“Hey, girl.”
Yasmin turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. Imani stepped onto the patio, the bottle of pinot blanc at her lips. “What are you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at Dean’s?” Yasmin asked.
“He had to work late so I decided to come home and catch up on some work.”
“I see.”
“Did you have a good day?”
“You mean before or after you reamed me out?”
Imani plunked down on the chair beside Yasmin. Her long legs poked out from underneath her money-green wrap dress, which emphasized her small bust and size-six waist. Kicking off her heels, she crossed her legs and adopted a matter-of-fact attitude. “You have no right to be mad at me. You blew off one of my biggest clients. Cecil Manning is not only poised to be our next mayor, he’s making major moves in the real estate industry, as well. We have a solid business relationship and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Yasmin took a deep breath and blew it out. When it came to her sister, she had no choice but to take the bitter with the sweet. She was annoyed with Imani, but decided not to speak on it. She had come out on the patio to clear her mind, not get into a discussion about that wimp Cecil. He had been calling her office nonstop since their blind date and had even gone as far as sending lavish bouquets of roses. Unlike Rashawn, he didn’t have a creative bone in his body. Exploring the city by boat sounded romantic. Flowers? As clichéd as a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day.
Imani must have sensed her frustration, because she dropped the subject. “How are things coming along with the fund-raiser? I sold tickets to everyone in my office and all of the prospective buyers I met with today.”
“Thanks. Things are going a lot better now that I’ve booked the entertainment and found a caterer.”
“That’s great. Have you found an emcee yet? I mentioned it to Cecil and he was more than happy to volunteer. He said—”
“I have someone in mind.”
Imani took a swig from the wine bottle. “Really, who?”
“Ever heard of Rashawn Bishop?”
“That fine-ass boxer with the six-pack? Of course, who hasn’t?”
“Me, I guess.” Yasmin told her about what had happened at the Laurdel Lounge and his surprise visit to the clinic that afternoon. “He asked me out again. He said we could drive down to the pier and spend the night on one of those evening boat cruises.”
“Damn, girl! Why didn’t you tell me?” Imani asked, smacking her sister’s leg. “I wouldn’t be pushing Cecil on you if I knew you were interested in someone else.”
“I’m not interested in Rashawn. I just want him to emcee the fund-raiser.”
“You guys aren’t going out?”
Yasmin shook her head. “I can’t think about dating anyone until I’m over Eric.”
“When does this self-imposed grief period end? It’s been over two years and you’ve turned down every single guy who’s asked you out. You need to jump-start your love life and maybe this Rashawn guy is the one to help you do it.”
“Leave it alone, Imani. I’m not ready.” Her eyes watered and everything went out of focus. “I need more time.”
“Yassie, I know you loved Eric but who’s to say there isn’t someone else out there for you?”
When silence settled over the patio, Imani put the bottle of wine on the table, stood and headed back into the house. Returning with her laptop under her arm and a can of tuna and a spoon in the other, she said, “I know how much you like to look people up on Google, so let’s check out this Rashawn guy together.” While she waited for the computer to load, she opened the tuna and ate it straight out of the can.
Light flooded the patio as the computer came to life. Yasmin watched her sister type Rashawn’s name into the search bar, convinced this late-night investigation wouldn’t garner any useful information.
“Imani, don’t waste your time. I’m not ready to start dating, and even if I was, it wouldn’t be with someone like Rashawn Bishop. He’s pierced and tattooed and he’s a boxer, for God’s sake! He doesn’t even have his college degree.” Shifting in her chair, she averted her gaze. He was all wrong for her. He looked like a player, like the kind of man who lied, cheated and dogged women out. But, Yasmin knew that wasn’t true. Rashawn had stood up for her and only a gentleman would do that.
“Bingo!” A picture of Rashawn, bare-chested and glistening, filled the eighteen-inch screen. His Web site was loaded with pictures, newspaper articles and had expensive, high-powered graphics. Imani leaned forward, her nose practically touching the monitor. She read his bio out loud and shared any information she thought would interest her. “I’d go ten rounds with him any day!”
Yasmin didn’t doubt the truth of her sister’s words. Imani was in a committed, long-term relationship, but her gutsy style and carefree spirit attracted men in droves. “And what about Dean? What would you tell him?”
“Please, he’d probably ask if he could watch!”
Yasmin laughed, her narrow shoulders shuddering. Imani and Dean took spontaneity to a whole new level. They’d tried it all, strip clubs, bondage, threesomes, and still managed to maintain a healthy, committed relationship. Yasmin would never advise a female client to fulfill her man’s every wish or sexual fantasy, but Imani and Dean’s arrangement worked for them, period.
Imani tapped a manicured nail on the screen. “According to his bio, he just turned twenty-seven. You found yourself a hot young boxer! Way to go, Sis!”
“I didn’t know. I thought he was my age,” she protested, peering at the computer screen. Yasmin never would have guessed he was five years younger. He was mature, responsible and had an air of authority about him. Definitely not the average twenty-something guy. “I don’t care how old he is. Like I said, he’s not my type.”
“Don’t be so quick to write him off, Yassie. You know my motto. Keep an open mind and jump at every opportunity that comes your way. Before meeting Dean, I went out with anyone who asked. Why not? It’s a free meal, a chance to get dressed up, and half the time, decent conversation.”
“I’ve never looked at it that way,” Yasmin admitted. As usual, her sister had given her something to think about. No one said she had to marry the guy.
Imani turned away from the computer screen, the expression on her face a serious one. “Give it some thought, Yassie. You never know when love may come knocking.”
Chapter 4
Parkland Community Center was located in downtown Tampa. Drug addicts and prostitutes frequented the area, often scoring crack across the street from where toddlers played. At-risk youth under eighteen enjoyed computer classes, tutoring, group and individual counseling and job-readiness training. The center consisted of conference rooms, learning centers, a cafeteria and a full-size gymnasium. Parkland Community Center was an integral part of the neighborhood, but the twenty-five-year old building was falling apart. The roof had pot-size cracks, concrete crumbled from the walls and the floors were colored with stains.
“It’s huge in here,” Rashawn commented, as he followed Niobie through the lobby. Staff and volunteers milled about, talking to kids and answering phones, and a group of people were watching Judge Mathias on the thirty-two-inch TV in the lounge area.
“Thanks for giving me a ride down here.”
“No sweat.” As promised, Rashawn had dropped by the office with an autographed picture for Niobie’s son. Yasmin had left for the day, so when Niobie had suggested they go by the community center, where Miles was playing, Rashawn had agreed. He’d left the gym early and wasn’t anxious to return.