Baby Momma Saga

by Ni'chelle Genovese

  Chapter 35

  “I hate this picture, Chelle; it look like I’m cockeyed 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 decorate 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.

  Home Invasion

  36

  (Two 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.

  Everything looked in order. Small palms lined both sides of the large backyard overlooking the ginormous pool and Jacuzzi. 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 ta
ste 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 moving 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.

  “Excuse me, you need to get out of here before I call the police.”

  Hearing my voice, the woman sprang to an upright position, resting on her elbows, pulling the comforter up to cover herself. I recognized her almost immediately: Yylannia Besore. She was one of the hottest models out right now, half black and French, or something like that—I couldn’t remember. But, I’d seen her a hundred times in the latest magazines and commercials. I couldn’t believe she’d appear so boyish and lanky in person. She was nothing like the sexual vixen she appeared to be on camera but, lo and behold, I guessed that’s what the wonders of makeup and Photoshop could do for a person.

  “Where the fuck did she come from?” Yylannia was trying to untangle herself from the statuesque man who had her pinned in place.

  He sat back on his haunches with a sigh of frustration and obvious resentment at my intrusion, allowing her to scamper off the bed and quickly dart past me to grab her things and get dressed.

  My eyes molested him from the neck downward. Huge pecs lightly dusted with soft, straight dark hair that narrowed into a thin line as it ran downward in between tight abs and . . .

  “You couldn’t have waited jus’ li’l bit longer, huh?”

  I jerked myself back to reality. My head whipped up so fast I was surprised it didn’t make the snap noise like in one of those old-school kung fu movies. His voice was deep, unbelievably deep. It sounded like warm honey to my ears.

  “No, and you need to put some fire to ya ass an’ get outta here before I call the police.”

  The cologne he wore made me dislike him immediately. But his sex appeal was making my psyche do a double take. He reminded me of a large cat as he fluidly uncoiled himself from the bed. Sway-backed nigga. The curve in his lower back was so over-pronounced and the muscles in his ass so tight and high the image of a gorilla came to mind. He was thick as hell and sexy as fuck. Right about now, I could use a good gorilla fuck. I almost laughed out loud at the thought. Lord, I was definitely trippin’. He was a dark chocolate version of Leonidas from that movie 300.

  He had straight black hair, a Caesar low cut, long, thick sideburns that tapered beneath his chin into a thick, full beard. It highlighted the fullness of his pink lips and gave him an almost dangerous appeal. He picked his boxers up from beside the bed and slid them on. I tried not to smile because, despite my intrusion and threats, he was still standing at full, and I mean full, attention. Damn, it had to be painful for him to try to restrain all that behind nothing but a little tight wall of cotton.

  “So, let me take a guess. You must be Michelle right?”

  My eyes widened in surprise at the sound of my name flowing from Leonidas’s beautiful, made-for-pussy-licking lips. Whew. I needed to calm down. How does this fool know my name?

  “Um, yes. And who might you be?” Suspicion immediately made my tone sharp; I couldn’t imagine anyone who looked like him actually knowing me.

  “Key! I’ma go wait in the damn car!” Yylannia shrieked from somewhere downstairs.

  Suddenly, I didn’t need an answer. He was Keyshawn Matthews, the superstar rookie drafted to play for Miami. I hadn’t noticed how exceptionally tall he was, but I now felt dwarfed standing across from him, and I was close to five feet eleven without heels. I could feel my cheeks starting to get hot; my grown ass actually started blushing.

  “Mr. Matthews? I . . . I am so sorry. I had no idea you even had a key to view the property. I guess you, um, you like it?” Here I was talking to one of the richest and probably most famous men in the NBA, and he was standing in nothing but his drawers! Ris was definitely not gonna believe this shit. Oh, hell, best to not even tell Ris; she’d probably get jealous and start trippin’ any damn way. He flashed me a dazzling white smile displaying perfect deep dimples and straight white teeth.

  “Yeah, I was testin’ the place out. My agent got me the key earlier. I parked in the garage. I’m lovin’ all the space but the acoustics in this mu’fucka ain’t right.”

  I raised an eyebrow, immediately puzzled. I had no idea what acoustics meant outside of a home theatre or studio. What did acoustics have to do with... “Wait, acoustics?”

  I knew this nigga wasn’t saying what I thought he was saying. The house we were in was one of the most sought after and high priced on the market. Fridays were my busiest days and I’d turned down two other closings and come out to show the property personally because Key’s agent swore up and down he wanted to buy and close today. I owned High Rise Estates, the second-largest real estate agency in Fort Lauderdale, and I only came out to do closings. Most of our clients were usually in the market for their third or fourth vacation home and I left the aggravating task of showing property after
property to the finicky doctors, starlets, and athletes in the area to my staff.

  “Yeah, the acoustics is on some mute ’n’ shit. I like to hear how good it feels when I’m puttin’ in work. Jus’ somethin’ that’s important to me. You wouldn’t understand though. So, what’s next?”

  I stared in disbelief. This was that minor detail fuckery and bullshit I mentioned earlier. This fool done lost his damn mind if he was thinking I was gonna let him run his ass through house after house, fuckin’ in staged bedrooms and messing up designer linens! I was on the verge of puttin’ him on full blast, potentially losing a client and a sale, but I was saved by my iPhone, which had started ringing downstairs.

  “I need to get that. You might wanna go ahead an’ put your damn clothes back on in the meantime.” Turning with a look of pure disgust, I rushed downstairs to answer my phone.

  “Hi, Ris. Everything okay?” I breathed heavily into the phone.

  “Hey, bae. E’rething’s good. Why you breathin’ so hard? What you doin’?”

  “Nothing, I’m showing a property. Ran to grab my phone.”

  “Oh, well, when you comin’ home so I know when to have dinner ready?”

  I couldn’t believe she was calling me during a showing to ask something like this. “Ris. Same time I always get home. Five-ish. Why, do you need me to pick somethin’ up?” I was trying to make the convo quick since Keyshawn had just walked into the kitchen to put on his shoes. I didn’t want him eavesdropping on my conversation. I pressed the volume down on the side of the phone just as Ris gave away the real reason for her call.

  “Chelle, we need to talk when you get here. I jus’ got this feelin’. I mean . . .”

  Damn, here we go again. I could feel the aggravation creeping up the back of neck, causing my teeth to clench. Every other day Larissa seemed to “have a feelin’.”