Moses
It took some calls, but I finally found out through Jenna where Michaela lived. The only reason she gave me her address was because she admitted to giving Michaela my phone number the previous week. As I drove my car through the quiet suburb, each side of the road lined with million-dollar homes, I had trouble picturing her here. Guess her brother was rich.
I pulled up in front of the Spanish-style mansion that looked more like it belonged in California than New York, though it was nice. Huge, old trees partially blocked it from the street, providing shade from the blistering summer sun.
I got out of the car, grabbing the manilla envelope filled with papers my lawyer had sent to me this morning. Resigned over what was to come, I walked up the stone walkway and rang the doorbell. It took a few minutes, but the door was finally opened by a curly-haired kid in swim trunks.
“Hi.” Bright red ringed his mouth. It looked like a Popsicle.
“Hey, I’m Mo. Is Michaela here?” I tried to peer around him to see if any adults were in sight, but he grabbed the hem of my T-shirt.
“I’m Jason and I’m seven. My aunt Michaela is out back. Are you friends with her? Did you know she lives here, but only sometimes? She goes to concerts for her job. My dad makes music too. So does my grandpa. Not my abuelo, though. He’s retired and lives in the Dominican Republic. Did you know it’s an island? I’ve been there loads of times. My mama says I can stay there next summer. All summer. I have to practice swimming first. Aunt Michaela is teaching me, but mama says I have to be careful and not jump on her anymore. Can you believe we’re going to have another baby? We already have four, what’s one more? That’s what Papa says.”
Whoosh, this little dude talked a lot. I could barely keep up. How were his parents having a fifth kid? Were they all like this? Kids weren’t my thing, but this one seemed especially extra.
The kid tugged me through the house as he shared his life story. This place was massive, making me wonder what exactly his dad did in music.
Jason led me through the kitchen, still holding onto the front of my shirt. “Everyone’s out there.” He pushed open a French door and made a run for it, leaving me standing on a brick patio. The bright sun blinded me, and all I could hear was children screeching and splashing. Once my eyes adjusted, I took in my surroundings.
Green, green grass—must’ve been the grass Michaela had laid in for her Instagram picture—and an oval pool in the center, surrounded by a black fence. Beyond that was a small house, built in the same style as the one I’d just been dragged through.
A toddler streaked by in his birthday suit, and a short, tan woman in a bikini, a long ponytail flowing down her back, chased after him. Familiar laughter drew my attention to the pool. Just above the fence, there was Michaela, her head bobbing.
Following the stone path that cut through the immaculately manicured lawn, I pulled open the gate and stepped inside. My stomach churned with a mix of nerves and lingering anger.
Michaela was dancing in a bikini. Her back was to me, her hands over her head as she shimmied her hips. The sun glinted off her acres of smooth brown skin. I was certain she smelled like candied almonds and chlorine, just as I was certain she wouldn’t let me close enough to confirm.
A girl who looked a little older than Jason danced and laughed with her.
Like she was the moon and I was the ocean, she pulled me in, my feet moving toward her without any conscious direction from me.
“Michaela.”
She whipped around fast, eyes wide and wild. “What the hell, Moses! What are you doing here?”
“Jason brought me back here.”
Michaela turned her head to look at her nephew splashing around in the pool, and I looked at her. Alcohol and weed had clouded my memory of her last night. I knew she’d been beautiful, gorgeous, stunning. She’d dressed up, even though I was being an asshole when I told her not to wear jeans. The sight of her in that pink dress, legs for days, tits made for dreams, had led me to do shit I never should’ve done. Never should’ve touched her, kissed her, wanted her to stay.
And now, she was in front of me, barely dressed, and my tongue felt too big for my mouth. Her breasts looked so full in her yellow bikini top, they spilled out the top a little. My hands twitched, remembering how damn good they felt last night.
“Who’s this, Aunt Michaela?” The girl, who I assumed was her niece, wrapped her arms around Michaela’s middle from behind her, drawing my gaze down.
To her stomach. And the girl’s hand gently rubbing the little round bulge there.
Michaela patted her niece’s hand. “This is Mo, my old friend.”
The girl inspected me again, shrugged like I was the least interesting thing she’d seen lately, and took a flying leap into the pool.
Before I could formulate any kind of response, a dude who looked like he should be named Sven and carrying either an ax or a football came striding toward us, fire in his eyes. He stopped beside Michaela, wrapping a proprietary arm around her shoulders.
“We have a visitor,” he rumbled.
“This is Moses Aronson,” Michaela said.
He looked down at her, his brows pinched. “Is he…?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to take him home.”