Page 27 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“How it ain’t fair?” he asked, looking at me with a lifted eyebrow.

“Because it’s not. Just because I’m pregnant, it does not mean I’m handicapped.”

Being pregnant did not mean I couldn’t go out and have fun. It didn’t mean I still couldn’t do all the shit that I was doing before. The only thing it meant was that I was carrying another life in my stomach, and I had to be careful and make sure I took care of this little life inside me.

“I ain’t say yo’ ass was handicapped. But now you see how I felt when you were trying to keep me tied down and acted like I couldn’t do shit because my arm was fucked up.”

“That is different, Kyrie,” I replied, taking a deep breath.

“How is that different?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Because you were working with one arm, and you couldn’t do anything for real. Besides, it still doesn’t compare.”

I don’t know how he figured that my being pregnant amounted to the same as his being shot and not able to use his arm, but it didn’t.

Kyrie sucked his teeth and looked away for a second before dragging his hand across his beard.

“Comparable or not, the point is still the same.”

“No, it ain’t.”

“Yes, the fuck it is.” His eyes found mine again. “When I was hurt, you wanted me sitting my ass in the house because you ain’t wanna risk nothing happening to me. Now I’m supposed to be cool with you hopping on a plane while you’re carrying my child?”

“I’m not sick, Kyrie.”

“And I ain’t say you was. But you ain’t by yourself no more either.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“Call it what you want.”

“I am.”

“And I’m still saying your ass doesn’t need to be going anywhere.”

He was being so freaking impossible right now, and this really didn’t make sense to me.

“So, what happens after the baby gets here?” I asked. “You gonna tell me I can’t leave then, too?”

Kyrie folded his arms across his chest.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“With who, where you going, and how long you gone.”

I stared at him.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Dead ass.”

“Kyrie, I swear you are being over the fucking top right now.”

“I know I am, but I want to make sure my woman and my kid are good,” he replied. “You already have muthafuckas in your face, and when they find out that you’re pregnant, it’s going to be worse.”

I didn’t say another word. I just huffed and shook my head. Kyrie was being a little too overly protective.