I stopped walking.
He stopped too, turning back to face me.
“This not a date?” I asked.
His smirk came back slowly. “It is if you want it to be.”
“You are so annoying.”
“And you like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughed and pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead right there in the middle of the studio. “Then yeah, ma. It’s a date.”
My face got warm, and I hated how easy it was for him to do that to me.
We kept walking, stopping in front of a section where people could paint their own small canvases. I looked at the setup, then looked at him.
“You wanna paint?”
He gave me a look. “Do I look like I paint?”
“You might be good.”
“I’m good at a lot of things, but that ain’t one of them.”
“Scared?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Of paint?”
“I don’t know. You acting real nervous.”
He stared at me for a second, then sucked his teeth. “Aight. Bet.”
That was all it took.
A few minutes later, we were sitting at a small table with two blank canvases in front of us. I picked up my brush like it was nothing, but Kyrie stared at his like it had personally offended him.
I laughed. “You good?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“You holding the brush like a weapon.”
“’Cause I don’t trust it.”
I laughed harder, and he cut his eyes at me.
“Keep laughing.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Mmhm. Watch when mine come out better than yours.”
“Now you know that’s not happening.”
He leaned back in his chair, looking too confident for somebody who hadn’t even dipped his brush in the paint yet. “You don’t know that.”
