Quit Bein' Ugly (The Southern Gentleman 3)

“You know,” Mom said. “Jesus still knows that you mean the real F word. You might as well say it.”

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes.

“So, what do you think my grand gesture should be?” I wondered. “All I can think of is just going over there, telling her I’m sorry for being an ass, and hope that she lets me stay long enough to explain.”

“You could start there,” she suggested. “But I doubt she’ll believe you. That’s if she even listens.”

I looked at my pile of paperwork and felt my eye twitch.

“I’ll make her listen to me,” I said. “Any suggestions on the other stuff?”

“Just kidnap her!” my dad yelled from the background. “Put ‘er in your car and drive far away really fast. Take her to the middle of nowhere so if she does get out of the car when you stop, she’ll have nowhere to go. And while you’re at it, go ahead and pack a picnic lunch, find out her favorite food, and go to her favorite bakery and pick her up a cupcake. Bitches love cupcakes.”

“I cannot believe you just said that,” Mom said to my dad. “You can’t just kidnap a girl!”

I was laughing when I hung up.

The bad thing was, my dad’s suggestion really did have some merit.

My mother might not approve, but I sure the fuck did.

If she wouldn’t listen to me when I went by the gym after work, then there was definitely something else that I had on standby.

Let’s just hope that she didn’t make me go to the extreme measures.

• • •

By the time that the end of the day rolled around, the very last thing I wanted to do was work out.

That was why I went to work out.

I’d been a bitch this morning and had missed my usual workout because I’d been too fucking tired from only getting a couple of hours of sleep.

My tiredness fled as I walked out of the office and started to head down the steps toward my car that was farther down in the parking lot.

I’d just made it to the blacktop that was considered the parking lot when the shooting started.

At first, I wasn’t totally sure what I was hearing.

It took something slamming into my shoulder for me to really pay attention to what I was hearing.

It was when I fell to the ground in a puddle of my own blood that I realized that the sound that I was hearing wasn’t just some random loud noises. They were gunshots.

Which was really fucking stupid of me because I wasn’t unfamiliar with the sound.

I’d served five years in the military. I’d been on the skeet shooting team in junior high and high school. Hell, every fucking Saturday I went out with Flint and my dad and shot a couple of rounds of bullets through my concealed carry weapon just so I could keep my skills sharp.

I should’ve known.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

I’d been shot!

“Oh my God!” I heard Karen scream. “Croft!”

I had my phone in my hand and was dialing the cops before I even realized I was doing it.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been shot. I’m in the parking lot of my law firm.”

I then rattled off the address and where I was located.

More gunshots sounded and the ‘thunk-thunk’ of the bullet hitting the car beside my head was enough to have me moving even though I didn’t want to.

Getting to the point where I was wedged between the car and the curb, I closed my eyes and prayed that whomever was on their way would hurry.

Because as the numbness started to spread through my arm, and the blood from my shoulder started to seep into the collar of my shirt and around and down my back, I knew that I wouldn’t last here forever.

I was also quite pissed that I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Carmichael today.

God. Dammit.

CHAPTER 5

I’m yours. No refunds or exchanges.

-Text from Carmichael to Croft

CARMICHAEL

“All right, y’all! Good class! We’ll see you tomorrow!”

People rolled off the floor and started to walk toward the side tables where they’d left their belongings.

I used that few moments between classes to clean up all the barbells we’d used today, wiping them all down with Lysol wipes and doing a quick sweep and mop of the floor to clean up all the puddles of sweat and sweaty body imprints.

“You’re the devil,” Schultz grumbled. “Swear to fucking God.”

I laughed as he lurched his way toward his bag and snagged it before walking toward the bathroom.

He came to a sudden, bone jarring halt when he read something on his phone.

He whipped around and his eyes locked on mine.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Where’s Flint?” he asked.

I looked around, only then realizing that my brother hadn’t arrived yet.

He should’ve been here over twenty minutes ago to get started for the next class.