Love T.K.O. Page 7

  The women greeted each other, then an awkward silence settled in.

  “Seeing you here brings back old memories,” Teagan said, tossing her dark, bone-straight hair over her shoulders. She addressed Yasmin, her smile as cheap as silicone. “He brought me here on our first date, too.”

  Yasmin stared at Rashawn. Under his goatee he wore an angry frown. Adopting a light, playful tone, she said, “Oh, he did, did he?”

  “Yeah, it was superromantic. We spent the whole night on the lower deck making out. But girl, that’s nothing. Wait until he takes you to the—”

  Rashawn cut in. “It was nice seeing you again, Teagan. Catch you later.” He slipped an arm around Yasmin’s waist. It was time to go. Teagan’s mouth was liable to get him in trouble. “Take care.”

  Steering Yasmin in the opposite direction, he prayed the ship would dock without another run-in with Teagan. Rashawn hated to admit it, but seeing his ex left him rattled. Teagan Vargas was his first girlfriend. His first love. His first everything. Nostalgia washed over him, but he grabbed hold of himself before he slipped into the past. He was with Yasmin now. And if she let him into her life, he wouldn’t mess it up like he had in the past.

  Yasmin waited until they were a safe distance away before saying, “Pretty girl. How long were you guys together?”

  “A couple years.”

  “Must have been serious.”

  His eyes revealed nothing. “Not really. We dated for a while in college, but it didn’t work out…We, ah, wanted different things.”

  “You went to college?”

  “Yeah, but I dropped out my sophomore year to focus on boxing.”

  “Ever think of going back?”

  “Maybe when my career’s over. I’d like to open a management firm, you know, to help other athletes navigate the business world, but no one’s going to take me seriously unless I have a degree.”

  Yasmin wanted to find out more about his relationship with Teagan, but now was not the time. She’d been questioning him since they’d boarded the ship and she didn’t want Rashawn to think she was grilling him. There would be plenty of time later to find out about his past loves.

  “What’s next?”

  Her forehead creased. “You mean tonight?”

  “The night’s still young. What do you want to do after this?”

  “Go home and go to bed.”

  “Want some company?”

  Yasmin laughed. “No, I think I’ll manage just fine.”

  Rashawn trailed a finger along her collarbone. It felt good hearing her laugh. He was scared that running into Teagan had spoiled their night. Yasmin was special to him and, if he wanted to keep seeing her, he had to address what his ex had said earlier. “I don’t want you to get the wrong picture of me. I took Teagan on a dinner cruise, but we came with a group of friends. When you told me you’d never been, I thought it would be a new experience for you.” His gaze was strong, steady, piercing. “I’m not playing games with you, Doc. I’m for real.”

  “I understand. Thanks for being honest with me.” He caressed her fingers, then her arms. His touch triggered a chain reaction of pleasure throughout her body and Yasmin could actually feel her blood pressure rise. Curiosity pushed her to ask, “Um…where are you planning to take me on our second date?”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

  “Ma, where are you?” The next day Rashawn slipped his keys into his pocket and closed the door. After a three-hour workout, he needed to unwind and there was no place he’d rather be than his mom’s house. The aroma of chili stew elicited a grumble from his unruly stomach. He’d eaten a chicken sandwich an hour ago, but the smell of his favorite dish made him smack his lips in anticipation. “Ma?”

  Inside was cool. As he strolled through the main floor, he noticed that all of the windows were open. He peeked into the den, confident he’d find her knitting in the recliner or combing through photo albums, but she wasn’t there. The three-bedroom house was small but attractive and decorated with a mother’s touch. Family photographs highlighting birthdays, graduations and holidays dominated the walls; worn-out couches were situated in front of the TV, and the bookshelf was lined with greeting cards.

  Rashawn expected to find his mom in the kitchen preparing her famous tamale pie, but she wasn’t there. After a quick sweep of the house, he returned to the kitchen. The stove was on low, the microwave was on and the table was set. She had to be nearby.

  On the table, next to the day’s newspapers, was a stack of bills in Armondo’s name. All credit cards Rashawn didn’t have to open the envelopes to know they were past due.

  Rashawn took a glass from the dish rack, opened the fridge and poured himself some lemonade. Leaning against the counter, he rubbed a hand over his face. The curtains flapped in the breeze, ushering in the cool afternoon air. As he drank, he spotted a figure moving around the backyard. He should have known his mom was outside. She loved to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and the aroma of the season. Popping a blueberry muffin into his mouth, he made his way to the back of the house. Using his left shoulder, he pushed open the screen door and strode across the lawn.

  Rashawn found his mom knee-deep in weeds, singing an off-key rendition of a popular ’80s Lionel Richie song. To keep from startling her, he touched her shoulder. “Ma, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Johanna Bishop adjusted her straw hat so she could get a better look at her oldest son. “Hijo. What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

  Chuckling, he bent down and pecked her cheek. He came by every day but she was always surprised to see him. “Ma, you have food on the stove. You shouldn’t be out here gardening. What if the kitchen catches on fire?”

  Shaking her head, she waved a gloved hand at him. “You worry too much, Hijo. Besides, I’m done cooking. The stew’s just simmering.” Johanna examined his mouth for any signs of chili. “I hope you weren’t inside tasting the food.”

  “No, I’m not hungry.” Leaning against the brown picket fence, he watched her pull up a row of dandelions. His mom had a weary look on her face. Years of working long hours and skimping on sleep had prematurely aged her. Her skin was dry, wrinkles lined her eyes and her once-lustrous black hair was infused with gray.

  “Have you talked to Armondo? He said he’s been calling you but you haven’t returned any of his calls. He needs your help, Hijo.”

  “I know. I saw the bills on the table.”

  “He asked me to talk to you.”

  “Stay out of it, Ma.”

  Johanna’s head jerked back. “But he’s your brother!” she protested. “If I taught you boys anything it’s that family sticks together.”

  “Are you forgetting this isn’t the first time he’s gotten into trouble? Six months ago he racked up five grand in credit card debt buying rims and expensive crap for his car. I paid it off and he swore he’d stay out of trouble. Now he’s back at it. I’m not doing it again, Ma. If Armondo’s old enough to spend it, he’s old enough to pay it.”

  “But he’s a baby. He’s only nineteen!”

  “A baby, my ass,” Rashawn muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “When I was Armondo’s age, I juggled school, a part-time job and I trained six days a week. If I could be responsible at nineteen so can he.”

  “He’s not as mature as you were at that age.”

  “That’s because we’re always bailing him out! It’s time for Armondo to grow up and stand on his own two feet.”

  She turned to Rashawn, her face pinched with grief. “Do it for me, Hijo. I’m begging you. I cosigned on the applications so if he doesn’t pay I’ll be held responsible. Creditors have been calling, threatening to take me to court and repossses the house.”

  Rashawn had to tread slowly. His mom had to be handled with care. She was very sensitive and cried easily, especially when it had to do with her children. It had been stressful raising four boys single-handedly
, and even now, at forty-six, she was still taking care of the family. “Don’t worry about it, Ma. I’ll talk to him.”

  “You’ll pay the bills?”

  “No, but I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can get him a job. I know a guy who owns an auto body shop. He’s always looking for—”

  “Armondo can’t work right now. He was helping one of his friends move and sprained his ankle. The doctor said he should rest it for four to six weeks.”

  Rashawn tasted his drink. His brother was such an arrant liar that he had a hard time believing anything he said. “Like I said, Ma. I’ll handle it.”

  Johanna resumed digging. “I’d help him out, but I don’t have much left in my savings account. Fenton hasn’t repaid the money I lent him during the holidays and yesterday I gave Vincente a thousand dollars to pay his rent.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Watch your mouth, Hijo.”

  “Ma, why do you keep giving them money?” he demanded, the veins in his neck popping. Bitterness settled into his stomach, stealing his good mood. His brothers were never satisfied. If they weren’t borrowing money from him, they were begging his mom. Johanna had been retired for years and her pension was barely enough to buy groceries. His brothers and their families ate dinner at her house most nights and it was costly feeding twelve or more people on a fixed income.

  “The money I put into your account is in case of an emergency. Not to help Vincente, Fenton and Armondo.” Rashawn examined her face. Her eyes were watering and her lips trembled. Her sullen expression made him want to hug her. All she wanted in life was to see her children happy. She was generous to a fault and his brothers took advantage of that. Governing his mouth, he said, “Next time they ask you for a loan, send them to me. Okay, Ma?”

  Johanna motioned for him to help her up and, when he did, she slid an arm around his waist. “You’re a good boy, Hijo. Always taking care of me and making sure I have everything I need.”

  They stood arm in arm for a few minutes, the sounds of summer inundating the air. Kids shrieked, skateboards rolled across the pavement and birds tweeted. Heady perfumes of the season drifted on the breeze and surrounded the yard.

  “Guess who’s emceeing the Parkland Community Center Fund-raiser?”

  “Hijo, I’m so proud of you! I can’t believe it. My son the humanitarian.” Squeezing his waist, she rested her head on his chest. “We’ll celebrate tonight during dinner. I think I have a bottle of that Mexican brandy you like so much.”

  “I can’t stay, ma. I’m going to a wine-tasting party.”

  Johanna’s girlish giggle belied her age. “What do you know about wine?”

  “Nothing. That’s why I’m here,” Rashawn confessed, steering her in the direction of the house. “I need you to bring me up to speed.”

  Her face clouded in confusion. “I’ve never been to a wine-tasting party.”

  “Ma, you’re practically an expert when it comes to wine.”

  “Just because I’ve been to the vineyard a few times doesn’t make me an expert, Hijo.”

  “Come on, Ma, I really need your help.”

  “Okay,” she conceded, his broad, infectious grin finally wearing her down. “Where should we begin?”

  “Well, you can start by telling me everything you know about Bordeaux, Chablis and Sauvignon Blanc.”

  Chapter 7

  River Tower Condos were in an enviable part of downtown Tampa. The pixel glass building had an over-the-trees view of the city’s skyline, a uniform-clad doorman who opened doors and buzzed elevators, and a sunlit lobby furnished with suede armchairs, overgrown plants and European art.

  When Yasmin and Rashawn stepped off the elevator, they could hear the refined sounds of classical music coming from the end of the hall. Yasmin dragged her feet as if she were going to the electric chair, rather than to a wine-tasting party. It was important to her that her best friend like Rashawn. Katherine Duke, an only child born into an upper-middle-class family, traveled the world acquiring rare pieces of art for the Tampa Museum. Yasmin admired the curator’s vivaciousness and she had a lot of insight about the opposite sex. The women had met in graduate school and, though their friendship was only five years old, Katherine was someone Yasmin could always depend on.

  “It’s quiet in there. Are you sure we’re at the right place?”

  Too nervous to speak, Yasmin nodded. What was she thinking bringing Rashawn with her? Her friends could be seen as a stuffy, uptight bunch and, though she loved them dearly, they weren’t the most down-to-earth people. Hopefully, conversation would center on the weather or the economy and not what Rashawn did for a living. Smiling at Rashawn, she rang the doorbell for a second time. “Maybe I should call,” she said, groping in her clutch purse for her cell phone. “It’s taking a long time for someone to answer.”

  “It’s cool. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.” He winked at her and she sighed inwardly. His suave, smooth nature made her think of an old Isley Brothers song. And the more time she spent with him, the stronger their attraction grew. There was something about the boxer that made her want to dive into his arms and kiss him until she was breathless. It was the lethal combination of good looks, self-assurance and honesty that left her feeling scatterbrained whenever he was around. And Yasmin suspected he had this effect on other women. Her girlfriends might think he was a thug, but they’d be slobbering all over their cocktail dresses. Rashawn certainly had his own sense of style and, like his down-home vibe and anything-goes personality, she liked it. He’d paired a sports jacket with a perfectly white, wrinkle-free dress shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. It was a look straight out of Vibe Magazine and he wore it well.

  “I hope we’re not going to be listening to Mozart all night because I want to dance with you,” Rashawn said, licking his lips. She was hot and his eyes let her know it. “You look much too good to be standing around sipping wine.”

  “If you wanted to dance you picked the wrong place.”

  “Then, I guess I’ll just have to take you to Bar 21 when this is over.”

  “I don’t go to nightclubs,” she told him. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. We can go back to my place.” Leaning over, he rested a hand on the small of her back. “I just bought the new Anthony Hamilton CD.”

  Her heart raced. The suggestive look in his eyes conveyed more than his words. No, when the party was over, she was going home, alone. Dancing with Rashawn would lead to touching, then kissing and who knew what else. Just because she was attracted to him didn’t mean she had to act on her feelings. It was bad enough she’d kissed him. She didn’t want to push the boundaries of their relationship any further.

  The apartment door swung open. A slender woman in a mauve strapless dress smiled at them. “I thought I heard the buzzer.”

  “Hi, Morgan. It’s been a long time. What have you been up to?”

  “I studied French in Clermont-Ferrand for six months and then traveled across France with some of my girlfriends. I just got back a few days ago.” Morgan stepped aside. “Where are my manners? Please come in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re looking great, Yasmin. How have you been?”

  “Busy. I’m organizing the Parkland Community Center Fund-raiser and it’s taking up a lot of my time. If you don’t have plans for June fourteenth I’d love it if you could come.”

  “I won’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

  Yasmin introduced Rashawn to Katherine’s cousin.

  “Are you a doctor, too?” she asked, brushing her hair off her shoulders.

  Yasmin knew the question was coming. People naturally assumed that she would end up with another doctor because Eric had been a surgeon. “No,” she replied, trying to keep the hostility out of her voice, “he’s not in the medical field.”

  Morgan raised her eyebrows. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a boxer.”

  Her faced brightened with interest. “Like Mike Tyson?�
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  “Better.”

  “Remind me to give you my business card later. I’m an entertainment lawyer and you never know when you might need someone with my skills and expertise.”

  “Cool. I need more reliable people in my corner.”

  Staring adoringly at him, she smiled, her hazel contacts glittering like emeralds. “Well, it was very nice meeting you, Rashawn. I do hope we have a chance to talk later.”

  Yasmin led Rashawn into the living room, hoping that everyone would be as friendly as Morgan had been. The whole gang was there: Terri-Lynn and DeWitt were cuddling on the sofa-loveseat; Bianca, Noreen and Iris were standing by the punch bowl; Wellington and Lars were on the balcony, and Pierce, Katherine’s man-of-the-month, was talking on his cell phone.

  Rashawn whistled. “This place is tight! I wish my place looked like this.”

  “Katherine did an amazing job fixing it up. I almost don’t recognize it.” Allowing her eyes to wander, she openly admired the rich carpet, teal walls and ornamental light fixtures. The last time Yasmin had been to the apartment it had streaky windows, an ungodly odor and bargain-store furniture. Now quiet lighting, crystal floor lamps and knee-high pallid candles created a cozy atmosphere and highlighted the many delights of the recently renovated condo.

  Parading into the room like a beauty contestant, Katherine tapped her wineglass with a dainty silver spoon. “We’re ready to begin! The servers are handing out the tasting cards as we speak. Record your initial impressions and thoughts, including things like appearance, texture and aroma. There is bread to clear your palate and dump buckets for you diehard wine hobbyists. Commençons!”

  Rashawn took the index card the male server offered him. “I thought you said this party was an excuse to get drunk. Looks like your friend takes this wine-tasting thing very seriously.”