Love T.K.O.. Pamela Yaye
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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.
“The kids are going to flip when they see you!”
Rashawn could hear laughter, children’s voices and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. They entered the learning center and found teens arm wrestling, a handful of kids playing board games and girls braiding hair.
“Mom!” A chunky boy ran across the room and threw himself into Niobie’s arms. “Did you bring me something?”
“You know I did, baby.” Niobie smoothed a hand over his plump face before reaching into her purse and pulling out a king-size chocolate bar.
“Thanks, Mom!” He ripped off the wrapping paper and took a bite. Chewing, he bobbed his head to the beat of his swallows.
The last thing the child needed was candy, but Rashawn kept his observations to himself. He wasn’t a single parent and he didn’t want Niobie to think he was judging her. As a young mother, she probably got her fair share of criticism. Her son was cute, in a Nutty Professor kind of way, but it was obvious he needed more exercise and less junk food. To his amazement, the seven-year-old demolished the candy bar in three bites.
It wasn’t until Miles was finished eating that he noticed the man standing beside his mom. “Who are you?”
Yanking her son to her chest, Niobie cupped a hand over his mouth. “Miles, don’t be silly. You know who that is. It’s Rashawn “the Glove” Bishop.”
Squirming out of his mom’s arms, he said, “Are you a basketball player? Do you know T-Mac? He’s my favorite.”
“No, I’m a boxer. Your mom told me you want to be a boxer, too.”
“No way! I’m going to be a race-car driver!”
Niobie’s laugh was tinged with anxiety. “Kids. One day he wants to be a boxer, the next day he wants to be a race car driver.”
Rashawn had a feeling this trip to the community center had little to do with Miles and everything to do with Niobie. This wasn’t the first time a woman had feigned interest in his career to get close to him. Most of the time he was flattered, but what Niobie had done cool wasn’t cool.
“Hey, it’s the Glove!” shouted a squeaky voice.
Within seconds, Rashawn had a group of children around him, asking for handshakes, autographs and money. Laughing, he opened his wallet and handed a fifty-dollar bill to the tallest kid in the group. “Run up the block and get everyone a fruit smoothie.”
“Yay!”
“Thanks, champ!”
“You’re the best!”
Children raced out of the room behind the boy with the money.
“That was a nice thing to do,” Niobie said, flashing a toothy smile. She coiled a hand around his arm like a python. “Why don’t I give you a quick tour while we wait for Miles and the others to come back?”
“Sure, why not?”
Niobie showed Rashawn the facility, introduced him to staff, volunteers and parents and told him interesting pieces of information about the people who worked there, the counseling sessions Yasmin oversaw and why the fund-raiser was so important to the families who frequented the community center.
“How much do you guys need to raise?”
“I don’t know the exact figure, but I’d guess about twenty-five thousand. The center receives support from local churches and other outreach programs, but we never have enough volunteers or supplies. Not to mention the extensive renovations that need to be done. The planning committee is hoping we raise enough to…”
Boisterous applause drowned out the rest of her sentence.
“Sounds like something’s going on in the gym.”
“It’s always crazy in there when the teenagers take on staff.”
“Why aren’t they playing out on the field?” he wondered out loud. It was a sunny day and he couldn’t understand why kids would want to be cooped up inside. Rain was expected tomorrow and most residents were taking advantage of the weather while it lasted. Beyond the community center doors, people were gardening, mowing their lawns and clearing the trash off their properties.
“Too many needles and drug paraphernalia.”
Shaking his head, Rashawn opened the door and allowed Niobie to precede him into the gymnasium. Sprinting full speed toward the soccer net in a blue tank top, shorts, kneepads and sneakers, was Dr. Yasmin Ohaji. She kicked the ball and spectators cheered the impending goal. The robust goalie blocked the shot and the soccer ball sailed through the air and smacked Yasmin hard in the face. The blow stunned her temporarily, but once the ball hit the ground, she was off and running again.
Propping a foot behind him against the wall, Rashawn crossed an arm across his chest. Smiling broadly, he watched Yasmin move effortlessly around the court. The therapist was unlike anyone he had ever met. Not only did she leave every man she passed breathless, she stood up for herself, demanded respect and had one hell of a front kick. Rashawn knew a lot of professional women, but he didn’t know any who played soccer with such tenacity. Yasmin was competitive, aggressive and seemed bent on scoring a goal before the time on the scoreboard ran out.
“Ready to finish the rest of the tour?”
Caught up in his thoughts, he’d forgotten that Niobie was standing beside him.
“Maybe later.” Rashawn wasn’t leaving until he saw how the match played out. Yasmin and her teammates had five minutes to tie the game and something told him she would be the one to score the goal her team needed.
Niobie chatted beside him, but Rashawn wasn’t listening. He was focused on Yasmin and when she shot down the court toward the goal, he cheered along with the crowd. She kicked the ball to a lanky man, who outran his defender, dodged the goalie and scored in the open net. The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game and, once the teams had shaken hands, the audience filed out of the gym.
Niobie touched a hand to his forearm. “We should go. I’m sure Miles and the others are back now.”
“You go on. I’m going to hang back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he said, momentarily pulling his attention away from the court. Appreciative of the time she had spent showing him around and introducing him to the staff, he said, “Thanks for the tour. See you later?”
“Ah, okay, bye.”
Rashawn caught Yasmin’s eye. Her sweat-drenched T-shirt clung to her body, outlining each and every luscious curve. She would look good in a brown paper bag, he speculated, admiring her thick, childbearing hips. Clapping his hands, he gave her a hearty smile. “You got one hell of a kick, Doc. Who knew a therapist could play soccer like a pro? You’re going to have to teach me some of your fancy footwork.”
Smiling, she smoothed the base of her ponytail. “Don’t let the business suits fool you. I played volleyball, soccer and basketball throughout high school.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like sports?”
“No, I said I didn’t watch sports. I’d