Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
As I listen to her talk about how romantic it all is, it’s clear that while she may be tough, she obviously has a soft spot in her that loves the idea of a romantic fairytale. She sighs in contentment as she watches the carriage go by, and I realize the key to her heart just may be through romance. And then it hits me that I want the key to her heart.
“Oh my god! Kill, look!” Giselle squeals, throwing her head back in laughter. The couple who were sitting on the park bench are now running and ducking behind the bench as several kids throw snowballs at them. With the bench being used as a shield, they gather snow and make their own snowballs to throw back.
“Let’s join them!” I say, standing and grabbing Giselle’s hand.
She looks at me in shock, then grins devilishly. “Okay!”
We run across the street, and the two of us start gathering up snow to make balls out of. The kids are still engaged in a snowball fight, and they don’t see us coming. With a few icy cold balls in each of our hands, we step out into the line of fire. Giselle throws the first ball. It hits one of the kids in the arm and gets all of the kids’ attention. They all turn to look at us.
“You want in?” the kid she hit, who can’t be more than ten, yells. “Better watch out!” He grabs a snowball from his pile and throws it right at us. We both duck and it misses.
“You need to take some throwing lessons!” I shout before I throw a ball at him. It hits him directly in the chest, and his eyes widen in shock. The other kids start laughing, and everyone goes back to their snowball fight. Giselle and I run all over the park with the kids for who knows how long. We get hit several times, and we definitely get a lot of good hits in. When I notice Giselle’s cheeks are a deep pink from the cold, and she’s nearly out of breath from running, I take her hand in mine and raise our arms in defeat.
“We’re out!” I say, waving the metaphorical white flag. The kids all laugh.
“Hey! Are you…aren’t you Killian Blake?” one of the kids asks.
Giselle’s eyes widen, afraid I’m worried about getting caught. I’m not, though. It’s part of the job.
“I am,” I admit.
“Holy shit!” another kid yells. “We just threw snowballs at Killian Blake.”
This time Giselle laughs.
“Don’t use that language around here,” I admonish. There are tons of little kids running around. The kid has the decency to look sorry. “And you did. What’s your name?”
“I’m Drake and this is my brother Dean.” He points to the kid next to him. “That’s my sister, Dana.” He points to the girl who was making out with the boy earlier. They’re standing next to each other and holding hands. “And that’s her boyfriend, Mark.” Drake scrunches up his nose in disgust.
“Nice to meet you.” I shake their hands. “This is my friend, Giselle.” I put my arm around Giselle and she smiles softly at me.
“You have a good arm,” I say to Drake, whose face lights up at my words. “You play ball?”
“I do! All of us do…well, not my sister.” He shrugs. “I want to be a quarterback just like Nick Shaw…no offense.”
“None taken,” I tell him. “Nick’s my best friend and a very talented quarterback.”
“It sucks he’s retiring,” Drake states.
“Yeah, well, he wants to go back to school. He loves reading and writing,” I say.
“That’s cool, I guess.” He shrugs.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Dean cuts in. “And my ball is at home. I can’t even have you sign it.” He shakes his head in regret. “Damn it.” He glances at me. “I mean, darn it.”
“How about this? I’ll write down the email of my publicist. She’s the lady who is in charge of my life. Have your parents email her, and she’ll give you passes to the first home game next season, and I’ll make sure to sign whatever you bring then.”
“Are you fu—are you serious?” Drake yells. “Heck yes!” The kids all cheer. I ask a woman nearby for a pen and scrap piece of paper and write down Amber’s email address. Using the kids’ cell phones, Giselle takes a few pictures of me with them and then we say goodbye.
“That was very sweet of you,” Giselle says as we walk toward Broadway to catch a cab.
“It’s part of the job.”
“No, catching a ball is part of your job. What you did back there isn’t a requirement.”
“Those kids are why I have a job. They watch the games and buy my jersey,” I tell her honestly, then change the subject. “So, what’s next?” I glance at my watch. It’s still relatively early, and I’m not ready to say goodnight to Giselle yet. The past couple hours we’ve put aside all the drama from the outside world and have had a really good time.