star quarterback of the NFL, closing in on our pocket. He kind of looked like an avenging angel.

Keith nodded at me. “He’s put out ’cause Krasner brought in a reporter.”

Abe’s hand found mine. “She’s not a reporter. I mean, yeah, but we grew up together.”

Ryan looked me up and down, and I wondered if he found me wanting. “Right. You. You’re with who?”

“
Sports Today.
” I couldn’t even muster a smile, so I stared up at the imposing quarterback with wide eyes.

He nodded. “Tanya?”

He said it without inflection, so I wasn’t sure it was a good thing that he knew her.

“You’re replacing the one with the—” He gestured at his head in an approximation of Jane’s angular haircut.

“Jane.”

We both turned to see a tall blonde with striking gray eyes. She shook her head thoughtfully. “I never liked Jane.”

Everyone stared at her like this was some kind of revelation. Dylan raised his brows. “Thought you liked everyone.”