I sucked my teeth while he grinned.
“See? This why I can't tell you nothing.”
“Whatever.” He laughed. “When y'all supposed to leave?”
“Drayla said she’s gonna book everything and get back to me.”
“Cool.”
I nodded before turning back toward the canvas.
A few minutes later, I finished the last stroke and stepped back to look at it.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Kyrie was stretched out on the couch in the corner of my art room, watching me.
“Do you have rehab today?” I asked.
“Nawl.” He shook his head. “Thank God. I'm off today.”
A laugh escaped me.
“Bet.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “’Cause I was getting sick of that shit.”
I laughed and turned back toward the painting.
“Come here.”
Kyrie lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”
“Just come here.”
Letting out a dramatic sigh, he pushed himself off the couch and made his way over to me.
The second he stopped beside me, I pointed at the canvas.
“What you think?”
He stared at it for a few seconds before tilting his head. “Why my beard look like that?”
I blinked.
“What?”
“My beard.”
“It looks fine.”
“Nawl.”
I looked from him to the painting and back again.
“Kyrie, that's literally your face.”
“No, it ain't.”
A laugh slipped out of me.
