A Hoboken Hipster in Sherwood Forest by Marianne Mancusi

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 higher footwear. Doubly so if she'd anticipated to fulfill her real love. in response to the mysterious gypsy, Chrissie was once the "gentle soul who might 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 wooded area? No, Robin of Locksley used to be no Prince fascinating. And the half approximately robbing the wealthy to feed the negative? He did not get the memo. actually, all of the man looked as if it would do was once mope. (And he and his not-so-merry males inspiration Chrissie used to be a boy. yes, she wasn't stacked, yet still!) still, he was once dependable and courageous and good-looking as sin. If Chrissie coudl simply get him with the application, she may perhaps correct his wagon and get those boyz'n the wooden to be heroes of the world rather than twerps in tights. in simple terms then might this prince of thieves turn into king of her middle.

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Sample text

Find her, Chris. Please. I'll do anything. I'll. " Even through the static I can hear her hard swallow on the other end of the line. " I raise an eyebrow. Even an insane Kat Jones wouldn't give away those shoes. "Fine," I mutter. "But you owe me. Big-time. " Not that I'd ever wear such uncomfortable shoes, but surely there's a market on eBay for them. "She won't laugh. Seriously. " "Okay, okay. " I click the End button on the phone and trudge back to the faire. I reveal my wristband to the ticket taker, halfway hoping she'll tell me there's no readmission.

Kat squeals so loudly I think my eardrums will burst. "Oh my god! How crazy is that? Now you believe me, right? The gypsy sent me back in time to the days of King Arthur. I met this totally hot knight, Lancelot, who's now my boyfriend. " "Uh, right. Yeah. Cool. But remember the no-babbling rule? I don't have a lot of time. " "Sorry. " "So I'm back in twelfth-century England, but the problem is, there is no Grail. King Richard hasn't come back from the crusades yet, and no one knows when he's expected back.

At least for now. He might get all protective and want to drop me off at a village where I'll be safe. After all, in these days, women were seen as fragile, delicate flowers not suited for cavorting with outlaws. If I have to be stuck in the 12th century until King Richard returns from his crusades, I at least want to live more of the legend before I'm relegated to some medieval kitchen. Argh. My feet kill. I would give absolutely anything right now, even my rent-stabilized apartment, for a pair of Nikes.

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