The Man with the Silver Tongue
Connor was never a man with a silver tongue. He couldn’t charm a woman or have a decent conversation without tripping over his words and getting flustered. Maybe that was his wiring, he was more a man of action, or maybe it was her, since she was just amazing and perfect in every way thus making it difficult for a mere mortal like himself to speak to her. He sighed on his way to the lake. Maybe a swim would calm him down, he hoped, and then maybe he could speak to her.
Her. A foolish grin spread across his face when he thought of her. It wasn’t an intimate thought, just a thought of her smiling. Wow, he smiled again, bashfully looking around to ensure no one was watching him be a giddy fool, everything about her made him smile. Her smile, her hair, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way she pouted when she was upset, her humor, her thoughts.
“Oh my God!” Connor was whipped out of his day dream, smiling like a fool at…
“Connor! I’m washing!” She yelled again, and he looked her up and down, realized what he was seeing, and froze.
“I was- No! I was only walking! And I wasn’t smiling at you! I was- Not that-” He gulped, “Your breasts, they’re small and cute. I… I like them.” Realized what he had said, Connor slapped his forehead and spun around.
Maybe he’d reach out to Haytham, he had never craved death more than now.