Hissy Fit (The Southern Gentleman #1)(7)

I glanced at the mother who was on her phone and clearly didn’t want to be bothered.

Some parents really had this drop-off line shit down. Their kids were dressed—with shoes on—and waiting patiently with their backpacks on their shoulders to be let out of the car.

And then there were people like Alfred and his mother. Alfred had to put on his shoes. Then he had to put his papers in his bag. Then he had to find the pencil that had rolled out of his seat and onto the floor somewhere. Then, finally, he’d come up to the front only to have to turn around and go back to the back for the backpack that he’d left behind.

I had to question why I was even over here in the first place.

I taught at the high school. But, once a week, I was forced to come over here since I was what was considered the ‘float teacher.’ After my morning classes, I was floated around to all the campuses.

Since the high school and the elementary campus were so close together, they didn’t see a problem with me having to come all the way over.

No other teacher had to do it.

Just me.

“Go, Tit!”

I blinked, then shook my head, thinking I was hearing things.

“All right, Tit!”

Tit?

Who was he calling Tit?

Alfred jumped down out of his mother’s van and landed straight on my foot.

I closed my eyes and tried not to cry out in pain, taking a step forward just as the boy’s mother practically peeled out of the parking lot in her haste to leave.

“Sorry, Tit,” Alfred apologized. “I didn’t mean to.”

I didn’t bother to ask him to clarify the ‘Tit’ name. There was no time.

I smiled through clenched teeth. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

But I’d get over it.

After walking Alfred up to the front walkway, I went back to my car lane and realized that Alfred was the last of the morning drop-offs.

How had I missed that?

I looked down at my watch.

I had exactly twelve minutes to go get my car and drive over to the high school to be on time for my first class.

I took a step in my car’s direction just as another voice had me stopping—this one a lot more welcoming than Alfred’s.

Not that Alfred bothered me—he just wasn’t this particular little girl.

“Hi, Ms. Crusie!” the little girl hollered.

I turned, a smile already on my face, and blinked rapidly.

Why?

Because little Moira Berey, Ezra’s niece, was standing there with none other than her Uncle Ezra right beside her.

“Hi, Moira!” I said, smiling a little bit shyly. “How are you today?”

My gaze went from Moira to her uncle, and I had to clench my belly in reaction to his beautiful eyes aimed my way.

Ezra McDuff’s eyes seemed to bore right through me, and I looked away.

It’d been a few weeks since our first encounter in his sex-ed classroom, and I had to say that I hadn’t faired any better in the weeks following that. The class never got easier, mostly because the topics got harder.

“Ms. Crusie, did you see my hooker boots?”

I blinked. “Your…what?”

“My hooker boots!” She turned and showed me her high-heeled boots, that were actually quite adorable on her, and preened.

I glanced from the ‘hooker boots’ to the uncle, and back again.

Ezra was too busy looking up at the sky to notice that I was staring.

“Moira, swear to God. I told you not to tell anybody that!”

My lips twitched.

“Why not? I love my hooker boots!” she paused. “But probably not as much as my shit-kickers. I can’t decide. I think I like my shit-kickers better because I can get dirty in them. Uncle Ezra said I can’t wear these when we’re at the park because I might step in goose shit.”

I covered my mouth when Ezra started to curse to the heavens.

“Um, darlin’?” I paused. “We probably shouldn’t say ‘s-h-i-t’ at school.”

“What does s-h-i-t spell?”

I bit my lip to keep the laughter from bubbling out.

“Shit.”

I wasn’t sure if she was cursing just to curse or cussing to explain the word I’d spelled. Either way, I couldn’t contain the smile.

“Alrighty, then,” I said as I smiled down at Moira. “I have to go to school, girl. Good luck on your spelling test today.”

“You have a spelling test today?” Ezra asked, sounding somewhat alarmed.

Thinking now was a good time to go, I hoofed it as fast as I possibly could across the parking lot and slid into my car without further ado.

After pressing the button on the dash that started my new vehicle up, a tap-tap-tap-brrrrrr sounded from it.

I frowned and tried again.

This time the screen on the dash said, “Key Fob Not Detected.”

“What do you mean the key fob isn’t detected?” I cried, holding the keys up in my hand and dangling them in front of the dash like the car might be able to see that it was, indeed, there.

Pressing the button again, I got another message—this one saying ‘Key Fob Battery Low.’

What the absolute fuck?

After one final try, I realized that it probably wasn’t going to happen.