Page 221 of Ruthless Court

We each have our own bedroom around a shared living area. It’s the closest athlete housing gets to privacy without letting us forget we’re still college students.

I strip off my hoodie and jeans, then pull on thin plaid pajama pants.

No shirt.

No socks.

The room is warm enough without them.

I set my phone on the nightstand and climb beneath the covers.

Hannah hasn’t texted.

I consider sending something.

Me: Still thinking about that kiss.

Too much.

Me: Your pimple patch was cute.

Immediate death.

Me: Sleep well, Footnote.

Worse.

I put the phone facedown.

The kiss replays anyway.

Her fingers twisting into my hoodie.

The soft sound she made when my hand slid into her hair.

The way she kissed me back before her mind could rebuild every reason not to.

Then there was the game.

Seeing her arrive late and breathless.

The wink.

Her head shaking when I forced the drive.

That single nod after I made the right read.

I’ve received praise from coaches, scouts, reporters, and fans.

None of it felt like that.

My eyes close.

The room fades.

Hannah is beside me again.

No glasses this time.