Love T.K.O.

by Pamela Yaye

  “Things are tight right now,” he told him. “I paid cash for this place, remember?”

  “But you made three hundred grand on your last fight!”

  “Like I told you before, most of my money is tied up in investments, long-term-saving plans and stock options. I’m not going to end up like Mike Tyson—penniless, broke and wondering where my earnings went.”

  “So, you do have money?”

  Tuning out his brother, Rashawn threw open the bathroom door and smacked on the light switch. His gaze swept the room. Nothing. Figuring she might have peeked inside the medicine cabinet, he marched over to the sink and opened it. Everything was in place. Had she gone into the master bedroom? There was nothing incriminating in his room, but it wouldn’t hurt to look around. Determined to find what had scared off Yasmin, he brushed past his brother who had followed him into the bathroom, and went into the hall.

  “Hold up. I think I got something.” Chuckling, Armondo poked his head out the bathroom door. “Your girl’s a narc, bro.”

  “What?”

  “Looks like she was diggin’ around in the closet.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rashawn snapped, irritated. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “There’s nothing in—” When he spotted the miniature vial of human growth hormone in Armondo’s hand, his heart sank to his knees.

  Chapter 12

  “Did you get my messages?”

  Yasmin turned at the slumberous sound of Rashawn’s voice, but didn’t stop folding napkins. “Yeah, all fourteen of them.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Don’t you think we should talk?” Annoyed that she wouldn’t stop what she was doing and look at him, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone.”

  “I can’t. I still have a hundred or so of these to do.”

  “Then, we’ll do it together.” Rolling up his sleeves, he watched her tuck the utensils inside the napkin and smooth a hand over the bulge. Rashawn didn’t know why she was going to all the trouble of making it look fancy when no one would appreciate it, but he didn’t voice his opinion. He was on her bad side and he didn’t want to aggravate her any further. Compliments yes, criticism no.

  “Did you get home okay last night?” he asked, struggling to fold the napkin in the intricate way she was doing it. Either his hands were too big or he was creatively challenged. “I was going to swing by, but—”

  “If you want to make yourself useful, why don’t you go help the guys finish unfolding the chairs? Or set up the tables,” she snapped. “The fund-raiser starts at seven and we’re way behind schedule.”

  “We need to talk and what I have to say just can’t wait.”

  Annoyed, she shot him a baleful look. “Well, that’s too bad, because now’s not a good time. If you really cared about the kids like you say you do, you’d push aside what you want and get to work.”

  Rashawn threw up his hands. “Fine, have it your way. I won’t stay where I’m not welcome. Since you’d rather write me off than give me a chance to explain, there’s nothing left to say. I’m outta here.”

  The turbulence of her feelings prevented her from going after him. He’d been calling her cell phone for hours, but she hadn’t answered any of his calls. She felt bad about giving him a hard time, but what was she supposed to do? Rashawn was a silver-tongued manipulator and if she wasn’t careful she’d be conned again. Obliterating all thoughts of Rashawn from her mind, she opened a new pack of napkins and focused on her task at hand.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Rashawn served as errand boy, moving man and taskmaster. Dog tired, he flopped down on one of the plastic chairs. He’d gotten up at the crack of dawn, and after a quick shower and a protein shake, headed to the gym. An hour into his workout, he’d been bothered by a headache and cut his training session short. He had come to the community center in hopes of talking to Yasmin, only to be dismissed as a nuisance.

  After Yasmin blew him off, he’d gone into the basement, organized the boys into groups and helped carry the remaining tables upstairs. Convinced the cafeteria could be transformed into a rich, elegant space, Melba had ordered him to buff the floors with a high-powered cleaning machine. Rashawn had initially been skeptical. The room needed more than expensive decorations and frilly napkins to make it look good. But he had underestimated Yasmin. She showed religious attention to detail and perfection, but was open to suggestions. She oversaw the decorating, met with the teens who had been hired to serve the guests and took phone calls in between. Rashawn didn’t know how she did it. There was a growing list of things to be done, but she was on top of everything.

  Yasmin had worked her magic and in the space of a few hours the cafeteria resembled the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. Round tables were fashioned with apple-red tablecloths, gold place settings and elaborate flower arrangements. Silk seat covers were sure to impress guests, and the crystal chandeliers emitted a warm, natural light. Desiring a cheerful look, Yasmin had volunteers hang oversize paintings on the walls. Children as young as five had captured what the community center meant to them. The paintings contradicted their age and proved that talent could be fostered through time, dedication and commitment. At the end of the night, the artists would be summoned to the stage and presented with thousand-dollar scholarships to Tampa’s School of Art.

  Searching the room, he found Yasmin beside the window, talking with a casually-dressed man. Rashawn could tell by the stranger’s mannerisms that he came from money. A man who probably owned million-dollar properties, sipped cognac and smoked Cuban cigars. He had impeccable posture and there was an air of pride about him. Rashawn was curious who the man was, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Yasmin. Her pink hooded-jacket had been matched with black pants and sneakers and her hair was in a loose ponytail. Aside from lip gloss, her face was free of make-up. She was sexy in a simple, unprofessed way and he wanted her more than ever before.

  “Lunch is ready!” Melba announced, exiting the kitchen. “Stop what you’re doing and come eat.” She placed trays of sandwiches, fruit and boxes of juice on a long wooden table. “There’s roast beef, salami, vegetarian…”

  Around the room, work stopped. Teenagers raced toward the table, only to have Melba stop them and order them to form a single line. Within minutes, people were spread out, eating, talking and laughing. Rashawn glanced at Yasmin and was relieved to see that she was alone. He grabbed a couple of tomato and lettuce sandwiches and two juice boxes and headed across the room. Yasmin was bent over a chair, retying a loose bow.

  “Thought you might be hungry.” He extended his right hand.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You’ve been working like a madwoman all afternoon. Come eat.”

  “I had coffee. That’s enough to keep me going.”

  “Let’s go outside. It’s a beautiful day and we’ve been cooped up for hours.”

  Standing, she reached for her clipboard. “I can’t. There’s too much to do.”

  “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and drag you out of here,” he warned, adopting a stern facial expression. “Don’t test me, Doc, ’cause you know I will.”

  Yasmin bit down on her bottom lip.

  “I think I see the makings of a smile.”

  “You’re too much.”

  “That’s why you like me.”

  He was right. She did like him. It was hard not to. Time he could have spent training, he had willingly donated to the center. Yasmin felt her resolve weaken, but hardened her heart. Using illegal drugs was something she couldn’t condone, no matter how she felt about him. “Rashawn, leave me alone. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “You’re important to me Doc, and I care what you think of me.” He took a fleeting look around the room. “Can we go somewhere private?”

  “I don’t associate with people who do drugs.” The doctor in her said, “Do you know steroid use has been linked to serious health issu
es like cancer and strokes?”

  “The vials you saw in the cabinet aren’t mine.”

  “Right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

  “It’s the truth.”

  “You don’t do drugs, but you have steroids hidden in your bathroom. That doesn’t make sense, Rashawn.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “If the shoe fits…”

  Exasperated, he released a deep sigh. “A boxer at my gym was having problems with his girl, so I let him stay with me for a while. When I found out about his drug problem, I kicked him out.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m serious. I have a reputation to protect and I won’t have my name tarnished because one of my friends messed up.”

  Regarding him critically, she considered his words. “You expect me to believe you’ve never, ever used steroids. Not even once?”

  “Not even once.” His denial was met with skepticism and, when she rolled her eyes, he took her by the arm and led her out a side door. Outside, the janitor mowed an overgrown field. Youngsters picked up garbage and a full-figured Mexican woman pulled up weeds.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she told him, glancing down at her watch. “The banquet starts in two hours and I have to check in with the caterer, give final instructions to the servers and see to it that—”

  “Don’t you care about what I have to say?”

  “No,” she lied, refusing to meet his gaze. “I hardly know you. If you want to jeopardize your health for fifteen minutes of fame, who am I to stop you?”

  Anger threatened to overtake him, but he censored his mouth. Rashawn could accept the fact that she was mad at him, but he wasn’t prepared to end their relationship. It felt good, damn good, being with a strong, intellectual woman capable of taking care of herself. Yasmin didn’t have any ulterior motives. She didn’t want anything from him and she didn’t expect him to take care of her financially. “I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. I’ve been straight up with you since day one. I’m undefeated because I train hard, and I do not use steroids.”

  “If you say so.” Yasmin stared at the flower garden. Peach-colored tulips waved in the wind and the air smelled sweet. “Are we finished?”

  Rashawn stared at her, unsure of what more to say. He had to prove to her that he was telling the truth. “I haven’t been a Boy Scout, Doc. I did a lot of messed-up things when I was a kid. I ran with a bad crowd, skipped school and picked fights. I smoked weed with my boys, but I never, ever used steroids. Once I started boxing, I got my shit together and focused on my future.” Rashawn had fought boxers with lightning-quick speed and Herculean strength, but nothing was more stressful than arguing with Yasmin. Searching for the right words to convince her he was a changed man, he smoothed a hand over his goatee. “Drugs may have been a part of my past, but they’re not a part of my present. Or my future.”

  Yasmin scoffed, her eyes shooting daggers at him. The Blind Boys of Alabama could see that he was lying. Only a fool would believe that he had come by his success honorably. These days, you couldn’t turn on the TV without a professional athlete being investigated for illegal drug use. Everyone from baseball players to cyclists to track stars were bending the rules to gain an upper hand. They risked their lives in the pursuit of riches and fame, never once weighing the potential consequences of their actions. As she watched him, she finally saw him for who he was: a lying cheat. Tired of hearing his lies, she said, “Great, now that we’ve straightened that out, I can get back to work.”

  “I don’t want this to change things between us. Not when we’re starting to…”

  Turning away from him, she refused to listen to another word of his argument. Unconscionably a charmer, he swayed people with his larger-than-life persona and slippery speech. He always knew what to say and when to say it. That bothered her. It was as if he had anticipated her questions and rehearsed his answers.

  Marching inside, Yasmin ignored the niggling thought at the back of her mind. It didn’t matter that his explanation was believable or that he came off as being sincere or that he looked contrite. Men like Rashawn tailored the truth to suit their needs. He had everyone at the center charmed. Too bad he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Eradicating their conversation from her mind, Yasmin swiped her clipboard off the table and continued her swift, soldierlike walk through the cafeteria. She had a growing list of things to do and no time to waste. And thinking about Rashawn Bishop was definitely a waste of time.

  Chapter 13

  “Good evening and welcome to Parkland Community Center’s sixth annual charity fund-raiser!” The human resource director leveled a hand over his tie. “I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out. You’re in for a real treat tonight. Coming to the stage, with an impressive record of thirty-seven wins, all by way of knockout, is Tampa’s very own Rashawn ‘The Glove’ Bishop!”

  The well-dressed crowed hooted, hollered and cheered.

  From the back of the room, Yasmin watched Rashawn emerge from behind a velvet curtain. Momentarily paralyzed by the sight of him, a sigh of longing escaped her lips. Rashawn may have been one of a hundred men wearing a suit, but he was anything but average. She couldn’t keep her tongue from lagging out of her mouth when he strolled confidently onto the stage.

  Clothed in a tailored caramel-brown suit, with a heart-stopping smile, Rashawn took his rightful place behind the podium. Her eyes gulped up his rugged good looks and muscular body. It didn’t matter if he were in a restaurant or walking down the street, he made his presence felt wherever he went. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame.

  Acutely aware that any minute she may start to drool all over her gown, Yasmin tore her gaze away from the stage and examined the crowd. Women in formal gowns and men in dinner jackets socialized, drank and sampled hors d’oeuvres. Local celebrities and even the former mayor and his aides were in attendance. For the first time ever, the fund-raiser was sold out and more tables had been added to accommodate additional guests.

  “You didn’t tell me The Glove was emceeing,” Eli said, an awestruck expression on his face. “I would have brought my digital camera if I’d known he’d be here. You know how much I could make selling his picture on eBay?”

  Yasmin shook her head. “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you showing up with boxing gloves and other memorabilia for him to sign.”

  “Help me out! I’m a struggling college student just trying to make ends meet.”

  Imani smirked. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Ohaji, who were seated across from their three children, laughed. “Quit being so hard on your brother,” Silas Ohaji ordered, draping an arm around his wife’s chair. “As I recall, he wasn’t the only one who needed a helping hand in college.”

  Eli nodded. “Thanks, Pops. I knew you’d understand. It’s tough juggling school, my friends, the ladies and being the big man on campus.”

  “I don’t think that’s the point your father was trying to make, Eli.” Zadie tasted her cocktail, her gaze fixed on her son. “Just because we help you out here and there doesn’t give you license to blow your money on parties and whatnot. It’s time you faced your studies, concentrated on your grades and—”

  “Mom, relax.” Eli planted a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing. Besides, that kind of talk is bad for me and your blood pressure.”

  Everyone around the table laughed.

  Rashawn directed his gaze to the back of the room. He tried to catch Yasmin’s eye, but she was talking to Katherine. One way or another, he had to find a way to make amends. Not only because he cared about her, but because when she’d entered the room on the arm of a tall, preppy-looking man, he’d felt a stab of jealousy. He’d expected to see her in a long, regal gown, not a short, flirty one. Rashawn glanced down at the notes Yasmin had prepared for him. He had never been one to follow a script and he wasn’t about to start now.
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  “Before we go any further, I’d like to acknowledge all of the people who made tonight possible.” One by one, Rashawn had administrators, the board of directors, the organizing committee and the set-up crew stand to receive well-deserved applause. “Last but not least, I want to honor the woman whose vision was the driving force behind this event. A woman whose dedication and tireless commitment has been improving the lives of inner-city children for the last six years. Please put your hands together for my gorgeous cohost, Dr. Yasmin Ohaji!”

  Yasmin’s head snapped up. Did he just call my name? And if that wasn’t shocking enough, Rashawn hopped off the stage and strode through the crowd. His delighted smile beckoned her and teased her. Microphone in hand, he said, “For the rest of the night, Dr. Ohaji is going to be by my side. Nothing like an attractive woman to keep a guy on his toes, right, fellas?”

  Guests chuckled.

  Yasmin was as hot as fire. She had planned the program, and nowhere on it was she listed as a cohost. Before she could collect her thoughts, Rashawn was at her table, wearing a mischievous grin.

  “Dr. Ohaji?” he prompted, graciously extending his right hand.

  Yasmin remained seated. Fingering her chandelier earrings, she glanced around the room. Just as she suspected. Everyone was watching her. Uncrossing her legs, she took a moment to consider her options. There weren’t any. It was a charity event. How would it look if she rebuffed the celebrity emcee? Not to mention, she was sitting with her parents and they would be mortified if she were to cause a scene.

  “You’re not going to disappoint all these people, are you, Dr. Ohaji?”

  Polite laughter, followed by more applause.

  Yasmin felt a hand on her back, pushing her to her feet. Hiding her feelings behind the veil of her smile, she gripped his forearm and ordered her legs to move. The faces of her friends, family and colleagues swarmed around her, smiling, laughing, waving. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “We never planned this.”