Kane’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Mine probably does too.
Coach stops mid-sentence.
“Boys,” he says dryly. “We signing you to the basketball program or the volleyball one?”
Kane huffs a laugh but doesn’t look away.
“Just appreciating cross-training, Coach.”
“Uh-huh.”
Stella lands.
Her gaze flicks toward us.
Just once.
Quick.
Assessing.
She sees us standing there together.
She hits the next ball harder.
It rockets over the net and smacks the far wall.
Coach blows a whistle.
“Cortez! Dial it in!”
Kane’s eyes follow the line of sweat down her arm.
The flex in her legs as she resets.
“She’s good,” he says casually.
It’s not casual.
“Yeah,” I reply.
He glances at me.
“You know her?”
This is the moment.
I shrug lightly.
“Think she went to my prep school freshman year.”
That’s all I give him.
Neutral.
Unthreatening.
