My jaw drops. “But that’s not true! It’s Chanell’s birthday party at Petey’s club. They are your family!”
“The media will likely not put those details into their spin. They don’t care—” he’s interrupted; I can hear someone in the background. “Yes, tell her I’ll be right there, please.” Her? “Baby, I have to go. I’ll have Brett have one of my assistants contact you on Monday; you can plan something more low-key with Chanell to celebrate her birthday and apologize for your abrupt departure.”
I don’t respond, because I don’t know how. This is absolutely insane and I don’t know where to go from here.
“Aye,” Azmir barks, exposing his Brooklyn tongue, and melting my arctic resolve. “I’m sorry, Brimm. This has become old news to me since just before the Mauve event. I never mentioned it because you’re not typically out socializing. We can talk more about it when I come home,” he offers.
WHEN?
When will I have you back at the marina, in my face, in my arms, so that I can feel this thing? I want to reach through the phone and grab him into my face to scream at him…and then feel him. I’ve found myself starved of him. I’m starting to view our impending matrimonial event as a fantasy that I’m chasing in the wind. Azmir has become this legend in my mind and not a living, breathing man. My man. I am losing…and fading fast.
“Goodnight, Azmir,” I whisper, just perfectly concealing the cry working its way up my throat.
“Love you, Brimm.”
I disconnect the call.
I hate the media!
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s my first pre-wedding session with Tyler. He termed it that to motivate me when I explained I have to be ready for this gown that will display my entire figure, even what’s covered with lace. We discussed my goals and target areas to help chart our journey, coincidentally, the same thing we did when I’d first started training with him. Before I know it, an hour and a half has flown by.
Tyler has me down my hands and one knee, pulling my right leg up to demonstrate how far I should be extending it in the air. The similarities in our professions makes our jargon easy, but Tyler prefers demonstrating movements rather than just assigning them, and I appreciate that.
“You never want to lift this high,” he pulls my leg up over me while I observe from the mirror straight ahead of me. “…because it can injure—”
“…the erector spinea. Yeah. I can feel it,” I say on a strained breath.
Azmir’s abrupt presence interrupts our chase behind time. He strolls in and walks up on us while Tyler’s coaching me through the technique. Suddenly Azmir’s commanding frame appears in the mirror as he hovers over us.
“Divine,” Tyler announces, clearly surprised by Azmir’s divine presence. He slowly releases my leg.
Azmir’s manifestation steals my breath. Every time I see his now full beard, I’m reminded of his pledge of growing it until I become his legally. He’s stuck to it, and surprisingly wears it well. He’s sporting a black, fitted compression shirt that exposes and outlines his chiseled torso, dark grey basketball shorts and trainers. He looks fresh…no sweat, unflushed. It wouldn’t have mattered if his body was misted in sweat, it’s a dangerous time for me to see him in my celibate state. Although another man’s hands are on me platonically, the mere sight of Azmir makes me liquidate in the most incestuous manner. He stands with his head cocked to the side, his tongue pressing back into his molars.
“I didn’t think I was paying you to get that acquainted with Ms. Brimm’s body, just to tone it a little to satisfy her insular grievances about her already perfect frame.” His words are laced with humor, but his disposition is arctic. He can fool many of men with his stoic countenance, but not me.
Tyler’s eyes momentarily widens, but then quickly relax. It’s as if he has to will himself to believe Azmir is joshing. “I think you pay me to deliver results. That’s my only intention here.” Tyler trains his eyes to his wrist for the time and then looks to me. “It is pretty late. You’ve been great, Ms. Brimm. Don’t forget to incorporate those new stretch techniques every night, even after dance class and you should be fine.”
“Sure will. Thanks, Tyler. You’re the best,” I say, risking the ego of Azmir’s caveman persona. I don’t miss his squinted eyes. I lick my lips, suddenly my mouth is salivating. I can’t believe my body still responds to Azmir this way.
“Have a good one,” Tyler bodes with his arm extended towards me. I’m now sitting on my butt, facing both men. He then turns to Azmir, “Mr. Jacobs…tomorrow?” he asks tentatively.
“Tomorrow,” Azmir replies, now wearing a scowl fixated on me. He doesn’t even look at poor Tyler.
Seriously?
As Tyler exits the private room, Azmir’s gaze deepens and his eyes darken. As a result, my pulse quickens.
“What was that about?”