“C’mon, D. You know me,” he tries to explain. “You’re not the only one with strategic motives.”
“Oh, yeah?” I cock my head to the side, signaling the need for an explanation. “All I’m saying is that you’re young, fresh, and paid. I’m sure dames your age are biting at the bits for your pretty ass.”
Jackson chuckles coolly and slightly rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but they’re also vying for a ring. A goddamn commitment that ain’t happening. My ageless queens,” I know off the bat he’s referring to the older women he keeps in company of. “…aren’t expecting that. They just want a good time, an incredible fuck, and then to be left the hell alone.”
“Not from what I saw of Evelyn. You heard the comment she made about not being your plus one at my birthday party.”
He snorts, “Yeah, I did catch that, which is why I’ll be putting her ass on respite for a little while.”
I laugh at that one as I see Jackson rise from his seat across from me. “I’m serious, D. Don’t judge me when your ass has waited until you’re damn near forty to get clinks on your wrists. If I follow the same path, I still have plenty of time.” He jeers as he starts for the door. I put my drink down and follow him.
“I’ll tell you just what a wise man recently told me: Time is not your friend, neither will it ever be.” I pat him on the shoulder. “So, if you’re lucky enough to find that one that makes you think with your head, heart, and cock—and occasionally all at the same time—don’t hesitate to make her your forever.”
We stop at the front door and Jackson turns to me, “Is that what happened to you?” He jerks his chin towards the back of the apartment.
I pause for a second to consider my words. It’s been difficult for me to articulate my feelings regarding Rayna. She’s most frustrating and all-consuming. Even now, while talking to Jax, in the recesses of my conscience, I’m deciding on what I will spoon-feed her for lunch. And how if I would wake her prematurely just to spend time with her. She’s my treasure.
“That woman brings me both pleasure and pain. The weird thing is feeling a rush of pleasure even in the midst of pain, because it means that no matter how fucked up I feel, or how scared I am at the prospect of losing her, there is still some pleasure in having been connected to her.”
Jackson cracks a smile as he lifts his arm to give me dap. “Well, enjoy it, man. This love thing has always been mystical to me.” He shakes his head. “Seeing you holding it down makes love an inconvenient truth, my brother.”
“Indeed.” I return the love and pull Jackson into a hug. He’s a good dude and still young on years, but I’ve no doubt that he’ll get it soon.
I walk Jackson out then go and join my domesticated fiancée in bed, hoping to catch a little shuteye along with her. The anticipation building on my way to the master suite concerns the hell out of me and feels good all at the same time.
Chapter 8
Rayna
The night of the Mauve event I’m in a massive suite at the L’Irmatage in Beverly Hills, getting prim and proper. I have a belly full of butterflies because I’ve never been to a signing event before, much less not one of this variety. I mean, not only am I going as the date of the celebrant, but I also happen to be his fiancée and this is our first event under that title. Prior to our engagement, there was so much bewilderment around the status of our relationship—for me as well as others. And even though being insecure regarding Azmir is old hat, being by his side, during a monumental occasion in his life, I’m anxious with expectation.
“Chin up…just a bit, Rayna,” Chantal orders as she evens out my chin with foundation…spray…or whatever it is she’s applying while Adrian was working my hair from behind.
“We’re almost ready, Cookie, and you’re going to be beat some kinda fierce, honey!” Adrian sings in drag. We dissembled the dining room to make a makeshift glam squad headquarters for me. Sitting patiently, I’m showered and moisturized. Once they’re done, all I have to do is slip on my costume.
I hear extraneous noises from out in the living room, snatching my attention.
“Is that your fine ass millionaire, Cookie?” Adrian inquires.
As I pin my ears back, so to speak, I hear dribs of his silken voice and eventually those sounds draw more consistent and clear.
“How’s it going in here?” His baritone vocals pour into the room, causing the hairs on my neck to erect.
“She’ll be ready in twenty, Mr. Jacobs,” Chantal, a French makeup artist, assures with professional ringing.
“Almost done with her mane, F.A.M.,” Adrian informs. I successfully conceal my laughter.
Fine Ass Millionaire, really, Adrian?
After a pause, I hear a chirp from my phone and turn it over.
Are you wearing panties this evening?