Chapter 19
Kensie
“Morning. Sending apologies to those who tuned in to my live last night to see me.” Canaan dragged his hand over his head as he smiled sheepishly at my phone.
“I got caught up with practice, and it’s not just an excuse.
” He looked pointedly at me. We sat beside each other in the sunroom, eating breakfast to the soothing sounds of the ocean and the warmth of the bright daylight.
“It’s been a real challenge preparing for this race.
Not only is it my first Formula One, but it’s also the first time I’m working on a sponsored team with a new driver to me.
Not to mention that this is my first race on a city street.
The race in Miami, like most Formula One races, takes place on the streets rather than on a track.
My practice is simulated through technology and on a makeshift track because I won’t be able to practice on the actual route in the actual car until the weekend of the Grand Prix.
So, my bad again for missing out on what I’m sure was a good time. ”
I pouted at the screen. “Y’all, Canaan forgot about us. We’ll forgive him because he is aiming for greatness.”
Canaan slung his arm around my neck and pressed a slow kiss on my cheek.
“I made it up to her last night.” His easy, flirtatious manner had always appealed to me, even back in the day when I didn’t like him, and he was laying it on thick this morning, not just to my followers but to me.
He’d been extra attentive and flirty since I woke up later than usual, surprised that he was still there and not gone for the day.
He’d said he didn’t want to leave without knowing we were good.
The thoughtful gesture alone slicked my panties and drew my heart closer.
I blushed while Canaan chuckled at some of the naughty comments on how my followers believed that Canaan made it up to me.
I intervened before the comments really got out of hand.
“All right...all right... It’s way too early to be talking like this .
. . and he has to go. TTY Later.” Canaan waved before I clicked off and reached for his passion fruit juice.
I grabbed his chin. “Why are you so cute? Ugh . . . It’s like I want to stay mad, and you refuse to let me.”
“I need my Kens happy.” His gaze drifted to my exposed cleavage. “And I really do need to go before I take you on this table and forget our agreement.”
Before more heat could rise again between us, I released his chin and took his glass out of his hand to drink. “Have you considered my idea?”
“I don’t think people watching me drive laps will help ease my nerves.” Canaan slid his empty plate toward the center of the table. This morning, he had explained that he had retightened his focus at practice, which was the only reason he’d forgotten about my live.
“This is my suggestion for a way to solidify your fan base and to help your practice. The last time I attended, you cooked. You need the energy of a supportive crowd to motivate you. The fans also need to understand that this isn’t a frivolous sport for white folks.
” I wiped the corners of my mouth with a linen napkin before perching on the edge of the table beside where he sat, my bare legs grabbing his attention.
“Eyes up here, Canaan.” I teased.
“Then don’t tempt me.” His strong hand rubbed my thigh, and I fought the urge to squeeze my legs. “Kens, if we invite our followers to see me practice, they’ll want my autographs and pics. I’m on the grind, and every second counts.”
“You’ve forgone practice for photoshoots and commercials before.
This is no different.” I removed his distracting hand.
“If you want to build your brand as this world-renowned race car driver, you have no choice but to play nice with your fans. I’ll create a couple of graphics to post. I’ll also do a live later this evening when I know more people are watching, and I’ll invite them to see you practice next Saturday.
A crowd rooting for you motivates you. It’s your home-court advantage in Miami.
Gives you a chance to drive before the race in front of a crowd.
It’s a win-win, Bae-Be.” I raised my hands and swirled my hips.
His eyes followed my movements as he drank a purple passion juice designed to invigorate the senses, kissed my thigh, and rose from the table. “I’ll talk to Malcolm and see if he agrees.”
I threw a croissant at his head, and he deftly caught it. “Stop it. I know for a fact you do whatever the hell you want. You’re the boss. Like, I really think you’ll ask Malcolm for permission. So annoying . . . yes or no?”
“How can I resist you looking like this?” Canaan tugged on my braids, which I’d parted into two ponytails, and kissed my bare shoulder exposed in my strapless pink romper. “Set it up, and I’ll make sure to join you on your live this evening too.”
“Thank you.” I squealed and hugged his neck.
He firmly cupped my ass. “Taking you out afterward. Wear something sexy. Not for the media. Just you and me tonight. You good with that?”
Canaan didn’t wait for an answer as he strode out of my view, and shortly after, the front door closed.
Only then did I jump around in excitement.
We’d been in this majestic place for almost two months, and he and I hadn’t spent a moment alone outside of this house since we arrived, except for the occasional trip to the beach and his birthday.
Granted, the beauty of the seven-bedroom, eight-bathroom space left little to be desired.
The golden bathtub built into the floor, the sixteen-head shower that hit every inch of your body, the spacious and colorful rooms, the pristine white and gold elegant dining room, the walk-around balcony which opened to the endless pool, the manicured lawns, the sapphire blue sea beyond, and the list goes on.
Even expensive cars, a private chef, and a Black Card at my disposal to use whenever I hit the streets of Miami were at my fingertips.
I was living the dream, even if temporarily.
After my trip to Houston, I was inspired to write again and finally had a routine.
Wake up with Canaan for meditation and smoothies, exercise in the home gym, explore Fisher Island, or catch a ferry back to Miami’s mainland to work in a cafe.
Arrive back at the house in time to help Ms. Murielle with dinner for the team.
Loving my routine, the mix of city and small-town life within minutes of each other, every day had been an adventure—an adventure I captured in my writing.
Dr. Radi had informed me yesterday that our article on the residual impact of slavery on Black love had been nominated for a prestigious American Sociological Association Award.
I was also on track to complete my dissertation in the summer, as I had initially planned.
Lastly, I’d been pitching my dissertation to the publisher of my first book, which explores overcoming broken family bonds to establish healthy, intimate love.
Ms. Murielle had become my new best friend, hitting the streets together on weekends to shop for special recipes and clothes.
The older woman had taken a liking to me.
She once told me over lunch that she appreciated my Southern charm and manners and that I was a good match for the man she’d known since he was a boy.
From Ms. Murielle, I gleaned stories of Canaan’s youth and how rambunctious and hyper he’d been.
Often impulsive and reckless, though always brilliant and respectful to Ms. Murielle, he’d been raised by his maternal grandparents in Barbados and would visit his father during the summers in Houston.
His island lilt seemed to appear either when he was angry or teasing.
Either way, I found his background and the man himself sexier as I learned more about him each day.
Instead of maintaining an emotional distance, I grew closer to him, proud of his determination and grind.
I didn’t mind his long hours or that he was often preoccupied once he returned home because he needed that focus to excel in his craft.
Although not physically risky, deciding to write self-help books about love and being a social media influencer hadn’t been an easy route for me.
Despite how I appeared to the world, I was introverted and preferred reading to parties and public speaking.
Three years ago, I spent weeks refining my knowledge of the latest styles, beauty, and dating tips to complement my research on social interaction and mating, ultimately creating a bestseller, Healthy, Slutty Love.
An improv class helped me loosen up and become comfortable publicly sharing myself.
Saraj had been my biggest cheerleader and helped me rebrand myself as an extrovert.
Maybe that’s why, after all these years, Canaan noticed me.
And why, at times, I didn’t seem genuine to him.
Emme had caught the eye of Canaan Jackson because of her popularity across campus, and now, he preferred the fierce, extroverted me I’d become for my career. Would he still want the reserved me that I truly was?
The Canaan of eight years ago was handsome, intelligent, and wealthy.
All the women on campus wanted a piece of him, except me.
I saw right through him and had decided that I’d rather be alone than be with a man who couldn’t and wouldn’t be faithful.
I’d warned Emme that he would hurt her, and a year later, she caught him with another woman at a club.
What hurt Emme the most was that he didn’t try to fight for her or beg forgiveness.
They argued at the club, and she screamed that she was done with him.
Canaan callously walked away with the other woman.
I watched Emme cry herself to sleep for three months straight before she started being more and more of herself.