Page 12 of Playing Dirty
Dad.
The good mood vanished instantly.
Rowan caught that too.
Sharp as hell.
“What?” she asked before I could hide it properly.
“Nothing.”
“Your face disagrees.”
I shoved my phone deeper into my pocket.
“Interview starts Monday, Hayes.”
She crossed her arms. “Excited already.”
“You should be.”
“Why?”
I stepped around her toward the hallway, stopping beside her shoulder long enough to say quietly:
“Because eventually you’ll realize you were wrong about me.”
Then I walked away before she could answer.
Mostly because I had absolutely no idea if I believed that myself.
Three
CHAPTER THREE
ROWAN
I lasted exactly forty minutes at Blackthorne Arena before Mason Reed pissed me off again.
Which honestly had to be some kind of record.
“Why are basketball players physically incapable of answering questions like normal people?” I asked Daniel from behind my camera.
Daniel didn’t look up from his laptop. “Because if they were emotionally functional, college sports would collapse.”
Fair.
Practice thundered across the court in front of us — sneakers squeaking, coaches yelling, music blasting through overhead speakers loud enough to rattle my skull.
Blackthorne basketball practice looked less like a sport and more like a public execution with better branding.
Mason jogged backward down the court, sweat darkening the gray shirt stretched across his shoulders. One of the assistant coaches screamed something at him.
Mason responded by draining a three-pointer without even fully turning around.
The entire gym erupted.
Show-off.
