Crazy Love (17 page)

I
t was nine o'clock in the morning, a time when most people were just jumping into their day not knowing whether they were going to get popped by one of life's fastballs or hit a home run. Jackson was up to bat, but he didn't know whether he'd hit it out of the ballpark or get beaned.

Jackson glanced furtively around the courtroom as he clasped his hands in front of him to keep them from shaking. He wasn't having much luck.

How Michelle's threat escalated to this point so fast, he didn't know. He smiled grimly, then cut his eyes at his lawyer, Bryant Duvall. A smooth-faced young man, he looked like he had just passed the bar that morning. His Sears suit and Kmart shoes looked like he picked them up on the way to court. Occasionally he'd shuffle his papers, scribble notes, and clear his throat in an official-type way, but he didn't say much. Standing next to Jackson, he looked more like his little brother playing dress up than the person who was fighting for his lifeline.

Jackson glanced down at his suit and prayed that it made him look like a responsible black man. He'd spent three hours last night agonizing over what to wear and finally decided on a charcoal gray suit, striped tie and white shirt.

The letter ordering him to court was lying on the table in front of him like a billboard, advertising to everyone that a crackhead was out to steal Jameel.

Jackson glared at Michelle and clenched his hands into fists. It took all the restraint he had not to wrap his hands around her pencil-thin neck and choke some sense into her. Oblivious to his thoughts, Michelle was staring reverently at the judge as if he were God.

This has got to be the biggest fucking sham in the world,
Jackson thought, shaking his head, then turning to get a good look at Michelle. She was aiming for the conservative look and she hit a bull's-eye. Someone had transformed her into a preacher's wife. Her hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, and the navy blue dress she had on resembled a potato sack with two slits for arms. The only sign of makeup she wore was lip gloss. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a little smile and her face was void of any frowns or worry lines.

Jackson turned his head toward her mother. Sitting directly behind Michelle, Mrs. Jacobs's face was twisted in a pained expression as though she wanted to be somewhere else. Jackson eyeballed her, willing her to look in his direction. If there was anyone who could stop Michelle, she could. She caught his stare, then quickly dropped her head. What the fuck? Jackson's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

His gaze shifted to the attorney sitting next to Michelle and a chill settled over him. Over six feet tall and with shoulders as wide as a doorway, she looked like a defensive back for the Atlanta Falcons. Tousled blonde hair swept over her shoulders and down her back and when she talked, which was often, it whipped wildly around her face. With big, mannish hands and feet, she looked like the type of lady who'd crush a man's balls. Jackson shuddered as Michelle's attorney addressed the judge.

“Your Honor, Miss Jacobs has been clean for six months, she has a full-time job paying ten dollars an hour and she just signed up for classes at a community college.” As she clicked off Michelle's accomplishments, the shaking in Jackson's hands increased and he nearly burst when the Nut Crusher announced, “And she's ready to be a mother to
her
son.” She nodded, then plopped down in her seat. Jackson could've sworn that she smirked in his direction before she turned and whispered in Michelle's ear.

Bryant Duvall stood up and cleared his throat for the thousandth time. He hated Judge Lewis—he was from the old school, the very old school. He believed that, no matter what the circumstances were, the child should always go to the mother.

“Your Honor, sir,” Bryant began, his tone respectful yet firm. Jackson shot him a look of amazement. He has balls. But can they survive the Nut Crusher? “Eight years ago, Miss Jacobs walked out and left her
newborn
son with Mr. Brown. For the past eight years, Mr. Brown has been single-handedly raising Jameel. Sir, he has steady employment, he's been a bus driver for the City of Atlanta for the past six years. He owns the house that he and his grandmother live in. Jameel has grown up in a loving, well-adjusted home with people who love him to death. It would be a crime to take him away from that,” Bryant finished.

“Your Honor, sir,” the Nut Crusher said, standing up and gnashing her teeth together. “Miss Jacobs has a two-bedroom apartment—”

Bryant interrupted smoothly, “Yes she does. And she shares it with a man to whom she isn't married.”

“Yes,” the Nut Crusher hissed between clenched teeth. “But they're engaged to be married.” Then, as if on cue, Michelle lifted her ring finger and waved prettily, showing off an engagement ring that looked like it came from a bubble gum machine. “Next month, as a matter of fact,” she sniffed.

“So she's marrying a known drug dealer?” Bryant quipped, then calmly reached for his water glass and took a sip. Jackson shot him a look of admiration.

“Objection! That's hearsay! There's no proof that he's a drug dealer,” the Nut Crusher spat.

“Cool it. I will not tolerate any outbursts in my courtroom,” Judge Lewis barked. He didn't bother to look up from his pad of paper, where he was furiously scribbling notes.

Bryant attempted to hide a smirk, but failed miserably. “Your Honor, all I'm saying is that Jameel will be in an unhealthy and potentially dangerous environment. And no eight-year-old should be put in that situation.” He finished and Jackson wanted to high-five him. He was sure to get full custody of Jameel now. As though a huge weight had been lifted, Jackson happily slumped in the chair.

“Not any more dangerous than where he's living now,” the Nut Crusher shot back. “Mr. Brown's neighborhood has one of the highest crime rates in Fulton County. It's all right here,” she said, and threw down a three-inch-thick binder on the table. Then she turned to Bryant. “You're more than welcome to review it,” she snickered.

Bryant glanced down at his notes and Jackson saw the lightbulb go off in his eyes. “Your Honor, Mr. Brown coaches Jameel's football, softball
and
soccer teams. He volunteers at his son's school and he's never missed a parent-teacher conference. He's a very devoted father,” he added.

“Your Honor,” the Nut Crusher jumped in, “Miss Jacobs just completed a twelve-week certificate program on parenting skills,” she said smugly, and Jackson snorted. He couldn't help himself.
How can a twelve-week class teach you to be a good parent?
This is bullshit! Bryant voiced Jackson's thoughts.

“A twelve-week course? Your Honor…come on. This man has been taking care of his son for
eight
years. Rocking him to sleep, wiping his snotty nose when he was sick and drying his tears when he was sad. And he did it
all by himself
.”

“Your Honor—”

“Enough!” Judge Lewis growled before he stepped off the bench and swept off to his chambers to make his decision.

Jackson slapped on a smile before turning around to Ettie Mae and Stacie. Two pairs of terror-filled eyes met his. They were sitting as still as statues.

“Hey, come on you two, smile,” Jackson cajoled. “We're not gonna lose. Jam is going to be with us, forever.” He jutted his chin in Michelle's direction. “She's not getting him.” But Ettie Mae couldn't muster a smile; her heart was telling her that her grandson was going to get hurt today. When she bowed her head and began to pray, Jackson and Stacie joined in. As soon as they uttered “amen,” Judge Lewis came swishing through the door and they were ordered to stand. After both parties stood, he solemnly peered at them all over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses.

“I've reviewed the paperwork, and read over the history of both parties. I've had some hard cases, and this is a tough one.” He pulled his glasses off and tiredly swiped his hand over his eyes. “I believe that a child should have its mother in its life,” he announced, and Jackson pitched forward and clutched the table for support just as Ettie Mae groaned mournfully. Jackson watched the judge through terrified eyes.

“And Mr. Brown”—he nodded in Jackson's direction—“you have been doing a wonderful job with your son. But Miss Jacobs has not only shown that she's interested in being a part of her son's life, she has clearly demonstrated to me that she is sincere on her part. With that being said, I announce that Miss Michelle Jacobs will receive supervised visits with said son, Jameel Brown. The said visitations are to commence within three weeks.” Judge Lewis banged his gavel, then stepped off the bench.

“Court adjourned,” the bailiff intoned.

Jackson stared at the empty bench in stunned silence. Bryant stood by, looking at everything except his client. He never knew what to do in these situations; they didn't go over it in law school. Instead of offering words of comfort, he picked up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase.

Jackson turned to his grandmother and Stacie. “Grammy, how could he do it?” he pleaded. “How can that
white
man decide to give my son to a crackhead?”

“It'll be all right, baby,” Ettie Mae, soothed as she stroked her grandson's arm. Stacie wrapped her arm around his waist.

“How the fuck can a
white
man tell me what to do with my son?” his voice escalated, his anger building. Jackson caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Michelle, her mother and the Nut Crusher were huddled around their table.

The Nut Crusher gave Michelle a congratulatory hug before she hurried out of the courtroom to defend another young mother, leaving Michelle and her mother lost in their own hug.

Jackson took one look at them, and his face twisted with rage. They're celebrating because I lost Jameel, he thought. That bitch is gonna get my son. Like hell! Before anybody knew what was happening Jackson pulled away from Ettie Mae and Stacie, then charged toward Michelle and her mother. Ettie Mae reached out to grab him, but she wasn't fast enough.

The bailiff charged across the room and grabbed Jackson by the neck, stopping him before he could reach Michelle. Jackson struggled against him, but froze when he glanced over at Ettie Mae and saw the horrified expression on her face. He couldn't hurt her anymore than she'd already been hurt today. Instead Jackson yelled out, he couldn't help himself.

“This is your fault. If you hadn't brought your sorry ass back here, I would still have my son!” he screamed, his face dark with anger. Michelle smiled arrogantly.

“Justice prevailed here today, Jackson. I'll be by this Saturday at ten o'clock in the morning to see my baby,” she announced, then sauntered out of the courtroom with her mother on her heels.

T
ameeka and Mohammad were sitting inside the store enjoying their morning coffee. Tameeka was sprawled out on the couch and Mohammad was sitting on the floor at her feet. Occasionally Tameeka found herself guiltily looking over her shoulder for Tyrell to come bursting through the door.

“I heard you guys the other night,” Mohammad said slyly. “I think
everybody
heard y'all. Sounded like some heavy sexing was going on up in here.”

Tameeka busted out laughing, not at all embarrassed. “Were we that loud? Damn! I paid good money to have this old house soundproofed. Damnit!”

“It's not soundproofed now and it wasn't back when we were using it,” he said, studying her. “I still want you, Tameeka,” Mohammad whispered. His voice lingered over her, caressing her body the same way his hands, tongue and eyes used to. Suddenly Tameeka wasn't sure what was causing the blood to rush to her face, Mohammad or the coffee.

“I can't…I have a boyfriend…” Tameeka stuttered, but she inched closer to Mohammad's mouth.

He glanced down at his watch and suddenly stood up. “Hey, thanks for the coffee,” he said. “I need to run. A man from CNN is stopping by. They want me to decorate some of their offices. Same time tomorrow?”

Tameeka hid her face in her coffee mug and simply nodded as he strolled out of the store. A sigh escaped when she heard the door close. The room instantly cooled by ten degrees.
What are you doing, Tameeka Jaquisha Johnson? You love Tyrell, why would you fuck it all up by sleeping with Mo?
“Because Tyrell can't stop looking at sticks,” she said out loud. Last night at dinner Tyrell couldn't take his eyes off the waitress. They fought about it. They fought in the restaurant, fought on the way to her apartment and fought inside the apartment. This morning, before she left for work, she tried to kiss him, but he had offered her his cheek instead. She was still thinking about Tyrell, when twenty minutes later she heard the door open.

“I'm back,” Mohammad sang out as he sauntered over to the couch. He noticed that she hadn't moved since he'd left. “Did you miss me?” he joked, but his eyes were serious.

Tameeka rolled her eyes and ignored the question. “What happened to CNN?” she sked.

“Oh, I saw the guy,” Mohammad called over his shoulder. He was making himself another cup of coffee. “He did a little talking. I talked back. He showed me what he wanted. I showed him what I could do. And
kaboom
—it was over.” He grabbed his coffee cup and sat down on the couch next to Tameeka. Instead of drinking his coffee he was holding it with both hands and watching the steam float up into the air. “Hey, I want to apologize.” Tameeka looked at him and he hurriedly explained. “For almost overstepping again…earlier this morning. I shouldn't've told you that I wanted you. That was wrong. I should respect your relationship.”

“Oh, that's okay. I wasn't offended or anything,” Tameeka answered nonchalantly, but her heart was beating so fast that she was afraid she was going to faint. “I've been doing some thinking,” she said, then took a deep breath. “I want you too,” she murmured as she leaned forward, and this time her lips touched Mohammad's. They brushed against his like a gentle promise.

He pulled back and gently appraised her. “Are you sure?” Tameeka nodded. “What about your boyfriend?”

Tameeka lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I don't want to talk about him,” she mumbled, then placed her hand on his crotch and felt his dick grow. “Let's do this…we don't have much time before customers start coming in.”

“So you're giving me time restrictions now? I want to take my time and enjoy every inch of you,” he drawled as he leaned forward and gently nibbled on her lips until Tameeka was softly panting for breath.

Tameeka slipped her hands under his shirt and ran her fingernails gently over his back until he shivered. “That's right, baby, I didn't forget,” she murmured as she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. He was exactly how she remembered him. Where Tyrell was cuddly and huggable, Mohammad was hard and sinewy. “I didn't forget a thing.” Leaning over, she swiped her tongue up and down his chest, over his muscled pecs, and licked his ginger-colored nipples until they were hard. A sigh of happiness escaped her mouth as she moved down to his stomach, giving his six-pack extra attention.

Pulling her up so that they were at eye level, Mohammad hungrily seized her lips as he eagerly undressed her before slipping out of his pants and boxers. Wrapping an arm around her neck, Mohammad eased Tameeka onto her back, then gazed into her eyes.

“I can stop whenever you want,” Mohammad said. In response, Tameeka placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him closer until their lips met. Her tongue slipped past his lips and gently probed his mouth until she had him groping for more.

Mohammad's hand snaked down between her legs and tenderly stroked her button. She lifted her hips toward him and began moving at a slow tempo, matching his movements until her body began convulsing and she was gasping for breath. A smile of satisfaction was on her face as she reclined on the couch and pulled Mohammad on top of her.

“Oh, Mo, put it in,” she moaned as she arched her back and spread her legs.

“Whatever you want,” Mohammad answered as he lovingly stroked her stomach, causing Tameeka to purr deep in her throat.

She glanced at Mohammad while he quickly put on a condom and suddenly pictures of Tyrell flashed in her head. She stared wild-eyed around her store. What the hell am I doing?

Just when she opened her mouth to tell Mohammad that she had changed her mind, he plunged into her and all images of Tyrell vanished.

“Meek, you feel so good,” Mohammad grunted as he swiveled his pelvis. “You're so wet. Am I making you wet?” he asked as he looked down at her face. She looked so beautiful lying underneath him. A light sheen covered her face, giving her a sexy glow as her body undulated with his.

“You're making me very wet and hot,” Tameeka groaned. “Do me like you used to, baby,” she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her. “Make me scream.”

Mohammad grinned wickedly and granted Tameeka her wish.

The smell of sex hung heavily in the air, the scents from her candles weren't strong enough to extinguish it. Tameeka dressed and picked up her coffee: it was ice cold, but she sipped it anyway as she glanced nervously around the store. I cheated on Tyrell!

“You okay?” Mohammad cut his eyes at her as he hiked up his khakis.

“I'm cool,” she answered, not looking at him. She needed Stacie, she'd know how to fix things. But ever since their argument they'd been tipping around each other like two mothers-in-law living under the same roof.

“Meek,” he called softly, and Tameeka looked in his direction, “This is between us. I hope you don't do something stupid like get a conscience and tell Tyrell,” he said more for his own benefit than for Tameeka's. Even though he worked out at the gym, Tyrell could still break him in half if he wanted to.

Tameeka shook her head. She had a distant look in her eyes. “I wouldn't do that to him,” she said, and shook her head again as if she was sealing a deal with herself. “No, I'm not going to tell him. What good would it serve?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Now that we got that out of the way, what just happened?”

“You know what happened,” Tameeka answered, rolling her eyes. “Weren't you there?”

“I know what happened,” Mohammad said. “But did you feel it between us, Meek? I mean, really feel it? It was good! We were good! Just like we used to be. I think we should get back together.”

“Because of sex?” Tameeka asked, incredulous that he would suggest something like that. “That's not a good reason to get back together.”

“It's not just the sex, it's more. We vibe on so many different levels. You know I'm right,” Mohammad said.

Tameeka waved him off. “You might be right, Mo. But I'm with Tyrell—” Mohammad snorted his disbelief. “And I really love him. This was a huge mistake. We both have to be adults and not let it happen again,” she finished.

Mohammad studied her through narrowed eyes. “This wasn't a mistake. And you know what?” he asked, and Tameeka simply rolled her eyes again. “We're gonna end up together,” he promised with a knowing smile.

Tameeka vigorously shook her head.

“Oh, yes we are. Get used to it,” Mohammad said, and kissed her quickly on the lips before he strolled out the door.

“Oh, Tyrell, I do love you, don't I?” Tameeka asked mournfully.