Lord Have Mercy (Southern Gentleman 2)

Her eyelashes lay like tiny little fans against the tops of her cheeks. The bags under her eyes looked dark and deep, and I wondered if she’d slept like shit last night or multiple nights.

My guess it was multiple nights. Bags that deep didn’t happen overnight.

She probably wouldn’t tell me even if I’d asked.

I’d had to practically kidnap her to get into her house.

Finding a comfortable spot, I hooked my foot underneath the coffee table and dragged it to me. Once it was close enough, I shifted both of my feet onto the pristine wood.

I noticed that about all her furniture. It all looked like she hadn’t so much as used it.

The difference between her place and my place was comical. Where she had not a single thing out of place—which was a direct contradiction to her car—I had shit everywhere. I folded my clothes on the couch, and most of the time I just left them there, too.

My kitchen counters had papers everywhere and let’s not even get me started on my fucking desk. My office, in general, was a goddamn nightmare.

While Camryn was changing into the sweatpants and massive T-shirt that was at least five sizes too big for her, I’d taken a look through the rest of her place. It looked unused.

The desk was there. The shelves were lined with books. But the books looked unread.

I flipped the channel to the History channel, stopping short when I saw the Vikings show my sister loved.

Me, I didn’t see the big deal. Honestly, it was a good show, but I didn’t see the reason for the complete and utter devotion that so many women gave to it—least of all my sister.

She would say, ‘But, Flint, look at all the beards!’ She had said that so many times before she had begun to annoy me.

But, since I’d gone through the entirety of Camryn’s cable subscription and didn’t see a single thing I wanted to watch more, I set the remote down on the edge of the couch and shifted slightly once more.

When she moaned and shifted, her hair falling into her face, I found myself moving without telling myself to.

Her hair had shifted to cover her mouth and part of her nose, and I curled my fingers around the strands, surprised when I felt how soft it was.

Enraptured now, I tugged lightly on her ponytail. Excitement and awe flowed through my veins as her hair tumbled out of the ponytail and fell to drape across my lap.

A curl had fallen to run the length of my zipper, and I had a fleeting thought wondering what it would feel like to have her hair draped across my bare thighs.

She’d be so fucking soft. I knew it.

Unable to help myself now, I sifted my hand through her hair, tugging lightly to work the tangles out.

I did this absently as I watched the rest of the show, and periodically looked down just to study her face.

Once I got my fill, I’d return my gaze to the screen only to glance down just because I could.

It was as the show was ending and the main character was screaming as they charged into battle that I glanced down and saw her eyes open and on me.

They were soft, and she had a small smile on her face.

“I like my hair played with,” she said. “I especially like it when I don’t have to ask.”

I grinned at her. “Flint Stone, at your service.”

She snickered. “That’ll never get old.”

I didn’t doubt that it would. She was amused by the smallest of things.

“I’m starving,” I told her, still playing with her hair.

She rolled until she could see the clock in the kitchen, and then squinted.

“It’s eleven at night…”

I shrugged. “My stomach doesn’t care that it shouldn’t be eating. Are you hungry?”

Please say yes!

“Yes,” she answered.

I tugged lightly on her hair to tilt her head back. “I can cook some eggs, or we can go to Whataburger.”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”Chapter 8How do you measure how heavy a red hot chili pepper is? Give it a weigh, give it a weigh, give it a weigh now.

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Camryn

I was at Whataburger, at twelve in the morning, breaking my diet like a motherfucker, and enjoying every single second of it.

I was laughing my ass off at some joke that Flint had just told me, and genuinely enjoying every second of my time with him.

“Why can’t you fight a Tyrannosaurus Rex?” he asked.

I sucked the ketchup off my fry and pursed my lips in thought.

His eyes narrowed on my mouth.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, bringing my sweet tea up to my lips. “Why?”

“Because you’d get Jurasskicked.”

I spit my tea all over the floor as I started to laugh.

“It’s coming out of my nose!” I giggled, trying to stop, but unable to.