Page 77 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“Don’t push it.”

She smiled.

“You can stay, but you need to be careful, ma. And when I say careful, I mean careful. Don’t be leaving this bitch by yourself. Don’t go nowhere without security. If something feels off, I don’t give a fuck how small it is, you call me.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious, Sianni.”

“So am I.”

I stared at her.

“And keep your location on.”

“Kyrie—”

“Don’t start.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Anything else, Big Daddy?”

I narrowed my eyes at the little smart-ass smile spreading across her face.

“Keep playing with me.”

She bit her bottom lip, and I shook my head. This damn woman. I leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time.

“Just be careful for me,” I murmured against her lips.

“I will.”

That was all I could ask.”

Even if every possessive bone in my fucking body hated it.

I leaned against the hood of my truck, my eyes never leaving the entrance to the apartment complex.

“This the spot?” Zeek asked, glancing over at me before taking another pull from the bottle of water he'd been nursing.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.

“I don't move unless I'm sure.”

He let out a low chuckle before screwing the cap back on his bottle.

“Damn. We been sitting out this bitch for almost thirty minutes.”

“And we'll sit thirty more if that's what it takes.”

Patience had always been one thing a lot of niggas lacked. Me? I wasn't in no rush. A nigga always got comfortable eventually. Sooner or later, he'd come outside.

Right on cue, the apartment door swung open. I pushed myself off the truck, watching as a tall, dark-skinned nigga in a gray T-shirt and black basketball shorts stepped out, his phone glued to his ear.