Page 137 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

Kyrie laughed, reaching over to place his hand on my thigh. “Just sit your fine ass over there and enjoy the ride. We’re almost there.”

I sucked my teeth but stopped asking questions. It wasn’t like he was going to tell me anyway. Once Kyrie got something in his head, I had learned it was easier to let his ass do whatever the hell he was planning and find out when we got there.

A few minutes later, he turned into a shopping center and pulled into a parking spot. I looked around, trying to figure out what the hell we were doing until my eyes landed on the art supply store a few doors down.

My head immediately turned toward him.

“Kyrie…”

“What?”

I pointed toward the store. “Why are we here?”

“You like painting, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Aight then.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “Get out.”

I stared at him for another second before a smile slowly spread across my face.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nawl, what?”

“Nothing, Big Daddy.” I reached for my door. “Come on.”

By the time we made it inside, I was already looking at everything. It had been a minute since I’d gone into an actual art store instead of ordering whatever I needed online, and seeing aisle after aisle of supplies had me wanting shit I knew damn well I didn’t need.

Kyrie followed me with his hands in his pockets while I stopped to look through some paints.

“What’s the difference between all this shit?”

I glanced at him. “Between what?”

He waved his hand toward the shelves. “All this damn paint. Paint is paint.”

My head snapped toward him.

“Excuse me?”

“What?” His brows lifted.

“Paint is not just paint.”

“It got color and go on a canvas, don’t it?”

“Kyrie, please don’t disrespect my craft.”

He laughed. “See, now you getting sensitive over paint.”

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aight, Picasso.”

I cut my eyes at him before turning back toward the shelf.