Page 35 of Ruthless Court

“You seriously don’t want to date an athlete?”

The question pulls me back to buses that smelled like sweat and fast food. Gym lounges after dark. Boys handing me unfinished essays with smiles they thought should count as payment or worse—the one who pretended to be into me only to kiss up to my dad.

I open a desk drawer.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Experience.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

That is the cleanest answer.

Nothing happened every time a player flirted until he needed a paper written.

Nothing happened when boys teased me for traveling with the team.

Nothing happened when my father spent hours repairing their shots while mine was never worth building.

I came three thousand miles to leave all of that behind.

Piper gets up and walks toward my side of the room.

She studies the stack of books, my old backpack, and the folder containing every scholarship document I may need for the next four years.

“You’re going to change your mind.”

“About athletes?”

“About everything.”

She gestures toward the open window.

Palm trees move against a cloudless blue sky. Music drifts across the courtyard. Students carry boxes between dorms while someone tosses a football over their heads.

It does look like the video.

Malibu Barbie with better test scores.

Piper smiles. “Welcome to Stanford.”

A basketball hits the pavement outside.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

My shoulders tense before I can stop them.

I cross the room and shut the window.

Piper watches me.