Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

But what could I do? Did I say yes, to hell with it, dive into the romance he promised? Maybe it would work out in the end.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to be balanced. I wanted to be normal and happy and not madly in love with the same boy I’d been madly in love with since I was twelve.

I wanted Abraham. Was that so much to ask?

* * *

The next day, I arrived at the stadium fully aware I’d see Abe. I decided I just couldn’t think about it until it happened, and so I waved my press badge and entered the box. Mduduzi and Jin were already there, and so I dropped down beside them. Tanya was out of state for a few days, so we all got to feel extra-special in her absence. Though, honestly, that only meant I planned to head into work half an hour later than usual for the next few days.

Mduduzi offered me a cookie, and I took one happily. “How’s your weekend going?”

“God, who even knows. How’s yours?”

He raised his brows. “That sounds interesting.”

I gnawed my lip.

Mduduzi leaned closer. “Come on, you can tell us.”

I snorted. “I’m not convinced you guys can keep a secret.”

Jin gave one of his slouchy shrugs. “I can keep a secret.”

I was going to wear my lips out with all this chewing. “It’s boy trouble.”

“Oh-ho!” Mduduzi threw an amused look at Jin, who grinned quietly. “Boy trouble.”

“And that is all you’ll get out of me,” I said firmly. “How were your weekends?”

After the game, we ran after some of the players for different stories. No one wanted to talk about the injuries, so I decided to try another tack. After all, Tanya had recently approved my idea to do a piece on player superstitions.

“Hey.” I ran to catch up with TJ. “Hey, TJ, tell me about your pregame rituals.”

He didn’t stop walking. “Sure thing, babe.”

Weirdly, being called “babe” by a massive linebacker didn’t raise my hackles, but instead made me feel like I was part of a show, and I slipped into the role with ease. “Aw, come on, TJ. You must do something special every Sunday.”

He flashed bright teeth at me. “I do something special every Sunday night. You wanna find out what?”

“You fall asleep like a baby and sleep until the next day’s team meeting. I hear Keith and Garza slap each other’s faces.”

He snorted. “Laugh themselves silly.”

“And is it true they do this?”

I must have worn him down, because he paused. “Yeah.”

“And you?”

“I listen to ‘We Are the Champions.’” He pointed his finger in my face. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing. What else?”

He shrugged and rattled off a few other funny traditions, but only one made me stop taking notes. “And Krasner gets written up by the uniform police.”

I tilted my head. “Hm?”

He shrugged. “You know, the officials who patrol the sideline making sure we’re all dressed the same. Fuckin’ Nazis.” He looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”