Page 190 of Ruthless Court

The next possession will be personal.

He calls for a screen.

Rejects it.

Drives into the same defender who hit him.

My fingers tighten around the Twizzler.

“Don’t.”

He gathers too soon.

The help defender reaches in.

Kane twists, nearly losing the ball, then kicks it out at the last second. Noah saves the possession with a contested jumper.

The shot drops.

The crowd cheers.

Kane scowls as he runs back.

Bad process. Good result.

He looks toward me.

I shake my head.

His expression sharpens.

The woman beside me laughs softly.

“I don’t think he liked that.”

“He knows I’m right.”

“That sounded intimate.”

“It wasn’t.”

She makes a small humming sound that tells me she doesn’t believe me.

I don’t believe myself much either.

The first quarter ends with Stanford ahead by four.

Music blasts through the arena while dancers take the court. People stand, stretch, and begin filming themselves with the game behind them.

The women in my row cluster near the aisle for a group picture.

No one asks me to move into the frame.

Fine.

I prefer historical exclusion. It usually comes with better artifacts.

A ripple moves through the section behind us.