Page 99 of Ruthless Court
Those glasses slightly crooked.
My hand around the curve of her waist beneath that oversized sweatshirt.
Her mouth losing the dry little smirk when I—
I grab the nearest basketball and throw it at Eli’s head.
He ducks.
The ball hits the wall.
“Too slow,” he says, laughing.
“I need to get my head out of my ass.”
“Probably.”
“My season matters. The draft matters.”
“Agreed.”
“I’m not getting distracted by some fussy librarian.”
“Definitely not.”
“She’s not even my type.”
“Your type just left wearing track spikes.”
“Krista was never my type.”
“Your type chose Vale.”
That shuts the room down.
Eli’s smile fades.
He knows he pushed too far.
I pick up the basketball and spin it between my hands.
“Bookworm is information. Nothing else.”
“Right.”
“I find out what she knows, then I’m done.”
“Absolutely.”
“Quit agreeing like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m full of shit.”
Eli turns back toward his computer.
“I think you chased a girl through the rain, searched every Sandy at Stanford, and nearly took my head off because I mentioned kissing her.”
