Side Hustle: An Opposites Attract, Sweet Southern Romantic Comedy: Schooled On Love, #2

By Kaci Lane

A single school teacher desperate to get ahead got way more than she bargained for when she started a side hustle.

 

She's a Hustle app driver. He's a detective on a case. And her most regular passenger is a criminal.

 

One minute Angie's counting her tips and the next, she's being frisked by handsome detective Trent Turner.

 

In different circumstances, she wouldn't have minded the attention of those piercing blue eyes, the feel of his hands, or even the sound of his voice. Except all he was interested in was wrapping her with wires and giving her instructions through an earpiece.

 

Good thing she's getting paid for this, because if there's anything more nerve-wracking than driving a criminal while secretly working with the cops, it's listening to a charming voice that makes her heart want to jump out of her chest . . .

 

If only this undercover job didn't depend on Angie keeping her feelings for Trent from spiraling out of control . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaci Lane
• Release date: Feb 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201986254

Book preview

Chapter One

Angie’s stomach twisted when her phone, once again, pinged out the familiar tone. She’d have to answer soon, but she couldn’t get caught checking her phone in class again. Not that her students would notice. By this time of day, their minds were set on the final bell. Except maybe for Johnny. He swayed behind the podium, his face reddening with each stanza he read.

Angie slid her arm over her phone to try and muzzle it. Another notification sounded, and Johnny jumped, sending scattered chuckles across the room. She pressed her lips together, then reached under her arm to push the silence button. Middle school sucked. Reading aloud was a rite of passage for students, but Angie still felt sorry for them. Remembering those days made her cringe.

The phone buzzed, louder than it had pinged. Silence, my rear end. Angie pulled open the bottom drawer to her desk. With her other arm, she slid the phone to the edge and let it drop into the drawer. A cushion of papers and Expo markers provided the noisemaker an ironically hushed landing. Just in case, Angie shimmied off her cardigan and wadded it on top. She pushed the drawer to close it, but it stuck halfway. She shoved harder, with no luck. Countless hours of cardio had done nothing for her strength.

As Johnny reached the last lines of his sonnet, Angie muscled out another solid shove. Whatever had been obstructing the drawer suddenly gave way, sending Angie’s thin frame to the floor. The impact of cold, hard tile hurled her stomach into her throat. Laughter filled the room. Her cheeks warmed at the realization that twenty sets of pubescent eyes had caught her fall. She quickly crossed her ankles, hoping none of them had caught a glimpse under her sundress. For the first time this semester, she had everyone’s attention.

Johnny stepped toward her and offered a hand. She took it, scrunching her brow at its moistness as he helped her to her feet. No doubt his discomfort far outweighed her own.

Angie smoothed her skirt and glared at the class, daring them to go on. A few kinder kids offered a sympathetic stare. Others fought to hold back muffled snickers.

She glanced at the clock hanging over the door frame. 2:50. Thank God.

Okay, let’s pick up where we left off tomorrow.

The bell promptly rang in agreement, and, like Pavlov’s dog, the kids rushed to the exit. She managed to wait until the last of the herd made it to the door before retrieving her phone.

Mario. Just as she’d suspected.

Angie bit her lip. Her fingers shook as she hurried to reply.

Yes. I can meet you in thirty minutes.

She drummed her fingernails on the scratched desk surface, waiting for an answer. What if he’d found someone else? She ran a palm across her face and imagined a hundred-dollar bill floating away.

The phone vibrated in her hand.

Gracias, Miss Angie.

Her shoulders relaxed for a brief second. Then, without a minute to spare, she gathered her belongings and sprinted to the parking lot.

Two hours later, Angie sat in her Honda with a crisp hundred-dollar bill folded between her fingers. Score. One step closer to earning her administrative degree and away from buying off-brand diet sodas. As Angie drove out of the airport parking lot, she imagined herself in an office with a door, drinking a real Diet Coke. But her dreams of running a school and adding a comma to her bank account were cut short when sirens flared behind her.

At first, she assumed it was for someone else. The airport didn’t sit on the best end of town. But seconds later, her rearview mirror flashed blue and red. Great. What had she done? She hadn’t been speeding. Angie engaged her blinkers and eased left onto a side street.

As she pulled to the side of the road, her hand instinctively went for lip gloss. A coping mechanism her cousin taught her for dealing with male cops. Erica’s Southern drawl echoed in her head: The prettier you look and the softer your charm, the more likely you’ll squeak by with a warning.

An unmarked SUV pulled up behind her with a man’s silhouette inside. Well, at least there was one thing in her favor. Not sure how far Erica’s sage advice would have gotten her with a female officer.

Angie rolled down her window and watched the reflection in her side mirror. The door of the vehicle opened, revealing a man so hot, he should’ve been illegal. A surge of nervous energy shot through her.

She quickly applied an extra coat of lip gloss and pulled out her ponytail, combing her fingers through her tangled brown strands. A quick peek in the rearview. Except for the crease from her ponytail, she looked . . . decent.

The man’s tall stature shadowed the sunlight lowering behind them, and his upper body had plenty of definition, as evidenced by the way his white dress shirt bulged at the shoulders. A handsome jawline was framed by military-short blond hair and Clark Kent glasses. An odd, yet attractive, combination. Angie cleared her throat, hoping to summon back the small-town accent she’d fought so hard to diminish.

She didn’t have to fake a smile when he bent to eye level. Even Mona Lisa would’ve flashed a pageant-winning smile at such a sight.

Ma’am, can you step out of the vehicle?

Angie smoothed her skirt and noticed the hundred dollars laying in her lap. She swept it to the floorboard and stepped out.

I know my car looks a little haphazard. She gestured toward the interior. I’ve had it since high school, and I’m in it a lot. Angie cringed at the sound of her voice. So much for her Southern belle in distress routine. More like the yelp of a wounded animal.

The officer scrunched his brows as his eyes scanned the hodgepodge of bags, pretzel crumbs, and papers that congested the front passenger seat. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but if he needed a comb, makeup, or perhaps a snack, he was sure to find any of that.

His eyes met