Page 136 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“What?”

A grin spread across his face.

“Look at my baby. Got fans and shit.”

I immediately rolled my eyes. “Please don't start.”

“I'm serious.” He leaned back against the booth. “Big Sianni now.”

“Kyrie.”

“I'm finna have to start walking behind you and shit. Carry your bags. Make sure nobody gets too close.”

I laughed. “So, basically, you're volunteering to be my assistant?”

His face twisted.

“Assistant?”

“That's what you just described.”

“Nawl, fuck that. I'm security.”

“You can't be security. You're too damn friendly.”

“Friendly?” He stared at me as if I had personally offended him. “Who the fuck told you I was friendly?”

I burst out laughing.

“Okay, you're right. Definitely not friendly.”

“Exactly.”

I shook my head and reached for my fork again, but I couldn't stop smiling.

It was still strange sometimes to have people recognize me because of the life I had stepped into. But this felt different.

She hadn't come over because she wanted something from Kyrie.

She had come over for me.

And judging by the proud-ass smile still sitting on my husband's face, he liked that shit just as much as I did.

After we finished eating, Kyrie paid the bill, and we headed back out to the truck. I figured we were finally going home, but after riding for a few minutes, I quickly realized his ass was going in the wrong direction.

I glanced over at him. “Kyrie, this ain’t the way home.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so where the hell are we going?”

“Damn, ma, you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

“Because you keep taking me places without telling me where the hell we’re going.”

“You made it this far, ain’t you?”

I slowly turned my head and stared at him. “That is not reassuring at all.”