Page 186 of Ruthless Court
Noah gives me one last shove between the shoulder blades.
“Go impress her.”
Hannah opens the Twizzlers and settles into her seat.
The butterflies disappear.
It’s going to be a good night.
Fourteen
HANNAH
The player guest section smells like perfume, spray tan, and expensive lip gloss.
Like Cosmopolitan and Glamour had a baby, dressed it in a cropped leather jacket, and handed it courtside tickets.
I stop at the end of the row and check the seat number again.
Correct section.
Correct row.
Unfortunately.
The women already seated look like they arrived through professional hair and makeup. Sleek waves. French manicures. Almond-shaped nails. Tiny tops paired with jeans that probably require assistance to put on.
Then there’s me.
Chunky cream sweater.
Black leggings.
Uggs.
Hair twisted into a bun because I changed in seven minutes and ran across campus.
Tortoiseshell glasses.
Family pack of Twizzlers tucked beneath my arm.
Every face turns.
Not openly.
That would require honesty.
They look at my glasses, drop to my sweater, then exchange those quick little glances women use when they’ve agreed on something cruel without speaking.
I squeeze past them.
“Sorry.”
No one moves enough.
My bag catches on a knee.
A woman with bright blond extensions lifts her drink before I knock it over.
