Page 204 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

I laughed and shook my head.

“Come here.”

“I am here.”

Kyrie’s eyes narrowed.

“Why you always gotta make shit difficult? Bring your ass here.”

“I don’t feel like moving.”

He looked at me for a second before getting up himself.

“There. Problem solved.”

The couch dipped when he sat down beside me. He shifted our daughter into one arm, wrapped the other around my waist, and pulled me against him.

I rested my head against his shoulder.

For a few seconds, the house was quiet.

No blogs.

No drama.

No fake-marriage bullshit.

No hospitals or rehab.

No wondering what the hell would happen next.

Just us.

I looked down at the ring on my finger and smiled.

Kyrie’s crazy ass really had proposed to me when we were already married, and yes, I had talked shit about it for months.

But I loved my ring.

And I loved what came with it even more.

“What you smiling about now?” Kyrie asked.

“Damn, I can’t smile?”

“Nawl. That’s your something happened smile.”

I lifted my head.

“Did you just use my own shit on me?”

“Hell yeah.”

I laughed. “Nothing happened.”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing did.”