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He takes the milk. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you guys up too.”
“No problem,” I say as I step outside.
“If you’re okay now, I’m going to head home,” I say, looking back to Zoey.
She folds her arms over her chest. “Sure. I’m okay.”
“Good. Good night, Scooter, Zoey.”
I leave them on the porch and take my frustrated ass home to take an ice-cold shower.
Zoey
Ispend the next couple of days avoiding Morris.
Or is he avoiding me?
Either way, we stay out of each other’s way, which isn’t easy when you work and live beside each other. Which is the precise reason getting physical with him was a very bad idea.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking—that was the whole problem.
When I finish up for the day, I unstrap my helmet and pick up my skis to head inside just as Morris rounds the building.
“You out?” he asks.
“Yeah, I have plans.”
“Plans?”
Before I can dismiss his question, I glance over to watch as one of Clay’s students successfully completes a jump on her snowboard, and he runs up to her, picks her up from behind, and twirls her. The girl lets out a surprised yelp and then giggles.
“Clay, a word, please,” I snap.
“Sure thing, boss lady.”
He speaks to the girls in his group, and they nod. Then, he makes his way over to us.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“I don’t want to see that again. Do you understand?”
The look of confusion on his face only adds fuel to my fire.
“Keep your hands to yourself. Unless it pertains to the lesson, there’s no reason for you to touch or hug the students,” I inform.
“I was just, um … I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just proud of her,” he defends.
“Then, use your words and communicate your pride, not your hands.”
“I’m sorry. It was a natural reflex,” he says.
“No, there’s nothing natural about a grown man putting his arms around a young girl he doesn’t know, and we don’t want any semblance of impropriety here at this school. Are we clear?”
His eyes dart behind me to Morris.
“Crystal,” he replies.
