Page 152 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

She lifted her hands. “Aight. I said what I had to say.”

“And you said too fucking much.”

I continued down the hall and slammed my bedroom door behind me.

First Amani.

Now Marissa.

Everybody suddenly wanted to back the fuck out.

Fine.

I didn’t need either one of their asses.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and paced across the room, still irritated as hell.

Marissa could act like she had suddenly seen the light because Kyrie didn’t want her. That was her problem.

My shit had never been about getting Kyrie.

My problem was with Sianni.

It had always been with Sianni.

I was tired of watching that bitch walk into a room, and somehow everybody’s attention went straight to her. Men wanted her. People gravitated toward her. And no matter what the fuck happened, she always managed to land on her feet, as if nothing could touch her.

Even Amani had been stuck on her ass. And, yeah, I fucked him. I knew exactly what the hell I was doing when I did it. But, apparently, that hadn’t been enough either.

Now she had Kyrie walking around, acting like the fucking sun rose and set on her ass, and even after I put those pictures out there, nothing had changed.

She was still smiling.

Still happy.

Still fucking winning.

And that was what pissed me off the most. I wanted Sianni to finally know what it felt like when shit didn’t go her way. I wanted that bitch hurt. I wanted her to lose something for once instead of always being the one everybody chose.

Marissa could bow out.

Amani could keep warning me.

Neither of them mattered. This shit was between Sianni and me. And I wasn’t finished with that bitch. Not yet.

After Kyrie and I finished painting, I started cleaning up. I couldn’t lie, our little moment was cute as hell, and I enjoyed every second of it, especially after how emotional I’d gotten after the doctor’s appointment.

I needed that little release.

My mind had been all over the place, dragging me back into shit I couldn’t change no matter how much I thought about it. What happened was in the past. Sitting around, letting it consume me wasn’t going to change a damn thing.

I was wiping paint off the table when my phone started ringing. Reaching over, I grabbed it and frowned at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

Yeah, nawl.

I pressed the side button and sent the call straight to voicemail.

With all the shit going on with the blogs, I wasn’t answering random-ass numbers. For all I knew, somebody could’ve gotten a hold of my number and decided to start calling me. People could find damn near anything these days, and I wasn’t taking any chances.