Page 42 of Imaginary Lines

Page 42

  He noticed, but let me get away with it. “Guess what we’re doing tonight. ”

  I looked down at my food. “Eating?”

  “I got us tickets to Wicked. ”

  My elbows banged on the table. “No way! How’d you do that?”

  “Well, there’s this thing called money. . . ”

  I waved my food at him. “I mean, it’s short notice. ”

  He shrugged. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. ”

  “Um. I want to. Trust me. I love Wicked. ”

  He gave me a look to convey that he knew. Which I suppose he did, given that I’d made our parents play it on many a drive to vacations. I tilted my head. “What would you have done if I’d fallen out of love with it in the past four years? That would be problematic. ”

  He grinned. “Nah, I’d just ask someone else to come with me. ”

  “Oh, real nice. ” I shook my head, and then pulled out my phone and tried to look really casual. “So I was looking some stuff up online. ”

  He barely glanced at me. “You’re terrible at acting casual. ”

  I gave up on it and leaned forward, pinning Abe with my stare. “There’re all sorts of online courses you can do to finish your degree—”

  He stilled. “Does it matter to you that I don’t have it?”

  I stopped, confused. “Um, Abe, let’s be clear. You’re a multimillionaire celebrity. You’re talented, you’re successful, and you’re a role model. The only thing that matters to me in what you do with your life is that you’re happy. ”

  A smile broke across his face, much quieter than most of his grins. “I’m happy. ”

  I studied him. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Don’t let it go to your head if I tell you you’re part of the reason. ” He scooted closer to me and looked at my cell. “All right, let’s see these courses. ”

  The musical was wonderful. We had seats in the center of the orchestra, which was perfect, and the show was perfect, and really, everything was perfect. Even the temperature that night as we left was perfect: cold, but not quite icy, and my coat and scarf were enough to keep out the chill. The moon glowed bright above us, cutting through the drifting clouds. A gentle wind rustled the crumpled leaves lining the sidewalks.

  We walked the eight blocks or so up to the park, and then scrambled up the outcroppings of giant ancient bedrock in the southwest corner, and perched ourselves on the top, with a view of the baseball diamonds. I smiled up at him. “You know what? I’ve decided it’s a good thing we’re dating. ”

  Abe placed his hand over his heart. “Thank God. I was worried. ”

  “No, I’m serious. Because otherwise I probably would have started dating the guy with argyle socks, and we wouldn’t have had anything to talk about. ”

  He scoffed. “I already have you. You can’t make me jealous. ”

  “Oh, is that how it works? I hadn’t realized. ”

  “Mm-hm. ” He kissed me, his hands sliding around my waist. They slipped under my shirt, hot on my skin. His entire body was warm, like a furnace that I eagerly craned toward. I kissed him back, a matching fire fueling in my belly.

  “Why don’t you come back to my place tonight?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a Tuesday night. I should already be asleep. ”

  “We could sleep. ” He pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot below my ear.

  I let out a gasp and then a laugh. “Of course we could. ”

  His mouth traced a path down to the base of my neck, and then to my lips. “Or not. ”

  I moaned and gave myself over to the kiss, until a moment later I banged my elbow as I fell back on the rock schist. Laughing, I pushed myself upright. “Okay. I really should head home. It’s too cold to do this outside. ”

  Abe walked me to my subway stop. He looked down at me. The street lamp behind me picked out the warm honey-colored strands of his hair. He looked haloed in the light. “I’ll see you Friday then. ”

  I kissed him. “See you then. ”

  * * *

  The Leopards’ bye week fell in Week 11 of the regular season. Most of the team was sticking around the city for Malcolm and Briana’s wedding, so the team also threw an extra party on Friday as a “thank you” to the media. The team bought out the VIP section of Cirque d’Etoiles new act. All fifty-three players, several dozen staff, plus ones and selected supported media attended. We weren’t supposed to report on anything, Carlos assured me—we were just being wooed.

  “To do what?” I’d asked as I’d intently researched what kind of food the caterer usually offered.

  “To make them glow. ”

  I came in wearing my favorite red dress, the one that flared at the hip and swooped under my collarbone. The guys whistled and called me fancy. I rolled my eyes and pretended I wasn’t embarrassed by the attention.

  “Got a date tonight?” Tendakai asked.

  “She can’t have a date,” Jin drawled. “We’re going to Cirque d’Etoiles. ”

  I shrugged in what I hoped seemed halfway mysterious.

  Carlos leaned toward Jin. “But you know who will be there?”

  They stared at each and then swiveled toward me. Mduduzi looked betrayed. “I thought nothing was going on!”

  “Um. ” I tucked a curl behind my ear. “Well. Nothing is going on between any reporters and players. ”

  Jin cocked his head. “You’re prevaricating. ”

  I cleared my throat. “But it is possible, possibly, that something’s going on between two old friends. Okay, great, let’s talk about something else. Wow! November in New York! Pretty cold, huh?”

  They all stared at me.

  I coughed slightly. “Good talk, guys. I gotta go. . . wash my hands. ”

  “Hey. ” Carlos stepped into my path as I tried to leave. “Give us something else to go on. Is this good?”

  Oh boy, now I knew what cornered animals felt like. “Good?”

  Mduduzi nodded. “Is it weird, or are you happy?”

  For a drawn moment I stood there, and then a smile spread out, so wide my cheeks hurt. “Oh, trust me. I am very happy. ”

  That evening at the dark and lush venue, we bypassed the normal lines and walked straight for the VIP entrance, roped off by a velvet strand. A young woman who looked almost fancier than we did—her hair certainly seemed important, at least in height and gloss—checked us in and unhooked the rope.

  I’d never been in the VIP section of anything before.

  Black and blue lights flooded the large sub-basement, casting dark shadows throughout the room. Along the walls photographs of different acts hung: women dangling from aerial hoops and flying down Spanish ribbons, men leaping and flipping in fantastical costumes and across elaborate sets.

  We checked in and were handed lanyards with passes. None of us were reporting tonight, so we headed directly to the bar. A bored-looking bartender poured us half-filled glasses of wine, which we took with slightly too much enthusiasm before heading over to the buffet.

  Sweet cheese and fig jam wrapped in baskets of filo dough. Asparagus with Parmesan and minced garlic. Miniature burgers that could be held between two fingers. I tried not to salivate, but also noticed that I wasn’t the only one piling my plate high. Almost all the press seemed to have converged on the buffet.