Crazy Love (8 page)

J
ackson Brown stretched his long legs and settled back in his chair at Houston's, one of his favorite places to eat. It was the only place in Atlanta where Abercrombie, Tommy Hilfiger and Armani collided on a daily basis. A lady sitting across from him caught his eye; he returned her gaze with a wink that promised he'd hook up with her before he left. He glanced over at his son, who was glumly staring down at his plate. “Hey, eat your food.”

“I don't like hamburgers,” Jameel grumbled. “I want a hot dog,” he whined.

“Come on, Jam. If you eat your hamburger, I'll buy you a sundae on the way home,” Jackson bargained, something he never thought he'd be doing with his son.

Jameel considered the offer, then shook his head. “I want a hot dog,” he repeated.

“Jameel, hamburgers are good for you. See, look at my muscles,” he said, then rolled up his Sean John shirt and flexed his biceps.

“But, Daddy, if hot dogs are so bad, how come we ate them last night?” he argued, his face scrunched up like a misshapen potato.

Jackson suppressed a smile. Jameel had him. For eight years old he was smart. “Let's get you a hot dog.” He motioned toward the waitress, Amy, a twenty-year-old Asian lady whom he'd dated a couple months ago. She had done things to him that he had only seen in movies. But he had a three-date rule; after that, the women were history. Seeing that he needed her, Amy made a beeline to Jackson, going so fast across the floor that she nearly knocked over another waiter. She took his order and rushed it to the kitchen.

“Eat your French fries,” Jackson said to Jameel, who was waving them around as though they were swords. His cell phone rang, stopping him from yelling at Jameel. A quick check to the screen showed that it was his boy Tyrell. “Look who finally decided to come up for air,” Jackson joked. “So you finally decided to pull your nose out of her pus—” He glanced sharply at Jameel, who'd decided to make little houses with his French fries. “So you finally decided to call a brotha,” he improvised, and Tyrell chuckled; whenever Jackson gave him the rated-G version, he knew Jameel was close by.

“Don't hate, man. Where are you?” Tyrell asked, but then he heard Amy's voice as she set Jameel's hot dog in front of him. “At Houston's?” he asked, laughing. “So is she going to be the first chick to break the three-date rule?”

“Naw, man…not even close. That's history,” Jackson snickered. “But you have to give her props for trying,” he said, eyeing Amy.

“Word! So how many numbers did you get today?”

“Only three,” Jackson modestly replied as he kept an eye on Jameel as he squeezed ketchup on his hot dog, then took a big bite of it.

“If you get bored, I can hook you up with my girl's best friend,” Tyrell offered.

Jackson frowned. “Thanks…but no thanks. I don't do blind dates. Check it out, I need to run, number four just walked into the restaurant,” he said. “Damn! You're fine,” Jackson whispered. She was the hottest lady he had seen in a long time.

“Ooh, you said a bad word,” Jameel squealed, and Jackson quickly apologized.

“How come you heard that, but you can never hear me calling you in the morning?” he asked, and Jameel giggled in response, then took another bite out of his hot dog.

A couple tables across from Jackson and Jameel, Stacie eyed Tameeka. “So we straight?”

Tameeka smiled and nodded her head. “Girl, you're a hot mess, but we're cool,” she assured her, but her next words were a warning. “But you really need to stop blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind. Next time you say some shit like that to me, I'ma kick your behind.”

Stacie snorted. “Yeah right, I doubt it. You think killing an ant is murder.”

“Don't try me! I'll get Tyrell and both of us will sit on your skinny butt until you're as flat as a pancake,” Tameeka warned.

“Okay, okay. Dang girl, you don't have to get all tough on me,” Stacie said, grinning at the lady whom she considered more of a sister than a friend. “I'll watch my big mouth,” she promised. “I missed you, Meek,” Stacie admitted softly.

“Missed you too girl,” Tameeka confessed, then, “Check him out,” she said, jutting her chin toward a man that reminded her of Mario Van Peebles.

Tameeka shook her head and grinned. Stacie's taste in men changed faster than her hair weaves. “Ask and you shall receive,” she replied, nodding toward Jackson. “And don't you ever say that I never give you anything. It's time to move on, girl. Crawford is old news.”

Stacie nervously cleared her throat. “Meek?” she called, and Tameeka turned her eyes on her. “You remember when I told you that I broke up with Crawford because he was bad in bed? I didn't break up with him, he broke up with me…well, he stopped calling me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Tameeka soothed, then patted her friend's hand. She'd suspected as much. Stacie giving up a multimillionaire was as unlikely as Donald Trump having a good hair day. “His loss,” Tameeka murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Stacie shrugged. “I guess I was just another groupie in his rotation. But I liked him,” she admitted. “I missed our talks so much. I don't like it when we argue. The last three weeks were horrible. I tried talking to Nevia, but she didn't get half the stuff I told her.”

“I know what you mean. I tried talking to Tyrell, but all he did was look at me like I was crazy. I'm glad Lexie broke down and you had to call me. You're my best friend, let's not blow it over pettiness, okay?”

Stacie agreed. “Even though Crawford and I hardly went out, we had a good time together. I guess he reminds me of Crawford,” Stacie said, jutting her chin at Jackson.

“He doesn't look like Crawford,” Tameeka said, surveying Jackson. Where Crawford was the color of brown-tinted milk, Jackson was glowing bronze. Instead of Crawford's wavy hair, Jackson's hair colored his scalp. The only similarity was their height; even though he was sitting down, Tameeka could tell that he was tall.

“You're right, he doesn't, but he looks like a player. Look at him.” The young lady he had been admiring earlier was standing at his table, fawning over him as though he was Morris Chestnut.

“He's gorgeous! So women are always gonna be up in his face,” Tameeka said matter-of-factly. “Besides, he looks too smart to get caught up,” she concluded. “And look at him with his little boy. He looks like he was born to be a father.”

“Oh, you can tell all that just by looking at him? Puh-leeze! Girl, you are plain crazy.”

“Well. I don't think that I'm crazy, but I'm going over to say something to him. Single fathers should be given a pat on the back,” she said as she shoved her chair back, then stood up.

“Oh gawd. Meek, leave the man alone. He's probably gonna think that you're trying to pick him up. Meeka! Come back here,” Stacie ordered. “Tameeka!” she repeated, then scrambled out of her seat to chase after her friend.

Tameeka approached Jackson's table. “Hi, guys,” she beamed.

Jameel piped up with a cheery hello, his father quickly followed and introductions were made.

Jackson smiled as he studied Tameeka. It was a friendly perusal, not at all sexually laced. It looked like she had closed her eyes, reached into her closet and pulled out the first two pieces of clothing her hands had touched. She was wearing black-and-red-checkered hip huggers and a purple-and-green-striped shirt. She wasn't his type—he preferred smaller women—but she was genuine and he liked that.

His gaze surreptitiously slipped to Stacie, and his penis twitched with excitement; she was finer up close. She was standing next to Tameeka, with her arms crossed under her breasts; boredom marred her pretty face.

“Come on, Meek, we need to leave
now,”
she insisted. “We have that appointment, remember?” It was getting late and she wanted to get home for her date. But Tameeka ignored her and kept talking. Stacie smacked her teeth, then turned on her heels to go.

Two steps later, she heard a howl so loud and pain-filled that it caused her to stop dead in her tracks. She whirled around and saw that Jameel had spilled his cola. His face had melted and tears flowed down his face. It took less than two steps for Stacie to be at Jameel's side and only two seconds for her to scoop him into her arms. Jackson's mouth went slack with amazement as Stacie comforted his son.

“Oh baby,” she cooed, using a singsong tone that she used with her nieces whenever they were sad. “It's okay. It's only soda. Did you spill any on you?” She did a quick appraisal of his clothing and she didn't find a drop of soda. “Let me dry that cute little face of yours.” She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at Jameel's face. It didn't take long before Stacie had him giggling. “Come on, let's go get you another drink,” she said as she held out her hand and Jameel slipped his hand into hers.

Jameel peeked over at his father, and Jackson gave his nod of approval. They walked off toward the waitresses's station. He could see Jameel yammering and Stacie nodding and smiling down at him as if he was disclosing the secret of life to her.

All the while Tameeka continued talking and Jackson listened to her with half an ear. All he heard was “wonderful single father.” It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the respect, but he was watching the lady with the delicious rear end talking to his son. By now he was sitting back in his chair, his legs sticking out and his arms folded across his chest. To the casual observer, it looked like he was in relax mode, but every one of his senses was heightened. He was ready to pounce like a tiger if anything happened to Jameel. If anyone had told him that men didn't possess the same fierce, protective love toward their children as women, he'd laugh in their face. He didn't relax until he saw them returning.

“Daddee, look what Mizz Stacee got me!” Jameel gushed as he held up a giant milk shake. The cup was almost bigger than him; he had to use two hands to hold it up.

“Mmm. That looks good. Are you gonna share some with your old man?” Jackson teased.

Jameel stopped pulling at the straw long enough to think about his father's request. “Maybe I will and maybe I won't,” he replied, and at that Jackson threw his head back and burst out laughing. Jameel was definitely his son. He looked proudly at him. His cheeks were pulled in and it looked like he'd inhale his whole face if he sucked any harder.

Off to the side, Stacie watched the exchange with wide eyes. The love that flowed between father and son was intoxicating. She took a better look at the father.

Damn! He's got it going on, she thought. She tried hard not to stare at his sculpted lips, high cheekbones and long eyelashes. But her eyes couldn't help but take in his body. His chest was as wide as a football field and his legs were two tree trunks. A jolt of desire hit her and she didn't dare look at his fingers. It'll be over then. Gawd, the things that I could do with that man.

She glanced up at his face just in time to see his lips turn into a sly smile and her mouth went dry, images of his succulent lips tonguing her body exploded in her head. The spell was broken by the ringing of her cell phone.

Stacie quickly pulled the phone from her purse. Her face brightened as soon as she heard the voice, and she stepped away from the table.

“Hey baby,” she said seductively. “I'm fine. Lexie was sick, but she's doing better now.” She listened, then nodded a couple of times. She giggled and said, “I can be there in twenty minutes,” then her voice deepened, “thirty, if you want me to stop and take my panties off.” Stacie said some more things that probably would've made an eavesdropper blush, then clicked off her phone.

Although Jackson could only hear bits and pieces of her conversation over the din of the restaurant, he knew that she was talking to her man. Her smile, the low voice, and her body language all screamed “sex me!”

“How come your boyfriend isn't here?” Jackson asked Stacie, and Tameeka smiled to herself.

“What are you, like a census taker?” Stacie snapped, but she was secretly delighted that he seemed interested in her. Jackson laughed.

“Naw. I drive a bus,” he answered as his gaze caressed her face.

“Well you should work for the government the way you ask all the women for their info,” Stacie said.

“Only the beautiful ones,” he drawled. “So why is your man letting you eat by yourself?” he asked as he sidled closer to her and his body heat upped her body temperature by ten degrees.

“How—” Stacie started, but her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, then asked, “How do you know I have a boyfriend?”

“Why shouldn't you? You're drop-dead gorgeous, articulate and classy. If you didn't have a boyfriend, I'd be worried,” Jackson flirted as he stepped forward and Stacie immediately scooted backward.

“Well, be prepared to be worried, 'cause I don't have a boyfriend,” Stacie replied sassily, yet she couldn't tear her eyes off his luscious lips.

Jackson cupped his hands over his mouth and announced, “Hey, brothas of the ATL, watch out, Miss Stacie is on the loose,” he joked, then, “So do you always give brothas a hard time?” he asked lightly.