By Marianne Mancusi
If Chrissie Hayward knew that morning she'd be going again in time to rescue her loopy coworker Kat, she'd have worn greater sneakers. Doubly so if she'd anticipated to fulfill her real love. based on the mysterious gypsy, Chrissie used to be the "gentle soul who may tame an outlaw's thirst for revenge" -- aka the genuine Robin Hood. So how come the man used to be one of these dud? LOST...IN SHERWOOD woodland? No, Robin of Locksley used to be no Prince fascinating. And the half approximately robbing the wealthy to feed the bad? He did not get the memo. actually, all of the man looked as if it would do used to be mope. (And he and his not-so-merry males idea Chrissie was once a boy. yes, she wasn't stacked, yet still!) still, he used to be dependable and courageous and good-looking as sin. If Chrissie coudl simply get him with the application, she may well correct his wagon and get those boyz'n the wooden to be heroes of the area rather than twerps in tights. simply then may possibly this prince of thieves turn into king of her center.
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Extra info for A Hoboken Hipster in Sherwood Forest
He asks, wringing out his tunic. Hmm. He still thinks I'm male. Okay. Distressing, yes. But probably a good thing. Especially since I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that, like it or not, realistic or not, insanely crazy or not, I've somehow been sent back in time. I'm going to kill Kat if I ever see her again. I realize the man's waiting for an answer. "Uh, Chriss ... tian," I tell him, making it up on the fly. Christian is a close enough boyish equivalent to Chrissie, so I'm sure I'll have no trouble answering to it.
I say grouchily as he proceeds to dump me unceremoniously on the river-bank. At least I'm on the other side. Soaking wet and in major pain, but on the other side. He grins and looks down at his privates, which I can't help but notice stand out rather prominently beneath his soaking wet tunic and leggings. Has he stuffed a sock in there or what? "I wish you had. ” My face heats as I realize exactly where my back-handspring kick made contact. But still, he asked for it. Trying to tax a log? Puh-leeze.
Robin catches my examination and to my surprise pulls off his own leather boots. "Might be a bit large for you," he says, handing them to me. "But they are all I have with me. " I ask, trying to be fair even though I desperately want those shoes. He shrugs. " He holds out the shoes and I take them with immense relief. " I crouch down to put them on my aching feet. They're almost four sizes too big and have no Dr. Scholl's shock-absorbing gel inserts, but they're a great improvement over my barefoot status.