Page 314 of Ruthless Court
No teammates.
No scouts.
No basketball.
Just Hannah.
For once, I don’t need the night to lead anywhere else.
I already know where I want to be.
I stop smiling.
Because suddenly the joke isn’t enough.
Not after everything she just told me.
Not after the little girl who only ever wanted her father to see her finally admitted he never once asked what she wanted.
Not after she listened to every ugly, awkward piece of my past and never once looked at me like it made me less.
Hannah looks back toward the lights.
A dark strand of hair blows across her cheek.
I reach for it without thinking.
My fingers catch the soft strand and tuck it behind her ear, but I don’t pull my hand away. The skin beneath my knuckles is warm and impossibly smooth—softer than anything has a right to be. She turns into my palm almost without realizing it, like her body already knows where it belongs.
That tiny movement wrecks me.
“Hannah.”
Her eyes lift.
No argument waiting.
No smart answer.
Just her.
I drag my thumb slowly beneath the edge of her glasses, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek. She smells like almonds and jasmine—warm, clean, faintly sweet—and it sinks straight into my chest.
“You know what I kept thinking while you were talking?”
“That you made a mistake bringing me somewhere without snacks?”
A laugh moves through me, low and rough, but it doesn’t break the moment.
“No.”
“What?”
“That somebody should’ve asked you.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “What you wanted. What you loved. What you were good at before anyone decided whether it was useful.”
Her lips part. Soft. Pink.
“Kane—”
