“It means niggas already watching me, waiting for me to move wrong,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “The second I start running to the police, that weak-ass narrative starts getting attached to my name.”
“Kyrie—”
“I’m serious,” I cut in, my voice calmer this time. “You think those blogs are bad now? Let them catch wind of me cooperating with the police. They gon’ drag that shit.”
She opened her mouth to say something else, but the waitress stepped up to the table with our food and drinks before she could.
The smell hit instantly, but my eyes stayed on Sianni. She still looked irritated. And, for some reason, that bothered me. But at the end of the day, I needed her to see where the hell I was coming from.
I mean, nawl, I wasn’t no street nigga, and I ain’t grow up out there selling dope or none of that shit, but I ain’t want niggas thinking I was pussy either. That type of shit gave muthafuckas confidence. Made them think they could walk up on me, try me, and get away with it.
After we finished eating, Sianni drove me to the training facility. I had told her to bring me up here so I could check in with the coach and chop it up with some of the guys. Plus, if I were being honest, a part of me was hoping Jamal would be dumb enough to show his face.
As soon as we walked inside, the whole damn team damn near swarmed me. Niggas were coming from every direction, dapping me up, checking on me, and making sure they ain’t bump my arm.
“Kyrie, bruh, how you holding up?” Westley asked, giving me a quick pound.
‘I’m good.” I nodded. “Hanging in there.”
“That’s what’s up, man. We miss yo’ ass out here on the field.” He laughed.
A smirk pulled at my mouth. “I know y’all do.”
And they did. Them niggas already knew shit hit different when I was on that field.
While we were standing there talking, I heard the coach call my name. I turned around and saw him standing outside his office, motioning for me to come over. Right before I started walking, my eyes caught Marissa making her way toward Sianni.
Her head lifted from her phone. “Yes?”
“Come to the office with me.”
She ain’t ask no questions. Just grabbed her bag and walked over to my side.
I cut my eyes back toward Marissa for a second. I ain’t know what the fuck she thought she was doing, but shorty was getting beside herself. I had already made it clear I ain’t want nothing to do with her no more, but she was still moving thirsty as hell, like rejection just wasn’t registering in her damn brain.
Once we got inside the office, Sianni and I sat down across from Coach’s desk.
“Kyrie, my boy,” Coach said in that thick southern drawl of his. “How you holdin’ up, son?”
“I been good.” I nodded with a grin.
“That’s good to hear.” He leaned back in his chair before looking over at Sianni. “He been givin’ you any trouble?”
“Somewhat.” She shrugged.
Coach laughed loud as hell. “Somewhat? Yeah, I believe that.”
“He hardheaded as hell,” Sianni added, shaking her head.
“Now that right there is the truth,” Coach replied, pointing at me.
I looked between them and sucked my teeth. “So, y’all just gon’ sit here and talk about me like I ain’t in the room?”
“We know you here.” Sianni laughed. “Can’t miss yo’ big, overgrown ass.”
“Aight, shorty,” I muttered, smirking at her. “Keep playin’ with me.”
“Oh, whatever.” She laughed. “You ain’t gon’ do nothing.”
