Page 286 of Ruthless Court
Me: Still law.
She sends the middle-finger emoji.
I lie back across the bed.
Friday is four days away.
Four.
That feels excessive.
By Friday afternoon, I have changed shirts three times.
This is humiliating.
The final choice is dark jeans, boots, and a charcoal sweater that doesn’t have Stanford printed anywhere across it.
No team jacket.
No backward cap.
No visible evidence that basketball has ever occurred.
Eli watches me walk through the living room.
His eyebrows rise.
“You look like you own a vineyard.”
“I’m going to a bookstore.”
“Even worse.”
Noah glances over.
“Where’s the chain?”
“I’m not wearing a chain.”
“The watch?”
I look at my wrist.
Take it off.
Eli starts laughing.
“Oh, you are gone.”
“I’m trying not to look like an athlete.”
“You’re six-three.”
“Useful observation.”
“With shoulders that barely fit through doors.”
“I’ll shrink before seven.”
