Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

Crossing the room with sure steps, I picked it up. When I saw the name lit across the screen, a name I hadn’t seen there in four years, my feet started to tingle.

Abraham.

My mom told me you’d moved to the city. We should grab drinks sometime.

Heat and then ice swept through me, leaving me short of breath.

The last time I’d seen Abraham Krasner, we hadn’t even been old enough to legally drink.

I sat on the edge of the sofa. His mom told him? Well, of course Sharon did. But why did he tell me that? Thoroughness? To make it clear it wasn’t his own idea? None of the above?

I had imagined running into Abe thousands of times since I last saw him, and those daydreams had veered from inducing jealousy to inducing passion. But that ship had sailed. I had sailed, on to greener pastures, or bluer waters, or wherever ships went to catch the other fish in the sea. We were friends—merely acquaintances now—and we should meet up to make our mothers happy.

Yeah, that sounds good! I paused, and then deleted the exclamation point. I’m busy through the week but could do something Friday or Saturday.

I pressed Send.

Then I jumped up and flung my arms around like wet noodles, letting a crazed keen escape my throat and then doubling over and laughing.

I’m busy next weekend.

My heart dropped.

You free tomorrow after six?

My heart flew into my throat.

Yeah, I texted back with shaking fingers. I am.

Chapter Four

Abe and I met in a small Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side, my second time there this weekend. It was an easy commute—I hopped on the N and it let me out at East 60th. For work I’d be able to continue on until I landed in the Flatiron District, where the Today Media offices were located.

But for now, I headed through the gridded streets of the city, following my phone until I landed at the right place. Everything in Manhattan was so tall and shiny and loud—I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. But I was prepared to.

When I reached the café, I paused, suddenly thrilled and terrified at the same time, a shot of emotions that flew me high enough that my feet tingled.

Which was silly, because I was just seeing an old friend. I tried to quiet the hairs rising on the back of my neck. We had been such good friends once, and though I’d tried to change that long ago, we were older and wiser and different people now.

So I took a breath and walked inside.

The place was small but welcoming; not many tables and spaced far apart, not crammed like so many places I’d seen. Paper lanterns swayed above tables. The walls were painted in large blocks of colors, soothing and playful, and the whole room smelled like fresh baked bread and marinara sauce.

“Tamar!”

I stopped, right there in the middle of the restaurant. All of a sudden I was seventeen years old again and walking into the hall in my prom dress, holding my breath for his reaction and then losing it at the sight of him in his suit. And fifteen years old, following him into a football party at Justin Cole’s house. And thirteen, sitting next to him in the one class we shared that year and soaking in his presence.

I hadn’t seen Abraham Krasner in four years, but I still could have recognized him blindfolded and disoriented. He had the same scent, sand and spice and warmth, and the same easygoing baritone, like sun-warmed stone. I turned slowly. “Hi, Abe.”

If anything, he looked better than the last time I’d seen him in person. How had I forgotten how beautiful he was? The soft curl of his honey-colored hair, the darkness of his eyes, the way his lips always crooked up in a welcoming smile. And his body...I’d seen him on TV and in pictures, but it was still a shock to see how much he’d filled out in the past four years. He’d always had broad shoulders and a ripped physique, but I could barely think now that I was confronted with how good he looked. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, he was the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’d ever seen.

He stood and opened his arms, and after a brief hesitation I stepped into them. He’d always been so easy with touch, so fast to grab someone’s hand or slap someone’s back. In return, he’d become one of the few people that I was used to being touched by.

He smiled. That same smile I’d seen so often throughout the years, but now, with four years without it I felt like I’d been exposed to the sun after months of artificial light. “You look great.”

I grinned back at him. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

“It’s been forever.” He sat back down at the table, and I followed suit. “What, four or five years?”