Page 10 of The One He Desires

I tune out the rest of the hearing so I can go over my notes for my client’s docket, which is coming up after this one. My client got arrested for simply driving while Black and refusing to cooperate with an overzealous officer who decided to teach him a lesson. Kamon Bozeman is a business owner with no criminal record. He has no business sitting in jail, and it’s my job to ensure that he goes home to his pregnant wife and two-year-old son.

“I’m gonna set you free, Mr. Noble. But this is your only and I mean only chance. If you come before me again, I’m sending you up the river,” Judge Freedman says, which wrinkles my forehead because that’s not what I thought she’d do.

“Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.” Brian Noble gushes as if his prize pig had won the highest prize.

When the deputy leads away a cuffed Noble and his attorney smiles like a Cheshire cat, I put my files back in my bag. I stand and head toward the defense table just as Kamon is led out in handcuffs. Seeing him tugs at my heartstrings as determination and indignation settle within me. When Kamon and I are inches apart, I give him a confident smile just as the court reporter reads off his charges. It’s go time.

I should be making dinner. I could be preparing lunch for tomorrow. Or even thinking about meal prep. Instead, I’m dealing with thoughts of someone whose presence was unknown to me prior to our introduction.

“Why the hell am I still thinking about that man?” I pace around my kitchen as the image I can’t shake taunts me.

Sincere. Oh, what a delicious name for such a yummy man.

I shake my head like a bobblehead as I try to rid myself of the thought from my conscience. My attempt only causes slight dizziness as the image becomes clearer. Sincere’s tall, broad-shouldered ass has been on constant repeat in my mind since that cookout for Jamarion. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to subject my daughter to random people. But no, I went and ran into someone I’m struggling to forget.

The royal blue two-piece linen short set made me want to fight the material for how well the shirt stretched across his chest and arms. I was drunk with envy while desperately trying to mask my attraction. I shamelessly took him in, cataloging every single feature he’d been blessed with. His face, Lord, his face was a work of art that I wanted to praise and give God dap for creating. Everything about him looked deliberate . . . his haircut, his perfectly shaped beard, his brown eyes that seemed to penetrate my soul, and his confidence even while kneeling in front of Milan. My God, everything about Sincere was impossible to ignore.

Not to mention the thirsty way I’ve been imagining what he looked like in a suit. Sincere Kensington is a man who made me wonder if he’s the total package. My desperate need to see him again had me searching the internet to see if I could find his professional images. Why did I do that? I almost swallowed my tongue when his suited profile hit my screen. A man like Sincere has to know the effect he has on women. Has to.

I keep telling myself that I’m not interested, but the lie tastes stale on my tongue. I have replayed our encounter like someone in charge of showings at a movie theater. The slight dimple present when he smirked, the rough yet calming edge in his voice. The patience he held while I ranted and raved like a lunatic. The care and concern in his eyes. I wish he had been arrogant, rude, or dismissive because maybe then I could forget him.

But no, he was attentive, apologetic, and charming without effort. Those three attributes are what scare me the most. They’re the things that cause my heart to nudge me to lower my guard.

“His mama named him Sincere, but she should have named him Caution or Sin-Risk. My goodness.”

Milan is with my parents, and I’m supposed to be cleaning my apartment. But thanks to my roaming thoughts, I have only managed to get the dirty dishes done. I pick up my phone, plop down on the couch, pull up my contacts, and tap the green icon to call a familiar number. I tap my hand on my bare thigh as the rings sound in my ear. I almost gave up hope that the call would be answered until it connects on the fourth ring.

“What can I do for you?” Mom’s voice is full of sarcasm and annoyance, which makes me chuckle.

Mom gets so irritated anytime I call her when Milan is with her and Daddy. But this call has nothing to do with my daughter and everything to do with my sanity.

“I need a favor, Mom.”

“I declare, I already have my grandbaby so you can have some time to yourself. What else do you want, girl?”

“An exorcism.”

I hang my head and close my eyes, and instantly pop them open when Sincere’s image meets me in the darkness.

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” I say weakly.

“That’s right. Resist that slew-foot joker, and he will flee. Father, in the matchless name of Yeshua, go to that apartment and remind my daughter of who you are. I don’t know what’s troubling her, but I trust You. I know that You are Lord of all. Be her Savior. Be her keeper. You alone are worthy of praise. I thank You now for being omnipresent. You know all things and can do all things. Now God, send one of Your angels to slap the irrational out of Journee on my behalf. In Your name, amen.” Mom disconnects the call before I have a chance to say anything, and all I can do is shake my head as laughter escapes my lips.

“I've got to get out of this house.” I stand and head to my bedroom to shower.

Maybe if I find something else to do or think about, I can get Sincere out of my head. I chew on my inner cheek as I enter my room and go to my closet to find something to wear. It might have been a bad idea to let my manager talk me into taking a day off and running the boutique without me. I need the structure and sometimes the distraction because my parents didn’t care about my boredom when they sent me home without Milan last night. My stomach growls, and I remember that it’s been a while since I’ve eaten.

It takes me forty-five minutes to leave my apartment and head toward First Watch. Instead of going to the one close to me, I head toward the one downtown. My arrival is without incident, and I’m walking through the front entrance in no time. The hostess greets me within minutes and leads me to a table in the same amount of time. It takes herculean strength to keep me upright when I pass a table with two men, a woman, and the object of my taunting, . . . Sincere Kensington. His heavy gaze is already on me, and my legs instantly tremble as my pulse races.

Good God! Take me, baby.

My pussy purrs the five words as I plaster on a fake smile when the hostess and I pass the table. Heat hits my back, and I clench my teeth into my bottom lip, despite having visual confirmation of Sincere’s gaze on me now that I’ve passed by. Spending the last thousand and ninety-five days without the presence of the male anatomy between my legs makes me feel like Whoopi Goldberg when she was forced to become a nun. I’m not even sure if it would help me to masturbate tonight. At this point, I might need to go to a strip club just to get a free orgasm from a dancer I pay to give me a lap dance.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess tells me as I nod wordlessly, unable to say anything lest my salacious thoughts tumble from my mouth.

I slide into the booth so my back is facing Sincere and his companions. I didn’t need the torment while I tried to drown my feelings in the new summer menu for this restaurant. Thanks to my unexpected sighting of Sincere, I will be getting a mimosa or another alcohol-infused beverage. If I have to suffer with knowing that a man is behind me, I might as well feel great. The server walks up to greet me and take my drink order, which forces me to quickly peruse the menu for my courage of choice. I place my drink selection as the server walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Days Later . . .