Free Baby Momma 2 by Ni’chelle Genovese Page A

or do anything with them so you don’t make any kind of decisions you’ll regret. You earn three thou, my cut a thousand of that.”
    Damn. Three grand to sit and look cute. Fuck yes. “Abso-fuckin-lutely. I’ll send you a pic in a minute. Thank you, Lania.”
    I rushed off the phone to get myself sexified. I threw on a red lacy corset that tied up the sides. I glued on some dramatic strip lashes and brushed on a little light makeup. I stood around in the bathroom and played around with the camera on my phone until I had a few pictures I was happy with. I sent them to Lania and waited anxiously for her to let me know if my ass was gonna be able to escort.

    Very very nice. Be ready at 9:15 send me your address. btw dress for a play.

    That was the text I got back not more than ten minutes later. Damn, what the fuck do I have that I can wear to a play, and how the fuck am I gonna get around Michelle? The answer came to me when I was taking my shower.
    Michelle got home at her usual time and I ain’t feel like wearing a damn thing she’d bought me. Until I’d earned some money and bought myself some of my own shit, I’d prefer to just fuckin’ walk around naked. Fuck it.
    I crushed up some valiums that were left over from the time she hurt her back rearranging the living room furniture. Them things always knocked her slam the fuck out. Whenever she got home from work she’d usually go straight to the fridge and get a glass of tea. That was her routine. Well, I’d dumped all the tea outta the pitcher except for like half a glass, and mixed in the crushed pills, adding some extra sugar so it wouldn’t taste bitter.
    â€œYou been home all day, drank all the damn tea, and didn’t think to make any more, Larissa?” were the first words she said when she got home from work. I just looked at her ass and raised my eyebrow.
    â€œSo you’re still doing that no-talking shit I see. Okay. Okay. Well, I’m not making any more. Y’all can all drink water tomorrow for all I care. “
    I watched her ass pour that last little bit of tea into a glass, thinking, yup, drink up, drink up, sweetie. Gigglin’ to myself, I just carried my ass on upstairs to start getting ready for my night.

    I waited out front, smoking some of the shit Shanice had sent me to help calm my nerves. At nine-fifteen two black Lincoln Town Cars pulled up into our driveway and Michelle was on the couch, unconscious, just like I knew she’d be. I tiptoed out the front door, wearing one of her wack-ass black skirts and a red button-down Michael Kors top. I couldn’t resist throwing on a pair of matching red pumps; conservative was not a word in my vocabulary. I was going to be escorting Darnell Wiggs Jr. to see Le . . . Miser . . . Misera . . . Fuck, I couldn’t pronounce that shit. It was some kinda French play. All I knew was I didn’t know this actor and I didn’t know the damn play and they both sounded boring as hell. The three Gs I’d get at the end of the night was the only thing exciting me about the whole damn evening.
    When we pulled up in front of the theatre my ass was immediately turned off by all the old, rigid, stuffy-collared folk in suits and ties walking toward the place. Darnell walked up to my car and my frowned disappeared. It was time for my escort acting to begin. He wasn’t a bad-looking older man; you know, dudes ain’t my thing to begin with any damn way, but he was all right, I guess. He looked around forty-five, brown skin, he was kinda pudgy looking with droopy eyes.
    â€œWell hello to you, gorgeous. I’ma have to tell Ms. Lania she done sent me a million-dolla one this time.” He grabbed my hand and helped me out of the car. I smiled, not sure what to say back since I ain’t never did this shit before. He extended his arm, and after glancing around nervously I’d seen that some of the other women had their hands on