Perhaps that Sunday the urge tugged a bit at my heart, the urge to protect him. Or tossle his lovely head of hair. Or slip my tongue between his lip... like strawberries. I watched them as they lined up, but it was Simon, and not Roddy who looked back to see if I was watching. When I smiled at him, he ducked his head, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and smiled his sly little dimpled smile as if to himself. Monday’s rehearsal flew by, and when Wednesday came, I got a call from. It had a certain attraction to Jack, coxswain and boatswain that he was, to sail a wooden boat that flexed and moved with the wind. Especially if I don't have to do much of the work, he admitted to himself.Jack pulled on his pants, and began fastening his shirt as he moved to the top of the stairs, where he had left his shoes. Annoyed, he felt his pant cuff snag on what had to be a loose nail in the floor. Looking down at his left foot in annoyance, he failed to place his hand on the banister. More

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