Page 337 of Ruthless Court

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The athlete quad looks different at night when you’re trying not to become photographic evidence.

I sink lower in Kane’s passenger seat as he turns into the lot.

Too many lights.

Too many windows.

Too many people who own phones.

A group of girls crosses between two buildings. Three guys stand near the entrance to Kane’s suite talking beside a parked Jeep. Someone farther down the sidewalk lifts a phone, though I have no idea whether they’re taking a picture or checking the weather.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m not taking chances.

“Give me your hoodie.”

Kane glances over.

“What?”

“Your hoodie.”

“I’m wearing it.”

“I can see that.”

“Then explain how this works.”

“Take it off.”

His mouth curves. “Usually dates wait until we’re inside before ordering me out of my clothes.”

“Never mind. I’ll risk public exposure.”

I reach for the door.

Kane catches my sleeve.

“Relax.”

He pulls the black hoodie over his head.

His T-shirt rides up with it.

A strip of stomach appears.

Hard.

Ridged.

Distracting.

I look away.

Poorly.