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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?”
“That’s great. Where at?”
Indignation reared up in me. He didn’t have to play cat-and-mouse, when he’d made it clear enough he knew I was part of the media. “Well, I suppose your mom told you, didn’t she?”
Now that I’d called him on it, he relented. And perhaps that was all I’d needed to do: match the pressure he gave off. “She said you were working for a sports blog. She didn’t say which one. ”
The waitress came by with our drinks, and I studiously took a sip. Odd, how resistant I felt to telling him. Maybe I feared he’d think I’d gone into sports journalism because of him, or maybe he’d be appalled, or maybe because I wanted Sports Today to be mine for a little longer. The moment dragged on, and then I took a deep breath. “Sports Today. ”
The Open Book of Abraham read of disbelief and confusion, and his mouth parted slightly. I ate a fry and watched. A tiny bit of glee spread through my chest, and I paused to savor it. Better than perfectly flavored potatoes.
“You’re writing for Sports Today?”
“That’s right. ”
“Today Media’s Sports Today?”
I ate another fry. “The first time, the surprise was flattering. Now it’s getting offensive. ”
“Sorry. I’m—surprised. So. . . Does that mean. . . What are you going to cover?”
I gave my best Gallic shrug. “You. ”
I didn’t realize the double entendre until his eyes flashed up to mine. Something sparked between us, bright and fast and gone, leaving me slightly dazed. I looked at the table, the white linen neatly ironed, and then back at his bright, inquisitive gaze. “I’m covering football, yes, under Tanya Jones. ”
“So, what, you’ll be coming to my games? Reporting on me?” A slow smile spread across his face. “Little Tammy Rosenfeld, graduated from the marching band. ”
“Of course,” I said promptly. “Your mom already gave me all the info on the family seats. ”
He snorted and shook his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. ”
“She also tried to give me an extra key to your apartment in case I needed somewhere to go, along with the names of your dentist, doctor, your lawyer, your agent and your financial advisor. Don’t worry, I didn’t take them. Oh, but. . . ” I leaned over and dragged my purse up into my lap, digging out a colorful paperstock card and slapping it down on a dry section of the bar. “I was charged with delivering this. ”
He opened it up. “‘To Mr. Abe Kramer—Good luck in the Super Bowl! We’re cheering for you!’—From Mrs. Kimmel’s eight-grade class. ” He looked up, laughter crinkling his eyes. “Why do you have a letter from my eighth-grade teacher?”
I shrugged. “I’ve been teaching SAT classes at the high school. Word got around the district. What can I say—you’re a hit. ”
“Don’t they feel like they’re betraying the 49ers?”
I titled my head. “Did you feel that way when the Leopards drafted you?”
He laughed. “You know I didn’t. ”
We shared a grin. We’d watched his draft in his living room, along with half the neighborhood and a variety of cousins and family friends. He’d been a third round pick, and I’d been cursing at the teams by then for not selecting him immediately. Abe, uncharacteristically calm, had sat with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, eyes focused on the television screen. When the Leopards owner Gregory Philip said his name, I’d let out a shriek, and he’d jumped up and whirled me around in a circle before hugging everyone in the room.
“I think your mom was the only one disappointed that day. You couldn’t have gone farther away unless you’d been in Boston. ”
“Remember when she tried to convince me to give up football and become a doctor?”
“‘When’? You say that like it was a singular occurrence. ”
“It’s your fault, you know. If you didn’t have an uncle with his own practice, she wouldn’t think there was an easy summer internship she needed to try to talk me into. ”