ROMANCING THE BULLDOG (15 page)

was headed in that direction, certainly. But it wasn’t there yet. Besides, she didn’t question

what he was up to when he was out of her presence, why should he question her? It almost

made her feel like that teenager ten years ago, when he dragged her out of that nightclub with

no regard whatsoever to what she wanted. He was probably right to drag her out, even she

knew she was getting in over her head, but the way he did it. As if he had all rights to her.

“What difference does it make, Jason?” she asked him. “A friend.”

“A male friend?” Jason felt like a chump, which drove him nuts.

“Yes, it’s a man. I knew him when we were kids, it’s no big deal.” Why she had to

explain that to him was a mystery to her. But she did feel a need to explain. And it seemed to

help, as Jason slid back in his chair and appeared to relax again.

Although Jason crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and continued to talk with her, he

was inwardly seething. Didn’t she realize what happened last night? Here he was so smitten

with this woman that he couldn’t wait to see her again, and already she had planned a dinner

date with another man. Her second night out with somebody besides him. He desperately

wanted to know more about this childhood friend of hers, and he wanted to ask her more

about him, but he didn’t go there. He’d find out. And this childhood friend, whoever he was,

was going to find out the hard way that nobody was laying claims to Liz Morgan, unless that

somebody was Jason Rascone.

NINE

Mama’s Finger Lickin’ was a soul food restaurant in the heart of the hood in Jacksonville. Liz

and Clay arrived within minutes of the other and were seated at a back table near the jukebox.

Clay was always a good looking man with more an intellectual look than a bad boy look, and

now, with Liz seeing him not in the night on the stoop of her father’s house, but in the light of

Finger Lickin’, and she was impressed. He had grown into his handsomeness with great

dignity, with those prescription glasses that catapulted him to nerd status back in the day, now

looking as if they were a fashion statement on him. And when he smiled that clean, white

smile of his, Liz remembered just how much she had missed his friendship.

“So,” he said, pushing those glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “you’re a youth center

director. What a . . . surprise, actually.” They both laughed. “The way Mr. Morgan had you

so under his thumb I would have never believed he’d allow you to go the social worker route.”

“I know,” Liz said. “That’s probably why I went that route.”

Clay smiled. “Have you been to his nightclub since your return to J-ville?”

Liz shook her head. “And I have no intentions of going. I am so not feeling that man right

now that it’s not even funny.”

Clay hesitated. “I heard he lit into you last night.”

“You heard right. I thought he wanted to make amends. That’s what Mal said, anyway. I

should have known better then. Mal and Dad don’t make amends. They get even. That’s the

Morgan way.”

“So they invite you to dinner, and me along with you, so that they can show you the error

of your ways. And also, I’ll be willing to bet, so that we could reconnect.”

Liz frowned. “Why in the world would my father care about whether we connect or not?”

“From what I could get out of Malcolm, and you know that’s never much, your father still

wants to make a quote, unquote, ‘honest’ woman out of you. He figures you hook up with

me, a rather bland but dependable bank vice president, then he can legitimately welcome you

back into the fold.”

“That is so ridiculous. He was like that when I was a child. Always wanting to control

everything about me. Even down to my friends. That’s how we became friends from the

beginning.”

“I know. My parents were doctors and we lived in the right neighborhood. That’s all Big

Hamp needed to know.”

Liz shook her head. “He is so shallow.”

“He also loves you, Liz, in his own way.”

“Sell it to the birds, my friend, because I’m not buying it. He loves me only when I do

exactly what he says, if that’s what you want to call love. But when I rebel, when I choose to

go my own way, he can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t know. My father and I seem destined

to never click. We never have.”

“I have faith. You guys will come together. At least I pray so.”

Liz looked at him. “So you’re a praying man?”

Clay nodded. “Yup.”

“Are you married?”

“Not yet, no,” he said. Then he looked at Liz. “But I hope to be someday.”

“Look, Clay, you seem like you’re still a wonderful guy--”

“I know. But I’m not for you.”

“It’s not that. It’s not that at all. It’s just that it’s getting a little too complicated in my life

right now when the last thing I wanted, when I came back here, was complications. I had

more than my share of those in Philly.”

“Understood. So you’re doing good for yourself then? Driving that gorgeous Aston

Martin. I ain’t mad at ya’.”

Liz smiled. “It’s not mine.”

“No?”

“Nope. My car is an old mustang and it’s in the shop awaiting three thousand dollars to be

repaired. I couldn’t afford an Aston Martin if it was on sale for next to nothing. Because

that’s about the size of my bank account: next to nothing.”

Clay laughed. “I see.”

“I’m a youth center director, remember? There’s no big bucks in that.”

“That was my assumption. The Meyers Center. I’ve got to put them on the bank’s

donations list.”

Liz looked at Clay. “That would be wonderful, Clay, thanks. We’re always looking for

more donors.”

“Not a problem. We’re always looking for worthy causes. And I know for a fact that that

particular Center keeps a lot of otherwise troubled kids off of the streets.”

“Right. We try to keep them from being idle, with nothing to do except robbing and

bothering people. For some it works, for some it doesn’t.”

“That’s the challenge of social work, isn’t it? Everybody who needs it may not want it.”

“Especially those who need it the most.” She thought she saw something odd out of the

corner of her eye. When she looked she saw nothing. “But we keep trying to--” She looked

again, and this time she did see something odd. Jason, of all people, was in Finger Lickin’

being escorted, not to a table of his own, but directly to her table.

“What’s the matter?” Clay asked, following Liz’s eyes. When she saw Jason heading their

way, he was astounded. “Isn’t that Mayor Rascone?” he asked. Then added: “What is he

doing in here?”

To terrorize me
, Liz wanted to say. But she didn’t. Jason was upon them.

“Hello, Liz,” he said without preamble. Then he looked at Clay. “And you are?”

Clay stood to his feet and extended his hand. “I’m Clayton Davis. It’s an honor to meet

you, sir.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, shaking his hand. “May I join you guys?”

“Yes,” Clay said, almost as simultaneously as Liz said no.

Jason sat down, beside Liz. His nearness immediately caused her to relax, as it usually

did. “So,” he said, “Liz tells me you’re a childhood friend of hers.”

Clay looked at Liz, slightly befuddled. “Yes,” he said. “I had no idea the mayor was a

friend of yours.”

“He used to be my father’s attorney.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“And yes we are friends,” Jason told him. “Very close, personal friends.”

Clay understood that hardly hidden hint. “I see,” he said.

But it wasn’t discussed throughout the evening, as all three ate dinner, had small talk, and

attempted to avoid the elephant on their table. Although Jason did everything in his power to

make it clear that Liz was his, Clay saw hesitancy in Liz. That was the only reason he

bothered to hang around. Liz wasn’t convincing him.

“Well, gentleman,” she finally said when the conversation began to wane, “I’m a working

girl and definitely needs her rest.” She began standing, with Jason and Clay standing, too. “I’d

better call it a night. “Ready, Clay?”

“I’m taking you home,” Jason said as if it were a fact.

Clay studied Liz, for her reaction. She didn’t resist him. “Well, actually, Mr. Mayor, I

usually take home the person I bring to the party.”

“Except this time.”

“No exceptions,” Clay made clear.

“Look, why don’t you go hang out with the other geeks who want--”

“Jason that’s enough!” Liz said. “It’s okay, Clay. I’ll go with him.”

“You sure about that?”

Liz wasn’t, but for peace sake she nodded anyway. “Yes,” she said.

“You aren’t convincing me.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Really, Clay, I’m fine. It’s what I want.”

Clay didn’t like it, but he was nobody’s chump. “Okay, if you’re sure,” he said.

“Mayor,” he said, extending his hand. Jason gladly shook it. Then Clay left.

“Nice guy,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Liz said, looking after Clay. “Very.”

Liz began leaving the restaurant. Jason didn’t like the way she emphasized ‘very’, but he

followed her anyway.

The neighborhood outside was bustling at night, with vendors seemingly on every corner

creating a flea market kind of atmosphere. Liz liked the energy of the area and said so. Jason

agreed. “It’s entrepreneurship in its’ greatest form: all substance, no flash.”

Liz looked at him. “That’s true. You get what they’re about. Which makes me wonder if

you’re this insightful why you only get token black support in your elections.”

“Because I’m a Republican, babe. That’s all they see. They don’t hear what I’m saying

because they can’t see past what I am. And I don’t blame them. My party has crapped on

them for years.”

Liz smiled. “You got that right.” Then she began to look around. “So, where is it?”

Jason looked at her. “Where’s what?”

“Where’s your truck?”

“Oh, that. It’s home.”

“Home?”

“That’s right.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“The way I get to most places. I got my driver to drop me off.”

“And come back and get you?”

“Nall, I gave him the rest of the night off.”

Liz looked at him oddly. “But you told Clay you were taking me home.”

“And I am.”

“But how?”

Jason pulled out his cell phone. “Cab,” he said and Liz, amazed by the sheer balls of this

man, couldn’t help but laugh. Jason grinned sheepishly and called for a pick up.

Later, at her front door, Jason removed the keys from her hand and unlocked the door

himself. They stood there, within an inch of each other, and stared into the other’s eyes.

“Would you care to come in, Mr. Rascone?” he asked her.

Jason studied her. “Is that what you want, Liz?”

Liz nodded. “Yes,” she said.

Jason smiled. It was what he’d been waiting for. But he knew he had to restrain himself.

He didn’t want to scare her. He didn’t want her to believe for a moment that sex was all he

was after. Especially now that he knew her father would be his opponent. That was going to

change the dynamic, he knew it would. She would soon be asked to choose between her

father and her. . . her what? Sometimes lover? That wasn’t good enough. He had to have a

stronger hold on her for their relationship, such as it was, to sustain the onslaught that was sure

to come. That was why, when he entered her apartment, he didn’t try to ravage her the way

he so desperately wanted to. He, instead, took a seat on her sofa and allowed her to kick off

her shoes, to relax, while he answered the numerous phone calls he ignored during dinner.

Liz loved it this way. Jason was always so in-your-face that he made her feel sometimes

as if he was bum-rushing her, and she didn’t like the feeling. This way, she was able to enjoy

the fact that he was near, without him being all over her. She even took a shower when it

appeared his phone conversations were intense enough to be protracted. She was right. He

was still going strong when she got out of the shower. She therefore dried off, put on her robe,

and laid on her bed. She was exhausted, it had been a long day, and she needed to just relax

completely for a few moments.

Jason’s last phone conversation was with Stephen Armitage, and it was his longest. From

what Steve was telling him, Hamp was going to go all out, hiring not just local political

strategists, but national ones. He aim to win, Stephen had said, and Jason had better be

prepared for the fight. Jason had clicked off his cell and just sat there.

He knew Hamp Morgan, and he knew they didn’t come any scrappier. And Hamp would

be willing to play dirty, no question about it, even if it meant hurting his own daughter. He

remembered the day Wilkes had told Hamp that he had slept with then eighteen-year-old Liz.