Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) by Judith Arnold Read Free Book Online Page A

appraised his opponent as if the
guy were a problem he had to solve, and then he'd solved the
problem.
    Then he'd sat down, not even acknowledging the applause of
the people in the stands. He'd removed his headgear and
wrapped a towel around his neck. He'd rubbed the towel over his
face and through his hair, then twisted to reach for a water bottle
on the floor behind the team bench.

    His face was still intense and unsmiling, she observed. Even
after his match was finished and he'd vanquished his opponent,
he still had some fight in his eyes. He shut them as he guzzled
water from the bottle, the bone in his neck bobbing with each
swallow. Finally rehydrated, he closed the bottle and his gaze met
hers.
    His eyebrows rose slightly, and the corners of his mouth
twitched upward. And then, in less than an instant, his game face
returned and he swiveled back to face the mat, shouting encouragement to his teammate who was currently out in the circle,
grappling with a guy whose long arms reminded Erika of a
gorilla's.
    Maybe the reason she found the remaining bouts less interesting wasn't that the other wrestlers weren't as skilled or as clever
as Ted. Maybe it was that a part of her mind had wrapped itself
around him, the way he'd looked at her for that fraction of a second. She could no longer concentrate fully on the wrestlers on
the mat, not when she was distracted by Ted's back, the ridge of
his spine visible as he hunched forward and rested his forearms
on his knees. The breadth of his shoulders. The tendrils of his
hair curling at the nape of his neck as the sweat dried from them.
    She'd always thought Ted was a fun, easygoing guy-and he
was, most of the time. She gathered that he was a decent artist.
She enjoyed being around him, talking to him, laughing with
him.
    But there was more to him, much more. There was determination. Calculation. Strength. Aggression. The hunger to win.
    After watching him wrestle, she would never be able to think
of him the same way.
    And-even more unsettling-she would think of him. Ted
Skala had lodged himself in her mind, and she wasn't sure he would ever leave.

    Whoa. Erika Fredell had come to a wrestling meet.
    Ted wasn't delusional enough to think she'd come specifically
to see him wrestle. She'd probably come because she was suffering from an unexpected spasm of school spirit, or because her
friends had dragged her with them. Or because she had nothing
better to do.
    Except he knew she did have something better to do. She had
her horseback riding. She did that every afternoon after school.
Why had she taken today off?
    Not to see you, asshole.
    He took another deep slug of water from his bottle, ran the
towel over his still sweaty face, and watched the one-sixty-sevens
go at it. The heavier the weight class, the less finesse. They didn't
need finesse. They had brute strength. As one of the skinnier guys
on the team, Ted was all about finesse.
    He was used to being the smallest guy. The youngest boy in his
family, he'd been an easy target for his three older brothers. He'd
learned how to run fast, and when he couldn't run fast enough
he'd fought back as best he could. But how could a squirt like him
fight back against guys like his brothers, who were all so much
larger than him?
    His dad must have detected his talent for fighting, or else
simply wanted to improve his odds of not getting flattened
beneath George's or Adam's or josh's big, fat fists, because when
he was five, his father enrolled him in a wrestling program. His
oldest brother, George, was already a wrestler, and Ted had
always enjoyed watching the sport. It wasn't just self-defense; it
wasn't just a puny kid trying to stay alive in a family of big, domineering older brothers. Wrestling was fighting with rules, fight ing with dignity. And fighting someone your own size, which
really appealed to Ted.

    So he'd started working with a coach and taking lessons, and
after a few years