Page 183 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

I hated that. I wanted to enjoy this. I wanted to be able to walk into an appointment, excited to see my baby without my past sitting on my shoulder, reminding me of everything that could go wrong.

Kyrie squeezed my hand, and I looked over at him.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“You lying.”

“How you know?”

“Because I know yo’ ass.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“Come here.”

Before I could ask what the hell he was doing, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me right onto his lap.

“Kyrie!” I whispered, looking around the waiting room.

“What?”

“Why the hell am I sitting on your lap?”

“Because I want you here.”

I shook my head, but I settled against him anyway. His arm wrapped around my waist, and his hand rested against my stomach as if it were natural.

“You know people can see us, right?”

“And?”

“And your big ass got a whole chair.”

“I know.”

“So, why am I in your lap?”

He leaned closer to my ear. “Because you my wife, and I wanted my wife in my fucking lap. You got a problem with that?”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“Possessive ass.”

“Damn right.”

I rested my back against his chest while his thumb moved slowly over my stomach.

For somebody who swore he wasn’t nervous, his ass sure was holding onto me tight.

“Everything gon’ be good, ma,” he said quietly.

“You don’t know that.”