Page 116 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

That was probably the worst thing he could’ve told my ass.

I leaned closer to Sianni’s ear. “You know you look good as fuck, right?”

“Kyrie,” she whispered.

“What?”

“We’re taking pictures.”

“I know.”

“So stop.”

“Stop telling my wife she’s fine?”

She tried to suppress her smile, but it failed, and the camera clicked again.

“Perfect.”

Sianni clicked her teeth. “See what you started?”

“I ain’t start shit.”

“You always starting something.”

“And you like that shit.”

She elbowed me lightly in the stomach.

“Damn, woman.”

That only made her laugh, and the photographer kept snapping.

After a while, I damn near forgot he was there. We changed positions a few times, took some standing together, a few sitting down, then did some by ourselves.

When we finally got a short break, Sianni walked over to me and frowned.

“Hold still.”

“What?”

“Your collar.”

She stepped closer and reached up, fixing it with both hands.

“Damn, ma. You stay putting your hands on me.”

“Can you be quiet for two seconds?”

“Nawl.”

“Of course not.”

I looked down at her as she kept messing with my shirt, concentrating like my crooked-ass collar was the most important thing in the world.

A smile pulled at my lips. This really was my wife.

“Got it,” she said, smoothing her hand across my chest.