Imaginary Lines

by Allison Parr

  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.

  We took our plates and headed off to the side of the room, talking idly to each other and several of the other reporters we were on casual good terms with. I kept scanning the room for Abe, but couldn’t find him.

  “Hey!”

  At the indisputable sound of a football player’s greeting, I turned with a wide grin, hoping to find Abe among them. Instead, it was a group of the other, younger guys. Dylan and Keith and Jensen and TJ. If men were masonry, these would be ashlar.

  Jensen grinned at me, all cocky daredevil. “You clean up good.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Jin drawled.

  We moved slightly so the four players joined our group. My hand tightened around my glass and my nerves ramped up. I half-felt like we should all start snapping our fingers at any second.

  Everyone knew each other by sight, even if the Leopards didn’t all know my friends’ names. Dylan nodded at all of us. “You guys all at Sports Today?”

  My friends nodded warily.

  And then Jensen saved us all by being oblivious. He held up one of the miniature burgers. “Are these seriously supposed to fill us?” He popped it in his mouth.

  I rolled my eyes, and then grinned at Dylan when I saw him doing the same. “I think you were supposed to eat.”

  “Yeah, I did. But I was kinda expecting second dinner.”

  Dylan looked at me apologetically. “We’re still working on him.”

  “Whatever, man.” Jensen popped two more burgers in his mouth and spoke around them. “You’re just bitter you lost the hot dog—eating contest.” He grinned at me, looking strangely chipmunk-like with the food in his cheeks. “I won.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure you were a champ.”

  Then I felt a warm hand on my lower back and the scent of spice and soap washed over me. I turned slightly and smiled. “Hi.”

  Abe smiled down at me in a way that made the whole world vanish except for us. Nothing existed except his hand on the small of my back and the dark depths of his crinkled eyes and the private curves of his lips. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  His gaze locked on mine.

  “Yo, Krasner, how about the rest of us?”

  Keith’s words jolted me and I turned back to seven curious faces. I swallowed. Hard. Abe greeted his teammates while I snuck a look at my coworkers. They looked back at me. Then we all stood there a minute while I tried very, very hard not to freak out about my worlds colliding.

  Carlos, thank God, helped me out by turning to Keith with a question about next week’s game, and the world continued to spin. I let out a shaky breath. Abe squeezed my waist.

  I quietly lifted my face to his. “So we’re doing this?”

  The smile that broke over his face was strong enough to light the entire room, and I couldn’t have looked away if the world had ended around us. “Yes.”

  Yes. One little word. Funny that it should fill me with such happiness.

  A few minutes later, Mike O’Connor joined us with his girlfriend, Natalie. She maneuvered her way next to me, noted Abe’s hand on my back and then smiled slightly. “Looking forward to the show?”

  I nodded. “It sounds awesome. It’s been getting great reviews.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” She grinned sheepishly. “By which I mean I read the ads on the sides of every bus in the city.”

  When the staff slowly started ushering us toward the showroom, Abe caught my hand. “Come sit with me.”

&nb
sp; I shook my head reluctantly. “I should really sit with the other press.”

  “All right. What are you doing afterward?”

  I licked my lips before they curved into the slightest smile. “Why? Are you propositioning me, Abraham Krasner?”

  His eyes darkened. We stood inches from each other. I could feel my blood pulsing through my veins, heady with oxygen and adrenaline. I could see nothing but Abe, his black eyes and dark honeyed hair that I ached to comb my fingers through, his open smile and his broad hands. His mellow, teasing voice filled my ear, his fresh scent tempting me. “Yes. Come to my place tonight.”

  I slowly drew back, drinking in his face. My belly tingled and my whole body felt like it might float away any moment. I opened my mouth and waited for an answer to float out, not entirely sure what it would be. “Okay.”

  * * *

  The show was amazing, a dazzling exhibition that appealed not only to our eyes but the rest of the senses. We could feel the heat wash across our skin when men blew fire in great, roaring clouds; we could feel the mist that drifted over us when water flooded the stage. Smoke and flowers tickled our sense of scent. The howling, minor key music sent shivers down my spine, and the tribal chants reverberated through the stands. I gasped as acrobats flew through the air, barely breathed as performers defied gravity, and came near to tears at a silent dance.

  The wash of emotions was nothing to what I felt when I left the show with Abraham.

  He held the door open as I stepped inside his Tribeca brownstone. I hadn’t been here before, but it looked like him. The living room was warmly furnished, not unlike at his parents’ home: lots of tightly packed bookshelves and a green and white Persian rug that I recognized after a moment of once belonging to his grandmother.

  He hadn’t been able to resist, apparently, furnishing the next room with plush black leather couches and a ginormous television and sound system, but even they looked cozy instead of ultra-modern, what with the familiar quartz globe that had once graced his mom’s study, and several sweatshirts draped about.

  “You want anything to drink?”

  For some reason, I didn’t feel nervous. I felt...high. “Water’s fine.”

  He smiled that slow, private smile that always felt like it was meant just for me. “Want to see the roof?”

  My lips curved up in response. “Yes.”

  I followed him up a last flight of stairs and through a narrow door. My breath caught when we stepped into the cold night. The city spread out before us, each dark shape lit up with hundreds of bright golden squares. Everything glowed yellow and burnt orange.

  It took me a minute before I’d soaked in enough of the view to take in the roof itself, and then I couldn’t help letting out a laugh. “Of course you have a private, gorgeous roof garden.” Enough plants lined the roof that it felt like a forest, not just trees but herbs and bushes. The roof itself, where it wasn’t soil, had been set with giant white stone that shone with flecks of silver.

  He grinned almost sheepishly. “If I was going to spend my money on anything, I wanted my own little refuge.”

  There were chairs, but the best feature was a wooden swing. We sat on it, swaying slightly, and stared up at the moon.

  When he spoke, his voice was low and measured. “In the city, the pollution’s so strong that stars are blotted out. But you can always see the moon.”

  There was something about the moon, the sky, the way the whole world—the whole universe—stretched above us. It gave rise to the primal, purest part of me. The person I wanted to be, the person who was balanced and happy and who noticed the freshness of oxygen as she drew it into her lungs.

  I could feel it building in my chest, the beauty of the trees and moon and night. It was like an animal, moving and stirring, uncurling throughout my lungs and throat and calming me. I watched the slowly drifting clouds, veils of white again the inky dark. The moon floated through them, bright and full as the hope in my chest, a beautiful illusion of motion that wasn’t an illusion at all. I could see the craters in the white globe, though I’d never been able to see a man.

  I’d only ever been able to see one man.

  I turned to study him. His hand slid around my waist and tugged me easily into his lap, and I let out half a startled laugh and braced my hands against his chest for balance.

  Then we were kissing. We were pressed up against one another, arms tangled, legs and hips pressed together, breathless and thoughtless.

  He pushed my shirt up, his fingers trailing fire, and I pulled them away. “Slow.”

  “This is slow.”

  “Hmph.”

  His tongue slid against my lips and parted them, and he kissed the air away from me. My hands tangled in his hair, soft and fine, with just the slightest curl. Then they were frantic for the rest of him, running along his incredible arms, pushing beneath his jacket, his shirt, to touch the warm skin of his corded back. I laughed. I never knew people could actually feel like this.

  As soon as my hand slipped below his shirt, his went under mine, and this time, I didn’t protest. In fact, I pressed closer, lifting one of my legs and wrapping it around him, pulling him to me. Then his hands were on my waist and they yanked me up until both my legs wrapped around him, and my arms were around his neck. I was shoved against the door, and we were melting, there on the rooftop, into each other.

  “Let’s go back down.”

  The word floated out of me, carried by a million minutes of hope. “Let’s.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abe’s room was all warm floorboards and shelves of books and photos mounted on the wall, but it all blurred by me until we landed on the king-sized bed. Abe had managed to keep kissing me the entire way here, and now he only drew away to shrug out of his suit jacket. My fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, sliding each one out with focused deliberation until I was able to push the fabric off his golden skin.

  My mouth went dry and my hands glided over the broad muscles of his chest. I was astonished I was allowed to touch him, that for the night at least, he belonged to me.

  He pulled me to my feet and ran his forefinger along my neckline. His smile was decisively possessive, but I didn’t mind as long as we possessed each other. “Did you wear this dress for me?”

  I answered honestly. “I only wear red for you.”

  He groaned and then he’d unzipped my gown. For a moment, it hovered between our bodies, and then I stepped back and it pooled at my feet. The cool air felt delicious against my hot skin. My entire body burned, the flame at my center curling throughout me until I was sure water on my skin would create steam.

  His mouth crashed back to mine, and he dealt with my bra in short order. His lips traveled down me in a hot, sure path to my breast, his fingers moving confidently. They glided over my body, and everywhere they touched burned. When he reached the juncture at my thighs, I fell back on the bed with a gasp. He pulled aside that last scrap of cotton and lace, on his knees at the edge of the bed, and stared at me.

  It was the first time I’d ever been naked in front of a guy, and I took in a deep breath, slightly nervous despite myself.

  Abraham’s eyes were dark, his pulse rapid. “You’re beautiful.”

  I smiled slowly. “It’s not fair. I’m naked but you’re not.”

  He laughed, and like that he’d sprung to his feet and undid his belt. I watched his unabashed fascination as he unzipped his pants and pushed them off. Lounging on the bed, my lips bruised from kisses and my hair a tumbling riot of curls, I felt sensual and seductive.

  His boxers followed, and my eyes widened. My smile grew even more, like the cat in the cream. I couldn’t have looked away in a million years, not from that extremely clear sign of his desire. I ached to touch him, to explore him in feel and taste.

  He moved over me, his hard, long body suspended over mine. He was so large; he made me feel small and precious. And he’d never been more of a panther then he was now, powerful and sinuous. I was his pre
y, and I liked it.

  His hand curved behind my neck and my head fell back as he pressed his lips to my sensitive skin. Each kiss drew heat, until it felt like a laced web ran below my skin, shooting energy back and forth until every inch tingled. I was so intensely aware of the caress of his mouth that I forgot everything else, forgot how my limbs and hands were arranged, only that I wanted them to be closer, to be everywhere. I hooked one leg around his waist. He groaned and moved against me, and exhilaration shot through me, more powerful than any drug.

  There was something niggling at the back of my mind. Something I’d meant to mention, casually, in passing. I’d forgotten, but now it bubbled to the front of my mind, and since I didn’t want anything in my head, I decided to tell him. “Just so you know,” I said in a gasp, “I’ve never done this.”

  He stilled. “Never?”

  I smiled and moved against him. “Never.”

  He sat up. “Never never?”

  Now the smallest hint of embarrassment crept in, and I slowly followed him upright. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

  Now he stared at me with the strangest expression in his dark eyes. “Tamar...” He put a world into my name.

  But I wouldn’t admit to it unless he spelled it out. “What?”

  “Were you waiting for me?”

  My cheeks flared with heat. “No, of course not.”

  He started to smile.

  “I mean, sure, in middle school—and high school—and part of college, yes—I was madly infatuated with you. And then I wasn’t—”

  “Of course not,” he put in dryly.

  “And then I was totally over you, but I’d sort of missed the experimenting years. Like I was very clueless. Like I was nineteen and had never kissed anyone.”

  His smile widened.

  I rolled my eyes. “And then I could hook up with people, but I could never sleep with them. It was all just much too fast. Also, I am probably broken.”

  “Tamar.” He caught my hand. “You’re not broken.”

  That was sweet and appreciated, but incorrect. “Thank you.” I held my thumb and forefinger apart an inch. “But I am at least a little bit.”