Page 197 of Ruthless Court

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Then it’ll be a short conversation.”

On the floor, Kane takes his position and glances toward me once more.

I expect the smirk.

Instead, he gives me the same unguarded grin he wore when I arrived.

My pulse skips.

Stella catches it.

She settles into her chair.

“This is the most fun I’ve had watching the two of them play al season.”

* * *

The second quarter ends with Stanford ahead by nine.

Kane walks toward the tunnel with his warm-up jacket open and sweat darkening the collar of his jersey. Before he disappears, he looks toward our row.

I hold up the Twizzlers.

His grin returns.

Stella watches the exchange.

“You’re exactly his type.”

I nearly inhale the candy.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“His type is almost six feet tall, spray-tanned, and capable of running fifty yards faster than he can.”

“That’s who he sleeps with.”

Stella takes another Twizzler.

“It isn’t who he falls for.”

I stare at her.

She says it casually, eyes on the halftime performers gathering near center court, as if she didn’t just reach inside my chest and twist something.

“I’m not sure Kane Haverhill falls for anyone.”

Stella looks at me.

“He does.”

The answer carries more weight than I expect.

I push my glasses higher.