Page 7 of Hate You, Maybe
But I’m not interested in being that attracted to anybody, now or ever. So it’s in my best interest to make sure Sayla Kroft doesn’t like me even a little bit.
That way, there’s no risk of me liking her any amount at all.
“You’re awful,” she says with a little stamp of her foot. “You know that, right?”
“I guess I could’ve let you flash your first-period class”—my mouth twitches—“but I don’t think the drama kids couldhandle it. And I respect you too much to let the boys ogle their teacher.”
“Ha!” She scoffs, but the spray of freckles on her cheeks disappears in the redness cropping up. “We prefer the termtheater,not drama,” she says. “And you don’t have to pretend you respect me.”
“What makes you so sure I don’t?”
“Because.” She crosses her arms. “I just … am.”
“Well. I can hardly argue withthatkind of hard evidence.”
She shifts her weight. “Anyway, I only came in here because you’re not supposed to park in the district vehicle spot.”
“Please accept my deepest apologies,” I say. “If I promise to skip a shower and move my truck now, could you ever forgive me?”
I wave my workout towel like it’s a white flag of surrender, and Sayla takes a quick step to the side, knocking her bag off the weight bench.
Papers, pens, Band-Aids, and a couple clipboards scatter across the mat.
Now I feel bad.
“Oh, man. Sorry, Kroft.”
She ignores me and drops to the ground to scoop everything back into her bag. I squat to help her, and as I hand over one of the clipboards, our fingers accidentally brush. Heat bolts up my arm like I’ve just been electrocuted.
Sayla sucks in air too, her mouth in an O.
Then she scrambles to her feet, clutching her bag to her chest. “If you park in the district spot again,” she huffs, “I’ll report you to Mr. Wilford.”
“Solid plan.” I arch a brow. “You know what they say. The world loves a tattletale.”
“Argh!” She spins on a heel and stomps out of the weight room, her ponytail swinging. Meanwhile, I force myself tolook away from the sway of her hips. At the end of the day, I’m not here to objectify Sayla Kroft.
Not even if she hates me.
Especiallybecause she hates me.
After a thorough wipe-down of the machines, I head to the locker room for a quick shower, then I move my truck to the faculty lot. For the record, I never planned to stay in the district spot while classes were in session. But I had to be here early for a meeting with Wilford this morning anyway. And my gym really is closed. So I figured I’d kill a couple birds with one stone.
Park by the weight room.
Quick workout.
Move my truck.
Done and done.
Now that I’m safe from the wrath of Kroft, I drop by football practice to check in with the coaches, then head to the science building to grab my laptop from my office.
As athletic director, I could use the large space off the lobby in the gym, but I let the coaches share that. There are more of them than me, and all I really need is four walls and a little peace and quiet away from my classroom. My little office has enough space for a desk, plus a couple filing cabinets. One green plant I’ve managed to keep alive.
Green thumb. That’s me.
But if there’s one thing I won’t compromise on around here, it’s my commitment to what’s best for the athletic department as a whole.
