Page 80 of Ruthless Court

“Winning at the buzzer.”

She points toward the door.

I leave with the seminar added to my schedule and Krista’s words still lodged somewhere beneath my ribs.

You need a girl who likes arguing with you.

I don’t need any girl.

I need a clean season, a tournament run, and a draft stock high enough that no general manager can talk himself out of taking me.

Everything else is noise.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Eight

HANNAH

Kane Haverhill is having the best season of his life at least it started that way…

His scoring average is up. Stanford keeps winning. Mock drafts have moved him into the first round, and every sports account on campus posts slow-motion clips of him walking through tunnels in headphones.

The numbers look good for a while.

The film doesn’t lie.

I notice it while waiting for coffee in the student center. Stanford’s last game plays across the television above the counter. Haverhill comes off a screen, rejects it, and drives left.

His second dribble rises too high.

His right shoulder turns before the defense commits.

The weak-side guard strips him clean.

A student beside me groans.

“Bad luck.”

It wasn’t.

Three possessions later, Haverhill does it again. This time, he picks up the ball near the free-throw line and forces a pass into traffic.

Turnover.

He stares at the referee as the other team runs the floor.

I take my coffee and leave.

His game is none of my business.

Neither is he and ever since I switched dorms he’s been put of my life for good.

* * *

My contacts are delayed—again.

The tracking page claims they left a distribution center in Sacramento three days ago, then apparently abandoned civilization.