Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Shit,” I mutter. Watching in horror, I realize the man has been watching us when he easily bends to scoop the ball up with one hand before it bounces off his kick-ass, steel-toed boot.
As I reluctantly walk toward him to retrieve the ball, he puts his book down and stands. Up close, he’s way taller than I thought, towering more than a foot above me. His eyes—and wow, they’re green—are sparkling with amusement. He only spares me a glance before he turns to Aaron and gracefully launches the ball. It hits Aaron square in the chest in the most perfect of passes.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur, but my words fall on deaf ears. To my disgruntlement, Aaron is overjoyed at having someone who can actually get him the ball. Without even asking if it’s okay or worrying about infringing on the man’s time, Aaron lobs it right back to him.
Smiling as he makes the easy catch, the man calls. “Loosen your grip up slightly. It will help your spiral.”
“Okay,” Aaron replies eagerly, waiting for the man to throw the ball back.
I stand there, completely ignored, as this stranger intrudes upon my time with my son—while doing much better than I ever could.
I silently seethe, even though I try to be charmed that’s he’s helping my son. He’s even giving him good advice about technique, which is something I could never do.
“I’m Griffin, by the way,” the man says in a deep, rumbly voice, sounding as if he’s amused by me.
He peruses me with his lips curved upward.
“I can give you some lessons, too,” he suggests. And damn it… I ignore the tremor moving up my spine at that unintended, completely innocent, yet somehow suggestive offer.
“Um… no thank you,” I mutter.
Griffin shrugs, but he continues tossing the ball with my kid.
“Got a name?” he asks after a particularly spectacular pass.
I jolt at the request, the wariness I’d forgotten to have over the last ten minutes or so rushing over me. I don’t talk to strangers. I’m not interested in men or dating or anything that requires polishing off my trust-building skills.
Still, I find myself answering. “Bebe.”
“That’s an interesting name,” he remarks. “And what about your kid?”
“Aaron,” I reply, but he promptly ignores me to yell new instructions. “Now, Aaron, I want you to run deep a few paces, cut left, and really take off.”
“Got it,” my son calls enthusiastically. I watch in amazement as he sort of jukes an invisible opponent, cuts left, and takes off on those gangly legs of his. When he looks over his shoulder, he’s easily able to catch the ball. Aaron shouts with glee, spikes the ball into the ground, and does a dance resembling the funky chicken.
I bust out laughing, my head tipped back and my hands going to my belly.
Griffin shifts my way, and I shiver when he says, “That’s a beautiful laugh.”
I sober instantly. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Apparently very poorly if you have to ask,” he replies with a wink.
And damn it… I am charmed. I’m also equally pissed because it makes me want to talk to him. Shooting him a glare I don’t really mean, I petulantly ask, “So what… are you like a football star or something who just hangs in parks and waits until a woman comes along to showcase your skills?”
Griffin laughs, and it’s deep, booming, and infectious. I can’t help but smile.
“Now that’s funny,” he says with good humor. “And to answer your question, I played football in high school and was okay at it. And on a whim, I took my bike out today because the weather is fabulous. I came to the park to read a little.”
Bike?
I scan the parking lot on the other side of the path, spotting a sexy Harley Davidson in a flat black.
Damn it. Another button pushed.
“Well, thank you for taking the time to give Aaron some instruction,” I feel compelled to say. “He’s trying out for the rec team soon, and I don’t have the skills you do to help him. So this has been great.”
“Sure,” he replies easily. Aaron tosses him the ball, and I get unduly sidetracked by the muscles flexing in his arm as he catches it.
Griffin regards me with an earnestly hopeful expression. “Would you let me take you and Aaron out for an ice cream after we finish tossing the ball?”
My entire body flushes with mortification when I realize I’m being asked on a date. Sure, he’s included Aaron, but I can tell by his appraising eyes it’s really about me.
I love and hate it at the same time, because I haven’t been asked out in over ten years. For seven of those years, I was in prison. The three prior, I was busy being a mom and a master criminal.
“Actually, my mom’s cooking dinner. We have to be going soon to make it.” Then I decide to turn him off, thinking it’s the best way to shut him down. “We live with my mom, actually.”