Page 336 of Playing Dirty
Constant.
We ran full scrimmages back-to-back until the gym smelled like sweat and frustration.
Andre slammed the ball after missing a shot. “This is insane.”
“It’s preparation,” Coach said flatly.
“It’s torture,” Luca muttered.
Coach heard him. “Good.”
That shut everyone up again.
Except me.
Because I wasn’t just playing through drills anymore.
I was watching myself play.
And that was the problem.
Half a second late.
One pass too cautious.
One hesitation too long.
Coach blew the whistle again.
“Reed.”
I stopped immediately.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I wiped my face with my towel.
“It’s what’s happening.”
Coach stepped closer.
“You don’t survive New York by thinking.”
A pause.
“Neither does she.”
That hit harder than expected.
I looked up.
“You don’t know her.”
Coach shrugged. “I know the type.”
