Chapter 10
Kensie
I’ll have to remind him to keep the PDA to a minimum, I mused while sitting in Canaan’s lap.
He had pulled me into his arms while he finished eating brunch.
His personal chef, Ms. Murielle, beamed contentedly as she refilled the glass pitcher of orange juice.
When she returned to the kitchen, I admonished him with a tap on his nose. “Isn’t this a bit much?”
He smirked. “You must not have ever been in love.”
“Because I don’t like PDA, you assumed that I’ve never been in love?” I scoffed. “Maybe I’m just private.”
“Says the woman who was all over me for the cameras yesterday. When you’re passionately in love, you can’t keep your hands off each other, no matter where you are.
If you’ve never been that way with a man, clearly you weren’t in love.
” He bit off a piece of vegan sausage and held it to my mouth. “Eat.”
I chomped a piece and quickly swallowed to protest. “Yesterday, you kissed me first and told me to pretend. I get we’re playing this couple madly in love, but I don’t want the lines to get blurred. You might get the wrong idea that I see you as potential.”
He chortled. “Baby, I’m every woman’s potential . . . every gay or bisexual man’s too.”
Biting back my giggle, I insisted, “Well, you’re not mine. I know heartbreak when I see it. What sane woman would set herself up that way?”
Canaan forked another bite of egg white and vegan cheese omelet. “Most of my twenty million followers.”
I groaned while attempting to move from his lap, and he held tighter. “So, I’m just supposed to sit here until you finish eating?”
“Yep. I like my women right up under me. Get used to it.”
My forehead wrinkled as I studied the contentment on his face. “You really don’t mind me being here? When you left the bedroom this morning, it felt like you were distancing yourself.”
He explained, “It’s what I do anytime I prepare for a race. I zone out, and no one else exists. It happens even when I think about the steps I need to take. Enjoy this moment because you will often be alone, even when we’re in the same room.”
“I don’t need you to entertain me. I have my own career and plan to use this time away wisely to make a serious dent in my dissertation.”
“How much longer?”
“I plan to defend by the end of the summer if I can get over this writer’s block.”
Canaan shrugged and sipped on his juice. “And if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world.”
Pressing my hand against his chest, I shook my head. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” He raised a brow.
“Dismiss my dream.”
“I wasn’t. Simply stating a fact that if you don’t finish in time, it’s not the end of the world. Learn not to place so much expectation in something over which you have no control.” He kissed my cheek.
Placated, I picked up my phone from the table and quickly snapped a selfie of us appearing cozy before he could protest. “Forewarned, I snap and post many pics on social media. I’ll ask before I post any of us.”
Canaan grumbled, “I hate social media.”
“I can tell. Who runs your account?”
He gulped his orange juice.
I gasped. “No way do you have time to do it right and do all that you do.”
“I do all right,” Canaan defended with an uncertain smile.
“It’s because you’re fine as fuck that you can get away with posting your own pics. Throw a few thirst-trapping shirtless pics, and you have millions of followers. You really should let me manage your account, at least while we’re together. Show you how it’s done.”
“Nope. Not trying to fight with you about all those DMs I get since you like to carve scars on women when you’re jealous.” His grip tightened around my waist, and he nuzzled his nose against my neck affectionately until I giggled.
“I wasn’t jealous,” I lied. “I was pretending so the women know not to come near you when I’m around.”
“Yeah . . . Okay.” Canaan grinned and grabbed a slice of apple.
“Don’t tell me you actually have reached out to some desperate woman who messaged you?”
“Sometimes I get bored.” Before I could retort, he pressed his lips against mine.
“No, Canaan.” I moved my head and half rose to make my escape. Ms. Murielle walked back into the room, and I dropped back into his lap. I rolled my eyes while Canaan’s bright eyes twinkled.
“You two remind me of me and my late husband. We couldn’t stay away from each other, either.” She winked before grabbing a half-eaten platter of spinach frittatas.
I jumped up to assist her. “I can get this.”
Ms. Murielle shook her head. “Enjoy your man while you can. This one stays busy. Besides, this is my job.”
“I don’t mind.” I picked up her plate. Canaan promptly took the plate from my hand and set it down.
“Well, I do.” Ms. Murielle firmly stated.
“Kens, she means it.” Canaan stood up and grabbed my hand. “Let’s leave Ms. Murielle in peace. We need to do some shopping.”
“Oh, you decided to come with, my lord?” I playfully bowed.
“Yeah, need to make sure you choose the right clothes. Your fashion is questionable,” he teased as he led the way.
Ms. Murielle commented, “Don’t let him insult you. He loves to get under your skin. From what I can see, you’re a beautiful woman with nice taste.”
“Don’t worry, I know how aggravating he is.” I pinched his firm, muscled side, and he yelped.
As we left the dining room, I asked, “How long has she worked for you?”
“According to my father, I stole her from him. She used to cook for him. I’ve known her since I was little. She travels with me when I leave Houston for extended periods. I have a sensitive stomach and can’t take the chance of what foods may do to me.”
I snickered. “Liar. You’re scared to try different foods. I can already tell you’re a picky eater. With all that food on the table, you ate an omelet and sausage and didn’t eat much in Jamaica.”
Canaan smiled. “In Jamaica, I only had an appetite for you.”
“Mm . . .” Swoon. I hid my blush by walking slightly ahead and snapping pictures of the house with my phone.
He opened the front door to a sun that draped our skins like clean laundry fresh from the dryer. “I do have a queasy stomach and allergies. I can’t afford to get sick while I’m training.”
“Then how do you drive at those speeds in a circle? I got motion sickness watching you on the track.” We still held hands, which I liked immensely. His palm was smooth yet firm and comforting.
“When I’m on the track, it’s like I’m in a different realm.
Like nothing that bothers me in life affects me at all when I’m racing.
It’s my escape.” He released my hand as we climbed into a golf cart to take us out of the resort to his leased sports car.
Before I could snap my seat belt, he took off suddenly, and I fell against him. “Hold on.”
“Why are you such a boy?” I bit the inside of my cheek to stop my smile when he used the slip to throw his arm around my shoulders. If anyone had told me that Canaan Jackson was fun to be around, I would have scoffed loudly in disbelief.
“Mind if I do a quick live?” I lifted my cell to my face.
“Do I have a choice?” he frowned.
“Nope. This helps us both, remember?”
I clicked on my phone, adjusted the straps on my sundress, and positioned the phone to capture Canaan driving the cart. “Hey . . . We’re still in Daytona on our way to town for a little shopping. This man even speeds in a golf cart, and I’m holding on for dear life.”
Canaan winked at my phone. “Yet, she’s managing to hold on to her cell. She can’t let anything happen to her precious baby.”
I tilted the phone so viewers could see my feigned annoyed face. “He’s jealous of my phone.”
“Not jealous. Speaking the truth. I have no idea where my phone is, and hers is glued to her hip. She carries her phone into the shower,” accused Canaan.
“Next to the shower. Not in.” Comments scrolled by. “No, Maria, I’m not going to show Canaan naked. He’s forever off-limits. Yes, it is beautiful here, Tangi5. Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Missy.”
Canaan squinted at the number of viewers. “Damn, girl. You have six hundred thousand people watching us right now?”
“Yes, and all because you want to make me your wife.” I leaned my head on his shoulder with the beautiful backdrop of the resort.
“They want to be a part of this journey with us. This is my first . . . correction . . . our first day on our new adventure. I’ll frequently post, and for the next three months, as Canaan Jackson prepares to make history. ”
Canaan turned his attention back to the path, and his mood cooled again.
My stomach lurched, and I kept the phone focused on me to keep my followers from seeing his wrinkled forehead.
“We’re about to go into town to pick up a few things because we leave tomorrow for Miami.
Yes, Miami. We have to be there for three months while he trains for his F1 race.
” My eyes followed the comments. “We’ll do more lives when the time is right.
Canaan has to stay focused, and I’m here for support.
Make sure you follow and tell your friends to follow. Talk to you later. Out.”
Canaan remained quiet when I clicked off and pulled into the parking lot beside his red Maserati. He jumped onto the driver’s side and didn’t bother to open the passenger door for me.
“Guess you’re only a gentleman when people watch,” I commented when I snapped my seat belt.
“We’re fake, right?” He waved his hand slightly, and the engine roared to life.
“Yeah, but I thought we were vibing.”
He quirked a naturally arched brow. “I thought we were too . . . until I realized all this is an act for you.”
“What does that mean?”
Canaan slanted his gaze for a long pause before he replied, “Nothing. We’ll keep it simple like you wanted. No PDA. When we get into town, I’ll drop you off wherever you want to go, and I’ll pick you up later. Don’t take all day because I need my rest.”
I pointed at his face. “This . . . This attitude is what I’m talking about. Trust me, you’re not in a zone. You’re just being an asshole.”
“Isn’t that what you think of me anyway?” Canaan shifted gears and blasted some rap song obnoxiously loud as he sped to town.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Three months. Correction: eleven weeks. I wasn’t sure which would be harder to survive: our fiery chemistry or his mercurial mood.