Queen of His Heart (8 page)

Hours later, she slowly woke up, stretching and smiling. Her body was sore and tingly, but in a good way. She peeked over at the clock and saw that it was well past noon. But she didn't care. Jalila closed her eyes, stretched again and rolled over to reach for that incredible lover who had made her feel like a woman again.

However, her hand hit nothing but empty space. One eye peeked open and then the other. “Keenan?” She sat up and blinked in surprise to see Cujo lying at the foot of the bed.

Woof!

Now why did it sound like he'd just called her a fool?

T
wenty-four hours after that amazing sex-fest, Jalila was still waiting for Keenan to call. This particular situation was a first for her. Not that she hadn't ever had a one-night stand. She had—complete with awkward breakfasts at the local IHOP where they would each pretend that they were actually going to continue seeing one another. But this was actually a guy sneaking out of her house while she was still asleep. That was foul. “Wait. You don't know whether he
snuck
out,” she reasoned aloud. “He could have been called away on business.”

It was a shaky excuse at best, but it was one that she was desperately clinging to at this point. She was on entirely new ground and she didn't know what to do. Her first inclination was to call him, but that didn't
seem right. He'd left
her
bed. Therefore, he should call her. She was certain that was in the rule book somewhere.

After forty-eight hours, Jalila was concerned.

After seventy-two hours, she was pissed.

Needing to vent, Jalila grabbed her camcorder. “All right, YouTubers, this is your girl, Jalila,” she said tightly. “I know it's been a while since I've done a video, but your girl has been running around lately. You know how it is. Anyway, let me cut to the chase. Right now, I'm pissed the eff off.” Jalila recounted the entire evening. Cujo's birthday, Guy X dropping by, dinner, margaritas, music, dancing. “I'm telling you, I couldn't have dreamed a better evening,” she said. “Next thing I know we're kissing, right? And then he's carrying me up to my room like I'm Scarlett O'Hara in damn
Gone with the Wind.

“But none of that had jack to do with what came next,” she admitted, staring into the camera lens. “Giiirrrlzzz, when I tell you that brother man
put it down
, I mean brother man put it down.” She clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “I'm screaming, he was growling and the dog was barking. It sounded like animal kingdom up in here.” She shook her head and held up her hand like she was in the middle of church service. “So, after we're going at it for a couple of
hours
and I pass the eff out, how come this brotha creeps out of here like the police showed up at the door?

“Gone. Ghost. I mean, am I that chick that gets played like that? Yeah, I've put up with my share of
losers, shoe-sniffers and the like, but
damn
. Hell, the only thing that was missing was money on the nightstand. Look, I am a strong—and I do mean strong—black woman and you know what? My ass is still waiting for the phone to ring. How pathetic is that?

“I don't know. Maybe he's waiting for me to call him. But I ain't calling. Why should I call? He's Mr. Lightfoot.” She shook her head. “And before you ask, his butt hasn't been in no accident. I've checked all the hospitals and called all the police stations. Bottom line, brotha man rolled up in here, hit it and then quit it. Now I'm stuck looking like Boo Boo the Fool.”

Disgusted with herself, tears glossed her eyes. “You know what? I'm gonna have to holler at y'all later. I'm too emotional right now.” She turned off the camera. She knew without looking that the recording was way too long and that she would never upload the video to her channel—especially since Keenan viewed her channel. Right now it just felt good to vent.

Her waiting game continued.

 

“You slept with your producer?” Fantasia shouted wide-eyed in the middle of Las Brisas restaurant.

Jalila wanted to crawl under the table.

“When the hell did this happen?” Martina snapped, whipping back her ice-blue hair.

Jalila forced a casual shrug. “Last week. And he's my
ex
-producer. No way am I going to do that show now.”

Martina continued to look incredulous. “After all that time I put in vetting those men? Oh, you're doing the show.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I just told you why not. Weren't you listening?” Jalila's irritation mounted.

Martina chuckled. “No. You just told us how you got laid—and surprise, surprise, you still ain't got a man.”

“Ouch.” Jalila flinched.

“Martina, behave,” Fantasia chastised.

“What? I'm just telling it like it is. The whole point of this was for her to find herself a man, a soul mate, a husband. At least that's what y'all told me. Now if you're saying that you don't want that—cool. You know how I feel about a brotha puttin' a sista on lock anyway. Frankly, I'm tired of hearing the girl whining all over town and on the Internet about how she can't find nobody.
But
if this is something that you still want, why are you going to let some fancy Hollywood producer play you? You better get your head in the game.”

Jalila shifted in her chair, listening.

“Do the show,” Martina insisted. “Prove to Mr. Hollywood that one monkey don't stop no show.”

Fantasia glanced over at Jalila. “I hate to admit it, but she has a point.”

Jalila didn't want to, but she felt herself begin to sulk. “If I do the show then that means that I'll have to see him again.”

“Not necessarily. Given how he hasn't called you back, he'll probably steer clear of you.”

Despite trying to put on a brave face, Jalila's anger gave way enough for her to admit the awful and embarrassing truth. “You ladies just don't understand.”

“Make us understand.” Fantasia reached over and covered her hand.

“It's just that—that night…”

“Yeah?” Martina and Fantasia leaned in.

Jalila still fumbled for the right words.

“He was good, wasn't he?” Martina guessed with a wicked smile creeping across her lips. “Go ahead. Tell the truth and shame the devil. He knew his way around a bedroom, didn't he?”

“The bedroom? Hell, my body,” Jalila finally confessed. “Girlz, that man had me doing things I had no business doing the first time with a man.”

“Whoooooo!” Martina screamed and then clapped her hands and stomped her feet. “I
knew
it. I knew it just by looking at his fine ass that he could lay the pipe.”

The other diners swirled their heads in their direction.

“Will you keep it down?” Jalila asked, her face burning with embarrassment.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,” Martina carried on.

Fantasia bobbed her head in shy agreement. “The thought
did
cross my mind.”

“Well, at least one of us got his butt,” Martina said. “I know I was sweating him myself.”

Jealousy kicked Jalila in the gut. “You were?”

“You weren't?” Martina tossed back at her. “The man is gorgeous. Broad shoulders, big chest and an ass I betcha I can bounce a quarter off. How could a woman not look at him and think of sex? Shoot, I bet he could power drill—”

“Okay. Okay. I get it.” Jalila paused. “And yes he can.”

“Whoooooooo!” Martina screamed.

Jalila and Fantasia laughed.

“So you're going to do the show?”

Jalila was tempted. “Maybe I'm just embarrassed by how much of a ho I acted like.”

“See. That's why you don't have your kitty-kat on lock that long. Can't let that pressure build like that. It ain't natural. Sheeeit. You sure he snuck out? Maybe the paramedics carried him out. You check the hospitals?”

Jalila cracked up.

“I can see him now, lying in a hospital bed with a broke dick.”

The girls howled until there were tears running down their eyes. Jalila needed this, and after an hour of female bonding, her confidence was restored. Maybe Martina was right. Heck, maybe she was the one that was reading too much into what had happened the other night. There were no promises made, no vows broken. It was just…sex. Nothing more—nothing less.

“I'm so glad that I talked to you girls about this.”

“That's what we're here for,” Fantasia said. “Does this mean that you'll do the show now?”

“Well, since I still don't have a man—I don't see why not.”

“Then let's make a toast.” Martina held up her glass.

Jalila and Fantasia followed her lead.

“To Jalila, may she find her soul mate on
Queen of Hearts
.”

“I'll drink to that,” Jalila said and then tipped her glass against theirs. Who knew, maybe it just might happen.

 

Keenan felt like an asshole—and that was putting it mildly.

Every time he picked up the phone to call Jalila, he hung up. What exactly was he going to say?
Hey, thanks for that night of incredible sex but I'm just not looking for a relationship right now?

The words were true, but complicated by the fact that he knew that she
was
looking for a relationship—a relationship that he was supposed to be helping her find.

For the past week, Keenan hadn't been able to concentrate on anything. His mind just kept playing that wonderful night over and over in his head. No one woman had the right to taste and feel that damn good. Not to mention the number of times he'd had tears in his eyes.

Tears!

Oh, no. He shook his head. The situation just wouldn't work. He'd vowed five years ago that he would never let a woman leave him strung out again. Besides, he knew what Jalila was all about. She wanted the whole enchilada: the ring, the house, the two-point-five children. Keenan had already tried that path before. It wasn't for him.

His interest in Jalila Goodwyn started and ended with a television series. Business. Nothing more.

Then why the hell were you so eager to take her to bed?

“Hell, she's beautiful,” he argued with himself. “We'd been drinking and then the music and then…I kissed her.” He swallowed the thick lump clogging his throat as he remembered. “And…damn the things she could do with her mouth.” He expelled a long sigh and his body shuddered with a phantom orgasm.

The taping for
Queen of Hearts
was to start next week. So far, he hadn't heard a word about whether Jalila was pulling out. He was relieved
and
disappointed at the same time. If she elected to still do the show, then he had every intention of steering clear of the set. Nitara was more than capable of overseeing everything. He needed to focus on finding new material for the winter and summer seasons.

He spent most of the morning networking and combing through some potential material with the William Morris Agency before rushing back to his office for an afternoon conference call with NBC studios. However, when he walked into the office, Dee Dee was blasting the Fugees's “Killing Me Softly” from her iPod.

“Turn that off,” he snapped.

When Dee Dee jumped, he softened his tone. “I mean,
please
turn that off.”

She rushed over to her iPod and shut it off, still looking as if he'd slapped her or something. He marched into his office.

“Oh, you have a visitor,” she called to him just as his hand landed on the doorknob.

He turned. “Who is it?”

“Tenetria.”

Keenan's heart sank. He didn't need this right now. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“Why don't you come in here and ask me?” Tenetria shouted through the door.

Keenan rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dee Dee whispered, frowning.

Keenan drew a deep breath and then marched into his office like a soldier off to war. The minute he entered, his gaze zoned in on his ex-wife sitting behind his desk with her legs propped up.

“Comfortable?”

Tenetria smiled. “I figured that you wouldn't mind if I made myself at home.”

“As a matter of fact—” he closed the door “—I do mind.” He walked toward his chair and then waited for her to stand up.

“Aren't you at least going to say hello first, sweetheart?”

His brows lifted. “Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Endearments usually mean you want something.”

Tenetria lowered her legs from his desk and slowly rose to her feet. The moment was undoubtedly meant for him to get a good long look down her pink shirt. “I just wanted to try the chair out for size,” she taunted. With a catlike smile, she walked her fingers up his chest.

Keenan's face turned into stone as he swiped her hand away. “I'm not in the mood for any of your games.” He moved around her and dropped into his chair.

“Now to what do I owe this wonderful honor?” he asked sarcastically.

“I need some money,” she said.