Baby Momma 2 (4 page)

I waited until Ris left the house to go shopping, making her take both my Mace and the .22 with her just to be safe. Surprisingly the kids were still down for their nap so the house was nice and quiet. Naptime meant playtime so they probably hadn't actually fallen asleep until just before I'd gotten home. I peeked in just to make sure they were still breathing. I guess it's a momma thing, but as long as I could see their little faces and hear the ever-so-beautiful sound of their even breathing, I knew everything was fine and I could go about my business. I grabbed my iPhone out of my briefcase and walked into our bedroom, which was a complete mess, as usual. Clothes were everywhere, on the floor, all over the king-sized bed. The doors to both walk-in closets were wide open, and Tornado Ris had blown through, leaving shoes and whatnot every damn where. I hated all the clutter and mess. She was so bad when it came to that shit, but I had too much on my mind to start picking up after her as I usually did.

I walked up the winding wooden staircase that was secluded off to the corner. It led up to the third floor, or what I liked to call my personal sanctuary. When I furnished the house I wanted one room that would be no one's but mine. I opted to make the small corner studio my home office instead of using the study downstairs as most of the homes were traditionally set up.

There was one large rectangular window that ran the entire length of the room, overlooking our view of the pool and beach beyond. Thin white drapes hung from either side and with the window open the breeze would carry the smell of the ocean. Every time I looked out at the ocean I couldn't help thinking that I had my very own piece of paradise right in my backyard. This was the only area of the house that I allowed white in. I didn't want to deal with the hassle of keeping little fingerprints off my furniture, so everything else in the house consisted of dark earth tones: chocolates, olives, and tans. Everywhere except my sanctuary. The floor was covered in the softest carpeting I could find, the color was called shaved ice, and that's exactly what it looked like. My desk was made completely out of glass and sat in the center of the window; my executive-edition plush white leather chair was just as I'd left it. Across from that on the other side of the room sat my white microfiber couch and sectional.

Lying back on the sofa, I kicked off my pumps. For a moment I just stared at the little clownfish—or the “Nemo's” as the kids called them—swimming around in the hanging tropical fish tank on the wall.
Oh well,
I thought.
Here goes nothing, or better yet here goes hell to pay if I can't pull this off.
I dialed Key's number. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until his voice mail came on and I was forced to breathe so I could leave a message.

“Um. Hi, Key. This is Michelle, from the house earlier. I need a huge favor. I'd really appreciate it if you'd give me a call back, hopefully tonight. Thanks.”
Great, what the hell am I gonna do if this nigga doesn't call me back? Think, girl. Think.
I could feel the stress knots in my neck, and I closed my eyes and tried to come up with some kind of a backup plan just in case. I must have dozed off because the phone rang and scared me so bad I jumped.
About damn time.
“Keyshawn, hey.”

“Well, well. You find me anotha house already?”

“Umm. No, I actually need a huge favor.”

“Ha, okay, I'm listenin'.”

“Well, remember when I said my wife was crazy? I got home stupid late from our showing an' she was spazzin' so I had to kind of lie about closin' on the house with you. I said we'd be goin' out tomorrow to celebrate.”

“So, lemme guess. You want me to get us a table somewhere and chill wit' y'all right?”

“You
and
Yylannia, yes. I can knock maybe twenty percent off of whichever house you decide to close on or maybe throw flat screens in every room, work on that acoustic thing you were so interested in.” I was trying to think of any- and everything to get him to commit. Even if he just showed up for an hour, played his part, and left. As long as Ris was happy and my life went back to normal I didn't care.

“How 'bout this? We do a date for a date. I chill wit' you an' wifey, an' say this time nex' week I treat you like you should be treated and take you out for dinner, drinks?” I could hear him smiling through the phone, dimples and all. He had me. There was no way I could say no,
but,
I could always cancel on his ass at the last minute.

“Fine, whatever. I heard LIV in Miami is next to impossible to get into wit' this late of a notice, but do you think you could get a table? I'll cover all the—”

“Woman, I don't need you coverin' nothin'. I'll have my man handle all the details, text me ya info an' I'll send a car to pick y'all up. We gonna do this big, since we celebratin' an' shit.” He laughed into the phone. His moods were so contagious. It was nice to have someone else take over things, handle the arrangements and all the details.

“Thank you, Keyshawn. Guess I really do owe you one.”

“Chelle? You up there?” Larissa was making her way upstairs. I imagined she'd either exhausted herself trying to find something to wear or maxed out another one of my cards. I made a mental note to check all of my balances and pay them all off at the end of the month.

“Yeah, baby. I'm here. All right, Key. Lemme go. I'll send you what you need. Thanks again.” I hung up before I could hear a reply, and dropped my phone into my lap.

“Who were you talkin' to?” She stopped just shy of the edge of the stairs and looked at me suspiciously.

“Keyshawn. I was confirming our arrangements for tomorrow and making sure we have a sitter. Did you find a dress?”

She beamed a smile at me and launched herself into my lap. Her small four-foot-nine frame fit so perfectly with mine. Wrapping my arms around her, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I already knew what she was going to say.

“Yes, I found us
both
dresses. 'Cause you know you ain't got shit to wear either, not to no damn club anyway.”

“Ris, you know good an' well you can't shop for me. It's either gonna be too short, too tight, or too damn bright. I'm sure I already got somethin' in my closet that'll work.”

“Nah, you'll like this shit. I promise.” She leaned her head back on my shoulder and smiled up at me, making me momentarily forget that somewhere out there my crazy ex-fiancé was stalking us and that in all actuality we really weren't celebrating anything this weekend except for a lie I'd told her—and now I owed a date to man I was entirely too attracted to, to even admit to myself. I planted as fake of a smile on my face as I possibly could, and I leaned down, kissing her smiling lips, pretending as if nothing was wrong.

 

 

Saturday was a whirlwind of getting the kids ready for their day with the babysitter and trying to get my house back in order from a busy workweek. I'd noticed an older blue Ford Mustang in the neighborhood earlier. It went around the neighborhood once when I was checking the mail, and I was going to let Trey and Lataya play outside when I started to feel uneasy and decided against it.

“Mommy, why?” Trey whined.
My poor babies.
I felt bad keeping them cooped up in the house but it was for their own good. I looked down at Trey, who was getting so tall he was almost up to my waist. He was his father's same exact high-yellow complexion, lighter than me with pretty, curly hair and big, round brown eyes. I couldn't hide my smile as I answered him.

“Because Mommy says no, that's all the why you need.”

Lataya stood beside him in a pink shorts set, white sandal on one foot and Lord knows where the other one was, looking like a miniature golden version of her mother if you let Ris tell it. When I looked at my little princess all I saw was Rasheed.

I knelt down to take off her sandal, frowning at a red welt on the back of her chubby little leg. She was in that terrible-twos stage, always stumbling around the house and getting into everything; it was probably nothing. Her front teeth were just starting to come in and she looked just like Trey when he was that age: all cheeks, slobbery chin, grinning all day for no reason whatsoever. She was such a happy little girl. I couldn't imagine the life she'd have had if we'd let her go to a foster home. She was so much better off here with us. This was definitely where she belonged.

“Trey, baby, take your sister upstairs to the playroom. I got you guys a new movie. Ask Mommy to put it on for you. You can have cookies if you keep quiet.” I kissed the side of Lataya's chubby neck, and she smiled at me through her long, baby-doll lashes and giggled. She didn't care what was going on; she'd heard the word “cookies” and was ready to go. Trey groaned and huffed, reluctantly taking her hand and leading her upstairs. It amazed me that Larissa and I could call each other Mommy and the kids just assumed if one said it in regard to doing something it automatically meant go ask the other one.

I glanced down at my watch; it was a little after one in the afternoon. I perched in the large bay window in the living room and saw the blue Mustang pull up to one of the houses down the street. Damn, this shit was making me paranoid. I needed to relax with a capital R. I shouted up toward the kids' playroom, “Ris, watch the kids. I'll be in the pool.”

“A'ight, bae.”

I walked out to the back of the house and let my sundress slide down my body. The first time I did that shit Ris had a flat-out fit, telling me, “Only white folk go out an' swim in they pool butt-ass naked. Yo' ass end up wit' some kinda bacterial infection, ount wanna hear it.” Stripping out of my bra and panties, I laughed at the memory. Our backyard was perfect. Tall white privacy fences ran along both sides of the beach so no one could trespass, and we didn't have to be bothered with the year-round issue of vacationers or beachgoers parking and camping out all over the beach. That was the beauty of the neighborhood: all of the houses were spaced out and they all faced the ocean, so there was no need to worry about nosey-ass neighbors either.

I let the warmth from the sun embrace my bare skin only for a moment before diving into the lukewarm water. I swam a few laps as part of my usual workout routine to keep myself toned, but I didn't want to wear myself out, so I just drifted on my back with my eyes closed for a little while. I sighed; this shit did not help at all. The stress and anxiety was still there. I was wiping water from my eyes when I saw it. It was the briefest movement in the ocean directly in front of me that caught my eye, causing me to freeze mid-motion. The sun glimmered off the water everywhere except for in this one spot. An object bobbed, it was slightly rounded like . . . like a head. I squinted harder and could barely make out a neck and shoulders. And then nothing. It just bobbed under right at the very second that my eyes decided to clearly focus in on it.

I waited, frozen in place, afraid to look anywhere other than where I saw
him,
or it, go under. It didn't resurface.
Okay, woman. You are definitely getting paranoid and super trippin'. It was probably just a dolphin or a sea lion, manatee—fuck. That nigga would not swim five miles out and seven or eight miles across just to stare at the damn house. Or would he?
Not to mention the fact that I still hadn't figured out how anyone from my past had actually found me, or even alerted him to our whereabouts. I must've stayed there staring intently at that square of ocean for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. When nothing resurfaced I gave up and trod back inside, looking over my shoulder every few steps just in case. I made sure to lock all the windows and doors downstairs just in case.

By the time I'd showered and fed the kids it was time to get ready. I was nervous. I wasn't sure what I'd seen out there in the water, but combined with the note that Ris had found, the last thing I wanted to do was leave the house, leave my kids. I pulled the dress Ris picked out over my head and attempted to pull myself together.

“Larissa, what the hell is this ho-ish-lookin', prostitute-in-training shit you got me wearin'?” I stared at myself in the full-length mirror like the woman looking back was a complete stranger.

“Baby, calm da fuck down. Nobody gonna have on nothin' we got on tonight. You look fuckin' hot, too. Like on some straight-up diva shit.”

I gawked at myself. The dress was from some collection I'd never heard of and cost entirely too damn much. It was orange, and not no dull spring orange, but bright-ass traffic-cone orange, with black trim around the edges and tiny crystal accents. The neck hung way too low in the front and the back scooped in a V damn near to my ass crack so there was no way I could get away with a bra. It fit tight in all the right places and flared at the arms. It wasn't an ugly dress; it just wasn't me. I always said Ris could not pick out my clothes, but I was such a mess after what I'd seen earlier, I didn't even care. I was dressed.
Fuck it.

Sitting on the cool leather of the living room couch I impatiently tapped my foot. I was all kinds of nervous about the night ahead. The kids were upstairs with Darla the babysitter and my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Rasheed. Where the hell was this nigga, and what the hell did he want? How long was he gonna torture us before he showed his ass and started making demands and shit? I'd tried to call the prison to see if he was there and the clerk placed me on hold so long I had to hang up. This happened at least three times.

Scared and frustrated, I'd looked up a few numbers for security services to call, but it was too late in the evening when I'd remembered to do it. I made a mental note to try again one day during the week. Just then the car pulled up to the front of the house as planned. Ris squealed and flew from upstairs so fast she was damn near out of breath.

“Ooh it's here, baby. How I look? My hair okay?”

I stared at her in amazement. She was wearing a bright pink Escada blouse that dipped low in between her breasts, the color complementing her red complexion perfectly. I stared down into her glowing green eyes; I could tell it was definitely more than the makeup and smoky eye shadow lighting up her face.

“You look beautiful, baby, and damn if the club ain't the last place I'm tryin'a go right now.”

She giggled and blushed hard. “We'll have time for dat after. Lemme get a li'l nice first and I'll show you a trick when we get back home.”

“A trick? What kinda trick you got that I ain't already seen, woman?”

She leaned in and gave me a long kiss before we headed out the door. For the first time in a long time I felt my chest fill up with pride, because I couldn't lie—my wife was bad. She'd somehow managed to pile all her ass into what I'd call about four inches of black fabric and what she had the nerve to be trying to call a damn skirt. Lord, we was gonna get into some fights tonight.

The ride to the club wasn't as long as I thought it would be. Ris made good use of the fully stocked bar and was a lot more than nice by the time we finished the forty-five-minute drive into Miami. As our limo pulled up to the front of the club I texted Keyshawn to let him know we were outside. I was surprised when Yylannia came out to the car.

“Well hello,
mi
gorgeous ladies. Key is inside holding the table, ordering foods. Come—come.” She waved her elegant, li'l skinny hand and started to cat-walk away. She was wearing a short, tight black dress that fit her like a second skin. Her jet-black hair hung down her back in long layers that almost touched her ass. I was in awe. She looked exotic and classy.

“Oh my God. That's her, Chelle. She's beautiful and soooo damn skinny. Um, did her ass jus' say ‘foods'?”

Yylannia did have a strange accent and way of saying things sometimes. It wasn't Spanish or French, more of a mixture of the two. Hell I'd just settle for calling it a “Franish”-ass accent. Ris's tipsy ass giggled and mock cat-walked behind her. We completely bypassed the line to get inside. It was wrapped damn near completely around the entire complex but we just followed Ms. Walk Like a Model Everywhere and the bouncers nodded and let us inside. I could literally feel bitches glaring and hatin' on us and I actually enjoyed it for once, mentally reminding myself not to trip or do anything embarrassing trying to be cute in front of all these damn onlookers.

The club was packed with men and women, white, black. Mostly white. Mostly women—let me rephrase—mostly model, gold-digger, video, actress, and party-girl types. On this particular night they were playing house music, and I already knew Ris was gonna have an attitude if we didn't get her semi fucked up before she realized they weren't playing any hip-hop. We walked toward a private entryway with so much security you would have thought President Obama himself was up in there. Yylannia just breezed us past and it was like we'd walked into an entirely different club.

The ambiance was sexier, way more elegant than the estrogen zoo we'd just passed through. The entire floor was made of white glass, and changed colors, going from purple to neon pink to blue. Smoke machines filled the entire area in a cool white mist; I reached out and grabbed Ris's hand to make sure we didn't lose her. She was quiet, which was a good thing; it meant she was in awe. We swept past booth after booth. The entire area was about the size of a large restaurant and all of it was exclusively for members-only VIP. You had to pay a yearly fee just to be able to reserve a booth on any given Friday or Saturday, and that was only if they had availability and even then you still had to run up a tab in the thousands in order to keep your spot. All of the booths had round white leather sofas or chaises longues and tables, and the outsides were covered with white curtains that could remain open or be completely closed for privacy.

We arrived at a booth toward the back where Key was sitting with two other extremely beautiful women. He looked completely edible in a deep grey Gucci button down and dark grey slacks. Yylannia scooted in beside him and patted the seat next to her, directing me to sit down.

“Hello, everyone, this is Larissa, my wife.” I didn't want to hesitate in making the introductions lest Ris take offense and start to think something was up, as she was accustomed to doing.

“Don't be so formal. Just call me Lania and him Key, over beside Key you have Chanel and Keisha.” Lania smiled, beaming straight, blindingly perfect white teeth and deep dimples that I hadn't noticed before. I nodded to the two women who were paying Ris and me no mind. Chanel was a gorgeous woman the same dark chocolate tone as Keyshawn, with large, dark, expressive eyes that reminded me of one of those Japanime characters. She'd completely dismissed Ris and me and was whispering something in Key's ear, causing him to chuckle and whisper back. I felt a small twinge of jealousy at their obvious closeness; guessed the joke was on me for thinking his ass wasn't like every other nigga with good looks and money. Why I was letting shit like that bother me I had no idea; it's not like he had a chance with me anyway. I looked away quickly, scared my expression might give away my thoughts, and Keisha, to my surprise, was actually watching me watch them. She smiled at me smugly before kissing Chanel on the neck, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.
Bitch, I was not checking out yo' girl,
I thought.

“Um, Lania, you are soooo beautiful. I'm sorry, I'm just a li'l tipsy. There was free liquor on—I mean in—our limo. And oooh, Keyshawn. I mean Key. If I get me a basketball would you sign it?”

All I could do was look down in horror and roll my eyes, and no, the damn liquor in the limo was not
free;
every drop she chugalugged was comin' out of my pocket. I sighed a long, loud sigh.

“Yeah, I'd be more than happy to, ma. Jus' give it to Michelle over there and it's a done deal. So, how about we start off with a bottle of rosé and some muthafuckin' shots, 'cause I don't know about y'all but my ass is thirsty.”

I smiled apologetically at Keyshawn, thankful for the icebreaker.

 

 

I wasn't sure how many glasses of champagne or how many shots we were in, but things were definitely starting to get fun. We'd each taken turns talking about strange and random sex facts. Thanks to Lania, I now knew that some female penguins actually engaged in prostitution to get pebbles from “single” guy penguins to build their nests. She kept looking at Chanel the whole time she was telling the story, which had me weak as hell. If I didn't know better I'd have said Chanel was giving Key a hand job under the table; he'd suddenly gotten extremely quiet and they both seemed overly interested in something down there.

There was a bunch of commotion at the entrance, drawing everyone's attention. Two bouncers came in and ordered the people in the booth behind us to leave. I could hear the guy complaining and asking for a manager.

“Damn, what's going on?” I asked, glancing around cautiously.
After everything I've put myself through to plan this shit out, they'd better not ask us to move or my ass is going to raise pure hell.
In the center of the bodyguards there was a smaller guy with piercing crystal-grey eyes carrying a Louis Vuitton briefcase, and a group of women flocked around him. I almost twisted my neck trying to get a better look at who he was.

“Who is he supposed to be?” I had to ask when I couldn't figure it out. He didn't look like anyone I'd seen anywhere before.

“That's Angelo Testa, consider him like a billionaire.” Lania waved at him and smiled. Keyshawn nodded in the little man's direction. A few of the girls with him looked familiar. I assumed they were models or actresses. One in particular stayed plastered to his side. She was shorter than the others, thick and light skinned. I couldn't make her face out completely but I thought it was the girl from “Pon de Replay”? Maybe. Every video I'd ever seen ran through my head but I only got to see her for a split second before the curtains were drawn and they were having their own private party, in there doing Lord knows what. Ris was zoned out so I couldn't ask her where the hell I'd seen the girl before. Eight different security guys stood guard outside around the booth and I must admit I was impressed. Lania suggested we all get up and dance, but I realized I needed to pee so bad I couldn't sit still anymore.

“Lania, hold on, where's the restroom?”

“I'll take you; it's hard to explain and I have to go too.”

Ris looked like she was on the verge of passing out at the table. She either said she did or didn't have to pee, I couldn't tell. But she didn't get up so I guessed it wasn't a yes. It'd been awhile since we'd drunk together and I was gonna have so much fun reminding her in the morning that she'd lost her touch. There would definitely be no tricks tonight; she was in no position to show me anything.

Chanel and Keisha said they'd wait for us at the table. I followed Lania through a maze of booths and a blur of familiar faces I'd seen on TV. She waved and made small talk and I tapped her on her shoulder, reminding her that this was urgent.

The bathroom was just as luxurious as the VIP area. The lighting was dimmed and the speakers in the ceiling played the club music overhead. There was an actual sitting area with small palm fronds and soft chaises longues. There was even an actual walk-in toilet like you would use in someone's house, not a stall like you'd expect to find. I handled my business and walked out, washing my hands and straightening my dress. I looked toward the chaise longue where I'd left Lania and didn't see her. I had just barely opened my mouth to call out and ask her where she'd disappeared to before her lips were on mine. She wore J'adore Dior perfume and she tasted like rosé and fresh cherries and yes—I noticed all of that before I broke myself out of the spell I was in. Pulling my lips from hers I began shaking my head no. I was in such a complete shock, I couldn't make a sound.

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.