Of course, there was only one window that I knew of that could share a sugary-sweet view of Tacoma near the pool—the pool boy’s private room where he slept and dreamed.
Shame on me for thinking that I could enter there. Shame. Shame. Shame. It was his personal space. His private space. A locale specifically designed for the young man. His private domain. It would have been sinful for me to cross inside, passing through his entryway, driven by my hunger to spy on him. It would be a true invasion on my part if I carried out such a task. A travesty. A sin. Dishonesty at a full level. A red alert. A breach between employer and employee. Top-notch rudeness.
I wouldn’t enter his bedroom without him knowing.
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t betray him.