Page 166 of Ruthless Court

Kane: That means yes.

I narrow my eyes at the screen.

Me: It means you should work on your reading comprehension.

Kane: Wear the glasses. I like them.

My breath catches.

Lila reads the message and falls sideways onto the bed.

Noor closes her eyes.

I lock the phone and press it against my chest.

This life fit perfectly before Kane Haverhill stepped into it.

Now every edge feels charged.

* * *

I spend Saturday avoiding Kane Haverhill.

Not physically.

He isn’t standing outside Briar Hall with flowers or another stolen Twizzler between his teeth.

He’s worse.

He’s inside my phone.

The tickets sit in my Stanford account. His messages remain unanswered beneath the one I already regret sending.

Me: I’ll consider it.

He took that as a yes.

I treat it like a clerical error.

By eight in the morning, I’ve finished two reading responses, revised the seminar outline, and mapped out three weeks of practices for the boys.

At nine, Evan sends me a video of his left-handed layup.

He misses the first attempt, catches his rebound, and tries again.

The second drops.

Evan: Did I jump off the right foot?

Me: Yes. Keep the ball higher. Your shoulder dipped before the first attempt.

Evan: I knew you would say that.

Me: Then fix it before I have to.

A thumbs-up appears.

Then another message.