Page 318 of Ruthless Court

Winning has always meant taking the opening before someone else does.

Move first.

Push harder.

Get there before the door closes.

This isn’t that.

Hannah isn’t something to win.

She’s trusting me with the door.

I kiss her like I understand the difference.

Slow enough to feel her smile against my mouth.

Tender enough that when she finally pulls back, she doesn’t go far.

Her forehead settles against mine.

Neither of us speaks.

The lights stretch beneath us.

Her thumb moves once along my jaw.

I close my eyes.

For years, basketball was the place I went to feel worth something.

Tonight, sitting on the back of my truck with Hannah Goodwin breathing softly against me—lips still parted, fingers still tangled in my hair—I don’t need to prove a single thing.

She already sees me.

Eighteen

HANNAH

Apparently emotional vulnerability has a temperature limit.

Twenty minutes after telling Kane Haverhill things I barely admit to myself, the cold finally works through my coat.

I shiver.

Kane notices.

Naturally.

He seems to notice everything about me tonight.

The tear I tried to hide at the open mic.

The strand of hair stuck to my lip.

When I got quiet talking about Dad.

The exact second I wanted him to kiss me.