Imaginary Lines

by Allison Parr

  “Says the superstar.” I took a deep breath. “Thanks. It’s nice of you to say so. Now you go.”

  He sent me one of his breath-stealing smiles. “All right. I don’t know if I want to be a superstar.”

  I leaned back in my chair, thinking of what he’d said Friday night. That he’d never finished his degree. That he wasn’t sure he could be anything. “Abe, aren’t you happy?”

  He smiled down at his plate. “I have the perfect life. How could I not be happy?”

  “Abraham.” Now I leaned close, trying to make him look at me. “Abe?”

  He looked away. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”

  “Abe, you promised me a secret.”

  “It’s a secret because I’m not usually dumb enough to talk to people about it.”

  “Hey, I’m not people.” I took his hand.

  “I love the game.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “I love my teammates. I love the camaraderie. It’s my whole life.”

  I waited.

  “I don’t know that I want it to be my whole life forever.”

  “Then it doesn’t have to be.”

  “It’s not that easy. You can’t just...leave this world. It’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known. How to be good at football.”

  “You don’t have to choose what you’re going to do for the rest of your life when you’re sixteen years old. You’re allowed to change your mind.”

  “How?” He looked up at me with dark, endless eyes. “How do I do that? I’m not good at anything else.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re smart. You’re clever. You’re dedicated. What do you want to do? You can do anything.”

  He shook his head, as though the question overwhelmed him. “I don’t know.”

  When I’d been thirteen years old, our parents had taken us up to Point Reyes for a long weekend during the summer. We’d stopped at Stinson Beach, which Abe had delighted in telling me was a Great White breeding ground, and the two of us had splashed around in the water with Charlie, who was soaking wet and the happiest puppy I had ever seen.

  That had been the first time I’d ever seen Abe stare at the moon, and I’d asked him if he wanted to be an astronaut. He’d also said I don’t know back then, but he’d sounded contemplative. “You know when we were kids, I asked you if you wanted to go to the moon.”

  He looked at me now in surprise. “You did? What did I say?”

  “That you weren’t sure, but maybe. And then you asked me right back, and I said that would never happen, because I was scared of heights.” I smiled at the memory. “That was the first time I ever admitted I was afraid, you know. And you just looked at me with utter certainty and said I could do it.”

  “You could. Do heights still bother you?”

  I shook my head. “Not the point. The point is, I have that same belief. You can be scared or nervous or uncertain, but it won’t stop you. You’re not the kind of person who can be stopped.”

  He regarded me for a long minute with a strange expression on his face, and then nodded briefly, like he’d come to a sudden decision. “What are you doing this Friday?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Why?”

  He caught my hand, his thumb resting in the center of my palm. Energy jolted through me. “Come to dinner with me.”

  I stared at him. “Abe, you’re confusing me.”

  He ruffled his hair with his free hand. “You’re confusing me.”

  And how was I doing that? I slowly drew my hand away, but he wouldn’t relinquish my gaze. “All right. Friday. I’ll go with you.”

  He grinned, and it lit his whole face, and my spirit with it. “Great. You’ll have a ton of fun.” He reached out and enveloped me in a hug, and banked desire rushed through me. For the briefest instant, I allowed myself to relax into the contact, and then I forced myself back.

  “I’ll pick you up at work.”

  Even as my heart jumped, I tried to calm it down. “You don’t need to do that. I can meet you there.”

  He frowned, and his dark eyes probed mine. “Why do you keep telling me I don’t have to do things? I want to.”

  I tilted my head. “You want to pick me up at the Sports Today offices?”

  “I’ll be there at six.”

  Chapter Ten

  On Thursday night, I baked hermit cookies to take to Ryan Carter’s (words I’d never thought I’d utter). They were my grandma’s recipe, packed with cinnamon and cloves and allspice. I left out the raisins and nuts in place of extra chocolate chips, and then formed them in a log and sliced it diagonally.

  I was in such a good mood that I whipped up a quadruple batch—enough for the party, my roommates and my coworkers.

  At work, the guys fell upon them even though it wasn’t yet nine in the morning. “They have spices,” Carlos reasoned. “Spices are plants. Therefore, this is healthy.”

  Sounded logical to me.

  That afternoon, I worked on a story on the performance of the new quarterback, Jensen Clay. He’d apparently decided it was a good idea to go out drinking and driving, and had crashed a Lamborghini into a tree. While no one was hurt—not even the dumbass driver—it didn’t make the newest member of the Leopards look like a great addition. The networks and blogs were in a frenzy over his behavior, ousting even news of helmets.

  Well, that wasn’t so much of a surprise. The young QB was barely twenty-one, pretty as a boy-band member and with a record of pulling crazy stunts. Made him something of the press’s darling. A blip compared to Carter, sure, but Carter had settled after he started dating someone seriously a few years back, and no longer provided off-field stories.

  I wrapped the story, complete with links to a few of the other articles we’d run on him and included some appropriately pithy quotes, and then moved on to my next article. But I couldn’t help glancing at my phone every five seconds, waiting for Abe.

  I still started when it dinged.

  You ready?

  Yeah—you almost here?

  I’m downstairs.

  Oh, God. My fingers around my cell went numb. For some reason, I’d figured he’d give me a few minutes’ warning. I jumped up and started haphazardly throwing all my things in my bag, while Jin and Mduduzi watched with amusement. “Where’s the fire?” Mduduzi asked.

  “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?”

  “Becaus
e 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.