Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

Just like that, my anxiety at seeing him again flowed away, and I raised my brows. Please. Abe had one of the sharpest minds I knew, and he might be able to fool other people into thinking all his talent came in brawn, but he’d never fool me.

He laughed at my expression. “Fine. Four years. You visited me in May my junior year.”

I leaned back in my seat. “That’s right.”

He tilted his head. His eyes studied me with a kind of intensity that I’d half-forgotten, as though he could see straight throu

gh all the obscuring personas and facades that people put up. “And now I hear you’re some hotshot reporter.”

I laughed, because nothing could be further from the truth. “That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I like to think so.” I turned the tables as quickly as possible, with a gesture across ours. “But look at you—you’re the real hotshot.”

He spread his hands, and his full mouth opened in a grin.

God, I’d spent hours staring at that mouth.

I squeezed my eyes shut and wrinkled my nose at that errant thought.

When I looked back, he looked vastly entertained, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he could read my mind. Instead, he shrugged. “What can I say? I’m pretty awesome.”

A smile curled up my lips, and I shook my head. True. But he knew that.

He watched me with a small smile on his face, like he was astonished that I was really here before him, and like he had no problem just gazing at me as long as he wanted. So I stared my fill in return. He might smell the same, but he carried himself differently, with more confidence, more gravity. How strange. I closed my eyes and saw him a little younger, a little more eager to please.

Something changed as he watched me. At first he looked content and ready, and then a little quizzical, and then I realized I’d always filled the silence before, led the conversation, dragged it in circles around him.

And now I didn’t feel like doing that..

He cocked his head. The strangest expression crossed his face, like he was trying to figure me out—which was odd, because there wasn’t much to figure that wasn’t in plain sight. “Were you going to tell me you moved here?”

Ah, that. I looked at the painting behind him on the wall. “Eventually.”

A waitress stopped by our table. “What can I do for you?’

Abe ordered a beer, and then looked to me. I closed the menu. “A rum and Coke, please.”

Abe nodded. “And an order of wings. And fries.”

The waitress nodded and left. I smiled at him slightly. “Didn’t eat enough after the game?”

His smile grew. “Did you watch?”

“Of course I did.”

His brows lifted slightly in clear pleasure. “What’d you think?”

That he’d played an exceptionally good game. Then again, he was an exceptionally good player, which was why he’d come back East in the first place. “Digging for compliments?”

He flashed me a sudden grin that did the oddest things to my stomach. “I prefer them on a silver platter, but I’ll dig if need be.”

I tried to regulate my breathing. Really, how odd that he could possibly have any effect on me after all this time. Old habit, I supposed. “They say you’re one of the few making middle linebackers relevant again.”

“They?”

Really, now, did he expect me to quote the publications that lauded him with accolades? “You know. Football experts.”

“The media, you mean.” He braced his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. His dark eyes were suddenly very piercing, and not nearly as crinkled with amusement as they usually were. “So what brought you to New York, Tammy?”

Uh-oh. I cleared my throat. “I got a job?”