Imaginary Lines Read Online Free PDF Page B

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?”
    Just like that, my anxiety at seeing him again flowed away, and I raised my brows. Please. Abe had one of the sharpest minds I knew, and he might be able to fool other people into thinking all his talent came in brawn, but he’d never fool me.
    He laughed at my expression. “Fine. Four years. You visited me in May my junior year.”
    I leaned back in my seat. “That’s right.”
    He tilted his head. His eyes studied me with a kind of intensity that I’d half-forgotten, as though he could see straight through all the obscuring personas and facades that people put up. “And now I hear you’re some hotshot reporter.”
    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