Page 193 of Ruthless Court

“I get that.”

The game resumes.

Tristan Vale crashes the offensive glass on Stanford’s first possession, muscles the rebound away from two defenders, and puts it back through contact.

Stella smiles before the ball clears the net.

That tells me more than a thousand edited videos could.

Vale turns toward this section.

Finds her immediately.

The shift in his face is almost unfair.

He points at her.

Stella points back.

“What was that?” I ask.

“He likes checking whether I’m watching.”

“Are you?”

“Always.”

The word carries no embarrassment.

No caution.

She loves him.

Cleanly.

The certainty makes something inside me ache in a place I didn’t know existed.

Stella looks at me again.

“Whose seats are these?”

I pull the Twizzler bag closer.

“I’m embarrassed to say.”

“That makes this interesting.”

“Haverhill’s.”

Her expression changes.

“Kane invited you?”

“He’s my study partner.”

“Study partner..?”

“Yupp.” I pop the p.