“Kyrie, baby, I paint.”
“And I’m naturally gifted.”
I shook my head while dipping my brush into the paint. “Okay, Big Daddy Picasso.”
A grin spread across his face. “I like that.”
“I knew you would.”
For the next little while, we painted side by side. Well, I painted. Kyrie made a mess and pretended like it was intentional. Every few minutes, he tried to peek at my canvas, and every time I caught him, he acted like he wasn’t doing anything.
By the time we were done, mine had turned into a soft sunset over water.
Kyrie’s looked like… something.
I tilted my head, trying hard not to laugh.
He noticed immediately. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The face you make when you trying not to talk shit.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Kyrie…”
“Nawl. Say it.”
“What is it?”
He looked offended. “It’s abstract.”
I blinked.
“Abstract?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“I know enough.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I laughed so hard I had to put my brush down.
Kyrie sat there staring at me like he was annoyed, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching.
“You think you funny.”
“I’m sorry.” I wiped under my eye. “It’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Very cute.”
