I’ve never formally met Azmir’s wife. I’d heard about the quick engagement, but she keeps a low profile for the most part.
Azmir pulls her into his arms. He’s a pretty tall dude, just a few inches shorter than me, and with her protruding belly I’m afraid he’s going to hurt her from the pressure. That’s until I see her hands grab him at the back, from under his arms and pull him into her. It reminds me of when Zoey was pregnant and how many days I yearned to feel her belly, just to share intimacy with her and liberally feel my son move in the womb. To my self-imposed misfortune, I can count on my hands how many times I did that. I remember when we made love when she was eight months pregnant and I couldn’t keep my hands off her. There was something embellished about her femininity. For weeks after, I beat my wood trying to recapture the ecstasy I experienced with her for those few short hours.
When tongues come out and lashing, I stand and clear my throat. Azmir keeps in his trance, but his wife glances at me then sheepishly bats her eyes just before withdrawing.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobs.” She swipes her mouth. “You were in the middle of a meeting,” she murmurs, avoiding my eyes. “And of course, it’s with Stenton Rogers.” She buries her face in his chest, clearly overcome with embarrassment. It’s cute.
“No. I’m sorry. Now I’m feeling like the intruder,” I joke.
Azmir never looks my way. He assesses his wife with a scowled expression.
“You’re not supposed to be traveling. You’re due in—”
“November,” she interjects into his reproach. “These are the last two weeks I can travel, and I missed you.”
Azmir’s glower doesn’t falter. He doesn’t speak right away, just plays in her hair.
“When we get home, I’m revoking your charter requisition privileges. StentRo,” Azmir never looks up from his glowing wife. “…this is the illustrious Rayna Jacobs, aka Mrs. Azmir Jacobs. Mrs. J, meet Stenton Rogers, number two overall Draft Pick, four-time MVP Awardee, six-time Champion, and a business partner.”
Resting the side of her face on his chest, Rayna gushes as she takes my hand for a shake, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Stenton.”
I offer a soft smile and bow. “I would ask for a kiss, too, but I think they’ve all been given out to a certain mogul,” I tease.
That’s when Azmir looks at me. “StentRo, if I didn’t know your current situation, I would be all over your ass.” He cracks a smile. “Get the hell out of here and handle what we’ve discussed.”
With a grin, I nod softly and start off towards the door. When I’m just over the threshold, I hear, “Yo, Rogers.”
I back up and look at Azmir who has his hand splayed over his wife’s ass, not having moved an inch. I hike a brow.
“I almost forgot. Maroon 5 is doing an intimate listening party in the Meatpacking District. I know you have your own pull, but I heard it’s exclusive and to capacity. I’ll be happy to give you my passes. You’re the only black man your age I know who’s into that shit.”
Rayna gasps. “Azmir, your mouth!”
He tosses her a pouty face that instantly melts her expression and has her giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Anyway, maybe Jordan’s mother could stomach blue eyed soul.”
I nod again, this time leaving for good.
In the car, I ask my assistant, Srey, in the front passenger seat, “Who’s this meeting with?”
I’m tired and in a pissy fucking mood, especially after my talk with Azmir. Just thinking about Zoey, since South Carolina, toils my stomach.
“I don’t know.” I see her checking her iPad. “It says here your father-in-law,” she drawls out dubiously.
“Srey, you do know I’m not married, right?” I can’t help the sarcasm. This shit is absurd.
“Yes, sir, I do. I don’t know who scheduled it. I can find out now.”
“We’re here already. We have security, so all should be well. Besides, I’m hungry as fuck.”