by Kat Ransom
“I didn’t realize that. That’s really cool.” These two girls are immediately likable and super chatty. I feel like I’m back home for a minute, meeting with friends in an NYC cafe. It’s a welcome respite until Francisca dips her head and pokes Tatiana in the side, nodding toward the main door.
In walks Lennox, strutting over to the beverage station to refill his oversized team water bottle. His back is turned to us and Tatiana is biting her lip and blatantly staring at his ass, which I will admit, looks delicious in his racing suit. Francisca is no better, twirling her long black hair in one hand now.
“Oh my god, you two are terrible,” I whisper to tease them. They’re not even attempting to hide their gawking and the pair of them doing it, sashaying their heads and making mmm-hmmm sounds as Lennox bends and stretches, fills my gut with laughter.
“Please, girl. That man is fine.” Francisca says, her head turned away from me and refusing to unlock from its masculine target.
“The things I would do to him,” Tatiana whispers under her breath. “Things that are illegal in my home country.”
“I’ll do the jail time for one hour with him,” Francisca whispers back, her short unpainted fingernails mindlessly caressing over her neck as the peep show continues.
Lennox turns around with his water bottle and their two heads spin back away from him, though there’s no way Lennox could have missed them checking him out. He’s probably used to it, walking around all through the world with women staring and throwing themselves at him. It must be a hard life.
He spots us and Francisca gives him a little wave and squeaks out, “Hi, Lennox” and bats her eyelashes at him like an innocent southern belle, not the woman who just moments ago threatened to do illegal things to his body.
In three strides of his long legs, he’s at our table standing behind his two gushing fans. “Francisca,” he says and bends down to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Tatiana,” and he does the same for her.
Both girls are beet red and looking up at him like he’s just hung the moon.
“You’re both looking gorgeous as ever this afternoon. Thank you for the breakfast this morning, it was delicious, as always,” he says to them.
“Lennox,” Tatiana starts, vying for his attention next, “I asked Chef to make the New Zealand lamb tonight. I remember you liked it last year.”
“You’re too kind. Thank you for being so thoughtful but you know I like everything you prepare,” he grins down on his adoring fangirls. “How is your mother, by the way? Is she feeling better?”
“Oh yes,” Tatiana gushes, “you’re so sweet to remember her. She’s much better now.”
I don’t know who this thoughtful and charming man is that is standing in front of these lovestruck ladies, but I can no longer control a tiny snort at how taken Francisca and Tatiana are with him.
“Mallory,” he states coldly in acknowledgment that I am also at the table with his fangirls. Half a second later he squeezes the girls’ shoulders, says goodbye to them, not to me, and struts out of the room as both girls crane their necks to watch him go.
As soon as he’s out of earshot I heckle them both, “You two are absolutely hilarious. Is he being so nice so that you don’t poison his food?”
“What?” Francisca’s face falls and I realize I must have upset her. “Why would we poison his food?”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you or insinuate you would ever poison anyone! I just meant because he’s so nice to you guys.” I hope I didn’t make them both mad and run off the only two friendly coworkers I’ve found yet.
“What are you talking about? Lennox is nice to everyone,” Tatiana nods, defending her man crush with fiery confidence.
“Nice to everyone?” I sputter. “Lennox? Lennox Gibbes? He’s been nothing but awful to me! His teammate, Digby, is nicer to me than Lennox is!”
“No no no no no no no,” Francisca waves her hand back and forth and shakes her head. Her words crash together in that beautiful rhythm I have never been able to recreate, no matter how many Spanish classes I took in high school. “No, all wrong girl, all wrong.”
Tatiana crosses her arms and nods in agreement with Francisca, adding in a sassy “mmm hmm” while pursing her lips at me. “You want Lennox, not Digby,” she adds.
“I don’t want either of them,” I chuckle. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Good, more chances for me,” Francisca laughs and slaps my hand. I’m so glad I haven’t really upset them, they’re just passionate Gibbes defenders, much like the fangirls online. “Anyway, break time is over, we have to get back.”
“It was so nice chatting with you both!” I tell them hoping we’ll be able to do this again.
“Come back anytime, girl, we’re always in here!”
Today is getting better and better. My boss is happy, I found two new coworkers to chat with, and Lennox did not bite my head off or make any crass sexual comments about me.
Yet.
◆◆◆
“Whispered something in your ear. It was a perverted thing to say. But I said it anyway. Made you smile and look away.” - Cigarettes After Sex - Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Lennox Gibbes?” I whisper into his ear at the autograph session I’m trying to pry him away from right now.
He’s sitting behind a covered table with a box of Sharpies and I have just watched him spend an hour with an ongoing line of fans at the track who are queued up waiting their turn to have photos and hats and tee shirts signed by their favorite driver. The other drivers all did their scheduled twenty-minute sessions but Lennox has been here for an hour. He’s had a smile on his face and made time for every single one of them.
“Stop speaking in riddles, Mallory.” He answers, continuing to sign and take selfies with each person waiting for him. He’s also stuck to his word and is calling me by my real name.
A very buxom blond is next in line and is bouncing with excitement, her low crop top straining to contain her implants. They must be implants, otherwise, at their size, her breasts would be down to her knees, not aiming toward the sky. Security lets her step up and she rounds the table and starts lowering her frilly blouse even further. Lennox doesn’t bat an eye and stands so he can sign her chest as she claps and squeals. Cell phone cameras from the crowd start turning his way to capture Lennox and the bare boob incident that is about to unfold.
“Nope, tops stay on please!” I interrupt and put a hand between the woman’s chest and Lennox’s Sharpie.
The woman huffs and protests but security is on top of it. I only get a death glare from Lennox as he signs her phone case instead.
“You’re a real buzzkill, you know that?” He says.
“Get your fill of silicone on your own time, preferably behind closed doors.” I dismiss him.
“I’m not a silicone kind of guy, thank you very much.”
“Oh, you prefer saline?” I clap back.
“Since you asked, I like natural tits, Mallory.” His gaze drops to my chest and his deep voice lowers and he speaks slowly right next to me, “a handful of soft, natural tits. Fucking perfect.”
“There are children,” I scold him, as his stare slowly raises back up from my chest.
“Better hide those hard nipples, then,” he says and turns back to the waiting crowd.
Oh my hell, my traitorous nipples are peaked and visible through my polo. Damn you, boobs, damn you to hell! I turn my back for a second and smooth my hands down the front of my shirt trying not to be obvious and give him even more satisfaction of knowing how he made my body betray me. It’s the deep, gravelly voice and that damn accent. My nipples were powerless.
When I turn back around a second later, he’s occupied with the next fans in line, a parent and a little boy in Celeritas team colors who is so excited he cannot speak and is so nervous he looks on the verge of tears. He can’t be more than four years old. It’s adorable.
Lennox crouches down on his knees and urges the tiny fan to come closer. Clutching his dad’s hands, the tiny fan carefully starts toward Lennox and extends a Celeritas children’s hat to be signed. Lennox signs it and talks sweetly to the little boy and gets him smiling within moments. Before I know it, the boy is being swung upward in Lennox’s big arms onto his shoulders and the proud papa is snapping photos of this once in a lifetime moment for his son.
They scurry off after getting their shot and my mouth is agape. Why is he so nice to other people? Where is the pig that I’ve been working with?
Before he sits back down at the table, he towers over me and whispers, “Don’t be jealous, you can ride on my shoulders later.” My mouth clamps shut but I’m still bewildered about what’s happening here and I’m keenly aware that his vulgar comments don’t seem to offend me much anymore. More troubling, my attempts to deny what they do to my body when he whispers filthy things in my ear are getting harder to keep at bay. I’m only human.
I need to get my head on straight.
“Last person, Lennox, we have to go.”
“Five more minutes,” he responds. He’s asked for five more minutes a dozen times now.
Five minutes later I put my foot down, pick up my backpack of gear, and pull him away from the line, begrudgingly.
“Where are you dragging me to now, anyway? I’m done for the day.” He grumbles as I lead him through the maze of the circuit.
“We have a recent addition to your schedule, it won’t take long,” I tell him as we make our way toward the exit and the private parking zone behind the garages for the teams.
When we reach the parking lot I dig into my bag and pull out the key fob and hand it to him.
“What is this?”
“It’s a key fob, Lennox.”
“Yes, smart ass, I can see that. Where are we going?” He pushes the button on the fob and a sleek dark grey Ferrari convertible near us lights up and beeps.
“It’s a surprise,” I say. I hope this works. The fans must have rubbed off on him, he’s not as combative as I expect him to be, so far.
“What kind of surprise?” One of his eyebrows raises playfully and his lips curl up.
“If you don’t fight me on this, there may be pussy in it for you.” I smile. I can play his game too if I get what I need out of it.
“Consider me intrigued, Ms. Mitchell,” he smolders back.
We both sink into the car and he hits a button to roar the engine to life, a deep rumbling of the motor that I can feel through the soft leather seat and into my core. This Ferrari coupe would make anyone’s panties wet, it’s just a fact.
“Where to?” He asks as I pull out my phone and start giving him directions from my map app.
This car is obscenely sexy and it seems an intimate moment despite the passing freeway. We’re rarely alone together for this long and he’s never been this cooperative.
We’re cruising in the convertible, my hair whipping around my face in the warm sun and I am having very impure thoughts about Lennox’s hands working the paddle shifters on the steering wheel. Every sinew and tenon in his forearms flex as he guides the steering wheel and it’s hot watching him drive this powerful car. If he would just shut his mouth, he’d be the perfect specimen of a man.
In a show of good faith, I decide to push my luck and try talking to him, like an adult, without any barbs or snide comments. “Want to know something?”
“You’re a virgin? It’s ok, I’ll be gentle,” he says and pats my knee.
“You’re such an asshole,” I grumble and turn away to look out the open window. I should have known.
He laughs, “Ok, come on, tell me.”
“Are you going to be a dick?” I turn back to him and cross my arms over my chest.
“Probably, but I want you to tell me anyway.” His brown hair is blowing and he’s looking straight ahead under his aviator sunglasses. If he wasn’t a client and if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I have to admit, I would also very likely do things to him that are illegal in most countries like Francisca suggested. Just for one night, of course, because Lennox Gibbes is not a man for keeping long term.
“I’m the worst driver in the world. Literally the worst. I wrecked four cars by the time I was 18 and my roommate won’t let me near her ten-year-old junker. I’m that bad.”
He open mouth laughs. I think it’s the first time he’s had a genuine positive reaction to something I’ve said and it makes me smile, in return. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he chuckles.
“Take exit 26B,” I tell him. Should I push my luck even further since he’s in such an unusual mood? What the hell. “Can I ask you something?”
“I may not answer, but you can ask.”
“Why are you so nice to everyone else but so mean to me?
He pauses for a long time and isn’t speaking. I can’t take the silence anymore so I continue even though I should know better by now, “The fans, the catering crew, you’re so much different with them.”
Finally, he answers. “Aye, I love the fans and most of the support crew. They’re real people.”
“So I’m not a real person?”
“Nope.”
“Now who is speaking in riddles, Lennox?” This man is infuriating. He can’t manage to get two sentences out of his mouth without insulting me.
He sighs. “Listen, it’s not personal. I know you’re just doing your job. But your job is as phony as mine. You’re just collateral in the grand scheme, same as me.”
“Care to expand on what that means?” I ask him. There’s obvious tension between him and Celeritas, between him and Digby. He has a dream job, as far as I can tell, but I’ve also been around long enough to know that pro sports have a lot of politics and money thrown around that sometimes supersede ethics.
“Nope.” He replies but then smiles. I’ll have to settle for the crumbs he’s thrown me and consider it a win that he’s being civil and even moderately polite, for Lennox Gibbes.
“I liked your watch post.” He mumbles so low I almost can’t hear him.
I clutch my heart in surprise, “Did you just compliment me?”
“I’ve complimented you plenty. I said you’ve got a great ass, told you about your banging rack, there was something about your long legs wrapped around me,” he starts counting off his accolades in commenting on my body parts until I interrupt him by reaching across the seat and slapping his chest.
Oh, that’s a hard chest.
This is the first time both of us are laughing. It’s kind of nice.
“The new media is doing really well, I think. People seem to really engage with a more personal side of you, some of the good instead of only the bad.”
“If you think there’s a good side of me,” he jokes, “I need to step up my game and get tougher on you.”
“God, please don’t. I’m not quitting and I really can’t get fired right now.”
“I will never understand why the world cares about my personal life anyway. It’s not that exciting.”
“Looks pretty exciting if all the photos and articles are to be believed!” Club photos, beach photos, models and supercars, it’s Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous with an extra helping of Insanely Sexy thrown in.
“If you believe everything you see online, you’re not as good as you think you are. Left or right up here?”
“Oh sorry,” I say and check my map app. I’ve been distracted trying to crack this six-foot enigma driving the hot car. “Left, right at the 2nd street, and then we should be there.”
Lennox takes the next few corners and I point to a parking lot behind an old brick building just outside of Melbourne.
“What is this?” He asks. “You really a stalker and you’re going to tie me up inside?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I tease and start climbing out of the low car once he’s parked it.
“Aye,” he grins, meeting me near the hood of the Ferrari.
I start leading
him around to the front of the building. It’s kind of a run-down neighborhood and the building is old, but quaint and charming, not unlike the little town outside of London where my new flat should be waiting for me to officially move into. Rounding the sidewalk, the street is only a block or two long with small shops and it’s charming in a small town way.
“Ok, really, where are you taking me? I don’t see any Mercedes dealerships or Rolex shops,” he says, taking it all in.
“Nope, this isn’t for Celeritas, no ugly watches today,” I tell him and keep walking. Another few paces and I see the sign hand-painted on a large picture window — ‘Heart of a Lion Cat Rescue’. “Here we go,” I say and point to the door.
“I don’t get it,” he plants his feet and puts his hands into his front jeans pockets.
“Well,” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and swing for the fences hoping this doesn’t backfire on me, “I heard you have an affinity for cats and I came across an article about this rescue last night. They do good work and they’re struggling, might lose their lease.” I look up at him with my best puppy dog eyes and bite my bottom lip.
“This is the pussy I was promised?”
I nod at him and bat my eyelashes.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head at me. “So, you want me to write a check or something?”
“No, I wouldn’t be that presumptuous. I do want to borrow your assets, though.” He’s crossed his arms over his chest and is cocking an eyebrow at me. Such a skeptic. “Come on,” I grab his arm and drag him into the door.
Inside there are three small rooms and dozens of cats, some walking around freely, some in wire kennels, some missing an eye or a leg, all waiting for a new home. Each kennel has a card listing the name of the cat and how they came to be here at this rescue, their life story condensed to a few lines of handwritten text.
“Oh my goodness, you’re here!” A short middle-aged woman rushes into the main entry room and clasps her hands together in excitement. “Thank you so much, Mr. Gibbes, Mallory, you have no idea how much this means to us! I got your phone call and oh, I just,” she starts fanning her eyes as tears well up, “I just cried! You’re angels!”
