Page 142 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

I got up and walked over to him, taking a closer look at his canvas. It wasn’t that bad, but it damn sure wasn’t good either.

“Okay, I see what you’re doing wrong.”

“The fuck you mean what I’m doing wrong? I did exactly what you told me.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, the fuck I did.”

“Kyrie, look.” I leaned closer and pointed toward the canvas. “You’re putting too much paint on the brush, and you’re pressing down too hard. That’s why your colors aren’t blending right.”

He looked at the canvas before looking back at me.

“Aight then, show me.”

I reached for his brush, but he moved his hand away.

I frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to show you if you won’t give me the brush?”

“Don’t take it. Show me how to do it.”

“Okay.” I stepped closer. “Scoot over.”

Instead of moving, Kyrie spread his legs slightly and looked up at me.

“Come here.”

I stared at him.

“Kyrie.”

“What?”

“I said scoot over.”

“And I’m telling you to bring your ass here.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “You teaching me, ain’t you?”

I already knew this nigga was full of shit, but arguing with him wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

I stepped between his legs and reached for his hand.

“Okay, loosen your grip some. Damn, Kyrie. You holding that brush like somebody finna strip the football out your hands.”

“Ain’t nobody stripping shit out my hands.”

I rolled my eyes. “That is not the point.”

“Shit, sounded like the point to me.”

“Kyrie, focus.”

I placed my hand over his and slowly guided the brush across the canvas.

“See how I’m moving it?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t need all that pressure. Just let the brush move.”