The Con Artist (A Michael Jackson fanfiction) (Completed)

Eleven

Stella

There was something about the way Michael's hair captivated me no matter how messy it was. It always seemed to stick up in just the right places, and, when paired with the light purple circles and the little crinkles around his eyes, and the friendliest smile I've ever seen, made me feel as if I'd known him longer than I had known Nathan.

The problem was that I didn't, but I was determined to change that.

We were still laying naked in bed, recovering from our fun a few minutes ago. Michael called his sister back and apologized only to have Janet burst into laughter, tell Rebbie, then have her laugh at Michael too. It was good they could share a laugh with each other; otherwise I would have been the frowned-upon "girlfriend".

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Anything at all."

"Tell me about yourself. Your file only says so much," he smiled. I held his hand under the covers, playing with his knuckles as I sighed and thought back to my past, selecting the more important highlights over others.

"I never eat breakfast"-he gasped and looked absolutely shocked-"and I hate drinking orange juice with pulp. I'm also disgustingly smart. I'm a fucking nerd. Finished high school early and went back briefly then went to college, had my Master's degree by the time I was seventeen."

"And then?" he rolled his eyes. "What happened next?"

"I met Nathan when I was nineteen. And that was it from there, you probably know the rest."

"No, not really. What's up with you and him anyway?"

"He was my partner. Recruited me when I was just about to start college again. Between classes, I'd help him run small cons...I don't know...I guess I liked his expensive taste and his criminal ways. It was fun, I suppose."

"You sure there wasn't something else between you two?" he grinned and poked my stomach with his finger. I never really delved into what our relationship was with Michael, couldn't hurt to be honest about it.

"We fucked a couple times, but what's a professional relationship without sex, right? Nah, he proposed to someone."

"Proposed? To who?"

"Close friend, I guess. I wouldn't know what happened; he ran away, took all of our money, left the ring on the bed and wrote a note that said 'Convention Center. 3PM.' I woke up at four in the morning to an empty bed, so I went to go find him. They arrested me for speeding down the highway on my way there; they'd never been happier to have caught someone, honestly."

"That's...wow."

"I wanted to be a famous actress when I was a kid," I admitted, trying to lighten the mood. "Conning people was the closest I got."

"You don't need Nathan, Stella. I mean, granted you were criminals, but nobody deserves that," he replied, cuddling me in closer.

"What?"

"To be lied to. We'll get him, I'm sure of it."

A lump formed in my throat. Fucking hell.

"Hey, let's say-theoretically, of course-that...I don't know...a con artist asked a handsome and absolutely charming pop star out on a date. What would be her chances of getting a yes?" I asked, diverting the focus from Nathan to him. I blushed as Michael kissed my forehead, smoothing my hair out and brushing my cheek with his thumb.

"It depends on the theoretical con artist, of course. And the theoretical pop star."

"Why don't I go with Stella Brooks and the lovely Michael Jackson, respectively?"