Baby Momma 2
Page 1
Baby Momma 2
Ni’chelle Genovese
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1 - HOME INVASION
CHAPTER 2 - HOME GROWN
CHAPTER 3 - JUST A FRIENDLY REMINDER
CHAPTER 4 - I’LL SCRATCH YOUR BACK—IF YOU SCRATCH MINE
CHAPTER 5 - GOOD FOR THE GOOSE—GOOD FOR THE GANDER
CHAPTER 6 - WHAT’S MINE IS YOURS AND WHAT’S YOURS IS STILL YOURS
CHAPTER 7 - FRENEMIES
CHAPTER 8 - SPECIAL DELIVERY—SPECIAL K
CHAPTER 9 - DON’T BE EYEBALLIN’ ME, MISTER
CHAPTER 10 - GIVING ME HEAD . . . ACHES
CHAPTER 11 - WORKIN’ WOMAN
CHAPTER 12 - DOUBLE TAKE
CHAPTER 13 - BLOOD MOON . . . BLOODY MONEY
CHAPTER 14 - I SAID—LOVE IS A HELLUVA DRUG
CHAPTER 15 - KARMA’S A BITCH . . . ONLY IF YOU ARE
CHAPTER 16 - CRIMES OF PASSION
CHAPTER 17 - STOP LOOKIN’ AND LOVE WILL SOON LOOK BACK
CHAPTER 18 - IF YOU PEE IN RUNNIN’ WATER, IT DON’T MAKE NO SPLASH
CHAPTER 19 - DISAPPEARING ACTS
CHAPTER 20 - UNFORGETTABLE AIN’T IRREPLACEABLE
CHAPTER 21 - IF I SHOULD DIE BEFORE I WAKE . . .
CHAPTER 22 - THIS WOMAN’S WORK
CHAPTER 23 - KINGS AND QUEENS
CHAPTER 24 - BITTER HONEY
CHAPTER 25 - CAT AND MOUSE
CHAPTER 26 - RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF...
CHAPTER 27 - SAVE THE BEST FOR LAST
CHAPTER 28 - DON’T BE SO DAMN SMART ALL THE TIME
CHAPTER 29 - IF YOU FAIL TO PLAN, YOU PLAN TO FAIL
CHAPTER 30 - AN UNMARKED MARKSWOMAN
CHAPTER 31 - WHEN IT ALL COMES DOWN
CHAPTER 32 - MIGHT AS WELL GO OUT WITH A BANG
Copyright Page
Dedicated to Yvetta Tonia.
All too often we don’t recognize the Angels that have been placed in our lives until they’re gone . . .
Acknowledgments
It’s funny because I used to complain about never getting any sleep, and now I never complain because it’s my dream that keeps me awake. To the Creator of all things including this wonderful talent that I’ve been blessed with—I give God all the glory.
There was shock and awe the first time around and now I’m just happy knowing I’ve made you both so very proud—to my parents, Haywood and Cheryl Boyd, you set me loose into the world scared that I wasn’t ready . . . and um I think it’s safe to finally say it’s the world that you should have been more worried about. I love you both so very very much.
My adopted big bro, mentor, manager, coconspirator, spiritual warfare counselor, financial advisor lol! You have too many titles for me to list them all! Maurice Tonia, I love you and thank you for the idea and the foundation that started it all—you made the impossible a possibility and then together we turned it into a reality.
My Sunshine Tiffany Wynn and My Smoochie Katey Kocsis I owe you both a world of thank-you’s for all the inspiration, patience, and the distractions even when I should’ve been writing <3
Author Dahni McPhail, aka Dj Sporty—I’ve got so much love and respect for you, you are one of the most creative and multifaceted people I know and I’m happy to step aside and watch you take off, it’s definitely your time. Iisha, Pk Allday, Christie, Angel—thank you all for accepting me with open arms. I owe all of my Bruncher’s a huge thank you for all the warmth and support, oh yeah and the crazy adventures.
Brandy V., Beverly H., Keshara, Stephanie P., Gwen-netta aka my Gigi, y’all all kept me from going crazy in between those three walls of my cubicle on more than one occasion. Marie H., thank you all for your friendship and understanding. My literary agent, Joylynn, thank you for keeping me on track.
To my oh so supportive FB fam Lana, Eve, Detra, Velma, Terricka, Jina, Mrs. Stephanie H.L., Leslie H.J., Shatika, Jerrell, Elmyra, Dawnsheika, Marissa, Deirdra, Aray, Lanika, Shannon, Kristine, Anoosha, Brandi, Sonya, Penny, Shauna, Lakesha and the Diamond Divas Book Club, Keyiona and Angie B’s Reading Between the Lines book club in Cincinnati. Everyone that’s shown their support I <3 you all. Ni’chelle G.
Follow me on Twitter @NichelleG4.
Everything I do is for Jazmyn. Montre. Bryce. Asia. Kailah. Techa aka Westside Carman Ayala and Carol Mackey of Black Expression book club my two BFF for life. To all my sisters & FB friends: To Sissy Tonya Clay. Saran Day. Gwen. Cherly. Erica. LeQuisha. Brooke Taylor. Tia Pic. Mishelle. NiQua. Latoya. Glynnis Tasha Felder. Tracy Jeter. Renay. Mellissa. Latoya. Andrea, aka Miss Sunshine. Mocha. Connie. Helena. QuTasha. Carlene. Anza. Marissa Palmer. Jennifer of NJ. Pansy. Michelle Rawls. Jatoria, aka LuxHair. Adina. Tasha Powell. Renatta. Tara. Rashida Elisha, my Jersey sis. Shanell Red, one of the best songwriters in the world, thank U for all the advice. Darren Hicks & Tish, thank U. To my brothers. Governor. Moosh. Mark. TKO. Shawn Clay. Marysol, aka Ms Latin. Stephanie. Juilia McElligott. Tracey Jenkins. Albert. T-Black Big Mike. Gary. Larry Jr. & Toya Tonia. To my wife, I don’t need to say a word just “I Love You.”
RIP Yvetta Tonia: When I thought God couldn’t hear my voice, she prayed for me. When everyone turned their back, she stayed with me. When I failed, she stood for me. When I felt suffocated, she breathed for me. When I felt like nothing, I was her everything. She is everything to me.
An extra special thank you to the cast and crew of Baby Momma The Movie:
Techa Lewis, Malcom L Banks II, Michael Taylor Ross, Renatta Nicole Spann, Lennel Hall, Ben Lane, Nina McAlpin, Michael D. Ballard, Evelynn Danh Makanaakua, Deontae Marico Harris, Tia Cherrice, Essence Allen, and Victorye Pulliam.
PROLOGUE
“I hate this picture, Chelle; it look like I’m cock-eyed or somethin’.”
We were sitting in first class, ready to start our flight from Virginia to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Taking her driver’s license from her I glanced at the photo, and handed it back. “You look fine, baby. Stop bein’ so dramatic; ain’t nothing wrong with that picture.”
“Larissa Laurel. I do like our new last name though. It looks like I could be a model or a actress, some kinda shit you would see on the big screen. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
My mind wandered. It had been roughly three months since the day I’d visited Rasheed in prison to tell him what had happened and, after that, we’d packed up all of our shit and we were getting the hell out of Virginia for good. No looking back and no second thoughts. I glanced over to make sure the baby was still asleep, since we’d just taken off. I didn’t want to be the woman with the loud-ass kids up in first class. She was unconscious, and Trey was busy with a pile of Goldfish—he’d be quiet until they disappeared.
I stared at my reflection in the window, my hazel eyes becoming part of one of the clouds and staring back at me. Who am I? Michelle Roberts—no, Michelle Laurel—a mother, wife, a heroine, or a monster . . .
“You ain’t heard nothin’ I been sayin’, have you?”
I looked up. I couldn’t lie; I hadn’t heard a single thing. Ris could go on and on about any- and everything, and I zoned out so much it’s a wonder she’d even talk to me sometimes.
“I’m sorry, baby, I was thinking about all the stuff we have to do once we get to the new house. You need a car, the kids need new clothes. I’ve got the new business starting up, and if this first buy goes through it could make it so neither of us has to work for anyone ever again, but then I’d have to start lookin’ into staffing and building a client base—”
“Well I was sayin’ we should decora
te the house in Wang Chung.” She rolled her eyes at me and popped her tongue.
I was looking at her like she was crazy, trying to interpret whatever the hell it was she’d misinterpreted, so I could figure out what she was talkin’ about. I couldn’t help laughing at her faux pas. “You wanna decorate the house in what? Don’t you mean feng shui?”
“Ain’t that what the hell I said? Anyway, I was lookin’ at this show an’ they was talkin’ ’bout all the shit that it’s good for like wealth an’. . .”
She went on like she hadn’t heard anything that I’d just said.
I rubbed my eyes; they were feeling tired and dry from the hours of researching and reading I’d been doing over the last few weeks. I’d been busy starting my own real estate company on top of getting our shit packed and making sure everything went through with adopting the baby and having her name changed with our name changes. The prison was telling me the child’s name was Paris and, um, I was not having that shit. Lataya Katrice Laurel was a beautiful name for a beautiful little girl and, since I’d always wanted a daughter, she was the perfect fit for our little family. From day one, I’d been treating her as if she were my own.
I couldn’t wait to finally get to a place that we could call home that didn’t have any bad memories, or a bunch of bad vibes attached to it. Everything in Virginia felt tainted in some way, shape, or form. We couldn’t go eat at Rockafeller’s because Rah used to take me there and Ris would get all types of jealous. Then, we’d have an issue over something simple and she’d say, “The only reason you ordered that is ’cause he always ordered that shit. Why you can’t try somethin’ different?”
My answer to that would be, “Maybe it’s because I just like this shit and don’t want anything different.”
My statement would then be followed by Ris slamming down her menu and staring at me. Her eyes would have that “ready to fight” glow and she’d say, “Nah, I jus’ think you miss that nigga.”
And bam: a fight over something as simple as dinner.
We couldn’t eat at IHOP because Rah used to take Honey, and Lord knows who else, up in there and then I would start to feel some kind of way, wondering which waitresses knew he was there with which skank. I knew I shouldn’t think like that about Lataya’s birth mother and call her a skank, God rest her soul. But still, it bothered me knowing some of those people there knew he had a family at home and not only watched him, but encouraged him in his bullshit; parading them hoes around town, fuckin’ whichever one was the flavor of the moment. Yes, a change was definitely going to do the entire family some good.
I didn’t tell Larissa that, as part of the surprise, I’d already had the house decorated but, maybe, we could take everything out of one room and decorate it “Wang Chung” style just for her. I giggled to myself again for that one, besides it was a big-ass house we would grow into. It was way too big for just the four of us right now but when I saw it I knew it was perfect. There was a playroom for the kids with this beautiful jungle mural painted on the walls and ceiling, with monkeys swinging from the trees and a giraffe. The kids would be in awe. I had a library that I couldn’t wait to fill up with all kinds of books, and a pool to swim in. It had all that fancy shit that neither of us grew up with. We’d have it all from now on if I could help it and we both deserved it so much. My family wasn’t going to want for anything because I planned on doing everything in my power to see us all well taken care of.
CHAPTER 1
HOME INVASION
(2 years later . . .)
Glancing down at my iPhone calendar, I checked my itinerary one last time. I could still show the Matthews property, finish up the paperwork, and make the forty-five-minute drive home in time for dinner. I pulled my all-black Lexus ES350 into the large circular driveway, careful not to scratch my rims on the damn rounded curb as I parked. Last time Larissa drove my car she curb-checked the hell out of the left side and I still cringed whenever I thought about what it cost to replace just two of those Lexanis.
The mansion loomed before me, picture perfect, like something straight out of a movie. Sand-colored cobblestone led the path toward the massive oak front doors. I grabbed up my things, deciding, instead, to take the long way around the back of the house. This way I could personally make sure the new landscaping company we were using was on point. It was the minor details that meant everything to the people who bought these types of homes and I had no intention of missing out on a major sale over a fuckery and bullshit minor technicality.
Everything looked in order. The hedges were trimmed into neat, identical squares and the thick carpet of lush green lawn was cut and edged beautifully. Small palms lined both sides of the large back yard overlooking the ginormous pool and Jacuzzi. It was early June and nearly eighty degrees out, and the water looked all too inviting. I didn’t think I’d ever adjust to the difference between eighty degrees in Florida and eighty degrees in Virginia. My blouse was already starting to stick to my back from the humidity and the moisture in the air. At least in Virginia we had dry heat; this damp hotness was for the birds. I walked past a flowering bush. Its scent immediately reminded me of the Botanical Garden and instantly I knew why this was one of my favorite estates. It had that Alice in Wonderland kind of feeling, like at any moment a little rabbit wearing a Queen of Hearts jacket would come running out from in between the shrubs to offer me a drink. I laughed to myself. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was but the place just felt like it could be home.
I let myself in through the back door into the kitchen. I paused mid-step, head tilted to one side. What the hell? I knew, too well, what it sounded like when a woman was gettin’ the business, and Lord knows I heard what sounded like heavy breathin’ and the soft telltale moans of a woman obviously lost in the type of passion that makes you not care who’s listenin’. I gently laid my leopard-print Pineider Cavallino briefcase on the granite kitchen counter. My Mace was in a small, light brown leather clip attached to the side that slid off almost effortlessly. I removed it and silently made my way toward the sound.
Here I was, Gretel following a breadcrumb trail of hastily shed clothing. All these fairy tale analogies—whew, I’d definitely been reading way too many bedtime stories to the kids. Red pumps, Michael Kors loafers, black tube top, Rock & Republic jeggings; all items that led me from the kitchen down across the foyer to the double winding staircase. I was in stealth mode, creeping along on my toes, heels never touching the floor for fear of the click-clack alerting the intruders to my presence and ruining my element of surprise. I gripped my Mace tightly in my hand.
I was greeted at the top of the carpeted stairwell by a black and grey Burberry button down and Armani slacks. Somebody had good taste in clothes and by the sounds coming from the cracked door a few feet in front of me, it didn’t stop there. My pulse quickened as I edged toward the door. Greedily my eyes took in the display of what a bitch can only describe as masculine perfection. Unconsciously, I licked my lips as I followed a trail of sweat that ran down his spine and pooled in the small of his back. For a moment I was lost in a voyeuristic fantasy. I could hear him accenting each pump with a word.
“Say. You. Want. This. Dick.”
The nigga was workin’ it. A dull ache started in between my own legs and my hand flew to cover my pussy out of some stupid fear that he’d actually hear it screamin’ back, “I want it!” I couldn’t see shit but two thin, stork-like legs poking out from either side of his hips, the black down comforter on the bed being so thick and all. I wouldn’t have known there was a woman beneath him if it weren’t for her pencil legs and loud porn star–sounding moans.
I hadn’t been with a man sexually in what seemed like forever, maybe three years; hadn’t looked at one, hadn’t thought about one. Damn sure hadn’t desired one—until now.
Months of faking and falling asleep unsatisfied had brought me to this moment. Ris and I were at that point where the spark was kinda gone out of our situation. My ass was bored. I was tempted to start mov
ing my fingers. Use this as a chance to release all my pent-up frustration. I glanced down at my watch: 2:45 P.M. My three o’clock appointment would be here at any moment and I definitely had no time for this bullshit. I needed to straighten up the mess these fools were making before my client arrived. After one last longing gaze I straightened up my blazer, patted my bun, and stepped into the room, clearing my throat.
I wasn’t sure what was more alarming: the fact that I was now no more than an arm’s reach away, or that he looked directly at me and didn’t even miss a stroke. I bit my lower lip. The nigga had the sexiest almond-shaped brown eyes. They glowed like golden coals against his dark skin. Damn. I was not expecting that. His eyes focused in on mine in an almost predatory manner. He visually drank me in and suddenly I was the recipient of each thrust. We were pretty much eye fuckin’ right now for lack of anything else to call it. I felt parts of me start to awaken and throb in such a way that my ass was scared to keep watching and too damn fascinated to turn away.
The woman, now more clearly visible, seemed oddly familiar. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed tight in ecstasy. She was so thin and palely light skinned beneath his thick, muscular frame that it looked like he was splitting her in half. Double damn! Dazed, my nipples hardened beneath my blouse as he lowered his head and flecked his tongue across her barely there breasts, her physique embarrassingly boyish compared to mine. It was as if my body had a mind of its own and even though my brain was saying, girl, go, I was glued to the floor. My nostrils involuntarily flared and I felt myself slowly coming to life as blood rushed to my most sensitive parts. I could smell his sweat and her wetness, all mingling with the woodsy aroma of the $4,000 cherry nightstand in the corner that I’d just had unpacked yesterday, and him.
As if splashed with cold water my body jolted back to reality. I only knew one mu’fucka who wore Issey Miyake and now the scent alone brought to mind entirely too many bad memories. I snapped out of my daze and cleared my throat again, loudly this time.