Lord Have Mercy (The Southern Gentleman #2)(3)

Camryn’s lips peeled up at the edges in the cutest goddamn smirk I’d ever seen.

God, I wanted to kiss that mouth.

“Oh my God, Flint!” Nivea practically yelled through my phone that I’d somehow answered in my haste to ignore the call. “I’ve been trying to call you for ten minutes!”

I brought the phone up to my mouth and said, “Now’s not a good time, Nivea.”

Actually, I’d only been feeling the vibration of her call for the last two, and I’d already told her I was fucking busy.

I was so goddamn done.

Soon, I was having a talk with her, and soon, I’d break it off seeing as at this point, all she did was annoy the fuck out of me.

It didn’t matter how good her mouth was, or how great she felt wrapped around my cock. She wasn’t worth all this bullshit she was putting me through.

“Oh my God, Flint,” Camryn mocked. “You didn’t answer her quick enough. You should buy her a donut and apologize.”

I narrowed my eyes at Camryn. “Don’t start.”

She held up her hands and said, “I didn’t start anything.”

Apparently, Camryn and Nivea did not get along. Not even a little bit.

I wondered why, but without actually holding a conversation with Camryn, it wasn’t likely that I’d ever know exactly what had happened between them.

Nivea, of course, had her explanations, but I didn’t believe them for a second.

She’s so rude and crass. Between her and her friend, Raleigh, I don’t even know why I try to be friends. They look at me like I’m dumb.

I had a feeling that it wasn’t Camryn and Raleigh being rude, it was Nivea.

“Who is that?” Nivea’s voice rose in volume. “Are you with her?”

I groaned audibly and said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Then I hung up again, this time being sure to flip it not only to no ringer but no vibration as well.

Camryn’s lip twitched. “You do know, right, that she’s going to throw a hissy fit. My guess is she’s already halfway here with the hounds of Hell at her heels, ready to do battle.”

I grunted out a reply, then walked back to my car. “Bring me your license and insurance.”

“You can go ahead, Carver. We’ll be there momentarily,” Camryn said.

Carver went to protest—at least from what I’d heard since I didn’t bother to turn around to look at them—and Camryn made a sound in the back of her throat. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. Swear.”

Carver made an aggravated sound that resembled choking. Moments later, I heard his car start up, and the engine had this groaning swish, and I realized that his fucking car was electric.

The weirdo had an electric car.

What the fuck?

I pulled out my ticket book and started to write a ticket, wishing that I hadn’t had to do this right now. I had plans later, and I wanted to go straight to the gym after this stupid, pointless meeting that I was required to go to by the principal of the school. But now I’d have to stop by the station and fill out a report, as well as let my supervisor know that I was rear-ended.

I could just see the look on Pessy, my lieutenant’s, face now. He was going to be pissed.

Luckily, all the damage that was done was a small scrape of yellow paint from Camryn’s front bumper. Her car, on the other hand, had quite a bit more damage.

I turned, ticket in hand, only to stop short of taking a single step because Camryn was standing right there, inches away from me, staring at me with anger written all over her face.

“Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Sign at the bottom.”

She glared at the ticket book I was holding out to her, and then snatched it from my hands.

She didn’t flat out tell me ‘fuck you,’ but her actions spoke louder than actual words.

After scratching out a quick, barely legible signature, she practically shoved the book back in my chest.

I had to fight the urge to smile.

I liked her spunk.

Even more, I liked the way she looked when she was glaring at me.

“Anything else, Officer Flintstone?”

I barely held back the smile that threatened to break free at her words.

“Very original,” I said. “But you do realize there’s a whole other name in between my first name and my last, correct?”

“Actually,” she said, saccharine sweet. “I didn’t.”

“Flint Dagus Stone,” I told her.

She frowned. “Dagus? What kind of name is Dagus?”

She had the nerve to talk.

“What kind of name is Camryn Elvis Presley?” I countered.

She gasped.

“How did you know that was my name?” she demanded, irate.

“I know because I know shit.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Now, go get in your car and get going. And watch the traffic. Try not to hit me again.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I wanted to reach out and poke her in the forehead.

Instead, I settled for a tilt of my chin in the direction of her car.

She stomped off in a huff. “I hope you’re happy.”

The moment she got into her car, she threw the ticket on the floorboard and started her car.

Moments later, she pulled out and flipped me off for good measure.