Page 92 of Ruthless Court

One more dribble.

Long step.

I use my shoulder to protect the ball and finish high off the glass.

Clean.

Eli catches it as it falls through.

“You look surprised.”

“Check it.”

He bounces the ball back.

I do it again.

This time, he shades harder toward my right. I stay left, let the second defender commit, then drop the pass to our center.

Easy finish.

Coach points at me.

“That. Quit escaping the play before it develops.”

Bookworm again.

The one with the giant glasses who lied about her name, crashed the mixer, spilled food across my shirt, and disappeared into an ivy maze.

I take the ball out of the net.

“How’d you know I was doing that?” Eli asks.

“What?”

“Film this morning. You named the trust issue before Coach did.”

“I watched the tape.”

Eli studies me.

I fire the ball at his chest.

“Play defense.”

He catches it with a grin.

“Someone’s touchy.”

Eli lives two doors down and majors in computer science, which means everyone on the team treats him like campus IT.

Printer breaks?

Eli.

Phone freezes?

Eli.