Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

I was able to fold away my oddness and bob my head back and forth. “I like it.”

He smiled at me wryly. “You do?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

He met my gaze and raised his brows.

That expression, so knowing, so correct, pulled the confession right out of me. “Okay. I miss the sky. I wish I could see a dome, not a narrow strip, when I look up. And I miss real colors. I miss the yellow of dried grass and the bright pink oleander all over the freeways. I miss the fog every morning and the sun in the afternoon. There’s no color or sun here—it’s just gray.”

“You need to leave.”

Something in my stomach curled up and died. “Is that so?”

He waved a hand. “Not forever. But for the afternoon. You don’t realize how much you miss the trees until you’re back in them.” He gave me an appraising look. “Or you apparently do, so it’s doubly important.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t really have the time, either...” I gave him a somewhat astounded look. “I had no idea how much time this job would take up. I think I thought it would be nine-to-five and that was it, but it’s pretty much constant.”

He smiled and shook his head, reminding me he breathed and ate his own career. “How about that.”

I made a face.

“You could get out on the weekends.”

“I suppose I will, when it comes to that.”

“Just let me know, and I’ll take you.”

My breath caught in my throat, and then I drew away and stared up at the moon. I’d looked it so many times and imagined him doing the same, built up a whole world around it. “Are you superstitious, Abe?”

Discomfort flitted across his face, before he smoothed it away with a grin. He didn’t question my change of topic either. “Not as much as the other guys.”

“No?” Because that touch of discomfort had given him away. “You’re just totally calm, no pre-game ritual?”

He caved. “Well, sure, I have one.”

“What is it?”

He shrugged. “I get written up by a sideline official.”

“You do not.” I leaned into him, fascinated. “What for?”

He stared at me, and for once his face was unreadable. “Some rules are worth breaking.”

I swayed back and forth, my mind jumping about so much that I barely noticed his evasion. “I would write that article. ‘Superstitions of the Leopards’. I think it would have a lot of cross-platform appeal.”

Amusement crept back into his voice. “Okay.”

“Seriously! I need a title, though. Something punny. About spots. A leopard never changing their spots.”

He laughed and knocked my shoulder, shaking his head as he gazed up at the moon.

I, in turn, gazed at him.

He caught me. “What?”

I shook my head. “You still look at the moon.”

He nodded, less an answer than affirmation.