Baby Momma 2

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  I hadn’t realized how beautiful she actually was, completely dismissing my initial judgment of her at the house when I’d first seen her. Her eyes were a light golden brown and in the dim lighting it looked like they were aglow from the inside. Like the reflection you see from a flame in the glass when you burn a candle in a hurricane jar. We had a complete conversation without saying a single word, her eyes boldly telling me, “I want you.” I backed up a step, shaking my head again, silently saying, “I’m married—this cannot go down.” Biting her lower lip, eyebrow raised, she narrowed her slanted golden cat eyes, soundlessly telling me, “I get what I want—and I want you now.” My eyes widened in an utter look of “Oh shit.” I’m such a punk. I mentally slapped myself for this one, because she had me.

  I wasn’t used to being challenged or pursued by a woman, not since Ris, and it caught me off guard when she came at me again. I shouldn’t have had so many tequila shots. The liquor is definitely my damn alibi and I’m sticking to it. My eyes closed in anticipation. I was completely ready for the sensual assault of Dior and cherry rosé to consume me—and it did. My hands had a mind of their own and I let them roam freely until I felt warm, smooth, baby-soft skin.

  I slid my hand upward, raising her dress as I went. I gently caressed her left breast in one hand, lightly teasing her nipple until she moaned and playfully bit the corner of my lip. The sound she made was low, sultry—every hair on the back of my neck stood on edge. I explored with my other hand, allowing it to slide down the soft, muscled outline of her stomach to the soft lift of her ass. My eyes opened and I gasped in shocked surprise when I stroked her hairless wonder, amazed at how smooth, soft, and wet she was. Shit.

  Mental note number 543: get a damn Brazilian wax. No matter how much they say that shit hurts it’s damn sure worth it. To be so thin and frail looking, Lania was strong. She had somehow backed me up against the sink and had lifted me up onto it in one solid movement. She roughly wrapped one of her hands around my neck, gently choking me while lightly digging her nails into my skin at the same time. I couldn’t take it; it had to be the sweetest torture I’d ever felt. Ris didn’t have nails because she’d bite them off, but damn she needed to grow or buy some.

  Lania took complete control over everything: my body and my senses. I could feel her fingers burning a trail of heat up my inner thigh and her mouth left mine to take advantage of the deep, plunging neckline in the front of my dress and the fact that I wasn’t wearin’ a bra. The pressure building in between my thighs was so much it was becoming damn near painful. She was slowly sliding my panties to one side, teasing me at first, letting her finger trail ever so softly across my already throbbing lips. I was about to be extremely embarrassed because I was entirely too damn wet to just be on some second base–type shit, but I couldn’t help it. She shoved two fingers deep inside me and I swear I almost exploded right there on the spot.

  “Michelle?”

  In my tequila-sex haze I almost responded until I realized it wasn’t Lania saying my name. Someone pounded frantically on the bathroom door.

  “Michelle? Are you in there? I think I’m gonna be sick.” Larissa was knocking on the bathroom door.

  “Shit.” We both cursed quietly. It was like I was doused with cold water and simultaneously hit over the head. Frustration and disappointment in myself set in all at once. I hopped off the sink and straightened my dress and panties, checking my hair in the mirror. Lania arranged her dress and recomposed herself before walking back over to the chaise longue, looking as if she’d been there all along. I unlocked the door and Ris rushed in, eyeing us both suspiciously.

  “What the fuck took you so long? The fuck, Michelle?” She was wobbling back and forth.

  I raised my hands as if waiving the white flag. “Larissa, not here—not now. Nothin’ was goin’ on, baby, calm down.”

  She pointed over in Lania’s direction, staggering toward her. “You bitch, I seen you, prissy, Frenchy bitch—lookin’ at my bitch.”

  Lord, I must have turned five shades of red I was so damn embarrassed. I grabbed Ris by her shoulders and turned her to face me so I could at least lie to her directly in the eyes. “Ris, baby, I promise nothing . . .” Shit, before the words could leave my mouth Larissa did some kinda behind-the-back drunk crossover, goin’ around me like fuckin’ Jordan back in ’93 and was on Lania’s ass before I could blink.

  “Michelle, get your bitch before I kill her.”

  Ris went flyin’ back across the room, and I just stood there, eyes wide as fuck, staring in stunned silence. I told y’all that skinny heffa was strong. She’d pushed Larissa’s ass up off of her so damn hard I was in shock.

  “Ugh, Chelle, I’m gonna be sick.” Larissa was definitely done as she staggered toward the stall in the corner.

  I followed her into the bathroom and held her hair back just as she let go. “Damn, Ris, I think you’re ready to go, baby.” She surprised me by shaking her head no in between frame-racking heaves. I looked over at Lania, who surprised me even further by just shruggin’ as if this was a normal thing for her ass.

  “Well, Risi-cup, I think it’s safe to say you definitely can’t handle your liquor anymore. Let’s go get yo’ ass some water so you can sober the fuck up.”

  “The hell I can’t. I’s jus’ makin’ room fa’ more.” She chuckled, and I helped her fix her hair and walked her back out to the table. Keyshawn was right where we left him, looking just as handsome with his two concubines, waiting patiently as ever.

  “Y’all good?” Keyshawn asked, barely glancing in my direction.

  Lania slid back into her place beside him and gave him an awkward smile. They exchanged a look, or I thought they exchanged a look; it was so brief I could have possibly imagined it. I just didn’t want to seem like I was imposing, and I definitely didn’t want to be labeled as the woman with the wife who gets drunk and acts a complete mess in public.

  “So, my mans is comin’ to hang out with us if y’all up for it.”

  Ris flopped down into the booth and answered before I could even open up my mouth and come up with an excuse to get us out of there.

  “Our asses is up for it. Is he anotha basketball player? Who is it?” She was pouring herself another glass of champagne, but more of it was ending up on the table than in her champagne flute.

  “He’s the owner of the team. Cool dude. Here, let me pour that for you, you are my guest.” He directed his gaze toward me after filling her glass less than full. “Very good connect to have. You never know when you need to know someone like him.”

  With that statement the business part of me kicked in and I sat my ass down. “Key, pour me a glass too, please.” Never know when you’ll need to know an NBA team owner, especially in the housing industry. That’s some super official shit right there.

  It didn’t take long for Curtis Daniels to arrive; he was a tall, older man with greying hair at the temples on either side of his head. I can’t lie; he looked like money.

  Keyshawn got up to greet him when he came over, and introduced him. It was a damn near buzz kill having him at the table and I was honestly happy for it. Key’s playful demeanor immediately went out the window and he was acting like a perfect gentleman. If I weren’t mistaken I’d say he was actually uncomfortable, but I guessed I would be a bit out of my element too if my boss wanted to come hang out at a damn club when I was tryin’ to let loose and drink.

  “Excuse me. Sir Angelo extends his graciousness.” A waiter had appeared at our booth with a bottle of Châ-teau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac. My eyes widened and we all looked back toward the booth, but the curtains were still drawn.

  “Send it back. I’ve already paid for champagne.” Keyshawn surprised even me, but Lania said what we were all thinking.

  “Key, that’s a three thousand dollar bottle of champagne. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest; are you trying to offend him on purpose?”

  Keyshawn acted like he didn’t even hear her.

  “Tell An
gelo we send our appreciation. Keyshawn, that pride will make you lose more than it will ever earn you if you don’t get it under control.” Curtis accepted a glass from the waiter and I couldn’t help but wonder what Key had against that Angelo guy.

  Curtis’s sophisticated demeanor was a good balance to the group. It kept Ris from suicide tag-teaming shots and glasses of champagne left and right, giving her a little time to sober up. Once the guys got on the subject of basketball plays and seasons and playoffs, I decided it was a good time to call it a night, and I pulled a reluctant somebody away from the table and out to the limo so we could go home.

  Ris pouted the first half of the ride and slept the rest of the way. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number but figured it must be Keyshawn; I even got excited and dared it to be Curtis.

  “Hello?”

  “Enjoy your time while you still can, bitch.” That’s all that was said and the call disconnected. The voice sounded like something out of a horror movie. I knew there were plenty of apps on iPhones and other programs that could mask your voice, make it raspy or deeper, but why would Rasheed want to go through all the trouble? Was scaring me that serious? I dialed the number back and it went to a Google voice service that said the call couldn’t be completed. My heart felt like it was doing clumsy flips in my chest. Someone needed to put a stop to this shit. The phone vibrated again, showing yet another number I didn’t recognize. I hit answer and didn’t say a word. I slid the phone to my ear, my heart beating in my throat, afraid to hear whatever murder, death, kill threat I would get next but ready to cuss someone the fuck out.

  “Umm, hello? Michelle?”

  A woman? It took me a second to place her voice. “Lania? Hey, I’m sorry I . . . I had the phone on mute.” I wasn’t in the mood for her cat-and-mouse bullshit right this second, especially not with Ris asleep right here, liable to wake up and ask a million questions.

  “So, I honestly don’t do this that often and I am in understanding with your situation, but I’d really like to be seeing you again. Soon if that is possible.”

  I had to shake my head yet again at her “Frannish” but that low, sultry voice of hers, it was like warm spiced caramel, and I had an instantaneous flashback of what it sounded like when she . . .

  I popped that thought bubble before it could float any higher. I had too much going on to entertain this type of bullshit right now. Ris adjusted her head on my shoulder in her sleep and I stiffened.

  “Lania, I can’t. I’m sorry about what happened tonight too, but I just can’t. I’ve gotta go okay?” I didn’t even wait for her to respond. Suddenly I realized that I’d just hung up on one of Maxim’s top one hundred. Actually I think she was numbered as the twenty-eighth most beautiful woman in the world. I exhaled loudly. My neck was starting to hurt. I needed to be as rational and real about this situation as possible and with the way things were going, Rasheed was probably going to try to kill me. The key word was try, because there was no way I was giving up my life without a damn good fight. That muthafucka had another thing coming if he thought otherwise.

  CHAPTER 6

  WHAT’S MINE IS YOURS AND WHAT’S YOURS IS STILL YOURS

  Boy oh boy. I almost went slam the fuck off and gave away the fact that my ass wasn’t for real drunk sleeping on Michelle’s shoulder. I’d adjusted my head so I could hear her conversation better. The first one was quick and weird. I couldn’t really hear it that well but based on the way she tensed up it wasn’t good news. But the second one, whew, I almost nodded my head right into her lap because I was straining so hard to hear. I just knew something was up with that pretty-ass model Frenchy bitch mispronouncing- shit-for-no-damn-reason streetwalking ho. Oh, I bet Chelle ain’t even know all that shit. Keyshawn was on his phone and Keisha had started talkin’ all low to Chanel when they left sayin’ some shit ’bout Lania needin’ her to escort some nigga somewhere so they needed to ditch our party. An’ here I was kissin’ her ass thinkin’ she on some top model shit and she over here running hoes.

  Lania’s ass had just hopped up too quick to help out when Michelle needed to go piss at the club. An’ when Chanel and Keisha had the nerve to ask if I was okay with them going together, it took everything in my power to keep me at the table for as long as I sat there. It took a helluva lot more for me to embarrass myself and stick my damn finger down my throat when Chelle wasn’t paying attention so I could throw up. My ass wasn’t gonna be sick. I just needed an excuse to whoop that bitch’s ass, and being drunk just seemed like a good enough’a one to me, shit.

  My Spidey-muthafuckin’-sense was already on ten; I ain’t need Tweedledee and Tweedledum-ass pointin’ shit out like my ass stupid. I didn’t know if Michelle did or didn’t do anything up in that damn bathroom, but just in case, I got my ass whoopin’ in just for her or that bitch even thinkin’ ’bout doin’ that shit. Point blank, that’s all the fuck it took. Little Ms. Lania’s ass was on my muthafuckin’ radar. Period.

  I could feel the limo roll to a stop. Michelle kissed me on my forehead and I blinked a few times, trying to adjust my eyes since they’d been closed the entire ride.

  “Hey, you lush, we’re home.” She gave me one of her fake-ass “I’m trying to act like nothing’s wrong” smiles. It was damn obvious she was worried about something. I just hoped she wasn’t thinking about that bitch.

  “Is somethin’ wrong, bae?” I acted like I was still a little hazy from all the liquor, but I was super alert, watching everything.

  “Nothin’ baby. I’m jus’ tired, it’s close to four in the morning.”

  We climbed out of the car and made our way up to the darkened house, both of us trying to look normal as fuck while secretly eyeballing every tree, shadow, and bush. Most of the main lights were off in the house but the sitter had left the foyer lit. She was sitting in the living room, doing some shit with these long-ass needles. I guess that’s what the fuck knitting looks like. Boring, I thought. Darla was an older, maybe late-forties white lady with stringy brown hair. Michelle found her through some kind of nanny referral service. She came with this long list of celebrity clients, a resume, a background check, all that shit. The needles clinked together as she dropped them into her little nanny knapsack and walked over to us.

  “Hello, misses.” She always called us that like we weren’t some damn grown-ass women, always talkin’ in her polite little field mouse voice. I bet she had a gazillion cats at home an’ shit, or a million of those little white china baby dolls and she be talkin’ to ’em and shit like they real kids. That’s what the fuck she looked like in her pink and white “Nannies ’R’ Us” uniform that the agency made her wear.

  “A visitor came by not long after you left. As instructed I did not approach nor open the door. The children are upstairs in bed. They are very well behaved and beautiful little ones. Feel free to reserve my services anytime.”

  I didn’t hear a damn thing after the word “visitor.” Who in the hell came by the house?

  You would’ve thought the two of us were wanted fugitives the way we suddenly looked at each other. Both of us asked the same question in our heads without needing to speak it out loud in front of this person who didn’t need to know our business.

  “Darla, I’ll see you out. Thank you so, so much for your time this evening.” Michelle took over and walked Darla toward the front door. She locked and bolted the double front doors, set the alarm, and together we went down the hall into the study that we never used. It wasn’t a large study, I guessed. I ain’t never had a house with a study so I wouldn’t know. Michelle picked all the books that lined all the walls, most of which she’d said she read. I’d skimmed through a few but they were all, “think about this, grow rich that,” a ton of shit I couldn’t get into. The only one that I’d actually read was an old voodoo tale that scared the hell out my ass and I ain’t touched another one since.

  Our entire house minus Chelle’s “sanctuary” had hardwood flooring, which I personally hated. Michelle’s rea
soning was it would not only add value to the house but it’d be easier to keep clean with the kids. When I told her I didn’t like hardwood floors because they’re cold, Bam, she had them install heaters in the floors. Nothing, not a single thing, in the house was mine or had my touch. Everything was Michelle’s vision or Michelle’s idea or customized to Michelle’s liking or her idea of comfort. She’d furnished and picked it all out before we moved from Virginia as a “gift.” She ain’t even bother to think that I’d have liked to at least have some say in what color walls I’d want to stare at every damn day, or what kind of couch I’d want my ass on? Hell, I ain’t even like the colors or the design on the sheets on the damn bed. Ugh.

  We walked up to the oversized mahogany desk in the center. Michelle plopped down in the leather seat in front of the touchscreen HP and I sat in her lap, since it was the only place to sit.

  “You ever even learn how to use that damn camera system?” I was being a smartass on purpose. Since the day it was installed I’d never figured out how to use it and I sure as hell wasn’t sure if she had.

  “The man said it’s twenty-four hours and backed up to a main server, all we have to do is enter the password and we can view the footage.”

  I wasn’t sure why I never thought of it before. The cameras were all some state-of–the-art bullshit, teeny as hell and hidden around the outside of the house. We had one at the front door, one overlooking the garage, and I was pretty sure there was another that looked out over the back toward the pool.

  “So why don’t you just use the li’l touchscreen pad things that’s all over the house?”

  We had one in every damn room. They looked like mini TVs on the wall beside the light switches and they controlled damn near everything. You could dim the lights, turn the music on or off in each room, and, duh, look outside using the cameras.