He stared down at his spread hands. "I never finished college."

"What?"

"I don't have my degree. I don't-I don't think I could be anything."

I'd never realized Abe felt the lack of his degree, that he wanted anything more out of life than to be the best linebacker possible. How odd, that I could know him for so long and never realize he wanted more.

"Abraham Krasner. The whole world is yours if you want it. The world and the moon."

He looked up at me. We were so close I could feel his breath and see his individual lashes. He stroked my cheek. "Tammy..."

I held my breath. I suddenly felt very warm and heady, and drawn forward by an invisible string that hadn't been cut, after all.

One of the girls let out a shriek. "Guys! Guys, my landlord called. We have to go."

Abe's hand dropped from my face. Everyone started scrambling to their feet, including people not from Alli's apartment. They shouted over at her. "Is your landlord our landlord?" They badgered us to find out if we were all in trouble, and then a mass exodus began as the three different apartments all herded their guests to the fire escape.

I balked when my turn came.

"Don't worry," Abe said in my ear. "You climbed up. You can get back down."

I frowned at him. He correctly interpreted it as, but the staircase might break and then where will we be? "Do you want me to go first? I can catch you if you fall."

I scoffed. "You'd be falling to your death, too."

His hand wrapped around mine. "I would catch you," he vowed. "I will always catch you."

My stomach flipped over. It wasn't fair for him to say that, for him to work his magic on me. That combination of voice and smell and touch rendered me useless, rendered me his, just as it always had. I wanted that kiss that had never happened. It hovered in the air between us.

But I was done chasing silly dreams, so I stepped back. "Okay, then. You go first."

And I didn't fall, so I didn't find out if he would catch me or not.

Downstairs, Sabeen found us quick enough. "Hey, I think I'm going to head out with Evan. That cool? You're okay to get home?"

I waved away her concern even as I tried to get a peek at Evan. He seemed tall. And fuzzy. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She squinted at Abe, without the excuse of having bad eyesight. She must have missed the to-do about him earlier. Off with Evan, no doubt. "You look familiar."

He waved a hand. "I have one of those faces."

She accepted that and turned back to me. "Okay, you sure? You're good?"

"Positive. Have fun."

They disappeared before I realized it, and Abe took my hand and led me out of the apartment and over to the street. "Let's find you a taxi."

"What if I don't want to go home?"

He looked at me so quickly I could've sworn he'd misinterpreted that. His eyes darkened. "What?"

"Um..." My voice came out as a stammer. "I just meant I'm having fun. I want to keep having fun."

His mouth cracked in a grin, and he shook his head. "You should have fun with a bottle of water. I hope you don't need to work tomorrow."

I bobbed my head in fervent agreement. "Me too." I consulted my brain, and found out that I didn't. However-"Wait! It's a Saturday tomorrow! Today. Do you? You have to do meetings and stuff. Why are you here?"

He tucked a loose curl behind my ear. "Because I didn't want you to fall off a roof."

I frowned and tried to step back, but misjudged the curb and stumbled. He caught my waist with both hands and mine automatically went to his biceps for balance. I stared at him, breathing hard. Could I do this, as a friend? Nope. Line. There was a line, and it was in the air between us, and there was no air between my fingers and his skin. I reluctantly removed my hands and locked them behind my back, trying to remember what we'd been talking about. It was on the tip of my tongue. My mental tongue. Was there a word for that? A part of the brain just out of reach from the rest, locked away by a fog of intoxication-Wow. I should write that down. "Abe. I am a poet."

"No, just drunk."

I tried to explain the eloquence of my turn of phrase. "No, these words-they're doing things that my words never do. They're dancing-Look, a taxi!"

He shook his head. "It's going downtown. You need to catch one in the opposite direction."

The car couldn't just make a U-turn? "That's stupid."

He walked me across the street and hailed a cab.

The cab driver was chattering loudly into a hands-free headset, but he paused as Abe placed me in one side of the cab and walked around to the other.

"Abe, I'm fine. You don't have to come with me. You live in Tribeca, right? That's the opposite direction."

He shrugged that off and got into the car with me. For a minute, I watched the lights of the city flashing by. My head was still spinning, but slower now.

"You know what I was thinking, before you got here?"

"Before I got here?" I parroted, confused. "But I got here first."

"No, I mean-before you got to New York."

"Oh. What?"

"That I was restless."

I turned to look fully at him. "How so?"

He wouldn't look at me. "Just... Restless."

I tilted my head, inviting him to tell me more.

"Like I've been waiting for something but I don't know what."

I smiled at him brilliantly. "That's how I felt, too. Like my life was on hold. Like I was waiting for someone to press start." I shrugged, content now that it had started. "Of course, it turned out I was the one who needed to push start."

"Because you got the job."

I smiled. "So maybe it was Tanya who pressed start."

He lifted his hand and brushed a corkscrew behind my ear. I shivered at the touch, my entire body going on alert. His gaze softened and dropped down to my lips. He leaned forward ever so slightly, but close enough that his breath whispered across my skin.

The cab driver grunted something indistinguishable.

I gasped and pulled back. Abe kept staring at me even as he handed money over to the cabbie. Somehow we'd reached my apartment and I hadn't even noticed.

I infused my voice with all the brightness of the sun at high noon. "Anyway! Great to see you. I'm sure I'll see you Sunday or something." I bolted out the door.

"Tamar-"

His low voice stopped me sure as any irons. I turned back, trying to keep hold of the brightness. "Hmm?"

He hesitated. Words hovered between us, but I never got to find out what they were. "I'll see you Sunday, then."

Chapter Nine.

In the morning, I headed over the Leopards Stadium to cover their game.

I was excruciatingly aware of the likelihood that I'd end up talking to Abe today. And I shouldn't have cared.

But I did.

So I dressed in my nicest, darkest jeans, and threw on a striped shirt that made me feel vaguely European-an accomplishment, given that I'd never actually been to Europe.

Last time I'd come to the Stadium, I'd trailed in Tanya's wake. Now I slipped in through the media entrance with the attitude of an imposter, afraid I'd be carded despite the bright, laminated press pass that dangled in plain sight around my neck.

Tanya had told me I was welcome to meet her up in the press box or check out the sidelines. By welcome, Jin had interpreted on Friday, Tanya meant I was still more of a pain than an asset, and she didn't particularly care where I ended up. Tanya herself wasn't a huge fan of sideline reporting, which I wasn't sure I agreed with. True, nothing the athletes or officials said could be quoted, just paraphrased, per NFL guidelines. And fine, coaches never gave real info when asked at halftime how they were going to play the rest of the game, just that they'd have a strong offense. And defense. And, sure, doctors never gave the up-to-the-minute reports you wanted on injuries.

But I still thought it was worthwhile-the immediacy, the personalities, the lack of glass cutting out the game.

The sidelines were packed-players had to arrive two hours before the game, and even at fifty-three, they seemed vastly outnumbered by the officials, coordinators and staff. A whole crew of people existed only to regulate the players' uniforms. One poor sap spent the entire day solely in charge of the first football of the game-the kicker's ball.

Sometimes I thought that was why I loved football so much. The crazy political machinations. It was like I lived in Medici, Italy, except with less poison.

I searched for Abe through the streams of players and officials, but he was nowhere to be seen. He could already be back in the locker room, which was for the best. I didn't need to see him. I shouldn't see him. I was supposed to be working.

As kick-off neared, all the players and coaches cleared from the field. I found the guys near a cluster of newscasters-famous anchors like Aurelius Stevenson and Eddie Bruges. The women nearby wore white suits and bright smiles. "They're all so beautiful."

"They're TV. They're paid to be beautiful." Carlos nodded discreetly as we walked past the row. "Former cheerleader for the Bears, former Miss Vermont, former model."

"Hardly seems fair." At slightly below-average height and with utterly girl-next-door features, I definitely didn't qualify for their beauty standards. But I'd probably come into this job with a hell of a better sports reporting background than they had.

Well, being bitter never helped anyone.

The Leopards played the Chiefs today. The game opened strong, but it was clearly destined to be a low-scoring one; no one seemed to keep the ball very long. By the fourth quarter, it was 11-7 and the crowd was restless.

And when the sideline started buzzing, it wasn't about the game.

I couldn't tell where it started, but within seconds the energy had reached a fever pitch. Someone let out a whistle behind us. Everyone started pulling out phones and whispering to each other.

"Shit, look at this."

Mduduzi and I both leaned closer to Jin, who'd pulled up an article published two minutes ago by the Coalition of American Doctors.

Statistical Rankings of Professional Helmets.

We huddled against each other to scan the article. Football helmets didn't receive real ratings, just a pass/fail in accordance to whether they met the national safety standard. Virginia Tech created a five-star rating system some years ago, but even that wasn't fail-proof.

The article used the statistical data gleaned from the past dozen years to rank helmets worn by amateur, college and pro football players. Including some of the helmets that were currently knocking around the field in front of us. Including some popular helmets that didn't hold up too well.

"Ouch." Jin sounded positively gleeful. "That's gonna hurt."

I barely paid attention. I was too busy Googling "Abe Krasner helmet" on my phone, but unfortunately all I could find out was where to buy signed mini-helmets. Which wasn't very useful. I already had one of Abe's signed mini-helmets. His mom had given it to me three Hanukkahs ago and said it was from Abe.

I found the info. Thank God. He had one of the safer ones.

Carlos's phone rang, and he lifted it to his ear. Tanya's voice could faintly be heard on the other side of the line, especially if I concentrated very hard. "Are you reading this?"

"Yup."

"It doesn't list any of Loft's helmets."

At first that surprised me, since Loft was one of the nation's top athletic gear companies. They'd swooped up a lot of the endorsements and partnerships in the past few years, and I was used to seeing their patches on the Leopard practice jerseys. Right before I moved out here, the big news in the sports world had been the deal struck for Loft Athletics to sponsor the Leopards' new training facility.

But on second thought, I wasn't too surprised, because Loft hadn't been around for that many years, so it was possible there wasn't that much data the doctors could gather. And the article did mention it was an inconclusive list.

Still. Interesting.

When the game drew to a close-a win by the Leopards, which would usually have garnered more attention-we all rushed the open locker room with the rest of the press.

Apparently Coach Paglio anticipated the rush, because the setup was a little different than usual. The players must have had their quickest shower-and-dress in history, because they were mostly clothed and stood alongside Coach Paglio and owner Greg Philip, who'd gathered in a power-clump in the center. Paglio cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone prepared for him. "We understand there's been some news released that many of you want to ask about, but we'd appreciate if the questions stayed on the game. To make it easier, we've brought everyone out."

The Leopards star players stood behind him: Ryan Carter and Malcolm Lindsey of course, and running back Mike O'Connor-and Abe, firm and straight and loyal.

My stomach immediately tied itself in knots at the sight of him. How do you act with a formerly estranged friend that you've been in love with for years whom you almost kissed?

But I failed at even making eye contact, because he never once looked in my direction. The butterflies in my stomach slowly folded their wings, and I resolutely pressed my lips together and my anticipation down. Fine. We'd play it professional.

For a moment after Paglio's announcement we all stared blankly, and then blatantly ignored him. "Coach Paglio," Eddie Bruges called out, and then everyone started speaking. I fought through the crowd to Paglio's side. Instead of standing in an orderly crowd, everyone pushed up against the coach and players and demanded answers to their questions, multiple conversations flying at once. I saw the media director looking alarmed on the side as she tried to restore order.