He tapped my nose. “Technically, youdidn’tcatch me. I didn’t even know ifanywoman was there. I just thought it was possible.”
“Well, they were here, and I remembered why I said no sex in the first place.” I strolled into the guest bedroom. “Good night.”
Canaan followed behind me. “We also agreed that you spend every night inmybed.”
“I’m not sleeping in that bed.” I shuddered. “Gross.”
“Then we sleep in here.” He moved past me, pulled off his shirt, and dropped his shorts before I could protest. I caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs before he slid under the covers, just grateful he didn’t sleep in the nude.
I remained by the door, my arms folded, tapping my right foot, unsure of my next move. I didn’t feel like walking all the way back to my villa, and sliding into bed with analmostnude Canaan was akin to the snake offering Eve the apple.
“Get in the bed, Kensie. I’m too tired to fuck anyway, and I have more interviews in the morning. People don’t need to know we’re already fighting.” He turned to the other side with his back facing me. “See, I’m harmless. I can respect your wishes. Respect mine. Get in bed and go to sleep.”
I reluctantly eased into bed, wanting to take off my dress, but I wore a thong. No way in hell would he or I survive a temptation like that. So, I settled next to him, and surprisingly, my eyes became extremely heavy, and I fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 8
Canaan
The following morning, soft arms held my chest, and a thick thigh crossed over my groin area. Disoriented, I disentangled her limbs and looked back at the still-sleeping Kensie. My temples immediately pounded once I sat up and tried to piece together the previous night’s events. I still wore my boxer briefs, so we probably didn’t have sex. The last thing I recall was downing almost a fifth of bourbon and leaving the crew party, trying to erase my impulsive decision to announce my fake engagement to Kensie to the world. Something happened at some point for Kensie to end up in my bed. Maybe she found me passed out and stripped me since she slept in her dress. Or I probably said some shit I shouldn’t have that still turned her on, and we ended up in bed together . . . in the guest bedroom? I pushed out of bed, and the bright light squinted my eyes and intensified the pounding in my head. I had to lay off the hard liquor.
I opened the glass door to admire the ocean right outside the guest room. Warm sand squeezed between my toes. Less than forty-eight hours ago, my cell blew up with all those calls about that video. Some requested interviews. Some demanded answers. Especially my date that night at the restaurant, who wasn’t being interviewed to be my publicist. Since she luckily happened to be in marketing, I bought her silence. A few sponsors threatened to pull endorsements. One did. Yet, no calls from Kensie, whom I’d been convinced had found out about the camera and leaked the video, as my investigator told me that the man with Kensie at the restaurant was her friend and manager. The PI still needed to do more digging to determine who, when, and how the video was leaked. Disgusted that yet another person only wanted to use me, I’d turned off my phone, needing to focus on the race that would take me to Miami.
But when Kensie called my name in the stands yesterday, stunned at her unexpected appearance, my fury toward her had immediately vanished. I was that kid again, excited to open my Christmas gifts, unsure what to expect, yet knowing it would be magical. And on the track, I became even more motivated and inspired to win because she watched. Whether she understood or accepted it, Kensie had become my good luck charm, and I needed her in more ways than one.
My morning erection spoke, and I glanced back at Kensie, sprawled on my bed. As much as I wanted to wake her and entice her for sunshine delight, I had to get on the grind. I had eleven weeks to prepare for Miami and not fuck up with Kensie. I’d never practiced celibacy or monogamy, and Kensie demanded both. Well, she demanded celibacy, and I’d opened my big mouth out of jealousy. Then monogamy had been added to the equation.
She turned over, and a hint of her ample brown ass peeked from her raised dress. I could probably bounce a quarter off her bottom, and couldn’t wait to have another taste of Kensie. My manhood grew even stiffer, so I turned away. I would be monogamous, but I’d be damned before I remained celibate with that annoying, yet alluring, woman in my bed for the next three months. I would do all in my power to convince Kensie of the same. Even play nice to a woman who expected anything but.
On my way to the kitchen, I walked down the generously sunlit hall, where Ms. Murielle had prepared a large breakfast for me, Kensie, and the crew. The familiar, comforting smell of bacon frying wafted over me. I met the older woman when she worked for my father, who would often accuse me of stealing her away from him. However, Ms. Murielle asked to work for me four years ago, tired of my father’s bullish tone. Now, I gladly include Ms. Murielle as a part of my team, and she traveled with me during my long stints. Nearing sixty-eight, sooner or later, the intense traveling would be hard on Ms. Murielle. In the meantime, I would enjoy a taste of home whenever I visited other cities and countries for as long as I could.
As I entered the bronze-and-orange dining room, I greeted Malcolm, who enjoyed coffee, toast, and fruit. “I thought you were sleeping in?”
“Too much to do. We need to pack everything up and send it to Miami. Once we arrive in Miami, we’re supposed to meet with Gabriel and the Ferrari executives. This is big for me too, Canaan.” His dark brown face, which welcomed frowns more than smiles lately, seemed even more irritated.
I understood his nervousness. Malcolm had been asked to serve as the crew chief for the Ferrari team, not just my chief, during the Formula One season. An honor and a lot of pressure, as we were essentially creating a Black team in a world dominated by the wealthiest and the elite. Gabriel Marcel was a twenty-six-year-old Frenchman who was only the second Black man, after Lewis Hamilton, to participate in its seventy-five-year history. He started last season and placed in the top twenty, and would be my teammate to race in Formula One. Two unlikely men racing for our mark in history.
Squeezing his shoulder reassuringly, I plopped down next to him. “We just accomplished the impossible. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
“I sweat it because you don’t seem to care. Did I hear right when you said that woman would be traveling with us?” The edges of his mouth curved down as he switched the Rockets baseball cap backward across his short locs.
“Kensie,” I corrected.
Malcolm frowned and grudgingly continued, “Kensie is traveling with us to Miami? For how long?”
“The whole time. She might fly back and forth a time or two to Houston, but she’s going to be with me.” I poured myself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher in the center of the table, which was peppered with muffins, croissants, and toast. “She’s my good luck charm.”
“You mean your distraction? And since when do you want to be locked down by any woman? You run through women like yesterday’s bathwater. I’ve never even heard you mention her name before.” Malcolm was another person stolen from my father’s employment. He was a top engineer at J Oil Industries and worked closely with me on a pipeline project. After working together for over a month, we discovered that we shared a love of cars. I had just started racing professionally and needed a man who understood cars better than I did. Six years later, we’d become best friends and were considered a formidable pair in a racing world that typically didn’t include people who looked like us.
I shrugged and stared at my glass. “I would be more distracted if she went home. She’s important to me. I’ve known her for years, and we hooked up in Jamaica for New Year’s, and I haven’t been able to forget her.” I didn’t like lying to my friend, and as I addressed her presence, I realized I wasn’t. Kensie had become vital to me for some unexplainable, inexplicable reason.
Malcolm pushed back from the table. “You got a firecracker on your hand. If you mess over her with the women that like to pop up magically wherever we are, trust me, you’ll be distracted—or dead.”
“The hell?” I asked as my friend walked away.
Malcolm looked over his shoulder. “I forgot you were drunk. Don’t remember nothing about last night, do you?”
“Naw.”
