𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

BOOK

Latoya gives Michael "the talk".

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"Stephanie's comin' over, right?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"She should be here by Friday evening. I'll probably be out of filming by then."

Latoya blinked, nodded. She stepped away from the counter, turned to head out the kitchen, then quickly backtracked.

"Where's she gonna sleep?"

Michael slowly raised his eyes. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a book laid out in front of him. He'd been trying to read for the past thirty minutes, but thanks to Latoya and his scrambled thoughts, he'd only managed to get through half a page. "She's gonna sleep in my bed."

"With you?" Latoya asked, brow raised.

"Not with me!" Michael sputtered. His cheeks were suddenly burning. Why were they burning? "I'm letting her sleep there and I'm gonna take the couch."

"Oh."

He turned his attention back to his book. Then, he narrowed his eyes, lifting them again. Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Why do you almost sound disappointed?"

Latoya folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the wall. "Well, she's been here twice so far. I just figured that..." She whistled, directing her gaze to the ceiling.

Twice. The first time had been after the moment he and Diana had shared in the supply room, and the second time had been before the night he'd kissed her.

He sighed, bit his lip. Bit it so hard he nearly drew blood. "What'd you figure?"

Latoya placed her hand on her hip. "Well, I figured that you two would be at a point where sleeping in the same bed wouldn't be a big deal." She walked over, giving his cheek a playful, gentle squeeze.

Michael moved his head away. "I can't do that."

But his brothers had.

"And why not? What's so bad about a lil' sex?" The snort she made quickly gave way to laughter when she saw Michael's eyes widen.

"Sex? I—" His cheeks were hot—again.

Latoya doubled over with laughter, hand to her mouth.

"You know I can't—"

"—do that!" She finished. She stood up, wiping the corners of her eyes with a contented sigh. "Look, Mikey, I get it—Mother, Jehovah, not wanting to be like Jermaine or Jackie or whoever—but don't sell yourself short tryin' to be the choir boy of the family." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "What happened to all that talk about coming up here to have fun? To not be tied down by anything—especially Joseph?"

Michael looked away, focusing his attention on the refrigerator. He could lie to everyone else, but couldn't lie to himself: he'd thought of it. It was all around him, well, had always been around him. From his brothers sneaking female fans into hotel rooms, to girls talking, touching, looking at him suggestively, and even Studio 54, with its drugs, alcohol, and nudity.

It was with him as strong as ever now that he couldn't forget the feeling or the taste of Diana's lips.

But that was over with.

God, who was he kidding? It had ended before it had even started.

And besides, kissing Diana was the last thing he needed to be thinking about because—

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Because of that, that thing that was going to force him to wait at least five minutes before trying to stand again.

Great.

Annoyed, he closed his book. "Letting loose doesn't have to always include that."

Latoya shrugged and nodded. Grabbed her cup of juice from the counter and took a sip.

"Know what? You're right, baby brother." She sloshed the drink in her cup. "Sex doesn't have to be included."

She gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder as she walked by. Then, she turned on her heels, smirking.

"But I'd imagine it's so much fun when it is."

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A/N: Latoya's characterization is a tad bit... embellished here. She's actually a bit of a repressed soul in real life for numerous, unnamed (but easy to guess?) reasons, but I feel that there is a chance she was slightly more laid back when it came to broaching this particular subject with her extremely cautious baby brother.