Christian Parkinson's playboy lifestyle has taken an interesting turn when he met the sharp and witty Kylie Preston. She has something in her that other women lack - the guts to call him on his bullshit.
She's not the type he dates but Christian fin...
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"For a moment, I thought we're going to a warehouse." Kylie unbuckles her seatbelt as they pulled up to his old high school. "You said we're going to your favorite place."
Christian eased the car in the deserted corner of the parking lot near the fields. The soccer field. "It is."
"So, this is your old high school?" She asks skeptically.
He grins. "What makes you think otherwise?"
"I thought you guys went to prep school." Her nose does a cute crinkle.
He nods slowly, the engine groaning into a stop. "Ah, some of my siblings did – the less troublesome ones."
"So, you were trouble," she states.
Christian grins lopsidedly. "More or less."
She pushes the door open, her boots thudding on the pavement. She gazed out into the field and shielded her eyes from the lampposts. Her baggy sweater made her look like an adorable gumdrop. It obscured all sorts of curves, and he realized he liked it that way. Her knee-length boots couldn't fully cover the cat ears from her socks – he likes it too.
He turned on the stereo before climbing out of the car. He left the door open, deciding the night was too quiet. He watched Kylie's back, absorbing every inch of her.
Kylie pivot in her heels. "Do you miss it?"
He raises a brow. "High school?"
She walks over to him and leaned against the car. "Soccer."
His answer was a slight smile.
"How much?" She peers up to him, her eyes a tad puffy.
"Well," he clasped his hands around her waist and hoisted her up the hood. "So much."
Kylie slapped his arm. "I'm not a ragdoll." She tugs on the hem of her enormous sweater when it hiked up.
Christian chuckles, and scoots to her side as they both stare at the field – where he used to play. He was on the prime of his youth. For once, he was good at something. But he went on ruining it with irrevocable consequences. In the end, he did have a good cry. But he didn't mope for a long time. He moved on.
"Buttercup?"
"What?" She murmurs without peeling her eyes off the field.
"Look up."
"Why?"
"I think you'll like what you'll see," he says smilingly.
She looks at him with narrowed eyes. "Fine." She hesitated for the briefest of second, then angled her head upward. Her mouth parted a little.
"Pretty, isn't it?" He looks up to the sky cluttered with stars. There weren't any trees, so it was a vast view of the skies.
