“Not really.”
That earned me another eye roll.
Truth was, if anything, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Not after Jamal got out. Not after somebody had sent her a weird-ass note in the club. Not after seeing how uncomfortable she looked tonight.
The second we stepped inside, I locked the door behind us and waited until she started toward the stairs.
“I’m finna take a shower,” she said.
“Aight.”
I stood there watching her walk upstairs and damn near forgot what the fuck I was doing. Shawty was fine as hell, and being her husband still felt crazy sometimes.
Shaking my head, I headed toward the kitchen.
The fridge was stocked with smoothies, so I grabbed one, twisted the cap off, and took a long pull while leaning against the counter.
The house was quiet, and I hated sitting around like this. Between rehab, doctor’s appointments, and everybody telling me to take it easy, I felt like a damn caged animal. Every day was the same shit. Wake up, rehab. Come home and repeat.
Man, fuck that. I was ready to get back on the field. Ready to get back in my element and ready to remind every nigga who thought I was finished exactly who the fuck I was.
Cause one thing about me, I never stayed down for long. I took another pull from the smoothie and set the bottle down on the counter.
As I continued to stand in the kitchen, letting my mind wander as it did most of the time, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
I glanced up and instantly forgot what the fuck I was thinking about. Sianni had changed into one of my shirts, and her hair was pulled back away from her face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“’Cause you fine.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That’s all you ever say.”
“’Cause that’s all I ever think.”
A smile tugged at her lips despite how hard she tried to fight it. And just like that, some of the tension on my shoulders eased.
“You are so fucking corny, you know that?” she asked, laughing.
“I’m corny, yet you still riding my dick, and you still wearing my shit,” I replied with a smirk.
“Okay, Kyrie.” She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she fully walked into the kitchen.
“It’s always ‘okay, Kyrie’.” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes again and then grabbed my smoothie from the counter. Took it to the head and drank the rest of my shit.
“Really, shorty?” I asked.
“What?”
“You gon’ really drink my smoothie?”
“You’ll be alright. You got more in the fridge,” she replied, setting the bottle in the sink.
