Page 55 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

Only then did he shut the passenger door.

As we backed out of the driveway, I turned around in my seat.

Kyrie was still standing exactly where we'd left him, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other hanging at his side, watching until we disappeared down the street.

I sat out on the porch with my cousin Zeek, both of us looking over the farmland I was slowly putting together. My shit wasn’t where I wanted it yet. I had just moved out here to Florida, so everything was still a work in progress. I had a few cows grazing, horses spread across the pasture, chickens running around like they paid bills, and a couple other animals holding it down. It wasn’t Texas, at least not yet.

But it would be.

I leaned back in my chair, letting my gaze drift across the property. A nigga couldn’t wait until this whole place was jumping the way my land back home was.

“Yo, man, when we gon’ swing by Kyrie’s spot?” Zeek asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I shrugged. “Whenever. We was supposed to slide yesterday, but the nigga wasn’t answering his phone.” A smirk tugged at my lips. “Which means his ass probably all boo’d up with his wife.”

“Mm-hmm.” Zeek chuckled under his breath before taking another sip of his drink.

I’d thrown together some handmade lemonade earlier and mixed a little sweet tea in it. Simple, but that shit hit me every time, especially sitting out here with the Florida sun beating down on me.

“You wanna slide through there now?” I asked.

“Yeah, we can go ahead.” Zeek chuckled, shaking his head. “I gotta see who this woman is that got my cousin’s head gone. I still can’t believe this nigga really settled down.”

A laugh slipped out of me. “Shit, me either.” I shrugged. “But you ain’t gon’ meet her today. She dipped out on her girls’ trip.”

“Bet.” He gave a slow nod. “Guess I’ll have to catch her another time.”

We finished our drinks, climbed into my truck, and headed across town. By the time we pulled up to Kyrie’s place, and I killed the engine, I spotted his ass leaning against the porch railing with a bottle of Gatorade in his hand like he’d been waiting for us.

“Damn, nigga,” Zeek said as he climbed out the truck, his eyes sweeping over the property. “This how yo’ ass living out here?”

“Yeah.” Kyrie pushed off the railing and came down the steps. “But wassup, nigga?” He pulled Zeek into a quick one-armed hug before patting his back.

“Shit, man. Just been handling business.”

“I hear you, bruh.” Kyrie nodded. “Come on in.”

He turned and headed back toward the house.

Zeek and I followed him inside, and damn… every time I walked through this place, it still hit the same. I’d been over here more times than I could count, but this shit never stopped impressing me.

I was proud of my cousin. We grew up country as hell, with a nice-ass ranch back home, but Kyrie had built something different. Every room screamed that he’d made it, and knowing where we came from made seeing him live like this hit even harder.

“Fuck, my nigga.” Zeek let out a low whistle while looking around. “You really out here living the damn life.”

Kyrie laughed. “I guess you could say that. Y’all want something to drink?”

“Yeah. Whatchu got?”

Kyrie rattled off everything in the fridge, but both Zeek and I ended up agreeing to Gatorades. He disappeared into the kitchen for a second before coming back with the drinks.

After handing them out, he dropped onto the couch across from us and twisted the cap off his bottle.

“Aight.” He kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “Let’s get to business.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. This nigga was sitting here looking like one of them damn mob bosses calling a family meeting.

“So…” Zeek took a sip of his drink. “You know where this nigga stay at?”