Page 145 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“Aight.”

The second I dipped my finger into some paint, Kyrie’s smile disappeared.

“Nawl.”

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Don’t put that shit on me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

I laughed. “Oh, okay. So, you can put paint on me, but I can’t put none on you?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is today.”

“Boy, please.”

I reached for his face, but Kyrie caught my wrist before I could touch him.

“Kyrie, let me go.”

“So you can put that shit on me? Hell nawl.”

“Stop being scary.”

His brows shot up. “Scary?”

“Scary.”

“Aight.”

Before I knew what the hell was happening, Kyrie caught me around my waist and pulled me against him.

I squealed, damn near dropping the paintbrush in my other hand.

“Kyrie!”

“What happened to all that scary shit you was talking?”

“You are!”

“Uh-huh.”

I twisted around, still trying to get my painted finger close enough to touch his face, but his long-ass arms had me at a disadvantage.

“Stop cheating!”

“How the fuck I’m cheating?”

“Because you’re stronger than me!”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”