“You’re staring,” he murmurs, still keeping most of his focus on the boys on the course as they finish up. “Is it because you like looking at me, sweetheart?” “No,” I assure him, hating that I do like how he looks. “I was just thinking, is all.” “What about?” My smile becomes absolutely beatific when he meets my eyes, and in the sweetest voice I can muster I say without stopping to think, “About the likelihood of you falling off that course and snapping your neck on the ground.”
