“What that mean?”
Alexia looked down at the phone. “You know how these athletes are. Everything gotta look perfect for the internet.”
Something about the way she said it made my stomach tighten.
“You know something.”
“I don’t know shit,” she replied too fast.
“Alexia.”
She sighed before setting the phone down. “I’m just saying… Sianni be playing her role real good.”
I stared at her for a second.
Yeah, that hoe knew more than what she was saying.
“I don’t care what role she playing,” I muttered. “That girl don’t know Kyrie like I do.”
Alexia looked at me over the rim of her glass. “You really think you can get him back?”
“I know I can.”
She went quiet after that, but I caught the look she gave me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothin’.” She shrugged. “I just think Kyrie moved on.”
“He ain’t moved on,” I cut in quick. “That nigga playing house ’cause it looks good right now. That’s it.”
Alexia studied me for a second before nodding slowly. “Aight then… so what we gon’ do?”
A slow smirk spread across my face.
“We gon’ get in that hoe head.”
“How?”
“We remind Kyrie I’m still here,” I replied. “And we make Sianni uncomfortable every chance we get.”
Alexia smirked. “Now that sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it is.” I laughed softly before clinking my glass against hers. “’Cause we’re just getting started.”
I couldn’t wait to see this hoe fall and eventually drop Kyrie like a bad habit so I could officially slide my way in there and get what was rightfully mine.
I finished cookingbreakfast and carried the tray upstairs to Kyrie. He had woken up grumpy as hell this morning after replaying everything the doctor said in his head. The fact that he had to wear the sling and cast for a month was already pissing him off, but what really had him heated was Jamal being locked up. Kyrie ain’t want him in jail; he wanted him for himself.
When I walked into the room, he was sitting in the middle of the bed with the TV on, looking like he was two seconds away from crashing out on somebody. I laughed under my breath, balancing the tray before walking over to him.
“Good morning, grumpy pants,” I teased.
“Wassup?” he said, his eyes still on the TV.
I paused halfway beside the bed and frowned dramatically. “Damn, that’s all I get?”
That finally made him look at me.
