Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

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.

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sp; 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.”

I patted what I could reach of his cheek through my glove and his scarf. Really, it was more like fabric bouncing off each other. “Welcome to how the other half lives.”

It took an hour to get onto the rink, and I’d never had so much fun waiting in line. We drank hot chocolate and made up stories about all the other skaters and people around us.

To my surprise, Abe could skate, and while I wouldn’t be going for the gold anytime soon, I managed not to fall down and to almost keep up. In time, we worked up such a sweat that we were able to discard our scarves, hats and jackets, leaving us both in bulky sweatshirts piled over other layers. We spun around and around, until I felt almost stable on my skates. I glanced over at Abe with a broad grin.

Which, of course, was when I managed to tangle my legs and jar my entire body to a stop. I started to trip forward, but Abe managed to swing back and catch me, spinning me safely into his arms. We clung to each other and laughed dizzily, our breath puffing white in the air. “Maybe enough for now.”

We’d returned the skates and started working on all our extra layers when I felt twitchy. Was it just me, or were an inordinate amount of people looking our way?

Of course they were. We’d taken off the scarves and hats that hid our features, and also landed ourselves in tourist central. Abraham might not usually be tabloid bait, but he certainly had been for the last few weeks.

The mutterings began to pick up, and a few people held up cell phones. Good God, seriously?

“Hey!” one woman called. “Aren’t you that football player?”

“Not today,” Abe said, and we grabbed the rest of our things and sprinted out to the street, where Abe hailed a cab by practically jumping into the street. We tumbled inside the taxi, gasping and staring at each other. My heart beat wildly.

“Where to?” the cabbie said, bored and monotone for only a heartbeat before he turned around and gaped at us. “Krasner, no shit? What the fuck, man?”

My mouth fell open, and Abe’s started shaking, and then we started laughing and didn’t stop until we made it home.

* * *

“All right,” Abe said later, as we lay in bed. “Guess that was a bad idea.”

“I’ll say.”

He dropped down on the bed. “This is amazing. I thought for sure we were safe.”

I mournfully plucked at one of my braids. “Now even my lovely red locks aren’t safe.”