“And Ava is in her early twenties?” Rolan raised his eyebrows. “How is that possible? When did you have—”
“Rolan, I believe that’s enough questions.” I frowned.
Mrs. Jones waved the comment away. “It’s fine. Those that aren’t close to me often wonder the same thing. I had my son at thirteen years old. Just a kid, I wasn’t the best mother to him at all. . .”
Rolan shook his head. “You were young.”
“Too young to be a proper parent. When my son hit fourteen, I stressed with him to use protection and not have sex if possible. I told him many things. Focus on your books. Go to college. Stay out of those New York streets.” She sighed. “But I was working three jobs by then and had no control of him. By the time he turned fifteen, he came home and told me his girlfriend was pregnant. Ava’s mother. They were both knuckleheads. I hadn’t even made it to my thirties and was already a grandmother. We were all too young. Too stupid. Too uninformed.”
She gazed out of the limo window. “When Ava’s parents died I promised to do right by her and change the destiny of our family. See. . .”
She turned our way. “My mother had me at a young age too. And her mother and so on. Young mother after young mother. I used to think of it as a family curse. I wanted different for Ava.”
“My mother had me at fourteen.” Rolan nodded. “Such was the way of that generation.”
“Still, Ava ended the family curse.” She beamed. “My black prima ballerina. She’s headstrong and focused. She’s knocking down all barriers in front of her.”
“And I assume you had a lot to do with that,” Rolan added.
“Maybe. I learned from my mistakes with my son and chose another path of parenting with Ava. I kept a tight ship and never let her out of my sight. If she wasn’t in ballet class or at school, then she sat her little self at my job. While I cleaned offices, she did her homework in the building’s conference room.”
Rolan stroked his goatee. “That doesn’t sound like it allowed for many lovers. Did anyone take care of you?”
Mrs. Jones opened her mouth in shock.
Just when I was about to set Rolan straight, the shock left her face.
A wicked smile appeared. “I had my lovers.”
Rolan pushed on. “And are they still around, taking care of your needs?”
“Do you always ask women these questions when you first meet them?”
“Only the gorgeous ones.”
Thankfully, the limo slowed.
“And we’re here.” I sneered at Rolan. “You should let us out, batya.”
He opened the door, stepped out of the limo, remained at the side, and held his hand out to Mrs. Jones. “Come, babochka.”
She took his hand and slowly left the limo. “I didn’t give you permission to call me that.”
“A man like me doesn’t need permission.” Forgetting about us, Rolan shut the door behind her and escorted Mrs. Jones away.
Stunned, I stared at the closed door.
Maxwell spoke, “I’m going to have to up my game with Mrs. Jones. Dude is an OG.”
“I thought I explained to both of you that Mrs. Jones is off-limits.” I scooted over to the door, opened it, and climbed out. “I have enough problems. I don’t need you two trying to stick your cocks in her.”
“Come on, homey.” Maxwell followed me out. “It would be a friendly competition between your godfather and me.”
“Friendly competition with Rolan?” I laughed. “He seems very nice, but be careful.”
Maxwell walked on my side. “Hey, I did see her first. I should get first dibs or something. Maybe this would be fun to battle it out with Rolan.”
I stopped and turned his way. “You’re not serious about Mrs. Jones. And hopefully, Rolan isn’t serious either. But if he is serious about her. . .stay clear. And that’s a real warning.”
Maxwell quirked one brow.
“He may seem like a jolly old man, but they don’t call him the Big Bear due to his height and shape. One time I watched him torture a guy. He delivered one blow to the back of the guy’s neck and injured his spine enough to instantly paralyze him from the neck down.”
Maxwell touched his own neck.
I continued, “Then Rolan lay the man sideways on the ground and continued to ask him questions. Once he had the answers, he stood up and stomped the guy’s face out.”
“Damn.”
“And that wasn’t the scary part.” I directed my gaze to Rolan and Mrs. Jones strolling several feet in front of us. “The whole time he ate gummy bears while doing it. As if he was watching a fun cartoon or something.”
“Gummy bears? The candy?”
“Yeah.” I returned to walking. “He had just come back from Germany. That’s where they originated from. Anyway, I’ve never been able to eat a gummy bear after that. I always see that man’s mangled neck and stomped-out face.”