Preacher's Kid|MJ

20 | From Hell To Heaven, Pt. 2

She sent a message to Brian asking where they were and when she received a response in seconds, she informed Michael where to meet them. The walk was a pretty good distance, but they made it there to smell the strong miasma of liquor and cannabis permeating the air. Music blared from the speakers the DJ was spinning on the turntables. Ass shook all around and niggas were either posted up watching, passing around a blunt or sipping from red solo cups of whatever mixed concoction they had. Michael made sure that Irish walked ahead of him for reasons that were self-explanatory.

Spotting Brian, Zachaeus, China and an old friend from a distance, Irish's breath hitched at the sight of him. Merlin wasn't the nineteen year old boy she remembered many years ago. The boy who had the biggest crush on her. They had somewhat of a history yet, never dated even though it's what he wanted more than anything at the time. Irish, on the other hand, found him attractive, but had no desire of ever being with him. Despite her constant rejection, Merlin still held a burning torch for his long lost lover. He had his reasons.

He grew up to be a very handsome man. A thin mustache outlined his upper lip, an attractive smile that could make any woman weak in the knees and stood at five feet ten with a medium muscly built physique. His hair was the same as when he was younger—a low cut with a crisp line up design starting from the right side of his head and ending at the center-front. A pair of diamond studs adorned his earlobes with a cuban link about his neck. He, too, couldn't believe she came. In that moment, she was the only person in his line of vision that he didn't even notice Michael standing beside her or just didn't care to.

He approached her with that infectious smile still on his face and snaked his arms around her waist. His hands relaxed at the low of her back that would be deemed inappropriate. Michael stood back checking him with his eyes moving up and down at the scene playing out before him. He kept his cool and let his wife handle herself which she did by letting go of his hand and snatching herself out of the embrace Merlin pulled her in.

"Damn, girl!" he exclaimed, his eyes meeting her golden ones. Her rejection stung a little bit. "I can't get a hug?"

"No," she answered sharply. "Back up." She adjusted her top. "You can't just be doing that, Merlin. I get it's been a while since we last saw each other, but you disrespected my husband just now."

His brows rose to the sky. "Husband?"

Michael stepped closer to Irish to the point their bodies left zero space between them and snaked her waist with a single arm. "She ain't stutter." He felt a squeeze to his left hand from her basically telling him to be cool. Those intense, doe eyes of his stared at the man of his wife's past. He wouldn't have felt a way about it if he asked, but any red blooded man could tell that something more occured between the two from the way he hugged her. The look in his eyes gave it away. For some crazy reason, Michael sensed a negative vibe from Merlin just from their brief encounter. He knew he had to keep an eye on him.

"My bad, bro," Merlin sincerely apologized. "All I saw was baby girl. She looking real good, and I got a li'l excited seein' her. Ain't mean no disrespect." He held his hand out to call a truce.

Michael looked at it like it was the most grossed thing in the world and jutted his chin with a straight face. "Yeah, yo' bad."

Merlin withdrew his hand as it fell at his side. Instead, he chuckled and let it fly by starting over and properly greeting his old friend. "Let's start over. How've you been, Irish?"