Page 284 of Ruthless Court

Two jackets.

Nothing says used-bookstore poetry without also saying I may be summoned to a Nike commercial at any moment.

This is ridiculous.

It’s a date.

I’ve been on dates.

Plenty.

Except most of them weren’t really dates.

Parties that became hookups.

Team dinners where someone brought someone.

Restaurants with women I already knew would come home with me.

Stella and I never got far enough to call anything a date.

Krista would have laughed if I suggested listening to amateur poetry without alcohol involved.

Friday with Hannah feels different before it even happens.

Because I want her to like it.

Not me.

It.

The night.

The place.

The fact that I listened when she said she needed something separate from basketball.

My phone buzzes.

Hannah.

Hannah: I have conditions.

I sit on the edge of the bed.

Me: Naturally.

Hannah: No filming me.

Me: Agreed.

Hannah: No posting.

Me: Agreed.

Hannah: If someone recognizes you, I’m not being introduced as Mystery Girl, Tortoiseshell, Basketball Genius, Bookworm, Footnote, or any other nickname created by you or the internet.

I smile.