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Lord Have Mercy (The Southern Gentleman #2)
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Poor judgment: knowing better yet doing it anyway.
Flint Stone is a professional in every way.
He’s a police officer with the K-9 unit and works at Gun Barrel High as the school resource officer. In his spare time, he’s working his heart out to create a successful gym from the ground up.
He’s loved by every single person he ever encounters—student, faculty, and employees—Everyone but Camryn Elvis Presley.
The only thing they have in common is their mothers’ poor excuses for names.
So why is it every time she crosses his path that he has the urge to mess up her perfectly curled hair? Or unbutton a few of her prim and proper buttons?
He knows he should stay away, yet like the high schoolers he’s around every day, he has no choice but to react first and think about the consequences later.
Side note—bad decisions are made, leading to lapses in judgment that threaten both of their jobs. Yet when the time comes, neither one can seem to find the wherewithal to care. Why? Because being bad feels so good.
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It’s not every day you get to tell someone ‘go fuck yourself’ and get arrested for it.
-Camryn’s secret thoughts
I grinned at the new teacher. His name was Carver Brown, and he was everything that a woman looked for when she was choosing a life mate.
He was sexy, had a very high IQ, and didn’t call me annoying.
No, who did call me annoying was the school resource officer, Flint Stone.
Flint was the total opposite of Carver.
Carver was on the shorter side of six feet, had long limbs and was leanly muscular, and he was a blond with soft, creamy white skin. He even had freckles.
I loved his freckles.
I had freckles. What’s not to love about freckles?
Yeah, Flint didn’t have freckles.
In fact, Flint was so beautiful it took my breath away…until he opened his mouth.
Flint was tall—way taller than Carver. He towered over Carver’s mere six feet in height. I had to only assume that he was at least five to six inches greater in height.
And oh, the muscles. Flint wasn’t whip-cord lean like Carver. He was big, muscular, and looked like sometimes he’d like to squeeze my head in between those big ass hands until I grew some sense.
But I did have sense, dammit!
I was just a befuddled mess around the man.
I mean, it wasn’t every day that a person hated you just on general principle!
But, for some reason, Flint did.
He hated me, and I hadn’t a clue as to why.
“Seriously, woman. Just move the damn car!” Flint growled.
I would have.
Really, I would have.
But his goddamn K-9 partner, who hated my guts, growled at me.
I froze in the process of taking another step in the direction of my vehicle.
So I might, or might not have, rear-ended Officer Meaniehead when I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should be.
I hadn’t meant to, honest.
But, like always when I came into contact with Flint Stone, aka only ‘call me Officer Stone, Ms. Presley,’ I lost my damn mind when he was around.
I had no explanation as to why, either.
It’s just like something in my brain stopped working properly when my body and mind realized he was close.
Like kind of what happened just a few minutes ago.
I’d been driving along, minding my own business, ready to get back to work after an extremely short summer vacation, and had been driving the speed limit for once.
Then, the light had turned red, and I’d automatically assumed that the dumbass—Flint, though I didn’t know it was him at the time—would go through the light since he was already practically in the intersection.
Except, he’d stopped.
And I hadn’t.
At least not until my front bumper made contact with his back bumper—in his police cruiser of all things.
To make matters worse, Carver had been directly behind me and had seen the entire thing.
Which led us to now.
I was told to move my car to the side of the road because we were blocking traffic, but each time I went to move, the K-9 officer from hell named Dooley would growl at me and make fear rip at my heart.
See, there weren’t many things that I was afraid of.
Dying while a large piece of plate glass falls on me from eighteen stories up, logs rolling off a log truck, being accidentally hung, and an airplane crash—all thanks to watching Final Destination at an impressionable age—and by a dog attack were all on my top five list.
Why was I worried about a dog attack?
Because when I’d been fifteen, an officer had brought a K-9 officer into my house on a search warrant that’d been issued on the wrong house, and when I’d tried to run like any rational human being that’d had someone slam into their house while they were minding their own business enjoying their evening. I panicked and the K-9 police dog had tried to apprehend my fleeing form.
I now had fear of dogs, in general, to show for it.
Flint sighed and put his dog back into the cruiser that he’d already moved to the side of the road, and I chose to dive into my car before he changed his mind.
After moving my vehicle over, I remained inside for a few long seconds as I tried to calm my erratic heart rate.
God, I wasn’t sure if it was Flint’s nearness, or his dog’s.
Either way, I wasn’t sure that I could get out of the car again.
My legs weren’t working properly.
“Let’s go, Ms. Presley,” Flint drawled from outside my window.
I opened my eyes and saw him standing there glaring at me through the cracked window and wondered how in the hell I was supposed to function with that much hate aimed toward me.
I crossed my arms and gave the woman my most patient look and saw her shiver.
After a few more long seconds, she exited the car once again and stared at me like I was about to hit her at any second.