“Want to play?” he asked, palming the ball from hand to hand.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A football. Me and the boys play when we’ve got time away from the field. It’ll be good for you. Get some color in your cheeks. We don’t want you getting soft,” he said, imitating my father’s voice so perfectly that I had to laugh.
Damon walked out the door, and I followed, shrugging off my linen jacket. Suddenly the sunshine felt warmer, the grass felt softer, everything felt better than it had just minutes before.
“Stefan’s Diaries: Origins”