Michael cheeks reddened. “Yeah. Your girlfriend is here, too.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “That Rebecca Martin lady. The one you like to look at when she’s not looking at you.” Cash shifted in his seat, squirming as a rush of warmth spread across his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Looks like Gramma is giving the guy with your girlfriend one of her famous death glares.” At that, Cash spun around to gape at the filled bleachers, searching the faces. “Made ya look,” Michael crooned.