🏀

D1 UConn WBB, Steph, & Bron glazer

[thisiscrazy1336]

Wet Dreams

The room was dark and quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing. Paige had drifted off hours ago, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the evening, the game, the exposure, the intense sex that followed. But now she stirred, consciousness pulling her slowly from sleep.

She became aware of warmth beside her, of Azzi's body pressed close. And then she became aware of something else, movement. Subtle at first, just a shift of Azzi's hips, but then more. A soft sound escaped Azzi's lips, barely audible, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

Paige's eyes opened fully, adjusting to the darkness. She turned her head to look at Azzi, and her breath caught.

Azzi was still asleep, her eyes closed, but her face was flushed even in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Her lips were parted, and as Paige watched, another soft moan escaped them. Azzi's body shifted restlessly against the sheets, her thighs pressing together, then falling apart slightly, then pressing together again.

Paige felt heat pool low in her stomach as she realized what was happening. Azzi was having a dream. And from the looks of it, not just any dream.

"Paige," Azzi murmured, so quietly Paige almost missed it. Her hips rolled slightly, seeking friction that wasn't there. "Please..."

Paige's mouth went dry. She propped herself up on one elbow, watching as Azzi's breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling more rapidly beneath the thin tank top she'd thrown on after their earlier activities. Azzi's hand moved in her sleep, sliding down her own body to rest on her lower stomach, fingers twitching like she wanted to move lower but couldn't quite manage it while unconscious.

Another whimper fell from Azzi's lips, louder this time, and her back arched slightly off the bed. The movement caused the sheet to slip down, revealing more of her body, the tank top had ridden up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach, and her sleep shorts had twisted, riding up her thighs.

Paige's gaze traveled lower, and she felt her pulse quicken. Even in the darkness, she could see the dampness on Azzi's inner thighs, could see how her shorts had darkened with moisture. Azzi was soaked, her arousal evident even through the fabric.

"Fuck," Azzi breathed in her sleep, her hips rolling again, more insistently this time. Her thighs fell open wider, an unconscious invitation, and Paige could see the wet spot on her shorts growing. "Need you..."

Paige felt her own arousal spike, heat flooding through her body. She watched, transfixed, as Azzi's body moved with increasing urgency, chasing pleasure in her dream. Azzi's hand slid lower, fingers brushing over her center through her shorts, and she gasped, the sound breathy and desperate.

"Please, Paige," Azzi whimpered, and god, hearing her name like that,so needy, so wanting, made Paige's stomach clench with desire.

Azzi's movements became more frantic. Her hips lifted off the bed, grinding against her own hand, and her other hand came up to clutch at her breast through her tank top. Her breathing was ragged now, coming in short pants, and a thin sheen of sweat had formed on her skin, making her glow in the moonlight.

"Yes," Azzi moaned, louder now, her head tilting back against the pillow. "Right there, don't stop—"

Paige bit her lip, watching Azzi fall apart in her sleep. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen, Azzi completely uninhibited, lost in whatever fantasy was playing out in her mind. Her thighs were trembling now, pressed tight around her hand, and Paige could see the muscles in her stomach tensing.

But then Azzi's movements slowed, frustration creeping into her expression even in sleep. Her hand stilled, and she made a small, disappointed sound, like she couldn't quite reach what she needed. Her hips rolled again, seeking, but without the coordination of consciousness, she couldn't find the right angle, the right pressure.

"Please," Azzi whimpered again, and she sounded almost on the verge of tears. "Need more..."

Paige's decision was made in an instant.

---

They'd talked about this before, weeks ago, actually, during one of those late-night conversations where they'd explored each other's fantasies and boundaries. Azzi had been shy about it at first, blushing as she admitted that she'd always thought it would be hot to wake up to Paige touching her, to blur the line between dream and reality.

"Like, you could just... start whenever," Azzi had said, her cheeks pink. "I trust you completely. If I'm asleep and you want to, you have my full consent. Always."

Paige had kissed her then, touched by the trust, turned on by the idea. They'd established it clearly, explicit, enthusiastic consent for Paige to initiate sexual contact while Azzi was asleep. And now, watching Azzi writhe in the grip of a wet dream, clearly desperate for release, Paige knew this was the perfect moment.

A slow smile spread across Paige's face. She was going to make Azzi's dream come true. Literally.

---

Moving slowly and carefully, Paige shifted on the bed. She didn't want to wake Azzi, not yet. She wanted to blur that line between dream and reality, wanted Azzi to wake up already lost in pleasure.

She pressed a soft kiss to Azzi's shoulder, then another to her collarbone. Azzi stirred slightly but didn't wake, just made a soft, contented sound. Paige continued her path downward, kissing along Azzi's sternum, then her stomach, pushing the tank top up as she went.

Azzi's skin was hot beneath her lips, and Paige could feel her trembling. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of Azzi's sleep shorts and slowly, carefully, began to pull them down. Azzi's hips lifted slightly in her sleep, helping without realizing it, and Paige slid the shorts and underwear down her legs, tossing them aside.

The sight that greeted her made Paige's mouth water. Azzi was glistening, her arousal coating her inner thighs, her pussy swollen and wet. Paige could see how turned on she was, could smell the sweet musk of her arousal, and it made her own body throb with need.

But this wasn't about Paige. This was about Azzi.

Paige settled between Azzi's thighs, gently spreading them wider. Azzi made a soft sound, her legs falling open easily, and Paige took a moment just to look at her, beautiful and vulnerable and so fucking wet.

Then she leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly up Azzi's center.

The reaction was immediate. Azzi gasped, her hips jerking up toward Paige's mouth, and a moan fell from her lips—louder than before, but still soft, still dreamy. She was still asleep, Paige realized, but her body was responding, her dream shifting to incorporate the new sensations.

Paige did it again, another long, slow lick, savoring the taste of Azzi on her tongue. God, she loved this—loved the way Azzi tasted, loved the way her body responded even in sleep, loved the little sounds she was making.

She focused on Azzi's clit, circling it with her tongue, and Azzi's thighs trembled on either side of her head. Paige could feel the tension in Azzi's body, could feel how close she already was from the dream. She worked her slowly, carefully, building the pleasure gradually.

"Paige," Azzi moaned, and her hand came down to tangle in Paige's hair, still unconscious, still dreaming, but her body knew what it wanted. "Yes, please..."

Paige increased her pace, her tongue moving faster against Azzi's clit. She slid two fingers inside, and Azzi was so wet they went in easily, her walls clenching around them immediately. Paige groaned against her, the vibration making Azzi's hips buck.

She set a steady rhythm, fingers pumping in and out while her tongue worked Azzi's clit, and she could feel Azzi getting closer. Her moans were getting louder, more desperate, her hips moving in time with Paige's fingers, and her grip on Paige's hair tightened.

"Don't stop," Azzi gasped, and Paige had no intention of stopping. She curled her fingers, finding that spot inside Azzi that made her see stars, and Azzi cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Paige could feel it building, the tension in Azzi's body, the way her walls were fluttering around Paige's fingers, the way her thighs were starting to shake. She was right there, right on the edge, and Paige wanted to push her over.

---

Azzi was dreaming. She had to be dreaming, because the pleasure was too intense, too perfect. In her dream, Paige was between her thighs, doing that thing with her tongue that drove Azzi crazy, and it felt so real—the wet heat of her mouth, the stretch of her fingers inside, the building pressure low in her stomach.

But something was different. The sensations were sharper than usual in dreams, more vivid. Azzi could feel everything—the sheets beneath her, the cool air on her skin, the very real weight of Paige's head between her thighs.

Her eyes fluttered, consciousness trying to break through the haze of sleep and pleasure. She was aware of her body moving, of sounds falling from her lips, of the intense pleasure building and building and—

Her eyes flew open.

The ceiling of Paige's room came into focus above her, dimly lit by moonlight. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Paige was really between her thighs, really eating her out, really—

"Oh my god," Azzi gasped, the realization crashing into her at the same moment a wave of pleasure did. Her hand was in Paige's hair—when had that happened?—and she could feel Paige's fingers inside her, could feel her tongue working her clit with perfect, devastating precision.

Paige looked up, their eyes meeting, and Azzi saw the wicked gleam in Paige's gaze. Paige didn't stop, didn't even slow down. If anything, she doubled her efforts, sucking hard on Azzi's clit while her fingers pumped faster.

"Paige," Azzi moaned, fully awake now but still caught in the overwhelming sensation. "I was—were you—oh fuck—"

She couldn't form coherent sentences. The pleasure was too intense, made more so by the disorientation of waking up already on the edge. Her dream had been building to this, and now reality was finishing what her subconscious had started.

"You were having a dream," Paige said, pulling back just long enough to speak, her voice rough and low. "Such a good dream, baby. You were moaning my name, so wet for me. I couldn't resist."

Then her mouth was back on Azzi, and Azzi's head fell back against the pillow with a cry. She remembered now, their conversation, the consent they'd established. Paige was allowed to do this, and god, Azzi was so glad she'd given that permission because this was incredible.

"I'm so close," Azzi gasped, her hips rolling up to meet Paige's mouth. "Please, Paige, I need—"

"I know what you need," Paige murmured against her, and she curled her fingers just right, hitting that perfect spot while her tongue worked Azzi's clit relentlessly.

---

Azzi felt it building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in her core. But this felt different, more intense than usual, like the dream had primed her body for something bigger. The pressure was almost overwhelming, and she could feel something else building alongside her orgasm, something that made her thighs shake and her breath come in short, desperate gasps.

"Paige, I think—oh god, I'm gonna—"

She didn't get to finish the sentence. Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, pleasure exploding through her body with an intensity that made her vision white out. And then she felt it, the release, the gush of liquid as she squirted, her body letting go completely.

"Fuck!" Azzi cried out, her back arching off the bed as she came and came, squirting into Paige's mouth. She could feel it, could feel the wetness, could hear the obscene sounds as Paige drank her in, not pulling away, not stopping, just taking everything Azzi gave her.

Paige groaned against her, the sound vibrating through Azzi's oversensitive flesh, and Azzi realized with a shock of arousal that Paige was loving this. She could feel Paige's enthusiasm in the way she pressed closer, in the way her tongue worked Azzi through the waves of pleasure, in the way she moaned like Azzi's taste was the best thing she'd ever experienced.

Azzi's orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her, her body shaking with the intensity of it. She was dimly aware that she was probably being too loud, that their neighbors might hear, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All that existed was this, Paige's mouth on her, the overwhelming pleasure, the feeling of complete and utter release.

Finally, finally, the waves began to subside. Azzi's body went limp against the bed, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She was trembling all over, oversensitive and wrung out, and when Paige's tongue brushed against her clit one more time, she jerked away with a whimper.

"Too much," she gasped, and Paige immediately gentled, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs instead.

---

Paige crawled back up Azzi's body, and Azzi could see her face was wet, glistening with Azzi's release. Paige was grinning, looking incredibly pleased with herself, and Azzi felt her face heat up despite everything they'd just done.

"Holy shit," Azzi breathed, still trying to process what had just happened. "Did I just—"

"Squirt all over my face?" Paige finished, her grin widening. "Yeah, baby. You did. It was so fucking hot."

Azzi covered her face with her hands, embarrassed despite the lingering pleasure. "Oh my god."

"Hey," Paige said softly, gently pulling Azzi's hands away from her face. "Don't be embarrassed. That was incredible. You're incredible."

She leaned down and kissed Azzi, and Azzi could taste herself on Paige's lips. It should have been weird, but instead it just made her feel warm all over, intimate in a way that went beyond the physical.

"I was having a dream," Azzi said when they pulled apart, her voice still slightly breathless. "About you. We were... god, it was so vivid. And then I woke up and you were actually—"

"Making your dream come true?" Paige supplied with a smirk.

"Something like that," Azzi said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face. "How long were you watching me?"

"Long enough," Paige said, settling beside her and pulling her close. "You were so beautiful, Az. Moving in your sleep, moaning my name. You were so wet, and I just... I remembered what you said, about wanting to wake up like this. I couldn't resist."

Azzi snuggled into Paige's embrace, still feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm. "I'm glad you didn't. That was... intense."

"Good intense?"

"The best intense," Azzi confirmed. She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "What was I saying? In my sleep?"

Paige's smirk returned. "Oh, you know. Just begging for me. 'Please, Paige.' 'Need you.' 'Don't stop.' The usual."

Azzi groaned, burying her face in Paige's neck. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Nope," Paige said cheerfully, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But for what it's worth, it was the hottest thing I've ever witnessed. And the ending? When you woke up and realized what was happening? The look on your face was priceless."

"I bet," Azzi muttered, but she was smiling. She felt boneless and satisfied, the kind of deep contentment that came from really good sex and being with someone you loved.

"We should probably clean up," Paige said after a moment, gesturing vaguely at the wet sheets beneath them.

"In a minute," Azzi said, tightening her hold on Paige. "I'm too comfortable to move right now."

"Fair enough," Paige agreed, settling back down. "Besides, I'm pretty proud of the mess I made."

"Paige!"

"What? I am! You squirted, baby. That's like, the ultimate compliment to my oral skills."

Azzi couldn't help but laugh, the sound soft and warm in the darkness. "Your ego is unbelievable."

"You love it," Paige said, and she was right.

"I love you," Azzi corrected, pressing a kiss to Paige's jaw.

"I love you too," Paige said softly, all teasing gone from her voice. "Even when you have dirty dreams about me."

"*Especially* when I have dirty dreams about you," Azzi said. "Apparently they come true."

Paige laughed, the sound rumbling through her chest where Azzi was pressed against her. "Well, in that case, you should dream about me more often."

"Trust me," Azzi said, her eyes already starting to drift closed again, exhaustion pulling at her. "I do."

They lay there in comfortable silence, wrapped around each other, the events of the night, both the game and this, settling over them like a warm blanket. Tomorrow they'd have to face their teammates, deal with the aftermath of their relationship being exposed. But right now, in this moment, it was just them.

And that was more than enough.

Please be gental this is my first time posting in here! Lmk what you think 😄

[pboogerswbb]

PYRAMIDS - chapter 7

Paige Bueckers x stripper!oc Warnings: smut x2, cheating, mentions of death, war, religious debate, substance abuse, sex work, language, mutual crossing of boundaries ig lol (PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE READING) Wordcount: 18.1K A/C: happy pride month dykes (i don't think i've ever been so excited to post a chapter)

2026, CHICAGO, IL

Is 29 points supposed to be a lot?

The room fills with players, still sweaty and gasping and thrilled. Bodies ache, bruises form, wounds are being cleaned. Basketball is a bloody game. Paige wouldn’t change it for anything, not even looking at the blood oozing out the deep scratch along her shoulder. Her eyes scan the room, the relieved faces of players who have been waiting years for this moment. She gulps air, allowing herself only a second of the pride of knowing she’s the one they look for in those moments of chaos, the one that led them here. In every sense she’s meant to hold them together. It’s what she was brought here to do. In moments like these Paige had the sense that she was fulfilling the purpose God laid out for her.

The disinfectant stings, or would, if the adrenaline of a fresh win wasn’t rushing into every corner of her body. She lets the nurse clean her cut, eyes drifting down to the bright screen in her hands. 

Highest scoring player of the game baby And we going to the semifinals

Paige leans her forehead against the cubby, not hearing the nurse’s words over the thudding in her head. “All done,” she hums, moving onto the next soldier needing stitching. Paige has never done hard drugs, but she can say with confidence that it’s a better rush than any chemical compound could give.

“Good job, P,” Arike grunts, walking by, grabbing the blonde’s sweaty shoulder. Paige looks over her shoulder only for a brief moment, quickly returning to the screen that’s already lighting up again.

Semifinals isn’t winning tho, is it?

You being mean cus you miss me?

I’m always mean

Even as the sweat drips down Paige’s back, she can’t wipe the loopy smile off her face. She doesn’t even notice the way she gulps for air when she sees the new notification.

You’re into it

You’re changing the topic

So?

So Since when do you watch hoops?

I don’t I couldn’t escape it, they were playing it in a bar Chicago loves their sports

Paige’s legs burn, the exhaustion hitting them at once. She slides down to sit by her cubby, reading the text over and over when there’s a strange stammer in her chest.

Chicago?

Yep I’m catsitting for my mom Missing prime time to work 🙄

Chicago. Of course. The adrenaline beginning to waiver builds up furiously. The thirst she felt just a moment ago vanishes, and so does the exhaustion. She reads again, one more time, just to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. Chicago. It seemed like divine timing, a sign from God, though Paige wasn’t sure what it all meant, then. For them to run into each other this way, far from Dallas, from the Lonestar. She doesn’t hesitate a second when she texts back.

You free?

For?

Yk

Fucking?

Paige can’t help but scrunch her nose, the word so shrewd and honest it makes her uncomfortable.

Yeah

I’m having a day off Paige Bueckers

Paige thinks of a response, anything that might make Lana see that this was supposed to happen. That it was sewn into the infinite thread of time before it had even happened - she could feel this for certain. It was in the hands of God, and God was showing her something. 

Paige doesn’t need to think it through any longer. The screen lights up completely on its own.

You pay double?

If i pay double ur getting off twice

We’ll see if i get off at all

“You textin’ Grace?”

Zaza’s voice snaps the blonde out of her wild imagination, lifting her gaze in an instance. A slight panic bubbles deep inside, threatening to rise when she remembers the girl waiting for her back home. The one completely forgotten in this haze of adrenaline.

“Uh, yea,” Paige lies, avoiding eye contact with her teammate. “She said hi.”

The room, buzzing with energy just minutes ago, has become empty and quiet. Only a few stay back, talking amongst each other, calling significant others - the rest have disappeared somewhere in the showers. Paige types quickly, already pulling the sweat drenched jersey off.

I’ma text u after i shower

Before Paige can even put the phone down, it lights up again right away.

Think of me washing you

Not even the cold water settles her down. Paige jumps through the motions, mind already focused on the night ahead. It had barely been a few days since they saw each other, yet Paige could feel herself consumed by a strange feeling - like the girl’s features were becoming fuzzy in her mind, as if worn out by time. 

Dripping water all over the floors, she’s already texting the second she steps out, her patience thin in the post-victory rush.

Ok so ima be at my hotel in like 20 minutes You need a car?

When there’s no immediate answer, Paige finds herself pacing. She’s bumping into teammates, staring at the screen as if it might help.

I’m not coming to your hotel

Paige’s stomach drops. Her mind rushes back, trying to figure out where she went wrong - what she can do to salvage it. For a moment the win doesn’t matter at all. All the adrenaline, the anticipation gone in a matter of seconds - until her screen lights up again.

I need to go somewhere. I’m picking you up.

A tension that she hadn’t noticed eases in her shoulders. She stops pacing, reading it over. Yet the text doesn’t quite settle her. Lana picking her up? It was hard to imagine her that way, driving, having somewhere to go. Doing things that were out of the ones she did back in Dallas - then again, Paige doesn’t really know what she does when she’s not at The Lonestar. The vision was blurry. She had never thought to care about it before, but with the opportunity her curiosity begins to grow into anticipation.

Paige dresses fast, leaving her hair in the bun it had been in all day. She doesn’t even check the mirror, slipping away from her friends easily in the midst of the excitement. Pulling her hood deep over her head, she slips past people, fans, long legs taking long strides. 

The sun is only beginning to set over the honey locust, the spare leaves letting the golden rays through them, creating shadows on the pavement. In the shadows, leaning into a blue Honda Civic, Lana stands against the car. She breathes out a thick cloud of smoke, Paige smelling the strawberries before she can even see her.

In such a setting she looks like any other American girl, in tiny shorts and a cropped white T-shirt, black lace thong peeking out from underneath the denim. Paige gets the sense that something about her is different, entirely new. Soaked in this light she seemed nearly normal. Her stomach twists with dread and excitement just as much.

The girl’s attention is swallowed by her phone until Paige’s steps become loud enough. Tired and dragging, Lana’s gaze lifts, meeting Paige’s bright blue eyes. It’s impossible to ignore the pressure that builds in her abdomen.

“Wow,” Lana grins, eyes flicking up and down. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me.”

Her amused face makes Paige’s mouth twist into a grin, looking down at the far too large basketball shorts. She pulls down the grey hood, glancing over her shoulder before daring to speak back.

“Ion think I’ve ever seen you with no heels on,” she says tilting her head. “Ion think it’s normal for a grown person to be so little.”

Lana rolls her eyes with a feigned annoyance, offering her vape to Paige. The blonde declines, but accepts the invitation to step into her orbit. Wind shakes the locust, rattling its leaves gently. Lana’s brown hair blows with them.

“You need to be nice Paige, I got what you want.”

“Yea? What’s that?” Paige closes in. The urge to wrap her hands around the girl’s bare waist is gone with the loud laughter coming from the fans lining the doors of the stadium. 

The only answer Paige gets is a wink. The girl pushes off the car, closing in the rest of the space between them only for a moment. Paige’s chest tingles with the warmth coming off of her, hoping she would linger just a little longer. Instead Lana leaves her wanting and burning up. Something she was far too good at. 

Tired legs carry Paige to the passenger side. But when she yanks on the door, it remains sealed tight. Paige tries again, watching the girl through the glass getting settled, left completely outside of her orbit. The blonde stands there forgotten until Lana’s eyes snap to the sound of the blonde’s knocks. She leans over from her seat, glossed lips mouthing something out though Paige can’t hear a thing. Finally the girl pushes it open, allowing for her to enter.

“It doesn’t open from the outside,” Lana simply states. When the blonde climbs in she finds her limbs are far too long. She folds her legs twice over, knees nearly hitting her chest as she crouches down. The car smells of dust and stale cigarettes, worn out by years of mileage. Paige’s already bruised knees bump into the dashboard, already aching to be stretched out.

“It doesn’t move,” Lana mutters before Paige can even look for a way to shift the seat back. There’s no apology, not really even a glance. Just an engine coughing itself awake and a sudden jolt backwards with such abrupt speed Paige’s hand flies to the grey handle of the door.

The wheels under them roll anything but smooth - the seat trembles and shakes, the engine lulling into a slow hum before rumbling back to life like it’s struggling to stay on. Paige’s uneasiness doesn’t matter, Lana seems used to it. Used to the light flickering on the dashboard.

“Is the car okay?” Paige asks carefully. ”Y’know, that light-”

“Yea, yeah, I know,” Lana waves it off. 

Paige sighs, folded in half. She shifts in the tight seat but each position is as awful as the next. She swallows the discomfort, in some sadistic way finding relief in the fact that there was nothing to do to ease it. They merge into the traffic, following after bright headlights along the wide, straight streets. The shadows of the tall buildings cut shapes into the pavement where a piece of plastic is dragged by the wind. Paige’s eyes however are fixed on the girl driving. She leans into the wheel with a concerning focus of a rare driver, hands squeezing it like she got her license yesterday. 

Paige studies her, desperate for any hint of her mood, to know if she was as elated to see the blonde. But, as always, there was no excitement, no discontent, just a fierce focus and narrow eyes set on the road. She hates that there’s nothing to read, hates it even more that she genuinely missed Lana despite it only being a few days since their last meeting. All at once the car brakes, Lana waving to let pedestrians cross. It’s clumsy and sudden, enough to make Paige scramble her seatbelt on. She doesn’t need a nose fracture, specifically in the middle of playoffs.

Neither of them speak, Lana’s lips zipped in a focused line. Paige’s eyes flicker to the radio, hoping it might offer some ease to the uneasy silence.

“It’s broken,” Lana warns as if reading her mind. She’s suddenly defensive, unable to help her mercurial nature. “This isn’t my car.”

“Whose is it?” Paige asks, wondering if the owner smelled of cherries too or if Lana’s scent was strong enough to seep itself into the cushionss so quickly.

“My mom’s.”

Paige sits up, eyeing the girl with concern. “But you got your license… Right?”

Lana snorts, eyes never leaving the road. “Yes, relax,” she laughs, reaching over and shoving Paige’s arm playfully. A gesture so casual and friendly it leaves Paige breathless, throwing her slightly off center. Yet Lana keeps moving like it’s nothing, brows knitting together with focus.

“So where we going?” Paige asks, her voice still breathy.

“I want coffee,” Lana simply says with her usual lack of context. Paige chuckles as her eyes dart to the cars beginning thin with every road further from the city centre. The further they get the more Paige squeezes the cushions of the seat, bracing herself for the worn out, bumpy road.

“We coulda got coffee in my hotel room,” Paige says, slightly irritated that it was coffee that was forcing patience onto her, that it could be hours till the girl was naked and in her arms.

“I don’t want that coffee. I need the coffee from one place.”

“What place?” Paige asks. Before she can finish her words are met with shushing, a hand brought up to signal the end of the conversation. Her mouth opens in irritation, ready to argue. But when her eyes flicker to the girl behind the wheel, she finds her irritation easing. Lana’s tongue darts out to her plump lower lip, trying to focus on the road ahead. She’s leaning over, as if she can’t quite see over the dashboard. 

A silence falls but it’s anything but peaceful to Paige. Her mind is hyperfocused and sharp from the game, tunnel visioning on the itch begging to be scratched, just at the reach of her fingertips. She couldn’t possibly care about anything else, not even the lack of guilt she knew should be sitting heavy in her stomach.

They must be 40 minutes away when the roads narrow, and the street lights are few and far in between. Shocked that the car has carried them this far, Paige’s hand relaxes against her seat. Though she knows for sure she wasn’t made for the life of a passenger princess. 

Off the road, swallowed by warm light sits a diner. Paige knows because diner is spelled out in bold, yellow letters above the entrance. Only a few cars stand in the stillness of the parking lot, oil stains here and there under the flickering lights. It doesn’t seem to be open, though the sign reads 24/7 above the Ukrainian flag that’s stuck to one of the windows by the side.

Lana parks by a white, rusty pickup truck, finally giving the struggling engine a needed break. 

“This is where you had to go?” Paige asks disbelievingly. 

It wasn’t like Lana at all. All she had seen her care about was money, glamour, the next thing. Not a worn out diner for cheap coffee and sticky tables, pancakes for your worst hangovers.

“Yes,” Lana huffs like it’s obvious. Like Paige should know this is the place.

Paige bursts out of the car the moment she can, her tired calves beginning to cramp. She leans over to rub them, thumbs pressing into the muscles. Paige is happily breathing in the fresh summer breeze over the dust. Out of habit that’s not had enough time to grow she walks over and opens the door for Lana.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Paige asks, nervously glancing at yellow-lit windows showing the blurry outlines of people inside. She doesn’t think it through when her hand reaches for Lana’s, helping the girl out of the car. The cold skin brings a zap of electricity with it, still tingling when she lets go far too soon.

“You don’t want to be seen with me, Paige Bueckers?” Lana teases, too close to the truth.

“No… No. It’s not that I just-” but the words die in her throat, heat rising deep in Paige’s abdomen too hot to keep her thoughts lucid. Lana is bending over into the car, digging for something in the backseat. Her hips press flush to Paige’s, whose eyes drag down to the shape of her hips. They glide over the two dimples above the shorts, all the way to her narrow waist.

The moment lasts for far too little - the girl is already standing up and pulling her head through a thin sweater that, to Paige’s disappointment, covers her midriff.

“I’m just playin’,” she giggles, pulling her hair into a knot so messy only she could pull it off. “No one’s gonna know who you are here. Trust me.”

The heat fades as soon as it comes, eyes lingering until they drop. Lana doesn’t notice or at least pretends not to, taking determined steps toward the entrance. She leaves Paige by the car, like it’s irrelevant whether she follows or doesn’t.

It’s like a time machine. The moment they step in they’re back somewhere in the past, the jingling bell announcing their arrival. The first thing Paige hears is the steady hum of the fluorescent lights, followed by pop in a language she doesn’t understand. A few customers all turn their heads, eager for the rare disturbance of their boring night. Paige’s stomach drops, pulling the grey hood deep over her head. Perhaps Lana was right, that nobody would recognise her - or she was wrong, and underestimating the weight of Paige Bueckers.

“Привіт”

The voice is bright, lively, foreign - it takes Paige a moment before she realises it’s Lana’s voice. It is so far from the blunt and monotone way that she knew her.

From behind double doors a lady in her 50s emerges, dark mascara. Blonde hair bleached and permed so many times it’s like a nest. Bags under her eyes covered feebly with foundation. She shares the same pale complexion, a face just as blank as Lana’s - until her gaze lands on the girl and a wide smile spreads on her lips, revealing thin wrinkles around her eyes.

She says something, too fast for Paige to catch. The two hug with such deep warmth it's disorienting to see Lana in this way. She can’t look away. It’s odd, she thought she had seen all of her. It had never crossed her mind that there was a side like this. The softness, the strange warmth radiating through her - it sparks something Paige can’t shake.

Lana erupts into conversation, words coming out of her fast and harsh in Ukrainian. Her voice turns heavy, almost melodic, different in her native language. Waiting wasn’t Paige’s strength, she had never been a patient person. But she doesn’t find herself bored, clinging onto every lilt of the conversation she can’t make sense of, the way the lady laughs at nearly everything coming out of Lana’s mouth. Paige stands there, thinking of a quote, something about how hard it is to be funny in a foreign language. 

“Oh, this is my friend. Paige,” Lana suddenly shifts to English, though her words slur, getting stuck in her throat more than usual. Out of habit, Paige stands straighter, reaching for the lady’s hand when the word hits her. Friend?

“Nice to meet you,” she smiles confidently, pulling her hood down. The lady looks her up and down, brows raised with something Paige can’t read. Just like Lana.

“You are a very tall woman,” she notices, though Paige is more focused on the bubbling giggles coming from the girl beside her.

“Do you need a menu?” The lady is already handing sticky pamphlets their way, the edges curling from years of serving the same scrambled eggs and milkshakes.

“No, just get me my usual.”

“Your friend too?”

“Yep,” Lana nods before Paige can even answer or figure out what her usual is. The girl walks past her, heading to a specific booth in a straight line. She smiles and waves along the way, greeting other customers at nearly every table on her way. So unlike the Lana she knew.

“Cool place,” Paige says carefully, watching the girl wipe the crumbs off the table in the space between them. Lana’s brows rise in disbelief, shaking them onto the checkered tiles of the floor.

“The food is good,” her voice becomes defensive at once. “Me and my mom used to come here every Friday for some cherry pie.”

The vision is blurry, just out of focus - a 5-year-old Lana sitting at this very table, far too short to reach the ground. She swings her legs with the same restlessness as today, but her lips are reddened by cherries instead of lipstick. It doesn’t quite make sense. Paige couldn’t imagine her existing in any other age or time. It was hard enough to see her out of the context of The Lonestar in the first place. She shifts uncomfortably, letting the thought sink into her skin. There’s depth in places she thought were fully two-dimensional. It unsettles her.

Two glasses slide along the table, fizzling softly, vanilla ice cream melting over the sides. With a lively, excited gasp Lana takes the bright red cherry sitting on top between her teeth.

“Dude, an ice cream float?” Paige chuckles, stirring the sprite with a striped plastic straw - guess they hadn’t found paper ones yet. 

“Mhmm,” Lana nods, leaning down to suck on the straw without lifting the glass. Paige does the same, not wanting to get her hands sticky. 

“I haven’t had one of these since, like, middle school.”

Her words get lost, Lana already engaged in conversation with the waitress from earlier. It doesn’t bother Paige, listening to the strange sounds coming out of her mouth, the way it glides out with an ease. She sips on the drink, the taste bringing her back to all the childhood memories of post-practice ice creams when her dad used to take her. 

The thought is interrupted by Lana’s laughter mid-sentence, so carefree Paige finds herself laughing along. The affection hits her fast, like a punch to the gut. She can’t help but push her knee into Lana’s, the bare skin sparking something against Paige’s, eyes fixed on every detail coming out of her pretty mouth. What is this version of her? Why does she like it so much?

It lasts for a while, long enough for Paige to grow fidgety. Not because she’s bored, but because Lana hasn’t looked over once since the waitress came. Now her ice cream had already melted, and Paige was sucking the last drops of hers with an obnoxious sound. Even that isn’t enough to make them pause, Lana grazing the woman’s hands with beaming eyes. In her quiet desperation she nudges Lana’s thigh with her knee, sliding it higher. There’s not even a stutter, no sign that she even exists to the girl.

Shifting lower in the booth, the leather creaks with her movements. A Ukrainian cover of a Katy Perry song from the early 2010s plays a little too loud. Paige clears her throat once, twice, three times. But she only gets the attention of the older lady, staring into her with a blank expression.

“You want another?”

With nothing to do Lana remembers her drink, taking sudden, big gulps. Yet she won’t even glance in Paige’s general direction, staring out into the darkening night and the rising wind instead. In this light her eyes are softer somehow, the pout of her lips not so deep - no performance hardening her. It’s all Paige wants. To have Lana to herself this way. The idea makes Paige’s stomach flutter. She exhales sharply. Please just look over.

“Uh, no,” Paige mumbles, smiling awkwardly. “Thank you.”

When the lady turns back to Lana Paige is already gliding lower and lower, knowing if she doesn’t do anything she might implode. Her knee slides against Lana’s, then slips between her legs. The girl doesn’t stop the conversation, but shifts just enough. Paige can feel the space opening. Slipping further she presses closer, her knee going past her inner thighs with a clear destination. With this Lana trips over her words, shaking her head as she corrects herself. She might not have noticed Paige, but she’ll feel her nevertheless - the blonde lets her knee sit between her thighs, teasingly close to the heat coming from her core.

“Actually,” Paige clears her throat without warning, interrupting the conversation. “Could we get a couple pieces of the cherry pie? To go.”

At last Lana’s brown eyes softly flicker over. When their gazes meet, Paige shifts and her knee reaches her core at last. With a hitched breath Lana moves upwards, cheeks beginning to flush. God she loved it, any reaction she could get.

“Of course,” the lady smiles, petting a manicured hand over Lana’s head once more. She squeezes the girl’s cheek affectionately before walking off. She returns sooner than expected with a to-go box, too fast for the tension between Lana and Paige to peak.

“Thank you so much,” Paige says, unable to wipe the smirk off her face. She’s loopy, high off the redness of Lana’s cheeks, the sudden tension in her.

“So, let’s head out?” Her eyes land on the girl opposite, too far even with her knee between her legs.

Wordlessly Lana climbs up, giving a rushed hug to the lady, like she’s just as eager to pass from this moment to the next. Her gaze never leaves Paige’s, eyes round even over the lady’s shoulder. Paige waits with all the patience she can muster, heat rising up her legs where Lana’s skin grazed just a moment ago.  

Waving goodbye, Paige’s hand finds Lana’s lower back easily. It slips underneath the thin cotton. Her fingers press into the warm skin, guiding the girl out. The dark evening seems to swallow them, cooling over the warmth burning a little too hot. The air has shifted, much cooler now with signs of the inevitable fall. Lana’s steps pick up speed, creating space between her and the blonde.

“You in a hurry or sumn?” Paige asks, pies in one hand. Lana’s hair shines golden under the street lamps, the shine matching the bracelets on her wrists.

Wordlessly, the girl pulls off the sweater in one, swift move. Paige spots the goosebumps rising at the curve of her waist, gaze locked on the sight. Lana turns back, leaning into the car as if waiting for something.

“Are you okay Paige Bueckers?” She laughs. Paige’s eyes are fixed on the button of her shorts, how easy it would be to pop open.

Lana waves the sweater in the breeze, the light fabric blowing easily. “Should I put it back on?” Paige snatches it right away.

“Fuck no.” Her voice rumbles low and sharp. She almost closes the distance, stepping close enough to feel Lana’s radiating warmth.

Lana tilts her head, with a soft whine. “But I’m kind of cold.” She pulls Paige’s hand onto her stomach. She’s right, her flesh is cool against Paige’s palm, though she barely notices. ”See?”

Paige feels the flex in the muscles under her touch, the way her own thighs tense in response. With a quick glance, Lana checks their surroundings. The only people seem to be in the diner, too consumed by their own little lives. Out here in the open they’re all alone.

Lana’s fingers grab a fistful of Paige’s hoodie, slipping inside the car with a stern yank. Before she can stop it, Paige falls in after. She crashes into the girl underneath who’s already pulling the thick fabric over her head. It falls somewhere under a bench, the pies dropping with it.

By instinct her eager hand lands on Lana’s bare thigh, squeezing and slipping her nose into the crook of her neck, lips attacking her pulsepoint. Lana is already breathy, spreading her legs around Paige’s waist to pull her in. 

“The door,” she exhales, barely audible. It takes Paige a moment to process the words. She cusses climbing back up, the cramped space made worse by the shutting of the door. Yet she doesn’t waste time with the logistics, returning back in an instance to the writhing girl.

“Hurry,” Lana sighs, heat building fast. She drags her nails across the blonde’s back, slipping them underneath the white wifebeater. Her touch sends a thousand sparks to each corner of her body, Paige’s fingers flying to the button of the shorts, fumbling nervously.

“You got cash?” The girl underneath murmurs as the shorts pop open, already being pulled down her legs.

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige meets her humor, at last pulling up Lana’s cropped shirt to reveal her bare chest. “You slut.” The joke lands like it’s supposed to, forgotten in the heat, only making Lana press herself closer.

Paige is claustrophobic, folded over herself, trying to get her long legs wherever they fit. She’s quickly distracted, the space becoming the last of her worries when her mouth attacks Lana’s breasts, nibbling around the areola. Lana’s nails dig into her skin, not hesitant to leave marks. Paige doesn’t overthink it, or the way she’ll have to explain them later. It feels too good to stop.

“I ever leave you without cash?” Paige mumbles into her skin. Her breath lingers, lips brushing into the hardened peak before wrapping around Lana’s nipple. Lana huffs, bucking her hips desperately into the blonde. She adjusts herself, hitting her leg on the door in the process. Running a greedy hand down to Lana’s thighs Paige bites gently on the sensitive skin by her nipple. It causes a whimper so vulnerable and real Paige can barely take it. More. She needs more.

Lana shifts underneath, legs bent awkwardly around Paige. They scramble together - knees hit doors and heads bump into the ceiling, yet Paige’s warm mouth remains on Lana’s tits. Her breasts glisten with the blonde’s spit. Pinned underneath, Lana unwraps one of her legs, leaning it against the front seat instead.

“Can you just-” Lana groans, hissing in pain when she hits her head on the window. Paige’s thighs burning and the knot forming in her back don’t stop her - She drags her thumb along the skin of her inner thigh, blue eyes staring up at her.

“Can you do something?” Lana complains, tight grip digging deeper. Paige’s eyes finally snap to the girl. Her whines play right into Paige’s ego, so do the doe eyes blinking up at her. Even if Paige wanted to hold it off it wasn’t an option she could bear considering. In a swift move her thumb drags all the way up, pressing straight into her core. Lana’s breath stutters.

At once her panties are somewhere on the floor, and the blonde is rising, sitting on her knees between the girl’s thighs. The sight of her wet pussy is enough to make Paige forget everything but this. Lana is already moaning , bracing herself when Paige groans and finds the sensitive bud crying to be touched.

“Oh, shit,” Lana exhales, leg landing onto Paige’s broad shoulder before she gets the chance to adjust it. The girl’s hands grip the cushions of the front seat, Paige’s thumb rubbing a slow circle under her fixed gaze.

“Mo-” she starts but Paige is already there, pressing her fingers flat against her folds, moving side to side in a motion so fast Lana’s trembling. She reaches for the blonde’s wrist, yanking her free hand upwards to her breast - Paige just misses, it wrapping around her neck instead. 

“Sh- ow,” Paige hisses, movements turning clumsy when she hits her bruised shoulder on the seat. Lana’s whimper never halts, letting her head hang off the seat carelessly. Paige can’t help when her fingers tighten, pressing on both sides of the girl’s pretty neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, her eyes rolling back with pleasure.

She meets the blonde halfway when Paige pulls her up, her folds dripping down her thighs. Before her mind can make sense of it, she’s already being pressed into the front seat. Body bending over the center console before it registers, her cheek flattens against the cushion. She’s about to lift herself up when two long fingers enter her without warning, Crashing into the soft seat, a loud gasp spills from her lips.

“That’s better, mama,” Paige groans more to herself when she feels Lana’s pussy making space for her. Curling her fingers she feels her warmth, the throbbing inside her squeezing tight around her digits. Pulling away Lana is already following after the feeling, backing herself into the blonde.

“Fuck P-” stutters out of her, hands looking to grab anything she can reach but Paige is already there, pinning her wrists behind her back. Paige can barely make sense of it, the broken moans coming from the girl, the sight of her from behind. She leans over the girl, pressing into her back, eyes locked on the way her spine moves and arches. Her fingers slip in and out with desperate speed, the strain from the game long behind her.

Lana’s gasping a beat too early when Paige greedily pushes in a third, and even a fourth, her sounds turning into deep, guttural moans. Paige’s mouth drags across the back of her neck, chasing after Lana’s ear but not quite finding it. Lana scrambles under her, turning her head when Paige is already reaching for it, searching for eye contact. Lana’s eyes roll back into her head instead.

“That’s so de-” but it cuts off with a moan, Paige clashing into the seat, movements halting for a moment. Lana reaches back with a whine to find the blonde already there, not pausing to look at the view of her fingers buried inside. Lana backs into her thumb, letting it brush against her puffy clit - Paige pushes deeper, feeling the urgent throbbing and the warm slick sucking her deeper.

“You’re gonna-” Paige starts, too breathless to finish her sentence. “You gonna cum for me, ma?”

Lana’s head moves against the cushions in something resembling a nod, nothing coming out but a groan. She doesn’t need to say it. Paige’s fingers curl one last time in the warm heat. The girl underneath falls apart, legs threatening to close if it wasn’t for the steady grip of Paige’s hand prying them open. They tremble and writhe, still the blonde fucks herself deeper, taking everything she’s willing to give.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Paige murmurs, unable to hide the sense of pride rushing through her. The win from earlier felt like nothing compared to this.

“Don’t get cocky Paige Bueckers,” Lana exhales, chest still heaving. “Maybe I faked it.” 

Paige helps her up, handing the girl her underwear. She bursts into a chuckle, brushing a hand over Lana’s messed up hair - not with affection, but to flatten it. At least that’s what she tells herself.

Holding back laughter Paige begins copying her moans, exasperating the sounds deep in her brain. “Oh fuck, P. So deep.”

The fun comes to a sudden stop with a firm push on Paige’s forehead, defiant eyes staring back as Lana gets dressed. Still, there’s a strange softness in her, a deep flush in her cheeks, a roundness in her eyes Paige had never noticed.

“Whatever. It’s been a while.”

Whether Lana meant a while since feeling Paige or feeling anyone, the blonde never finds out. The girl is already climbing to the front from between the two seats when a sudden, horrified screech cuts the air.

“My coat!” Lana screams, reaching down to come back up with jet black fur. Stunning, if it wasn’t for the filling of cherry pie with crumbs of crust all over the side. The dark red looks almost like blood, causing the hairs to stick together already.

“Paige!” She whines with such urgency it vibrates through her. The blonde slips through the seats to inspect the stain further. Yet her mind is pulled somewhere else with Lana’s body and its heat pressing into her like they’re becoming entangled. The realisation creeps into her - the fact that they haven’t been close together like this if it wasn’t for Lana’s job.

The girl doesn’t wait, far too frantic to wait for help from the blonde beside her. With sudden frustration, a thunderstorm of early summer, she gets into the driver’s seat. Paige follows her to the front, hitting her calf, ankle and arm in the process.

“Just take it to the dry cleaners,” Paige comforts, unsure about what to do. It’s a coat after all.

“Fuck no, it’s gonna stick,” Lana complains, the coat bundled in her lap like a very, very fluffy cat. “I need to get home and wash it.”

“You owe me a second round,” Paige says amused, hoping the joke would lighten her mood. It doesn’t land. Instead, her shoulders tense as she leans closer to the wheel. She never showed this much care for her things before. Lana’s already merging into the traffic without checking her mirrors, stepping on the gas in the sneakers she hadn’t worn in years.

“Where’s your hotel? I’m dropping you off.” She asks bluntly, words sharper than usual. At red lights her gaze flickers to the pile of fur on her lap. Paige, too nervous to say much, keeps her eyes on Lana, on the returned sharpness of her stare. Brief directions are the only words they exchange. If she had known the car was all they had, Paige would have made it slow. She would’ve dragged out every second of it. Too late now.

“Just make a right here,” Paige murmurs as they round up the hotel in complete silence. Distant humming turns into a more distinct noise, one that Paige had become far too acquainted with. A crowd. They hear it before Lana turns the corner. In front of the hotel entrance loyal fans have lined up, paparazzi wait with big cameras, the type of motion reserved only for pop stars and actresses - and Paige too now.

“Oh hell nah,” Paige lowers in her seat as fast as a reflex, pulling the grey hood deep over her head. Lana slows, drifting past the uncontained scene. Her eyes widen with some surprise, mostly fascination. The flashing lights, the jittering girls about to explode with excitement, the limelight right at her reach.

Paige’s hand flies to the dashboard when Lana brakes abruptly, nearly bumping into three teens crossing the road, wearing the number five on their jerseys with pride.

“There ain’t no way I’m going in,” Paige mumbles under her breath, quiet as if the crowd might hear her. She can see it clear as a Dallas afternoon, the pictures of her coming out of a strange girl’s car, the reporters finding what Lana does for a living. The headlines of the face of the league hooking up with a stripper. Everyone would see it. Grace too. It makes her stomach churn.

“Ugh.”

Lana’s grunt is paired with a sudden speed, the wheels taking them far away from all the awfulness Paige had been bracing herself for. They join traffic disappearing into the tens of cars, every moment taking them further.

“Where you goin’?” Paige asks, lowering the hood at last.

“I’m taking you to mine.”

The words come as if it’s obvious, not a big deal. Yet, it is big. Big enough for Paige’s chest to stammer, for her skin to burn hot - not big, enormous.

“Hold this,” Lana pushes the fur coat onto Paige’s lap, the hairs tickling her bare legs. Some confusion and a sense of victory are all she can make sense of when she watches the street signs pass by, and the mess lying on her lap. 

The silence of the car is shockingly pleasant when there’s something to look forward to. Not even the uneven rumbling of the engine, or Lana’s reckless driving, unsettles Paige. The roads eventually quiet down. They pass by the diner, further into an area where street lights are few and the roads bumpy. The streets narrow down, lined with houses without much space in between, cars as close to breaking down as Lana’s. She watches three kids playing with water guns, the metal fences keeping them in. It was far too late for any kids to be outside at this hour. Paige can hear their screeches all the way from inside, certain the neighbours hear it too.

“You’re not allergic to cats, no?” Lana asks absentmindedly, already pulling up into a driveway barely long enough for the car to fit.

“Uh, no,” Paige says, wondering if her dislike of cats is something she should mention, caused by a traumatic event with her aunt’s mean cat and no fault of her own.

It's funny, Paige wonders why she even expects an answer at all, most of the time there wasn’t one. Lana’s grabbing the coat and climbing out without a word. The blonde is only unbuckling her seatbelt when she’s by the front door, crouching over a porcelain duck. 

The red bricks of the two storey house need some upkeep, much like the mailbox tilting a little to the left. Yet the flowers planted by the front are perfectly kept, the bushes already turning dry and brown from months of sunshine. Paige follows the girl, stretching her legs with each step. Warm light radiates into the night from the inside, hazy but bright through the frosted glass of the door. 

“Somebody home?” Paige asks, jaw tightening. She can’t help but catch glimpses over her shoulder to look for any curious eyes pointed at their direction. Nothing.

“No, why?” Lana asks, opening the door for them both.

Paige shrugs. “You left the lights on.”

“So?” She murmurs. “Don’t let the cat out.”

Paige closes the door behind them carefully, when her eyes land on the grey ball of fur sitting on a worn wooden sidetable. The moment its yellow eyes lock with Lana’s, it lets out a small, high-pitched meow.

“Meow,” Lana says back in a similar tone, leaving the fur on the floor completely forgotten. She picks up the cat as if holding a baby, the purring so loud Paige can hear it all the way from the door. For a moment she’s filled with such warmth it’s disorienting - just for a second.

“My baby,” Lana coos in a way Paige has never seen, pressing her lips on the small, soft space between the cat’s ears. She notices the blue eyes staring, grinning a little.

“This is Milka,” she waves the cat’s paw though it looks completely disengaged. Paige shares the feeling, attention fixed on the gentle way Lana handles her pet. “You want to pet her?”

Paige flushes red, kicking off her shoes clumsily. The thought is enough to cause chills to run up her spine. Why couldn’t they have a dog instead? “Er, no, I’m good.”

Lana gasps with such offense it startles the blonde. She walks closer, Paige tensing a little, anticipating a sudden clasp of claws on her arm.

“Are you scared, Paige Bueckers?”

“No.”

With a laugh, Lana lets the cat go. To Paige’s relief it runs the other direction, all the way up the stairs before it stops and begins licking its fur into place.

“It’s just a little baby,” Lana teases, poking Paige’s arm playfully. “Like you.” With the careless gesture, she’s stumbling on the pile of fur forgotten on the floor. The blonde catches her, holding her big hands around her bare waist.

“Oh shit,” Lana gasps, finally remembering their reason for being there. With rapid movements she picks the coat up, pushing a door in the narrow hallway open into a washing machine. She drops to her knees, the skin there already turning red from the cold tile underneath. 

“Yo, you sure that’s smart-”

“It’s fine,” Lana huffs, shoving the black fur into the laundry machine. She messes with the buttons, changing between settings. Seeing her in this mundane way was oddly thrilling. Paige had never thought about it back in Dallas, what the girl does all day, where she goes, who she speaks to, how she does laundry, what detergent she wears.

“Are you sure it’s ok to wash-”

“Sh.”

Lana falls back, sitting on the floor and staring as the fur spins, impatiently tapping against the floor. Still by the front door, Paige’s eyes begin to wander from the girl. There seem to be trinkets gathering dust cluttering every surface, frames and diplomas cover the worn walls. There’s a smell so inherently Lana that she brings it all the way to Dallas. Maybe the house would seem bigger if it wasn’t so filled with furniture and heavy fabrics and dark colours, but with it they also bring warmth, a certain softness. It feels like a home.

“So you’re afraid of cats,” Lana’s voice cuts through, waving her hand in the air. It’s the only gesture Paige needs to walk over and pull her up with one arm.

“I’m more of a dog person,” she admits, causing a roll of the girl’s brown eyes. Every time she saw it she began to like it more and more. She wanted to say the most obscure, stupid things to see it over and over.

“You grew up here?” She asks, a little disappointed when Lana’s lingering hands let go. She yanks a creaking door open underneath the stairs - it opens to a bathroom with a low ceiling and barely enough space to turn, let alone for Paige to stand in.

“Yep.”

“Cool,” Paige leans against the doorway, eyes sticking on the girl brushing her hair still messed up from earlier. Lana doesn’t seem to notice, entirely succumbing to her own reflection. Opening her mouth, Paige is interrupted when Lana pushes her out without warning, shutting the door from her.

“I need to pee. Go to the living room,” she mumbles through the thin door, a sliver of light coming through from underneath. The sudden silence and no Lana give Paige ample opportunity to take it in - Lana’s childhood home. 

On the walls there are a multitude of pictures of a blonde woman, hanging onto an already greying man. Her eyes drag to the sidetable, to the half hidden frame behind a plant. Lana’s dark eyes stare back through the dust, bored as ever in a graduation cap. She looks just the same, if a little rounder, not at all like either of the people in the hung up pictures. Paige wipes it clean before stepping through the low archway, brushing the dust off her wrist.

The living room feels twice as tight and crowded, red throws and pillows laid all over the brown couch, worn and clawed. The wooden bookshelf reaches from floor to ceiling, an array of books from Russian literature to more recent ones even Paige can recognise. Still, her gaze is pulled to the far corner of the room, a stern maple made table sticking out even with all the clutter. Icons, some hung on the wall, some standing on the wood. They shine red and golden, a wooden cross leaning against a painting of Jesus Christ.

Paige feels pulled to it like a magnet, seeing more with every step closer. A worn out Virgin Mary, the golden frame showing signs of age, an heirloom perhaps. The entire table is surrounded by a piece of cloth with red embroidery, beautiful patterns cocooning the pictures. With careful hands, Paige straightens out the corner of the fabric.

“That’s rushnyk.”

Lana’s voice is sudden and startling, causing the blonde to jump. She pulls her hands back, gaze flicking back from the table to the girl in the archway. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean- I thought, I mean-” she shakes her head, trying to make sense of it. It doesn’t. “I thought you didn’t believe?”

Letting out a loaded breath, Lana walks closer. “I don’t.”

“But your family does?”

She shrugs, pushing off the weight of the conversation. “I wouldn’t say that. I guess a little. It would be weird not having those.”

Paige doesn’t quite know what it means, yet her eyes are drawn to the cross, resembling the one she grew up with. She wants to ask more, and is about to.

“Ugh, these shorts,” Lana groans abruptly, letting them drop to the persian rug on the floor. Before she can react, the girl is already running off, the sound of the stairs loud and creaky. Dumbfounded, Paige picks up the left behind denim, catching one more glance at the table before following after the sound.

She doesn’t need to guess the girl’s whereabouts. The tiny landing leaves only a few options, one door wide open. In the frame Lana is pulling off the top now too, left in only a black, flimsy thong, the one Paige was pulling off her just an hour ago. The sudden heat rising along Paige’s spine makes her flustered, forcing herself to turn away.

“Uh, so you lived here with your parents?” She asks, desperate for a distraction from Lana’s bare, perky breasts.

“My mom and her husband.” When Paige turns back the girl is still naked, bent over herself, digging through a bag. An array of tiny clothes line the floor, hiding more of the beige, worn carpet.

“Ugh, I didn’t bring any hoodies,” Lana groans, squatting on the ground when she finally meets Paige’s flustered eyes. She rises slowly. With every step she takes Paige’s stomach flutters more, until Lana’s fingers wrap around the grey material on her body.

“Give me this.”

“What?” Paige asks, barely hearing her words. Her nails dig into her palms, fighting the urge to reach out and feel her, the moans inside the car still playing tricks in her mind.

“The hoodie,” Lana rolls her eyes again. God. “Looks nice.”

She almost argues back, nearly defiant. But then the girl tilts her head and Paige is already pulling it off, left in a wifebeater and basketball shorts, the band of her boxers peeking out above. Without a thank you Lana pulls the hoodie on, three times too large and long on her. She scrunches up the sleeves that go past her fingers, leaving her long hair gathered under the hood. Paige had never seen her so undone, and she could have never predicted that she looks just as good if not better this way - like the girl that lives next door that you watch changing through the windows. She can imagine it, living in the neighbourhood, coming home from a long day and watching from the darkness - the naked girl fresh from a shower, pulling on her tiniest lingerie. 

“You can sleep in the guestroom,” Lana pulls the blonde after her by her shorts into a room with a small, single bed, reminding her of the rooms at her family’s cabin - crowded, cosy, small windows letting in just a little light. It takes a moment for Paige’s brain to adjust back to reality from the fantasy rumbling in her brain.

“You’re free to go to your hotel too,” Lana says sharply, sudden defensiveness rushing through her.

“No,” Paige walks to the bed, sitting awkwardly, the mattress dipping with her body. “I love it.”

“Not everybody can live the life you do Paige,” Lana crosses her arms, the words causing Paige’s walls to rise too.

“I never said there was somethin’ wrong.”

“You don’t have to. I can see it in your face,” Lana points a finger to her accusingly. “You’re very bad at hiding emotions.”

“I’m not like that,” Paige says frustrated. “I didn’t grow up rich if that’s what you’re sayin’.”

She doesn’t budge, cold eyes cutting into the blonde. Before she gets the chance to attack, there’s a loud beep from somewhere downstairs. It’s as if the argument never happened, she’s already rushing down the stairs. Following close behind, Paige finds her by the laundry machine, cursing in Ukrainian and holding handfuls of fur. 

“What happened?” The question is not needed, and there’s no answer. Only harsh, frustrated words and a coat left with bald patches. Lana rubs a hand over her face, knuckles turning white with the strength she’s holding the loose fur. An eruption of words come from Lana’s lips, none that Paige can understand other than idiot. Then, all at once, she begins to laugh. A manic, wild laughter as she stares into the fabric.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Paige says, unsure what else there is to do.

“Why are you sorry?” Her words are blank, lacking emotion as always.

Paige kisses her teeth, leaning into the railing of the stairs. “I dunno, just seemed important to you.” 

Lana’s smile drops, pausing for a second to look over the coat. As quick as it softened, her face hardens again, throwing the coat on the bench next to her.

“Well, what can you do. I need to clean this up.”

“Lemme help,” Paige says, knowing she had to fix this, to make it okay again.

“It’s fine,” Lana spews, picking fur out by the handfuls from inside the washing machine. It kills Paige not to soothe over the small shoulders that tighten with each exhale.

“Lana, c’mon,” she forces herself close, into her bubble. Squatting beside the girl, she takes the fur from Lana. Their arms bump into each other, fingers linger with each touch. They do that for a moment in complete silence, only broken by Lana’s deep exhales.

“You could always buy another one,” the blonde murmurs carefully.

Sighing, Lana chews on her lip before answering. “I know. It’s just the first thing I bought with my own money. Like the money I worked for.”

She takes the fur in the trash, signalling the end of the conversation. Paige sits on the cold tile, taking a moment before climbing onto her stiff legs, huffing with the effort of a middle-aged man.

“When did your parents divorce?” Paige asks, looking over to the pictures by the staircase. She leans her back into the railing, watching Lana pick the last of the fur.

“When I was small. Smaller than I can remember.”

She hesitates, her tone hitting something deep in her, something wants to cling to. “Mine too,” she murmurs. “You see your dad, or?”

“I have nothing in common with that man.”

“Why?”

“He’s an addict, I don-” but the words quiet into a whisper and stop when Paige feels warm air against the back of her hair.

“Shit,” she jumps, stepping back from the railing. Through it, the yellow eyes of the cat stare back, wide and curious.

Lana chuckles, walking past Paige and up the stairs, her loyal companion following after with tiny steps. Paige’s head floods with a million questions, the desperate need to know everything as if that’s the key to finally get to her. She follows after, finding the girl spread wide on her bed, backed into a corner of the small room. The wooden bedframe, carved and old, has left stains on the eggshell coloured wall.

Lana doesn’t look up even with Paige’s arrival, the cat curled up on her stomach as she vapes and stares at the glow coming from her phone. The room smells sweet and strawberry flavoured - not like the real thing. Carefully Paige steps inside past the doorway, into the threshold of Lana’s life.

Here too the paint cracks off the walls, hidden behind posters, framed pictures, a large decorative A hung over the bed - A? Paige is about to ask but then she sees the gold medal hanging underneath a shelf.

“What’s this?” Paige asks, walking over to it and wrapping careful fingers around it.

Lana’s eyes return back to the screen as fast as they rise, like she forgot the medal was ever there. “I used to dance.” Paige struggles taking everything in, there’s too much to clasp onto anything, a golden crucifix hanging off the bedframe, a poster of some band she’s never heard of by the closet.

“That’s cool,” she murmurs. Something about being inside made her feel like she was stepping in on a secret, something she shouldn’t see, backstage, the set up for a show.

“Why’d you stop?” Paige asks, eyeing a baby picture with the same dark eyes.

Lana shrugs, still scrolling on the device. “I just stopped caring, I guess.”

It feels odd, unimaginable - Paige had always been the opposite. When she committed to something she could not let it go, even if she should have.

“You’re an only child.” It’s not really a question, more of an observation. The girl nods, eyes never leaving the screen.

Paige takes note of everything, how she’s eating soft serve in half the pictures, how she tries so hard to look like an adult even in her early teens in heels and heavy makeup yet the roundness of her cheeks give her away. She spots a small, silver Eiffel tower decorating the shelf too, next to a pile of books.

“You been?”

Finally she glances up.

“No,” Lana says. “You?”

“Yeah,” Paige spins the cool metal in her hand. “We took a trip there. Just me and my mom,” something about it causes Lana to drop the device from her hands, shifting on the mattress. Milka chirps, unpleased and climbing off the girl.

“She just had my siblings so I think she felt guilty.”

“For what?” There’s no real curiosity in the voice, yet her eyes remain fixed on the blonde.

“For leaving me with my dad.”

Lana huffs. “That’s funny.”

“How?”

“It’s usually the dad who leaves.”

“Yeah,” she puts the trinket back down. “Mine didn’t. He’s my rock.”

Disinterested again, Lana puffs the vape before offering it to Paige. This time she takes it, inhaling the thick smoke a little before giving it back. Not as much as she’d like to.

“Is this your mom?” Paige finally musters up the courage to ask, looking at the picture of a girl - maybe even a teenager - kissing the chubby cheek of a toddler. “How old is she?”

“She had me really young.”

“Who’s this?” Paige grabs the frame from the shelf - a black and white shot of a stunning woman, maybe in her late 20s. The picture is worn and old, yet the eyes spark with mystery so familiar it causes Paige’s stomach to churn. Lana reaches over, grabbing the frame.

“This is my Baba,” Lana says, slowly dragging her eyes off the frame. “My grandmother.”

“Oh,” Paige nods, the gentleness of the girl’s tone surprising her.

“You would like her,” she grins. “She’s very religious.”

“She’s Christian?” The blonde asks, leaning over the foot of the bed to see it again when she spots the crucifix on her neck. The bed creaks as Lana scoots towards the window, a wordless invite with the free space beside her. The mattress dips with Paige’s weight, Lana’s cold calf pressing into the blonde. Absent-mindedly, Paige pulls the blanket over their legs. Lana doesn’t seem to notice.

“Orthodox,” Lana murmurs, letting the picture fall on her bare thighs. For a moment she stares out of the window into the quiet street. An older couple walk their dog, a beagle sniffing the trunk of a locust already turning yellow.

“She lives in Chicago too?”

The girl shifts, swallowing loud enough for Paige to hear. It’s weird, it was rare for her discomfort to be so readable.

“No,” Lana says, still staring into the branches blowing with the wind. “She’s in Ukraine.”

Pausing, Paige suddenly understands the sudden shift of the room. In silence they breathe, Lana picking at her cuticles.

“We tried getting her here but, well, she’s stubborn as a ram,” Lana mumbles.

“Why would she wanna stay? Isn’t it dangerous over there?” Paige asks naively.

“Of course she is,” Lana says sharply. Her fingers flex, moving to pick on the white hairs growing on her pale thighs. Before Paige can stop herself, she pushes Lana’s hands off, covering the skin that was turning red and irritated with the blanket. She lets her.

“She hated my mom for leaving. She always used to say on the phone that we belong in Ukraine and we need to come home,” Lana explains. “She didn’t understand that my mom came here for a better life for us.”

Paige holds the blanket, careful not to speak or even breathe wrong as it might scare the girl off. 

“Well, you can see how that turned out,” Lana chuckles self-deprecatingly. The laughter stops suddenly.

“Anyway,” she quickly mumbles. “My grandma used to say ‘God placed me here, so I’ll stay here’.” These words come with a much thicker accent, sitting somewhere deep in her throat.

“My mom says she thinks Baba doesn’t want to be buried in a strange land,” the girl explains.

“I get that,” Paige breathes, terrified. “But at the end of the day we’re all gonna be together no matter where we’re buried.”

Lana rolls her eyes at this, shifting away from Paige’s touch.

“I just think none of that matters,” Lana admits.

“My Baba or my mom don’t realise that this is their only chance to live. They think they’ll be rewarded or something for all the sacrifices they make.” Lana’s eyes flicker to the blonde, their shoulders pressed together on the narrow bed.

“I think it’s bullshit. Like I never got that. Why would you sacrifice your happiness for something as shaky as some man-created book about a “God”. It’s just a story to comfort people.”

Her words ring in Paige’s ears, but she tries not to take offense. She hesitates for a second, really thinking her words carefully.

“Maybe God is more of a feeling sometimes, but it doesn’t make it not real.”

Lana’s gaze never waivers. “Doesn’t make it true either,” she says, tongue darting over her lips. “Do you feel God right now?”

“I feel God all the time,” there’s no hesitation in the declaration.

“I don’t,” it comes just as fast. 

Lana’s gaze turns back to the window. A moment of silence stretches, broken by her low, rumbling voice. “Maybe I’m just not worth God noticing me.”

“Don’t say that,” Paige’s chest aches with sudden sympathy, despite the smile playing on Lana’s lips when she turns back.

“Oh, but you Paige Bueckers,” she giggles suddenly. “Of course you are God’s favourite.” 

She rolls over, wrapping a leg over Paige’s. The sudden closeness tingles, Paige shifting to make space for her. “With your perfect little life and your perfect eyes and your perfect form-” 

Paige doesn’t hear the rest of the words, the compliments rushing through her. The corners of her mouth lift, the tension from before suddenly wiped clean. Thankfully Lana was as easy to burn out as burn up. 

“I worked hard for it,” Paige shrugs. They shift on the bed. It seems instinctive the way Paige wraps an arm around Lana’s head, and the way she presses close, rubbing her calf on the blonde.

“Hey, I work hard too,” Lana says, winking up at the blonde. “I don’t deserve all those things?”

“‘Course you do.”

“Then where is God?” Paige chuckles with Lana, rubbing her fingertips against the thick fabric of the hoodie.

“Maybe he doesn’t approve of my choices,” Lana tilts her head, eyes glued to the blue ones that stare down. “You think?”

Paige goes quiet, unsure what to say, scared that her honesty might be too much. That she believes in an empathetic, forgiving God. But that you have to seek him out so he can find you - Lana wasn’t in God’s line of vision in the Lonestar. Or in the way she was living. But everybody could be saved. And so could Lana.

“But you’re gay so you’re sinning just as much as me,” Lana points out, unable to hide her amusement. “Technically speaking.”

“I don’t think being gay is a sin.”

“Oh, so you can just pick and choose?” Lana jokes.

Paige shrugs. “It’s just how I feel. Like, I dunno, sometimes I feel closest to God when I’m making love to a woman.”

Lana bursts into laughter, rolling over to her stomach, half on top of Paige. “Making love?” 

Paige rolls her eyes, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Lana had that effect on her, making her feel flustered over things she normally wouldn’t. With a sudden shift she covers her face, the golden crucifix dropping onto the floor with a soft thud, loud enough for them both to quiet down.

“Woah,” Paige exhales, picking the necklace up. Lana doesn’t budge, keeping her weight steady against the blonde.

The same giggles continue, bubbling with life. “You think that was God?”

Paige chuckles too, fingers playing with the thin chain. “Maybe it was.”

Lana groans, wrapping her ankle under Paige’s calf. “Maybe it was my Baba, if she knew I was lying on a woman in my bed under my mother’s roof-”

“It’s your grandma’s?” Paige asks, holding it up to inspect it better. It’s a little worn, clearly passed down for generations.

“Well, was. She gave it to me the last time we visited, before the war.”

Paige can’t imagine not seeing her family for years. Even the season felt way too long to be away. She blinks soft and slow, eyes locking with the ones gazing up.

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“I used to,” Lana admits, blinking rapidly under her stare before looking away.

“Why’d you stop?”

Lana opens her mouth, but the words are difficult, the English language suddenly overwhelming her. She thinks for a moment in silence before trying again.

“I just don’t want to.”

“Why?”

Lana sighs, looking everywhere else but the blue eyes fixed on her. “I just feel like she'd be disappointed.”

“With what?”

“With me.”

There’s a beat. A silence. Paige holds the crucifix tight, unable to stop herself when a comforting hand lands on Lana’s head, petting over her hair.

“Why would she be?”

Lana’s eyes flicker back, slightly annoyed. “I’m sure you can guess.”

“Humor me,” Paige murmurs, voice softening instinctively.

It works. Lana sighs, voice quieting as if she was telling a secret. Paige leans into it, ready to cling onto every word. “I feel like if I wear it my Baba will know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t want that.”

Paige gives her space to continue. She doesn’t.

“Does your mom know… What you do?”

Lana shakes her head. “I could never tell them. They’re both so hardworking and resilient and I’m just… I don’t know. I had more than they did and I still failed.”

The look on the girl’s face is ashamed, regretful, afraid. Paige wants to comfort her, tell her there was a time when she feared her family, when she feared God. When she thought she was a sinner in a world full of saints and tried so hard not to love who she did.

She lifts the old framed picture back up next to Lana’s face, watching the same button nose, the same plump lips and deep eyes staring back. She can’t help but smile.

“You look just like her,” Paige hums. 

She lets the frame sit on the pillow beside them, turning the picture upside down against it. With slow movements, Paige reaches up and lets the golden chain fall over Lana’s head, pulling her hair from underneath it. The cross hangs over the hoodie against Paige’s chest, Lana’s eyes blinking rapidly and not leaving the blonde this time. She feels the way Lana’s chest expands into her with each heavy breath.

“I think you’re more like them than you think.”

Lana stares back, eyes fixed on the blue ones watching her. The girl looks confused, unsure, hesitating - but it doesn’t stop her. It’s too much for words. Lana leans closer and before neither of them know or can make sense of it, her lips press against Paige’s. 

Paige freezes, stuck in place against the slick warmth of her lips. She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t know anything. Still, there’s a hum filled with ecstasy as she rushes to meet her. She doesn’t think it through when her mouth opens, and her grip on Lana’s hair tightens. She grasps onto her before she even understands what’s happening, tasting the private and reserved parts of the girl.

Lana pulls back, the lovely warmth of her mouth gone before it fully landed. Paige gulps for the thick air around them, wanting more - to memorise every detail, the weight of her kiss, the feel of her tongue against hers. Lana hangs in the closeness, sharing the same breath. 

When Paige’s eyes flicker open, Lana’s are still pressed shut with a deep furrow of her brows. Her tongue darts out, licking off the remainder of Paige’s spit before she meets the blonde’s gaze, hesitatingly. The blonde, too scared to move, is certain Lana can feel her heart stammering against her ribcage. She’s about to say something, opening her mouth when a sudden weight on the mattress catches Lana’s attention.

“My baby!” She says with a tremble, pulling away to pet the cat nuzzling Paige’s feet. Disoriented, the blonde can only stare, every part of her tingling with something she can’t process. She replays the moment over and over, the flustered girl turning her back to Paige. Her voice is odd and shaky, speaking to the cat in Ukrainian. But Paige can still taste her, she can feel the pressure lingering.

“Erm, wanna watch a movie?” Lana mutters. It takes Paige a while to realise she’s talking to her, never bothering to turn. Or perhaps too flustered to do so.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Paige answers, her own voice just as revealing. She’s still blinking fast when Lana digs the room for a remote, still feeling her nose pressing into hers. 

The girl doesn’t ask for opinions, picking the first movie she can see on Netflix. The silence finally breaks with whatever intro plays, but all Paige can hear is her heartbeat in her ears, loud and urgent. The stirring in her abdomen doesn’t stop, and it’s not helped by Lana’s hoodie rising up as she slouches against the pillows, a reminder of nothing but a thong covering her. The girl doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look Paige’s way, doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. Yet, it’s as if Paige’s world just stopped spinning for a moment far too short.

Whatever movie is playing, the blonde is not following. She loses track of time, the dialogue becoming a backdrop to the kiss that replays over and over - until she hears a light snore from beside her. It pulls her out, back into the real world and the hard mattress underneath her. Lana is asleep, face pressed into the pillow and hair becoming a nest at the crown of her head. She breathes slow and heavy, looking so much like the girl in the childhood pictures.

Careful not to disturb her, Paige pulls a blanket over her, considering brushing the strands of hair off her face. It feels though, somehow, crossing something she’s not ready for. So instead she climbs out, turns off the tv and the lights, kicks off her shorts and goes to sleep too, leaving space for the cat spread out between their feet.

-

Paige stirs awake to a strange feeling. A coldness of an empty bed, the unexpected sense of weightlessness where there’s supposed to be weight. It’s all she notices before she even remembers where she is. The room is dark and still, undisturbed. The cat is pressing its precious cheek against her calf. It’s okay, she’s too tired. She lets her eyelids drift shut again when she hears a strange rumbling, a loud inhale and someone clearing their throat. She finally wakes.

Instinctively her hand reaches to the right, over the empty space where Lana is supposed to be. The spot is still warm and so is her pillow. Rolling over Paige buries her face in it, in all her exhaustion inhaling deeply. She remembers the doe eyes and the warm lips. Her eyes shoot open.

The blonde sits up, causing the cat to stir. Paige pets her hand under its chin, deciding that this cat in particular wasn’t so bad. It was pretty cute even in the darkness, yawning before curling back up into a ball. It’s only then she spots the warm light coming from underneath the bathroom door connected to Lana’s bedroom. Maybe she had to pee. Paige is about to lie down again when she hears the sharp inhale again, this time familiar enough to place it - the time in the private room of the Lonestar, when Lana was bent over the mirrored table.

Before Paige can decide between faking sleep, Lana stumbles out in such a rush it’s as if she’s coming up for a breath. Her eyes are wide, tiny fingers squeezing her nose tight enough to turn red. She looks high, very obviously so. Something presses in Paige’s ribs, making space for itself. Not judgement. It was the fact that it was the middle of the night, and it wasn’t to party, or stay up working, or whatever reasons Lana told herself she had to do this. She had no reason now, other than the burning need for it engrained in her veins. 

“I- Oh, hi,” Lana smiles a wide, manic smile that startles the blonde awake in the darkness. 

“Are you-” her voice is far too loud than necessary in the quiet, sleeping room. “Are you awake?” She’s not wearing Paige’s hoodie anymore, only a flimsy top cropped above her belly button.

“You okay?” Paige asks with a hoarse voice, sitting up fully. Lana doesn’t wait for her to finish the two word question, taking a deep breath and walking out the room as if forgetting the blonde was there. Confused and tired, Paige cranes her neck only to see Lana walking back inside talking to herself.

“Now where could it be? I think I saw it here last, maybe. Ugh, but sometimes my mom moves my things and it’s so annoying and-”

“What?” Paige asks, trying her hardest to hear. Lana turns startled, as if she just remembered the blonde sleeping in her bed.

“Oh, Paige! You’re up,” she smiles sweeter this time, then bends over to dig through her dresser. Clothes fly around the floor in a ray of colours. Underwear and socks and tiny tops. Irritation builds easily in Paige’s exhausted state, already overwhelmed by this sudden burst of energy. She stirs, pushing off the blanket off her burning legs.

“I’m just looking for something, sorry. I really need to find it, I just- I don’t know, I really can’t remember where I put it and it might even be in Dallas I’m not sure, I just need to check.” 

Her words are fast and hurried, the restlessness making Paige uneasy too. Not only was she on edge by her disrupted sleep, but she wasn’t sure how to act. She hadn’t been around a person acting like this before. She wants to go back to before, to the soft moment of their lips together. It seems too far away to reach now.

“Ugh,” Lana groans melodramatically. “Maybe here,” she looks over her shoulder, spotting the grey cat lying on its back, paws over its face. 

“Milka!” She squeals, leaving all four drawers open as she crawls to the edge of the bed, pressing her nose into the fur and inhaling. The entire time her feet tap against the floor impatiently.

“You need help looking, Lana?” Paige asks, desperate for any hint of what the girl was looking for in the first place so she might get this to stop. The crowded room feels claustrophobic in this light, the walls caving in and skin tightening just from watching the state Lana’s in.

“Looking for what?” Her eyes widen, and she looks back, beginning to laugh manically. 

“Oh shit, right, fuck, uh-” Lana scrambles up, nearly tripping over her feet before catching herself on the wall. Paige instinctively scoots closer, ready to catch her at any moment.

“What was I looking for?” Lana asks, her eyes nearly shut as she turns to Paige.

“I- I dunno, you tell me,” Paige stares at the floor, a range of clothes, notebooks, secret diaries and school diplomas spread everywhere over the beige carpet.

“Maybe here,” Lana rushes to the closet, stumbling like she’s never been in such a hurry. 

“Yes, must be here, shit where is it?!” She’s getting frustrated, her tiny shoulders tensing. The house has turned cold with the night, the effect visible on Lana’s skin rising along her arms.

“You remembered?” Paige asks, slightly concerned watching her two legs trembling.

“Remember what?” Lana asks, scratching up and down her shoulder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I lost it! What the hell is wrong with me?” She groans, dropping down onto her stomach on the carpet with such urgency Paige thinks she tripped. When she looks over, she finds the girl pressing her cheek against the coarse material.

“Wait, my pen! I love this pen, Paige, you don’t even know how good this pen is.”

“Is that what you were looking for?” Paige asks impatiently, listening to Lana crawling underneath the bed to reach for a pink, glittery pen, pulling it out as excited as ever. Unsettled and restless, Paige pats the spot beside her. It’s not enough to calm her down.

“Dude, this pen - ouch,” she hits her head on the bedframe trying to get up.

“You okay?” Paige reaches down to cover the bump forming on her head with her large hand. She shakes it off, nearly climbing onto the blonde’s lap.

“I used to only wanna use this pen when I was little. Look how cute it is. Why do they make boring pens at all.!” She shoves the pen close to Paige’s face, by her sharp nose. Far too close to even see more than the glitter covering it. Yet her smell lingers, the cherries, Paige nearly getting caught up in it.

“Wow that’s cool,” Paige plays along, her irritation and concern growing heavier. “Why don’t you c’mere.” She pats the spot next to herself once more.

“Wait! I used to have a blue one too, maybe that’s the one I was looking for-” Lana mumbles outloud, turning over. Paige reaches for her, grabbing the girl’s wrist. Her skin is freezing cold.

“C’mon Lana. It’s late. Let’s look tomorrow and just, I dunno, chill..”

Lana pulls her hand away, brushing it restlessly through her hair. Her movements have never halted, not even for a second since she stumbled out of the bathroom. She paces around the room, as if stopping wasn’t an option - Like a shark that might die in the stillness.

“I am calm.”

“Lana, c’mon,” Paige repeats. Something in her voice causes the girl to turn. She’s blinking rapidly, finally coming to a halt.

“Sit down,” Paige sighs, yawning. “I’m tired.”

With a defeated exhale Lana finally bends, stumbling to the edge of the bed. This peaceful silence lasts for only some seconds until Lana gets back up again, leaving the room and the door wide open into the lit up landing. Unsure what to do, Paige follows her instinct and climbs out, legs aching.

“Jesus help me,” She mumbles to herself. She finds Lana halfway down the stairs, still talking to herself about something she lost.

“Let’s go to bed,” Paige sighs with frustration, leading the girl back up. She obeys quite willingly, though her movements are rapid and restless. Paige pushes Lana down by the foot of the bed, her leg bouncing immediately with a nervousness she wishes she knew how to soothe.

“Calm down,” Paige whispers, petting a hand over Lana’s frizzy hair. The ecstatic spark of Lana’s eyes is turning terrified and deeply concerned. Each still moment makes her more aware of her heart pounding in her chest, the deafening beating of it ringing in her ears. It scares Paige too.

“You want water?” 

Lana nods fast. The second Paige’s touch leaves her head, she’s already getting up to leave. As if she forgot.

Lana’s eyes stop sparkling, turning terrified and deeply concerned suddenly as she becomes 

“No,” the blonde stops her, pressing her down sternly. “Sit down, pretty.”

When her hand lands over Lana’s thighs, they finally stop their restless bouncing, something in the warm touch bringing a sense of security just for a second. Still, Lana’s breath stays shallow and fast.

“Let’s go to bed, Lana,” Paige yawns again, carefully letting go and climbing onto Lana’s side of the bed.

“No,” the words are defiant, wide eyes flickering around the room and finally landing on the carpet. 

“Floor. I wanna sleep on the floor,” she says decisively, grabbing their shared blanket off the blonde.

Hesitating, Paige looks over to Lana curling up, before giving in. Anything to make her stop.

“Okay then,” Paige mumbles. She places a pillow under Lana’s head before lying down too, face to face with her. She’s beautiful even like this, enough for the blonde’s mind to wander. Their gazes nearly land, until the girl sits back up abruptly. Wordlessly, Paige pulls her back down, throwing a hand over Lana’s stomach. It seems to slow her body, but not her mouth.

“The ceiling looks so far away from here. From the bed it looks so much closer, but from the floor it looks so far away. Did you ever notice that?” Lana asks, staring into the dark ceiling. 

She doesn’t wait for an answer, the thoughts rushing through her head so fast she can’t seem to catch a single one, clapping her hands together as she talks. Paige shuts her eyes, exhaustion weighing them down.

“When I was little and stressed I used to sleep on the floor all the time, and my mom would get so mad at me. She hated it, but she couldn’t stop me. If I woke up from a nightmare- Oh, I used to get a lot of nightmares. They would repeat all the time, constantly the same ones. I still have them but less now and-”

In the darkness, in all the fatigue heavy in her limbs, Paige reaches over and pulls the rambling girl flush to her side. Her skin is cold, nearly making her hiss. She endures it, cocooning her in the heavy blanket and herself. It works, just like she hoped. The weight of her closeness makes Lana quiet, completely frozen in place. The stillness lasts long enough for Paige to feel her heartbeat slowing. 

Lana nearly eases into it. Into the stillness and the warmth and the comfort sneaking into her veins. She wants to. Paige can feel it. But just as she’s about to, the restlessness takes over and she rolls back away, lying on her stomach and swinging her legs in the air.

“I feel like I dream more than the average person. But I don’t know.”

The swinging of her feet speeds up enough for Paige’s nerves to spike up once more. She places her stronger legs on top, forcing them down. It’s as if Lana stops without even noticing.

“Do you dream a lot?”

“Sometimes, not bad tho,” Paige murmurs, her tired answers short. The girl doesn’t listen, kicking the heavy legs off before rolling onto her back. In her peripheral vision Paige can see the intense heaving of her chest.

“I have dreams about everything. About every person I meet, about friends I haven’t talked to since middle school. It’s so annoying because sometimes I feel like I can’t let anyone truly go because they always come back in my dreams. It’s so annoying. But I guess in a way I never miss anyone either, because I always see them-”

The rambling, monotone and neverending, overwhelms Paige in the worst way. Her brain feels as if it might burst, already struggling to decode what happened earlier. She can tell she’s about to lose Lana again, sensing the itch in her to get up. A pre-emptive hand lands over her abdomen, enough to quiet the stirring underneath. She goes still and silent, Paige’s stomach flipping in response. In a way Lana seemed completely responsive, entirely willing to give up control.

She lets go, letting Lana free again. Like a reflex, the girl tosses and turns, the blanket moving with her. She mumbles on and off restlessly, wiggling her toes and stretching her limbs. She’s fighting every urge, every cell in her body screaming to get up. Paige can feel it, and the snap decision when she rolls over all on her own will, pressing herself tight into the warm body beside her. She twitches with agitation, desperate to crawl out of her skin. But instead of breaking free she closes in harder, gripping Paige tighter to counteract it. It works easy, too easy. Paige feels a rush.

“Ugh,” Lana groans, sitting up. She stays that way, scratching at her arm, brushing through her hair, turning the pillow four, five times, shaking her hands to contain the drug rushing through her. Paige’s skin tingles where she felt the weight of her, the want to pull her back so palpable. Yet, she doesn’t, finding that Lana returns on her own, wrapping a leg around Paige. It feels better than anything ever has. Settling into her side, Lana clings to the blonde. As if just for a moment she can be brave enough to trust and depend on her being there.

“I can’t close my eyes,” Lana finally whispers into the silence, doing everything in her power to calm down the buzzing unease.

“It’s okay,” Paige murmurs. 

Lana exhales heavily, rubbing her feet together. Paige places hers between them.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I know,” Paige hums, pulling her in tighter. “Better?”

“Mmh,” Lana sighs in response, squeezing her eyes shut, her entire body trembling and vibrating. “No.”

“No?” 

“Not enough,” Lana whines and suddenly her body rolls over Paige’s, legs on both sides of her hips. The blonde makes space for her before she’s even on top. 

The girl presses heavy against her, her skin cold against Paige’s constant warmth. A jolt runs through as Paige wraps her hands around Lana, feeling her easing. The girl pulls her head back, desperately and restlessly chasing eye contact. When they finally find each other in the darkness, Lana’s eyes are blown black and slightly panicked. But the moment Paige softens her face, so does the girl - like an extension of one another.

“Mhm,” Lana whines again desperately, dropping her head on Paige’s shoulder. Her hot breath tickles the skin there, pressing closer and closer with each exhale. Without thinking, Paige’s hands begin to rub up and down the girl’s cool skin, feeling for it, soothing her.

“No,” Lana complains, shifting just a little. Paige stops, leaving her hands still on her lower back and thigh.

“Better?” Paige asks carefully, feeling the jitter slowing.

“No,” Lana sighs, nuzzling her face into the crook of Paige’s neck that smells like skin and cologne. “Closer.”

The blonde doesn’t wait for the word that time. She’s already pulling her further into herself. Paige doesn’t think it’s possible, yet somehow it happens. They both breathe, melting into each other.

Paige meets Lana halfway, pressing into all the crooks where there’s space still left unfilled. She allows relief to take over her, the tense muscles finding relief at last.

Lana’s nose presses into Paige’s pulsepoint, inhaling deeply. It becomes instinct. She pulls the girl closer, shifting together with her. Their legs become tangled, Lana sliding her hands underneath Paige’s pillow in the process. Paige could stay like this forever, to know she has this disorienting power over Lana until eternity.

It’s then she feels a small shift, a roll of Lana’s hips and a shivery breath into her skin. Lana presses against her tighter, finding some missing space between her core and the muscle of Paige’s thigh. Her body moving before her mind can comprehend it, Paige angles her leg closer. She’s meeting her halfway. With the most subtle movements possible, Lana rocks herself up and down, letting Paige’s skin absorb the soft sighs escaping her mouth. It doesn’t seem entirely sexual, a self-soothing behaviour helping the girl stay anchored. Still, somewhere deep inside Paige’s stomach tightens in response.

It doesn’t help when Lana’s lips linger against the smooth skin of Paige’s neck. They press in, opening and closing in a way that resembles a kiss. Heat gathers between her thighs, the reminder of the warm slick lips against her own. It builds in a soothing way, quietly bubbling underneath. Lana’s wide mouth drags upwards all the way to the blonde’s jaw, leaving a wet trail behind it. Paige’s throat burns with a quiet need, turning her head to make space for her. The thigh underneath Lana turns warm with the friction, breaths turning uneven as she runs her nose along the blonde’s cheek. When her hips lift, Paige is already bucking her thigh upwards, pressing closer into the wetness gathering through her panties.

It’s not close enough. Paige pulls off her white top, letting it scatter somewhere on the floor with the rest of the mess. The movements teeter on the edge of becoming harsh and desperate, until the blonde’s hands find Lana’s hips, forcing her to go still. With this newfound control, she sets the pace, making them small and dragging.

Fluttering her eyes open, Lana is looking down at Paige with parted lips gulping for air. Their gazes lock, blunt nails scratching along the girl’s spine. With it her breath slows, her hand flying to Paige’s hair for any grounding sensation. Without meaning to, Paige presses her nose into Lana’s, matching the pattern of her breathing. Their breath becomes one, slowing down as Paige takes charge of it. Inhale, exhale - Lana follows, eyes shutting with relief. For just a moment, the blonde holds her breath. The girl on top does too.

Suddenly, a phone screen lights up on the bed, the sudden beam taking Lana’s attention away. The room feels too quiet, a reminder of the world outside still existing. Paige is quick to pull her back in by her rounded cheek, letting her fingers dig into her scalp as a reward when their eyes meet again. It’s then Paige realises, it’s not the movement holding Lana together. It’s Paige all on her own. 

“Hey,” Paige simply whispers, brushing her hand over Lana’s head, down along her spine. It takes Lana a beat to find the blonde, locking her dark eyes with hers. The silence between changes. Not calm, but loaded. 

This time when Lana presses down, the wetness seeps through the thin fabric, sticking to the girl’s thighs. Paige gasps right along, feeling it spreading over her skin. She doesn’t think much when she pulls off her sports bra too, pulling Lana flush against her chest the moment it’s gone. It’s funny, Paige doesn’t remember the last time she had been so naked in front of anyone. Lana mimics, her top quickly on the floor. She lets Paige guide her, allowing her to set the moment, the rhythm, even her breath.

“Oh,” Lana whimpers, nearly shutting her eyes. Paige chases after them, finding her in the haze. She runs a fingertip along Lana’s back, dragging it down. For a second it drops off Lana’s body - the shift she feels is immeasurable. The restlessness, the trembling, it all comes back in a matter of seconds. Lana looks slightly unsettled in this moment of realisation - if Paige decided to walk out now, she would fall apart completely.

Lana tenses, her movements not following the ones Paige took over before. She lifts herself up, but the sudden freeze against her chest doesn’t give the same satisfaction. She needed the body underneath - she needed Paige. 

“Shh,” Paige murmurs. Without hesitation she sits up to meet Lana, pulling her cross-legged against her. Lana’s hands wrap around Paige’s broad shoulders, the feel of her chest inflating with each inhale easing her mind. In a snap she’s just as consumed as before. Paige’s hands roam her bare back and sides, pulling her hips closer so her core presses against Paige’s pubic bone.

A soft, animalistic sound comes from the girl. In this haze nothing feels real, nothing but this moment and them both. With Paige’s encouraging nod, Lana rolls her hips again, causing the pool in her panties to grow slicker. Her fingertips feel up Paige’s arms, biceps, shoulders, all the way to her tied hair. She lets it loose, brushing her fingers through the ends. She’s rolling her stomach all the way down to her hips, chasing the soothing feeling of the hard bone meeting her.

Paige feels it too just as dizzying, the way she’s cocooning Lana and holding the pieces of her together, the wet panties rubbing on the band of her boxers and the soft, delicate sighs filling her ear. She sighs with her, sucking along Lana’s collarbone.

Lana’s movements deepen, a slight tremble in her thighs. When Paige’s eyelids flutter open, there’s a smile, soft and concealed like a secret settling across the girl’s mouth, as if something funny crossed her mind. 

“What?” Paige asks softly, feeling every inch of the warmth on her back. No one had ever been so beautiful as Lana at this moment, her outline barely visible in the night. 

Lana doesn’t answer, smiling deeply. When her long lashes flutter open and meet Paige’s gaze, she bubbles with a soft giggle, shaking her head. The lilt of it rings in the blonde’s ear, her mouth glistening in the dark. They both stumble into it with a soft, shared laughter.

Paige’s mouth finds Lana’s before it registers for either of them. Lana’s lips part instinctively, responding with a need matching the blonde’s. Finally,

Never breaking the kiss, Paige rolls her over to her back, pressing down with all her weight. Lana’s mouth wraps around Paige’s lower lip, sucking harshly. Pressure builds in Paige’s core, drenching the boxers she’s wearing. She hooks her finger around Lana’s panties, finally dragging them down. She doesn’t waste time, spreading her lips apart and slipping her thigh where it belonged.

“Ah,” Lana lets out a moan of relief. Paige nearly crumbles in response, feeling the slick warmth of her folds spread evenly all over her. She’s already thinking it when Lana’s tongue meets hers in a quiet battle for dominance, the girl giving it up willingly. 

Heating up fast, the blonde pulls back fighting the urge to get carried away - but Lana doesn’t allow it. She follows right after, pressing her breasts into the blonde and pulling her back down, scratching over the stinging cut on her shoulder. It’s as if in this haven on the floor the world outside doesn’t exist. Their lips never part, the feel of Lana’s mouth so gut-wrenching Paige can’t help but grind herself down into the softness of Lana’s leg.

“Shit,” Paige curses in response to the friction she hadn’t felt in years. It’s Lana grounding her now, breathing slow and steady with moans spilling with each exhale. It escalates fast, and Paige doesn’t do much to resist it. She’s nodding even before Lana’s hand drops to the band of her boxers. With desperation she pulls them down, Paige helping kick them off.

Paige is soaked, dripping everywhere as slick as their clashing mouths. It’s not as scary as she thought, giving up control like this. Not when her core throbs to be touched. Despite trembling with need, Lana stills, giving Paige the control to meet her when she’s ready.

With one final moan, the blonde shivers as she lowers her cunt against Lana’s thigh. There’s a gasp and a sudden fluttering of eyes open. Their gazes meet in a sudden rush of sensations rushing through them. 

“Oh God,” Lana moans against Paige’s swollen lips, chasing something more, something better. Lana rolls on top, tongue darting over her mouth. Paige breathes suddenly, jaw slack from already missing Lana’s lips, and the skin against her folds. Suddenly she recognises something rare and sudden in Lana, a hesitation, an unsureness as she looks down.

“Do it like this,” Paige whispers, placing her own leg on Lana’s shoulder. She’s wide eyed and learning, not daring to look down at Paige’s dripping cunt. Paige’s strong hands maneuver her into the right angle, their heats facing together now the way Lana wanted. She glances down, spreading herself apart before finally closing the distance.

“Oh shit,” Paige’s eyes roll back at the contact - it had been years since she felt anything similar or even close - this part of her hadn’t been touched since she could remember, so long she forgot how good it felt. And how easy it was to let go completely when she needed someone this way. Lana’s legs immediately tremble. But even then she moves her hips against Paige, eyes fluttering shut with high-pitched moans.

“Can you go faster?” Paige’s eyes already water. Lana nods, overwhelmed and dripping,  feeling Paige’s folds meet hers in a slick mess. She picks up speed, tits bouncing after her movements.

“Like this?” Lana asks for reassurance - so earnest and honest Paige can’t help herself. She brings a hand up to her small face, petting her cheek.

“Just like that,” Paige groans, her other hand finding Lana’s abdomen and pushing. “Lean back a lil, baby.”

Lana does, blinking fast and focused. Paige angles herself, pulling back Lana’s folds to reveal the sensitive bud at her center. It’s swollen and slick and throbbing. Paige guides it down against her own clit, legs shaking in response when they meet.

“Oh God,” Lana breathes, rolling her hips into hers. She leans her cheek closer to the hand on her face, allowing Paige’s grip to find her ass to set her movements. With desperate grinding they’re both losing themselves. Lana’s mouth presses soft, wet kisses on Paige’s hand, it not taking long for their climax to build deep inside. Still, they need more, they need to get closer. Unable to take it, Paige pins Lana down in a single, swift move. She finds her core with hers, knowing it was her stamina that would get them there.

“Paige,” Lana cries, her leg wrapping around Paige’s neck. It bends all the way down when Paige lowers herself, swallowing the loud moans of the girl underneath. Their cool skin becomes sticky, carpet burn stinging against Lana’s back. Still the blonde only speeds up, fucking her pussy into the girl’s. 

“P-Paige,” Lana repeats like a prayer into her mouth, her sense of urgency shifting at once. Paige feels it, the grip clinging onto her like she might fall. She finds the squeezing hand, entangling her fingers with Lana’s.

“I know, baby, I know,” Paige moans back, her movements turning rapid and erratic, teetering on the edge. The burn in her legs aches and spreads, yet she doesn’t stop. The one thing keeping her going is the girl underneath, red-faced and writhing with ecstasy, desperately trying to kiss her if it wasn’t for the moans she can’t control.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Paige swallows, sweat dripping down her back.

Lana’s eyes shoot open, looking for it again, the grounding only the blonde could bring. She finds it, Paige’s blinking at her slow and heavy. 

“Don’t wanna cum alone,” she exhales, legs beginning to vibrate. Paige shakes her head before she can answer.

“You won’t.”

“I’m close,” Lana pulls her flush against her, their folds sliding together in a wet mess.

“M-Me too,” Paige gasps, arms shaking with strain.

“I’m right here,” Paige coos, the words broken with a sudden groan of her climax threatening to roll over.

“Kiss me,” Lana cries, pulling her in before the words land. The moment their lips meet in a desperate collision, something snaps and their orgasms wash over with swallowed moans and desperate movements. Paige holds Lana through it, grinding her hips into her until her grip eases.

Their bodies return to the bedroom, still disoriented and mouths panting into one another. Lana clings to Paige tighter than she ever dared cling to anyone. They breathe each other, minds barely catching up. Gathering all her final strength, Paige climbs up, picking up Lana in the process. They don’t talk, wordlessly settling into the bed with no pillows or blankets, only wrapped around each other. 

For the first time Paige doesn’t pay, and Lana doesn’t ask.

-

2026, DALLAS, TX

“Lana, I’m so serious we need to go!”

The voice booms through the shut door of Lana’s room, where a pile of clothes decorate the unmade bed. Without knocking, Lexi rushes in, eyes scanning the mess.

“This is not a good time for a crisis!”

“You’re not helping,” Lana says in a melodic voice, kicking off the leopard print skirt with frustration. She throws it on the floor, falling backwards into the mattress, utterly defeated.

“Just put on anything. Who cares?”

“I care!” Lana argues as Lexi begins sorting the mess.

“Well you could care a little less or we’re gonna be late.”

The girl rolls onto her stomach, groaning into the blanket.

“I can go without you. I could just ask-”

“No, no,” she climbs up suddenly. “I’ll wear this.” Lana blindly pulls out a dress from the pile, holding up the completely see through fabric.

“Not if we wanna get in,” Lexi huffs. “Put this on.”

The blonde girl picks up a short, deeply purple dress that hangs off the shoulders. “Wear boots with it. The black ones.”

“Thank you,” Lana sighs with a sudden relief, undressing in a rush. Lexi stares into her friend suspiciously.

“Why do you care?”

“Care about what?” Lana murmurs, voice mumbled as she pulls the dress on. It drapes against her upper body all the way down to her butt where the fabric is tighter.

“About how you look at a game. You don’t even like basketball.”

Lana laughs, bubbly in a way that was unlike her. She had been this way, strange and full of life in a way that startled the people around her. Lexi too.

 “You don’t either.”

“I’m not the one having a breakdown over my fit,” Lexi says, leaning into the closet filled to the brim - or would be if every piece of clothing wasn’t spread onto the bed.

Lana doesn’t answer, rushing to a mirror. The blonde girl follows after, matching her speed.

“Is this,” Lexi hesitates before opening her mouth again. “About Paige?”

Lana rolls her eyes, turning to her friend. “Are you serious?”

Lifting her hands, she shrugs animatedly. “I’m not judging! I’m just wondering.”

“Myisha gave these tickets to you, remember? I think you’re the lesbian.”

“I wasn’t even gonna use them if it wasn’t for you insisting.”

Lana gasps. “I did not insist.”

Lexi goes silent, watching her friend put on jewelry, stacking one gold bracelet over another.

“If it was because of Paige-”

“It’s not! Oh my God,” Lana groans, putting on hoops in her ears.

“I’m just sayin’, if it was it would be okay, y’know? She’s sexy.”

Lana doesn’t answer, letting the silence between them land heavy. She finishes getting ready without distractions, without interruptions or hurrying. Just a strange lightness to her existence that wasn’t there before.

“You look pretty,” Lexi smiles. “C’mon, let’s go.”

-

The crowd around them already roars with startling excitement when the girls find their seats, Johnny already sitting there, sunglasses covering his tired eyes. The game has already started, the first quarter already having the team tired.

”My pretty birds!” He gleams, standing up to hug them both. ”You’re late.”

”Hi Johnny,” Lexi smiles. Lana’s gaze, however, is stuck on the number five just some feet away from her, skin glistening with sweat already.

”Blame Lana.”

”Always,” Johnny lifts the glasses off his head, staring into the girl, completely distracted.

”Leave her,” Lexi groans. ”She's been like this since she came from Chicago.”

The crowd around them might have paid for these seats, but the moment Lana arrives their eyes drag from the game to the girl in the purple dress. In the background Johnny talks business, The Lonestar, a client coming in for the weekend wanting to have fun with Lexi and Lana both. But she’s somewhere else, gazing into the profile of the blonde dribbling the ball. She doesn’t need to know much of the sport to see that it comes effortlessly. Finally she sits down, fascinated. Here in College Park, Paige seemed fully in control. Over the ball, over the crowd. They lean into her, breathing with number five, reacting to her every move. Out there she seems 10-feet-tall. Powerful in ways that moves Lana, to the point she finds herself breathing with Paige too. Just like Chicago.

They hadn’t seen each other since, too busy with the realities that come with real life. It hadn’t even been long, yet Lana found herself stirring with impatience, waiting every night for a glimpse of the blonde at The Lonestar. She wasn’t patient enough. Two nights of not seeing her had been enough. It’s not that she cared, but she had become curious in a way she could only ease by seeing her.

When Paige’s three flies in a beautiful arch through the hoop, Lana stands before she can realise, clapping with the crowd.

”She likes basketball?” Johnny laughs.

”I think she likes somethin’ else,” Lexi murmurs, nodding towards the blonde on the court, the one shaking her head with three fingers in the air for her victory lap.

-

Please, God. Please, I’ll be good, better. Just please.

It happens before Paige can quite catch, the ball somehow ending up in Myisha’s hands at the end of fourth quarter. 86-88. The blonde would like it anywhere else. Her heart gallops against her ribcage, sweat dripping down neck. She knows she’s exhausted, yet her limbs don’t feel a thing. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. And the fate of her team was determined by Myisha.

The excitement in her gut crashes fast the moment she sees Myisha’s hands fumbling, and the ball bouncing somewhere to the right, rolling over in a straight line. Zaza makes a run for it, yet Paige feels stuck in place. Like an observer of the things happening to her, with no control over it. The girl can’t make it off the ground. The buzzer goes off. The game is lost.

“Fuck,” Paige cusses, frustration itching across her skin. It crawls into her spine, taken out on the towel handed to her that she slams onto the court, wiping the sweat on the inside of her jersey instead. It feels like a punishment for all that she had done, for the things she couldn’t stop herself from doing. 

“Ay,” Arike doesn’t say more, much more used to the losing streak. She pats Paige’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. It doesn’t help. Paige wasn’t made for losing, she was brought here to save this team and she was failing. She would continue to fail, because she had lost control and her righteous life. All because of one woman - the one she lost sleep over, the one she couldn’t get out of her mind, the one she imagined when making love to-

“Grace, come on,” Arike lets the girl past fans, past security, straight into the blonde’s arms. Grace crashes into Paige, sweat drenching her clothes but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Baby,” she tries to comfort, her embrace doing little to counteract the heavy pit in Paige’s stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Paige huffs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me,” Grace hums, her palm pressing into the blonde’s cheek. “Hey, c’mon.”

Their eyes meet, yet it does nothing to soothe her. Paige writhes with frustration, flexing her jaw to keep her words buried deep inside.

“I love you,” the girl smiles, batting her long lashes upwards. Paige can only nod. In a desperate attempt not to say anything, she leans down, kissing the girl with such hunger she stumbles backwards. The crowd becomes a steady hum, heart pounding in Paige’s ears. She squeezes Grace tighter, chasing a feeling that doesn’t come. She tries and tries and tries until the scent of cherries lands. Just a figment of her imagination - until it’s not. 

“It’s no problem Lexi. Sorry we couldn’t win tho,” Myisha’s voice is distant, only making sense once Paige pulls back. 

Her eyes flutter open, finding the familiar blonde leaning over the fans into the Dallas Wings bench, listening to Myisha wiping sweat off her drenched face. 

Gaze dragging upwards into the crowd Paige sees her. Lana. The court disappears from under her tired feet, causing Paige’s stomach to drop. Grace is still in her arms, burying her face into the sweaty crook of the blonde’s neck.

Lana looks small, like a deer frozen in place under the gaze of a predator, wide eyes blinking rapidly over her blank face. Paige’s body operates before her brain does, pushing off the girl that meant nothing, for the one that could be everything. But Lana’s already gone, disappearing into the crowd of screaming fans, all desperate for their failed saviour.

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @lupinqs @lilpaigeyherbo @pbucketsblurbs @pazzifan1 @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @octaviabl3ck @basketball4455627 @authentic-girl03 @ebiboo @user1269 @differentsaladpanda @eclipscee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @relentlessly-resentful @paigespinkhair @ilomiloblohshh

[writersblock535]

You Are What You Eat

Unrivaled!Paige x Nutritionist!Azzi

Chapter (1): Media Day

Word Count: 14.5k

A/N: I wish I was bringing this to you under better circumstances, but here’s a Natty distraction for those that want it. Nonetheless, I couldn’t hold onto this anymore and I’m so excited to officially start this series!

———————————————————————————

Miami, Florida - December 2025

The flight from Dallas was two and a half hours and somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico she stopped thinking about those two possessions for the first time in three months.

Three months she'd been carrying them. Every film session, every practice, every drive home from the arena. Not punishing herself exactly, just turning them over, the way she turned everything over, looking for the edge of the problem. She had found it. She knew what the problem was. Now, somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico, they were gone.

Not a decision. Just gone. The season was filed - it had to be. The record was what it was and it had told her what she needed to know and she'd been building toward the answer ever since, quietly and on her own terms, which was how she built toward everything. What was in front of her now was completely different. A new team, a new format, a new city, a league she'd believed in before she had any stake in what it became. She felt, quietly and without making anything of it, a lightness she hadn't expected arriving somewhere that didn't know her yet. She liked that feeling. She'd always liked it. The not-knowing-yet part. She let it sit for the rest of the flight, and when the city appeared through the descent - flat and lit and entirely unconcerned with the fact that she was arriving - she put her seat forward, stashed her tray table, threw her headphones into her bag before shoving that under her seat too, and thought: okay. Here we go.

December 13, 2025

The heat was there the moment she stepped off the jetway - not aggressive, not the thick wall she'd expected, but certain. Present in the way of something that didn't need to announce itself. She got the rest of her luggage and found the car - Phee had been very specific about exactly where to meet the driver, assuming Paige would try to figure out the pickup herself rather than wait where she was supposed to - and sat in the back with the window cracked and watched a city she'd never lived in go past.

Dallas had known her before she played a single game. Before she'd landed, essentially - the kind of first pick that moved through the internet the way only certain names could, the franchise unrecognisable by morning, her name in the building before her body was. She'd learned to carry that. It had been, for her Rookie season, both the best and the most complicated thing about living there. The expectation that arrived before you did and stayed in the building long after your arrival. Miami had its own version of that waiting for her - she’d made sure of it - but it felt different. She’d helped build what was waiting. That had never been true before, and something in her chest let go of something she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

The apartment was three blocks from the facility. Fourteenth floor, facing south, and it smelled like new appliances and someone else's cleaning products; a neutral scent, a space that hadn't been inhabited yet. The Dallas apartment had had a smell she couldn’t have described but would have recognised anywhere: eight months of accumulated living, coffee and sneakers and how her mornings ran. She’d found something like quiet there, eventually. A routine that was hers. The kind of solitude you build slowly without realising you’re building it. This didn't have any of that. Surfaces clean. Furniture good and generic and entirely not hers yet. She dropped her bags and stood in the middle of the living room for a moment.

Hopkins. UConn. Dallas. Every place she'd ever lived had arrived with a context already built - people who knew her, expectations already formed, a place that had opinions about her before she'd said anything. She'd always adapted to that. Had become good at it in the way she became good at most things that required intelligence and practice. But she'd never fully noticed the weight of it until she was standing in a room that had none of it. This apartment didn't know anything about her. The walls had no opinions. The kitchen counter had never watched her eat standing up while she was thinking about something else, her iPad split screen showing at least one NBA game and often some old episode of Criminal Minds - she choose not to rewatch Grey’s Anatomy while eating. Nobody in this building had clocked her expression and understood what it meant before she understood it herself.

It was the loneliest and the most free she'd felt in years, and she stood there and held both of those things at the same time before she went straight to the balcony.

More horizontal than she'd expected; the city spread out below in a configuration unlike anything she'd lived in before - not the flat predictable Dallas grid, not the compressed vertical of East Coast cities.

More colour. More open. Knowing that the water was out there somewhere past the buildings, the sky going amber at the edges. She stood at the railing for a minute and let it be new, which she didn't always allow herself. Usually she was already converting: map this, learn this, build the route. She let herself just stand there instead, just be a person standing on a balcony in a city that didn't know her name yet. It felt good. Like putting something down she'd been carrying so long she'd forgotten she was carrying it. Then her phone buzzed.

Phee: Come see the arena tonight if you want. I'll be there.

She looked at the message for a moment. Not a group text. Not routed through anyone. Just Phee, on a December evening, with everything she had going on. Reaching out directly. Paige had been on the receiving end of a lot of attention in her career, most of it pointed at the version of her that was useful to someone else's story. This felt different.

She changed and went.

She'd seen pictures of course. The naming rights announcement had dropped December fourth and the internet had done what the internet did - released every angle, every detail, the centre-court Sephora logo and the expanded seating and the LED strips running the length of the floor. She'd looked at all of it. She thought she knew what she was walking into.

It was different in person. It was always different in person.

Phee was at the side entrance in a league jacket, moving carefully on the ankles. This was her building. She had imagined it, funded it, fought for it, and put her name behind it when nobody was sure it would work. Standing in it looked good on her. She looked up when Paige came through the door and said, “come on,” before they continued on through the space.

The facility had expanded over the summer - 15,000 square feet of new player space, a third practice court, the Samsung Rest Club that she'd read about in the league materials, hyperbaric chambers, massage facilities that looked like they'd been designed by someone who had actually asked what professional athletes needed rather than what was standard. The storage room held something she clocked immediately: her merch. The Breeze gear. Stacks of it. Joggers, hoodies, training kit, all of it in Breeze colours with her name on it, waiting to be claimed. She picked up a hoodie and looked at it.

“Away jersey's in there too,” Phee said. “New this season.”

She'd had jerseys before. Hopkins. UConn, where they'd sold out before she'd played a game there, too. Dallas, the PB5 in every colourway, the ones she'd seen in the lower bowl from the free-throw line when the light caught them a certain way. She understood the economics of her own name by now, had made her peace with the marketability of it. But this was different from all of those, and it took her a moment to understand why.

Those jerseys had been for teams that already existed. Teams with histories, with championships, with the accumulated weight of everything that had come before she arrived. She'd walked into all of them carrying someone else's legacy whether she wanted to or not. Breeze didn't have any of that. Breeze had six players and a coach and twelve days and an away jersey in her hands that had her name on it because this team had been built around her name specifically, around the bet that she was the beginning of something rather than a continuation of it. She was not inheriting anything. She was the history. The first game hadn't happened yet and the name on this jersey was already the whole story.

She folded it carefully and put it in her bag.

They came out into the main arena space and she stopped walking.

The Sephora Tunnel was at the far end - the player entrance, lit differently from the rest of the room, the kind of lighting that made everything coming through it look like it had been waiting. The LED boards ran the full walls. The centre-court logo. The court itself, condensed full-court, smaller than she was used to, which she'd known about and which still did something to her chest when she saw it at floor level - the recalibration of understanding something differently once it was actually in front of you. About 850 seats last season. A thousand now, Phee had said in an interview. Still the smallest professional arena in the country by a significant margin. Still on purpose.

Phee was watching her.

“It's real,” Paige said, which wasn't the most articulate thing she'd ever produced but was all she could offer.

Phee almost smiled. “That's what Stewie said.”

They sat in the new courtside seating - the Sephora-branded section, deep colour, the kind of considered design that said someone had spent money on a chair because a chair was part of the experience - and then, from somewhere behind them, small feet on the court.

Mila. In a Breeze hoodie that was technically child-sized and still came past her knees, under the far hoop at the end of the court with a miniature basketball - the right size for her hands, a detail that said someone had thought about it - attempting to make shots with the total seriousness of someone who had seen this done and intended to replicate it exactly.

She watched her for a moment. Mila held the ball with both hands, lined herself up under the hoop with complete concentration, and threw it. It hit the underside of the backboard and bounced back. She retrieved it without complaint and did it again.

Paige had met her before. A couple of times, at games, at events, the way you met the kids of the people in your orbit before you were properly in each other's orbits yet. Mila had been younger then, had been a baby and then a toddler at courtside. She was different now. Three and a half meant she was watching you back.

Paige walked over.

Mila looked up.

Paige looked at the hoodie. Looked at Phee.

Phee’s expression said, …don’t.

Mila had Phee's face - really had it, the same directness, the same quality of paying full attention - and she conducted the same brief assessment before apparently reaching a satisfactory conclusion. “You're tall,” she said.

“I am,” Paige agreed. She crouched down to Mila's level anyway. “Can I try?”

Mila considered this. She looked at the ball. Looked at Paige. Then held it out with the gravity of someone extending a significant privilege.

Paige took it. Stood. Held it in one hand - it fit in her palm like an orange - and put it up from three feet, nothing but net. Mila watched with her mouth slightly open. Then: “Again.”

Paige did it again.

“Again.”

Phee had appeared at the edge of the court, watching them with the expression of someone who had seen this happen before and was not surprised. “Mila. Where are your manners?”

Mila, without taking her eyes off Paige: “Please.”

Paige handed the ball back, doing her best to hide her gummy smile. Mila took it, turned to face the hoop, and attempted the same shot with renewed conviction. It hit the backboard in roughly the same place. She was unbothered.

“She's been doing this for six months,” Phee said, coming to stand beside Paige. “Alex put the junior hoop up at home and now every time she's in a real arena she has to test the actual one.”

“Smart kid.”

“She's thorough.” But Phee said it the way she said most things about Mila, which was with the soft incredulous warmth of someone who could not entirely believe this small person existed.

Mila had retrieved the ball and was lining up again, this time having moved six inches closer to the basket. Scientific. Paige watched her and felt something uncomplicated happen in her chest - something about the total commitment of it, the complete absence of self-consciousness, the way a three-year-old under a hoop in a professional arena had exactly the same expression Paige had seen on the faces of the best players in the world when they were working on something.

Phee called across the court: “Baby. What do we say to Paige for playing with you and making all those shots.”

Mila turned around. She appeared to be weighing the social obligation against the continued pull of the hoop. The smallest ever, “thank you,” was muttered to the floor before she immediately turned back around.

“She's amazing,” Paige said, smiling in a way that made her nose scrunch up and her eyes crease.

“Yeah,” Phee said. “She really is.”

They sat down in the courtside seating. Mila stayed under the hoop, working. From twenty feet away Paige could hear the small sound of the ball hitting the backboard, again and again, patient and methodical. She watched her and thought about what it looked like to want something that much before you were old enough to have been told to want it.

Phee watched her for a moment too. “She's been asking about the players. Who's coming. I showed her the Breeze roster.”

“And?”

“She pointed at your picture and said 'fast.' I don't know where she got that… She must have overheard our scouting reports in the locker room back in Minny.”

Paige laughed, properly. “I'll take it.”

“You should.” Phee looked at her. The warm directness she had, the quality of someone who loved you and didn't make you guess it. “I'm glad you're here, Paige. I mean that. This team is going to be something.”

“I know.”

“Not because I have to say it. Because I've watched you for years and I know what you do when you have the right conditions around you.”

Paige looked at the court. The way Phee said things - not as compliments but as observations, as assessments from someone who had been paying attention and had arrived at a conclusion. It landed differently than praise. Praise she could dismiss. This she had to sit with.

Mila had successfully gotten the ball to hit the rim. A small sound of triumph came from the far end of the court. Phee smiled at it without looking up.

They stood in the empty arena for a moment, the three of them. The building was quiet in the way it would never be again once the season started.

“Can I ask you something?” Paige said.

Phee looked at her.

“Does it feel different? Being here.” She tried to find the words for what she meant. “This is… you built this. You're here like every winter now. Does it feel like somewhere that's actually yours?”

Phee was quiet for a moment. She looked at the court, the one she had designed from the ground up, and then at Mila, who was reaching for one of the lights on the tunnel entrance with complete confidence that she could get it.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “It does. It took longer to feel than I expected, actually. But yeah.” Paige watched as she took a moment, a deep breath, before she continued. “Alex is here. Mila is clearly comfortable here. She knows this arena so well already.” Phee looked around; Paige could only look on in awe. “She knows the tunnel. She knows where the good snacks are backstage. She knows which of the staff will let her sit on the scorer's table if I'm not looking.”

Paige laughed.

“That's the thing, you know?” Phee said. “You spend your whole career in buildings that aren't yours. You give them everything and then the offseason comes and you get on a plane and somewhere that never fully belonged to you goes on without you. This one doesn't go on without me. That's new… It's a good feeling.”

Paige thought about the apartment three blocks north. The blank walls, the neutral scent, the city that didn't know her name yet. She thought about Dallas, which had known her name before she'd unpacked. She thought about what it would feel like to build something and have it be yours in the way this was Phee's.

“That's what I want,” she said. Not about Miami specifically. About something larger, harder to name. Phee seemed to understand. She nodded the way she nodded when she understood something and didn't need to make anything of it.

Mila had drifted back under the hoop, ball in both hands again, lining up her next attempt with the patience of someone who had decided this was going to go in eventually. Paige watched her. Phee watched her. The building was quiet. The backboard sound came again, soft and methodical, and Mila retrieved the ball without complaint and reset.

Paige thought about the conversation she'd had with both Phee and Stewie in the months before it was announced. Before the NIL deal was signed, before it was public, before it was real to anyone except the people who'd been in the rooms where it was being built. She'd asked them the question she'd been building toward since she first understood what they were trying to do: why build this specifically, when you could have built anything?

Stewie had gone first. She’d talked about her kids - Ruby, already a permanent fixture at Liberty games, the kid who ran to the bench during timeouts and couldn’t understand why her mom had to go back. And Theo, two years old, who had Stewie’s face and apparently her stubbornness already. She had said, “I want them to grow up in a world where what I do is worth what it’s worth. I want to have built something that proves that was possible before they're old enough to wonder whether it is.”

Phee had been quieter. She'd talked about Mila - eighteen months old at the time of the call, born in the middle of a season, brought courtside in a carrier during warmups because the alternative was not seeing her. She'd talked about the exhaustion of being one of the best athletes on the planet and still having to argue for basic infrastructure every time she wanted something that any male athlete in a comparable league would have had without asking. She had said, “we're not building this for us. We're building it for the players who come after us, and for our kids, and for every girl who's going to grow up watching this and think that's just what it looks like when women play professionally.”

Paige had put money in after those conversations.

She sat in the courtside chair and looked at the court she'd be playing on in three weeks and thought about what it had taken to get here - not just for her but for the whole thing, for the institution of it, two women who were also mothers who had looked at the gap between what professional women's athletes were given and what they deserved and had simply decided to close it. The performance nutrition programme that had been announced in the league materials. The Samsung Rest Club visible through the corridor window. The merch room with her name on a jersey that cost real money and had real care in the design. All of it built by people who had been asking the right questions.

“The nutrition programme,” she said. She hadn't planned to say it but it came out anyway, the way things came out at the end of a long day when the gap between the public version and the private one narrowed without her deciding to let it.

Phee looked at her. Just looked. Absolute and patient at the same time, the look of someone who had built a league on the premise of knowing what athletes needed before they said it.

“It's not that I'm resistant,” Paige said. “That's not it.”

“Okay.”

“Look… I get what the program is trying to do. And I'm not dismissing it. UConn had unbelievable staff. Genuinely. That team knew me, knew everything I'd been through, and I honestly don't think I'd be here without what we built together.” She paused. Phee would know. Phee had been there, had come up through the same programme, understood exactly who she was talking about. “And Dallas did what they could. But it wasn't the same.”

“No,” Phee said. “It wasn't.”

“I have people I trust. My trainers, my team - they've been with me through everything, before UConn and after, through every surgery, through all of it. They just know me. I don't gotta start from zero every time someone new walks in.” She looked at the court. “I know something’s missing Phee, but I found it myself. I know what it is. And now there's gonna be someone I've never even met coming in with a folder and I'm supposed to just - …”

She stopped.

The arena had the quality of empty spaces built for noise. Phee let the silence stay for a moment.

“Individual assignments come out after media day, after the formal league announcement,” she said finally. “Keep an open mind. That's all I'm asking.” A pause. “I think you might be surprised.”

“Surprised by what.”

“By who we brought in. For you specifically.” She said it with the particular care of someone choosing a word deliberately. “She's good. Really good. I think you're going to respond to her.”

“Her,” Paige said.

Phee looked at her. Completely neutral. Giving nothing else away.

Not a command. Not a reassurance. Just, keep an open mind, with the weight of someone who knew something Paige didn't yet and had decided to give her exactly one piece of it and no more.

Which meant there was something to know. And Phee had just decided to let her start wondering about it.

She looked at the court and didn't ask the follow-up question, because sometimes not asking was the smarter move and Phee would tell her when it was time.

“Come on,” Phee said. “I'll show you the rest.”

By the time Paige got back to the apartment it was past nine. She showered and sat on the balcony in the dark for a while with the city doing its thing below her, and she thought about what Phee had said about building something that proved it was possible. She thought about the jersey in her bag. She thought about the foundation problem she'd named in September, the private accounting she'd been doing since, and she thought about what it meant to be in a league that was also doing the accounting - that had looked at the gap and decided to address it structurally, not as a favour but as a premise.

She was still going to fix it herself. That hadn't changed. But there was something in knowing that the institution she'd invested in had been asking the same questions, that it wasn't just her in the car at night identifying what needed addressing. Something that felt, if not like permission exactly, then like company.

She went to bed thinking that this was the right place to do this.

Whatever comes next - the team, the season, the format, the work, the gap she was going to address on her own terms - this was the right place for all of it. A league built by people asking the right questions. A blank apartment that didn't know her yet. Twelve days before anything was required of her publicly. Room to become, without the weight of what she already was following her through the door.

She thought about what Phee had said. Keep an open mind. That sentence. The way it had landed as more than a pleasantry. The folder that was going to arrive with someone she'd never met. She thought about the fact that the most accurate person in the room about her own body had sometimes been exhaustingly, comprehensively alone in that accuracy - turning things over in the dark of cars and apartments and empty courts because there was no one else in the room to turn them over with.

She thought about what it might feel like to not be alone in that.

She put it down. Set it aside with the things she wasn't ready to examine. And then - for the first time in three months, in an apartment the city didn't know about yet, with the Miami night humming ten stories below - she went to sleep without running the two possessions one more time first.

December 15, 2025 - Media Day

She was up at five-fifteen. She always was before days like this; not anxiety, just the alertness of a body that had learned to be ready before it needed to be. She made coffee and took it to the balcony. Miami at five in the morning was doing what Miami apparently always did, which was: not stopping. A continuous low-frequency hum of the city still in progress, people and lights and the sound of a place that had never heard of dormancy. She liked it. She'd liked it on the nights she'd been out there before bed too. Dallas had its own night quality but it gathered itself eventually, went quiet the way cities acknowledged December. Miami just kept going. She was going to have to get used to that. She didn't mind.

She ran at six. The ‘active tourist on their first full day of touristing’ kind - not a workout, not structured, just movement and attention, cataloguing the neighbourhood the way she catalogued everything, building a map that existed in her body rather than on her phone. Three blocks north, the facility. Two blocks east, a Starbucks with its lights already on. She noted it. Marina had sent her a list of places with ‘actual coffee’ and she respected the commitment, but she was also going to that Starbucks. A residential block she looped twice to get the feel of it. The morning air was warm enough that she wasn't wearing a layer by the second mile, which she was going to have to adjust to. Dallas in December had a bite to it. Miami in December was just warm, the city entirely unbothered by the fact that she was running through it. She ran the residential block a third time because she felt like it.

Back at the apartment by seven-fifteen. Shower. Actual food; eggs, rice, something green from the grocery order she'd placed the night before, because she was going to be in a building full of people for twelve hours and she'd learned through years of long professional days exactly what happened to her concentration when she tried to run on less than this. She'd eaten before she left. This was worth noting because on a normal day - a day without cameras, without forty-eight players and twelve hours of professional performance ahead of her - she probably wouldn't have. She’d have had the coffee and gone. The coffee was the thing her body actually asked for first every morning, and the eggs were the thing she made herself have afterward because she understood, theoretically and from years of people telling her, that she was supposed to. The structure was there when the day required it. On days that didn’t require it, the structure had a way of quietly collapsing to its minimum - coffee and whatever was available and an intention to eat properly later that sometimes materialised and sometimes didn’t. She’d been managing it for years. She was managing it fine.

She ate standing at the counter, which was how she ate when she was thinking about something else, and what she was thinking about was the day ahead. Fifty-four players, including the development pool. Eight complete coaching staffs. The full league administrative structure - board members, performance teams, sponsors, people she’d never met who had a stake in how this season went. Every journalist who covered women’s basketball would be in that building at some point. She was going to be asked the same twelve questions approximately forty times and she was going to answer them each time as though the question were new, which was the only way to do it if you wanted the answers to land rather than echo.

She was ready by eight. The Uber arrived at eight-twelve. The driver recognised her - at this point, most of them did - and she was still calibrating the difference between being known in her world and being known everywhere. He said his daughter was excited Paige was playing in Unrivaled this season and she said she was excited too and meant it, and then they pulled up outside the facility and she thanked him and got out.

She stood on the pavement for a moment. Not hesitating. Just taking it in.

Then she went inside.

The facility was already moving when she arrived; staff crossing corridors with the purposeful energy of a building that had been preparing for something for days and was now actually doing it. Cameras being positioned. Signage going up. Someone testing lights in the media area, running them up and down in slow cycles. The whole place had the quality of a stage being assembled, of a story getting ready to tell itself. The whole place had the quality of a stage being assembled, of a story getting ready to tell itself. She walked through it. Her page to write.

She found the locker room. Zaza was already there - development pool had a different call time, earlier, and Zaza had apparently decided to just stay once she was in the building, which tracked. The habit of being somewhere before anyone expected her was useful in a teammate and occasionally alarming in a friend. Rickea and Cam were at the mirror at the far end, deep in whatever they were doing. Cam had her phone out at an angle that suggested content, Rickea was doing something with her hair that required absolute concentration and was not to be interrupted. Haley was perched near the door talking to someone Paige didn’t recognise yet, her back to the rest of the room - one of the performance staff maybe, but she assumed she must have been waiting for Zaza so they could move on. A few other players drifted through - the locker room had that media day energy, people moving with purpose in no particular direction, everyone slightly too caffeinated and slightly too aware of the cameras already set up in the corridor outside

“You sleep?” Zaza cut in before her thoughts could run any further.

“Yeah.”

“You eat?”

“Yes.”

Zaza looked at her. “For real eat or -”

“Eggs. Rice. Green things. For real eat.”

“Good.” She went back to her phone. “Kate's already in the film room. Malonga's in the gym. Aari’s not here yet.”

“It's eight twenty-two.”

“I'm just telling you.”

Paige put her bag down and sat and let the room be quiet for a moment. Around them, the facility was building toward something. She could feel it - not just the noise of preparation, but something underneath that, the charge of a day that was going to require a real quality of presence. Media days were not games. They were their own kind of performance, with their own demands, and she'd learned over years of them that the players who thought they were easy were usually the ones who left something in the room they hadn't meant to.

“There's food in the corridor,” Zaza said. “Someone from the performance staff set up a whole spread.”

Paige had eaten already. She went to look anyway.

The spread was real. Not the perfunctory catering that showed up at these events to be photographed and then ignored but something that had actually been thought about. Eggs in multiple preparations. Rice. Actual fruit. Things labelled not just by name but by composition, protein content and timing guidance, pre-session versus recovery, the kind of specificity that came from someone who understood what professional athletes actually needed on a long day rather than what looked good on a table. She stood in front of it and read a label. Then another. Then she looked at the whole setup - the arrangement, the system of it, how things had been organised - and thought about much attention someone had actually put into this.

There was also a flicker of something she didn't fully want to name. She had been doing this herself. The private accounting, the knowing what she needed and when, the calculus of her own body, built across years of necessity. She had done it alone because alone was the only option available, because the people who had been put in rooms with her had arrived with the wrong frameworks and she had spent more energy managing their wrongness than building her own system. And now here was a table that somebody else had built, organised by someone she had never met, and it was correct. The labels were correct. The system was correct. And part of her found that genuinely good, the league she had invested in living up to what she had invested in it for. Another part, smaller and less comfortable, noticed the label that said *Recovery* and wanted to push back, her thoughts circling the same arguments once more - I already know this. I have always known this. I have been doing this alone for years and I was fine. I don't need someone to hand me a label.

She put the label down. She was aware of both parts. She was not going to pretend the smaller one wasn't there.

A staff member was at the end of the table with a clipboard, checking something. Paige hadn't seen her before. Young. Dark curls pulled up. Her back was turned to Paige so she couldn’t see her face. She was; however, looking down at the clipboard with what she assumed was the focused attention of someone who was in the middle of a task she hadn't finished yet, and she didn't look up when Paige sidestepped across the side of table towards her, which was in itself a thing - most people had what Paige felt was a sixth sense and just looked up when Paige Bueckers walked into a room - but this person was either unaware she'd arrived or had decided the clipboard mattered more, and Paige couldn't tell which.

She stood at the table for a moment. Picked up a label. Put it down.

“The labelling system is good,” she said, directing her words to the girls’ back and dark curls.

The staff member don’t look up. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was low. Even.

“Did you put this together?”

She still didn’t look up. She did stop writing. “Most of it,” she said, toward the clipboard.

“The labelling system specifically?”

A pause. Something about the pause. “Yes. And the greens. They’re broccolini. They count. You do need to eat those, too.”

Paige looked at the broccolini. Looked at the back of the staff member’s head. Loaded a plate. She was about to say something - she wasn’t sure what, exactly, just that the conversation felt unfinished in a way she wanted to finish - when her phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Then Cam appeared at the end of the corridor, already walking toward her with the specific energy of someone who needed her somewhere else right now.

She went. Plate in hand, not quite done, the corridor still behind her.

She ate the broccolini at the window at the end of the hall, the one that looked out over the second practice court, still empty at this hour. Standing up, the way she ate when she was thinking. She was thinking about the labelling system. About the pause before the answer. About the specific quality of someone who had already decided not to make anything of something before the something had even happened.

They were fine, the broccolini.

She went to find her team.

The first time all six of them were in the same room was nine o'clock in a side room off the main corridor that had been set up with a whiteboard and six chairs. No film, no tape, no game prep - Noelle had been clear about that. Today was Media Day and she made sure this time was used to align who they were before any of it started. Before the cameras. Before the press. Before anyone else got to decide what Breeze BC was.

Noelle Quinn stood at the front of it with the settled quality of someone who had a lot to prove and had decided to prove it through work rather than announcement. Paige had read the early media day interviews - Noelle talking about the learning curve, about watching Unrivaled tape, about how this is a little bit of a different format so it's new for her as well - and had noted the quality of a coach who named her own gaps before anyone else could. That was its own kind of confidence.

Six players. No depth chart in the traditional sense. Kate the only one who'd stood on an Unrivaled court before, six games for Laces in 2025 before a leg injury cut her season short. Average age twenty-four, the youngest roster in the league by a significant margin, which the press had been noting since the rosters dropped and which Paige had been filing as a variable rather than a liability. Youth was what you decided to make it.

“Before anything goes out today,” Noelle said, “I want to know who we are. Not for the cameras. In here.” She looked around the room. “We're not going to talk about match-ups or the format or what other teams are doing. We're going to talk about what Breeze BC means. What we want people to feel when they watch us. What we want to be known for. Because once we walk out that door today, everyone else starts writing our story. I'd like us to have already written it ourselves.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Then Cam said, simply, “accountable.”

“And…” Kate thought for a moment. “Tough.”

"Relentless.” Aari didn’t even hesitate.

Malonga nodded once, then added, “dangerous.”

Rickea let it land for exactly one second. “Clock itttt.” Already grinning, like she’d been waiting for someone to say it first.

Paige thought about it properly. About what she actually wanted. Not what she was supposed to say. “Ours,” she said eventually. “I want it to feel like ours. Like something we built, not something we were handed.”

They all turned to look at her then. It was real, it was serious. They all felt it - the start of something big.

Noelle wrote it all down. Didn't rank them, didn't comment, just wrote. Then she looked at the board for a moment.

“Collective voice,” Noelle said, looking at Paige.

“Collective voice,” Paige agreed. She'd said it to every journalist who'd asked about leadership since the rosters were announced and she meant it every time. “There's no vet on this team. We're all going to have to find our voices. Mine included.”

Noelle looked at her for a moment deciding what kind of captain she had. Then she made a mark on her clipboard and moved on to the whiteboard, which was the right call.

When the session ended, after Noelle dismissed them to go and represented Breeze like only they knew how, she stood in the corridor outside with Cam and Rickea and felt, for maybe three seconds, pure uncomplicated excitement. Not the right-kind-of-nervous. Just this. These five people, this team, the whole thing being real in a way it hadn't been until she was in a room with all of them at once. She didn't say it out loud. Rickea caught her eye and gave her the look that meant she knew - she had been doing that a lot today - and that was enough.

After, Cam said to her in the corridor - not loudly, not for anyone else: “I've been thinking about what we do in the high post.” As though they'd been in the middle of it for weeks, which in a sense they had. Paige could only let out a small laugh, because of course they’d talk actual hoops the second they could.

“Me too,” Paige said.

“If you can get me there with the second defender cheating -”

“The dump is there every time.”

“Yeah.” Cam turned to her, wild-eyed. “Every time.”

Paige turned to meet her eyes. That was enough for now. The season was three weeks away.

The all-league briefing was at ten. All fifty-four players, all eight coaching staffs, the full Unrivaled administrative structure, in a room that had been arranged for maximum photo opportunities - long tables with team nameplates, good light, branding visible from every angle. Paige found her seat - Breeze BC, ‘Captain’, first expansion team - and sat down and put her hands flat on the table.

Phee was at the end of the room in a league jacket, moving carefully in the way of someone whose ankles were being managed. She was not in a uniform. She'd announced on December first that she was still hoping to play, still rehabbing, hadn't made the final decision yet - though everyone in the room who had been paying attention knew what decision was coming. Paige watched her navigate the room and felt the weight of what it meant to have built something and then have to watch it from the outside. Phee caught her eye across the space and nodded. Paige nodded back. They'd been in adjacent orbits for years - not close in that intimate way, but connected through the architecture of the game, through UConn lineage, through the shared fact of Unrivaled. But that relationship was deepening everyday, and there was a lot in a nod between two people who'd both put money behind the same belief before they knew what it would become.

Alex spoke first. He rattled off all the major updates to this years’ schedule - second season, eight teams, fifty-four players, first road stop in Philadelphia, Year One revenue that had doubled the projections, the $100,000 championship bonus doubled from last season. He’d built the operational infrastructure of this from the ground up and he knew it, in the way you knew something you’d wagered on and been right about. You could see how much he loved it here; his job, this city and being able to share all of it with his family.

Rickea, beside her, leaned over briefly. Showed her phone screen without comment. The Unrivaled merchandise page. Every Breeze jersey - all six names, every size - showing sold out. Paige looked at it for a moment. Passed it back. Rickea pocketed the phone and they both looked at the front of the room and said nothing, which was its own conversation.

Then Phee spoke. And the room went quiet.

“What we set out to do,” she said, “was demonstrate that elite women's basketball players deserve elite support infrastructure. Not as a nice gesture. As a structural commitment. We don't ask these athletes to perform at the highest level and then leave them to figure out the rest. The rest is part of what we provide.”

She paused.

“This season we're expanding that commitment. In addition to the existing performance and recovery infrastructure, every player in the league will be assigned a dedicated performance nutrition specialist. This programme has been developed in consultation with sports science and nutrition professionals and reflects what this league has always believed: that the gap between what we ask these bodies to do and what we give them to do it with is the gap where careers get shortened and potential goes unrealised. We are closing that gap.”

The room received it. Paige received it - kept her hands flat on the table, kept her face doing the right thing. She was good at that. Had been since she was young; a little girl who was sat down and told her mommy and daddy didn’t love each other the same anymore and expected not to act like the world she knew was ending. She looked interested, engaged, receptive - the version of herself that rooms like this got. She knew that version well. It never let her down.

Underneath that she was doing the math. The gap. The thing she’d been working on since September, privately, on her own terms - and here it was, announced as league policy in front of fifty-four of her peers. Someone had looked at the same problem from the outside and arrived at the same answer and built a programme around it. Someone was coming with a folder. Someone she hadn’t chosen.

She got it. She believed in it. She’d put money behind this league because of exactly this kind of commitment; athlete-first, structurally, not as a gesture. She’d believed that before she had any personal stake in whether it was true. And now it was in front of her, and it was good, and she had no argument. That was the whole problem.

It wasn’t the principle. The principle was fine. It was just - the gap was hers. She’d found it. She’d been carrying it. And now someone she’d never met was going to come in and have opinions about it. She’d gotten good at doing this alone. Maybe too good. That was the part she hadn’t figured out yet.

She returned her attention to the front of the room

Phee was acknowledging the performance staff - a formal moment, brief, the room applauding. Paige looked toward the left wall where they were seated. Twelve, maybe fifteen people. Assumed they must be assigned like 2-3 players each. She looked at none of them specifically. She did not scan. The fact that she registered the impulse was itself information she was filing for later.

Along the left wall, near the end of the row, one of the performance staff was looking at the front of the room. Dark curls pulled up - the same ones from the food spread table that morning, she was almost sure. She didn’t look long enough to be certain. The room kept moving.

She applauded with the room.

Individual assignments, Alex said, would be distributed by the end of the day.

The Sephora Studio was a room off the main corridor with branded mirrors and a full glam setup; a league partnership, Sephora's name on the arena, a dedicated space where every player got access to a professional hair and makeup team before the official photos. Paige had read about it in the media day schedule and hadn't fully processed it until she was sitting in the chair.

She let them work. The mirrors were good - the kind that gave you the full version rather than the flattered one - and she sat in front of hers and watched herself in it while the work happened.

Two women from the league's content team were talking in the doorway, not quietly enough. She caught fragments - the half-whisper of people who thought they were out of earshot. Something about the broadcast schedule, about making sure certain players were featured in the pre-game packages. Then she heard her name - she always heard her name in these conversations.

Bueckers needs to be in everything.

Absolutely. She's the one moving the needle.

You put her in the thumbnail, the click-through doubles. All of it. They’ll never get tired of her.

She's also just…

Nah come on… not you too?

No - I mean… she photographs well. Like, objectively. Viewers respond to her.

Yeah okay…

Shuuut uuup!

What should we have her do fir-

The Sephora PRO artist cut in above the background noise, asking her to look up slightly.

She looked up. She knew how to receive that kind of thing - had received it in various configurations since she was a teenager - being in a room where people discussed the commercial value of her face, weighing the business of it against everything else. She understood the business of it. She did. The league needed visibility and visibility required faces and her face was apparently among the more effective ones for that purpose. She'd made peace with the tangle. That was what she'd told herself in the mirror once already today.

What she hadn't made peace with, sitting in this chair while someone worked on her face, was the manipulation of it - the way moving the needle and photographs well sat comfortably together in a sentence where ‘basketball player’ didn't need to appear. She was in this building because she was one of the best basketball players in the world. That was the sentence. She wanted that to be the sentence. Not the thumbnail. Not the click-through rate.

The league had decided, from the beginning, that the players were worth this. Not worth it in a begrudging way, not worth it as a marketing decision, though it was that too. Worth it in the way of an organisation that had been built by people who had spent their careers in leagues that communicated the opposite through a thousand small decisions, and who had built this one differently on purpose. You are worth being seen properly. The industry has been telling you otherwise for a long time and we are not doing that here. That was the philosophy made physical. A room with good mirrors and someone who knew what they were doing.

She watched herself in the mirror and thought about the other thing the room was, which was something she'd been navigating for a long time without ever quite having the space to sit with it properly. She was twenty-four years old and she'd been told she was attractive since before she was old enough to know what to do with it, and she understood the machinery of it now in a way she hadn't at eighteen, sixteen - really, although she didn’t like to think about it. The way a photograph of her face circulated differently from a photograph of her game. The comments about her body when she wanted the conversation to be about the crossover. The specific kind of fan who showed up not for the basketball. She didn't resent it exactly, because the same visibility produced the platform and the platform was real and she used it. It was all tangled together and she'd made peace with the tangle. Mostly.

What she hadn't made peace with was the suspicion, on days like this, that the glam squad and the branded mirrors were all in service of one version of her - the version that photographed well, that trended, that was easy to package - and that the other version, the one who had rebuilt herself twice and managed chronic pain since high school and knew exactly what her body could do and had pushed it to the edge of what that was and come back from the far side of that edge, that version was something fans wanted to claim without having to see clearly. She was one of the best basketball players in the world. She wanted that to be the sentence. Not an asterisk on a sentence about something else.

Not, ‘skinny for this level.’ Not, ‘gets wherever she wants despite it.’ Not, ‘impressive for her frame.’ Just one of the best basketball players in the world. The sentence, clean, with nothing underneath it qualifying the thing.

She knew that wasn't how it worked. She'd known that for a long time. But she still wanted it, in the stubborn way of wanting things you know you won't get exactly as you've imagined them. She held it for one more second in the mirror and then put it down.

She put it down. She was good at putting things down. The photos were in twenty minutes and she had a team to captain and a season in three weeks and none of this had anywhere useful to go right now. She looked at herself in the mirror - hair done, looking like whatever version of herself this was - and stood up.

In the corridor afterward, they called them through to the locker room for the uniform reveal. The Under Armour kits. Six of them, their names on the backs, the Breeze colours exactly as they'd been on a screen for months except different now, different in the way things were always different when they were real and close. Kate picked hers up and whispered, “I like this one more.” Rickea looked at hers for a long quiet moment and just shook her head, like she both couldn’t believe this was happening and expected nothing less - at the same time. Malonga held hers up and examined it with the focused attention she brought to everything - reading it, Paige thought, the way she read a rise before she blocked a shot. Cam looked at hers and then at Paige and smiled - the smile of someone who had been waiting for something and had just confirmed it was real.

Paige looked at her own name on the back of her jersey and felt the season snap into focus.

The team photos took ninety minutes. Six of them stood side by side - a season in the W spent as opponents for most, teammates for a couple, but all of them now something else. Paige looked at the camera.

Malonga stood beside her. Up close she was extraordinary in a way film couldn't carry; not the statistics, not the highlights, but the quality of her presence in space, the way she occupied it with the authority of someone who had been building toward this her entire life and had arrived without needing to announce it. She was twenty years old. She had come up through French club basketball, had played at the Olympics, had spent her rookie WNBA season proving people right. She said almost nothing and watched everything. Paige noticed. That was going to be a problem for everyone else.

Cam was on her other side in the team lineup. She'd known her since they were seventeen years old, had been in the same spaces at various points across the years - competing against each other, watching each other from opposite benches, texting on draft nights a year apart; Cam going second overall in 2024, Paige going first overall in 2025, unanimously, which was the only outcome anyone who had watched her seriously had ever considered possible - and they'd talked, vaguely and intermittently and sincerely, about what it would be like to play together someday. Someday was now. A journalist had asked her about it in the press rounds and she'd said what was true; “I haven't played with Cam since we were like seventeen. We've always supported each other and talked about being teammates again in the future, so having that opportunity now is really exciting.” She meant it. Standing next to her in the lineup, she was also just - grateful. That was the word. Just grateful.

Rickea watched all of this with the expression of someone sitting on strong views she had decided not to share; a full season of watching Paige operate in public had given her many.

Paige caught the expression. “What.”

“Nothing,” Kea said. Which meant something.

The TikTok happened in Sephora Arena itself - between the team photos and the afternoon sessions, the kind of gap that opens up in a long day where people are still in uniform and the cameras are still around. Malonga had been watching the trend on her phone for days. She’d decided. She demonstrated the movement once, the easy way of someone who’d practiced it without making anything of the fact that she’d practiced it.

Rickea already had her phone out before Malonga had finished demonstrating, “We're doing this.” She found a spot, propped the phone, set up the frame. That was how the Young and Turnt crew made their first TikTok; the six of them in their Breeze uniforms inside Sephora Arena on media day, @breezebasketballclub posting it to TikTok the following morning at a timestamp that would become, in its own small way, evidence of exactly who they were before the season had started.

Aari was genuinely, unexpectedly good, the kind of good that, after watching the complete TikTok, made you rewind the clip because you wanted to see it again.

Malonga giggled through the whole thing. It was cute. That was enough.

And then there was Paige.

Paige Bueckers had rhythm. She’d always sworn up and down that she had rhythm, spending most nights of her Uconn career up late with her teammates learning dance after dance - she knew there were countless edits made of those late night efforts. She was also the person who made difficult things look easy and easy things look like art, who moved on a basketball court with a quality that professional analysts consistently described as the most refined spatial intelligence in the league. She was known, in the circles that paid attention to these things, for making things look effortless and occasionally very, very cool.

None of this was present in the TikTok.

What was present in the TikTok was her arms arriving approximately a beat and a half after the rest of her, and her hips making what appeared to be a completely independent decision from her upper body, and an expression of focused concentration that suggested she was very much aware that something was not right and was actively trying to correct it, which was making it worse. She was not quite giving the ick, but she was fast approaching the realm of ick. She was standing at the border of the ick and making sustained eye contact with it.

Cam was extremely tall and extremely aware of being extremely tall and did the whole thing with the self-conscious sweetness of someone who couldn’t quite help being endearing about it. She was also just a white girl, who couldn’t really dance - and that was okay, she tried!

Kate barely tried. A single almost-gesture that communicated she’d fulfilled her social contract and was ready to leave.

Rickea closed it out and made it look easy. She always knew what she was doing.

They watched the playback together on a managers’ phone. Malonga watched Paige’s section from the corner of her eye with the expression of someone processing new information about the world and choosing not to comment on it immediately. Cam folded about four seconds in - not mockingly, just the helpless collapse of someone watching something they genuinely hadn’t predicted. Rickea kept going but her shoulders were shaking.

@breezebasketballclub posted it the following morning - December sixteenth - and she found out it had taken off when she woke up on the seventeenth because someone in the facility said, loud enough to carry, that “Paige Bueckers apparently had absolutely no rhythm and the internet was not letting it go.” The clip had gone everywhere overnight, Overtime had clearly had an absolute field day. The comment section had reached a verdict by consensus. She would read through them in the uber home, the way she read everything - fast, then slower on the ones that landed. She was not going to be precious about this. She would open the notes app, create a folder, not name it, and copy three comments that stood out. Not to dwell on. As material. Fuel. Filed for later.

The individual media rounds ran from noon. Forty-five minutes, same twelve questions, different voices asking them. She’d learned to find what was actually true in each version and lead with that. It was the only way to make it not sound like she’d said it forty-five times already.

On collective leadership: “There’s no vet on this team. We’re all figuring it out - me included. That’s actually kind of exciting.”

On the league: “With Phee and Stewie being the founders, you just want to support the women who came before you. They continue to pave the way. I started in college just being a fan, appreciating what this means for women’s basketball. That part hasn’t changed.”

On the format: “I played a lot of three-on-three when I was younger - Junior USA, Junior Olympics. The muscle memory is there. It’s different from five-on-five, brings a completely different dynamic. I’m excited to see what it looks like when the stakes are real.”

On being the youngest roster: “Youth is a variable. It’s about what you do with it.”

The CBA question came midway through, as she'd known it would. Someone from the left side of the room, recorder tilted, a journalist who had been waiting to ask it all session and was not going to pretend they hadn't been. She took the half-second she'd learned to take - not a sigh, just calibration, the beat before the questions that required more precision not less.

“At this point it's not really a negotiation anymore,” she said. “Both sides aren't moving in any meaningful way. We as players don't want to have a strike. We want to have a season. But there are things that need to be handled, and we want to do it as professionals.” She let a beat land. “That's all I'll say.”

She meant it. The CBA was real and the stakes were real and women's basketball players had been underpaid for the entirety of the professional game's existence, and she had thoughts about all of it that could fill four hours. She gave them the frame and kept the building. That was the only way to do it without becoming the story rather than the person commenting on it.

Noelle fielded a question in the same session about adjusting to the format. “This is a little bit of a different format, so it's new for me as well,” she said, probably also feeling herself caught up in the repetitious cycle of media. “There's going to be a learning curve. I've been watching a lot of Unrivaled tape. But at the end of the day it's still a hoop, and these athletes are young and talented and have been playing against the people they'll face here their entire careers. I like where we're starting from.”

Paige liked the answer. She liked the honesty of it specifically, a coach who named the gap between what she knew and what the context required rather than pretending the gap wasn't there. She filed it under the same category as the thirty seconds before Noelle said anything at the morning session. Some things you knew early and they didn't change.

The nutrition programme question came near the end - someone near the back who had clearly read every line of the league documents before walking into the room, which was impressive given they’d only been public for a couple of hours. She clocked it. Said nothing. That wasn’t the point.

“Paige, there’s been a lot of conversation over the years about physicality at this level, and recently, about how you’d step into it… your frame, your injury history. Now the league has announced dedicated nutrition specialists for every player. Does that feel like something that’s come at the right time for you specifically?”

She took the half-second. “I think it speaks to what this league is trying to do,” she said. “Athlete-first, and they mean it... That’s not a small thing. That’s why I’m here.” A deep breath. “So yeah… I’m looking forward to it.”

She meant the first part. The second part she was working on.

The body question came near the end of the session, which was where it usually came - saved for last, slipped in under the wire, phrased carefully enough to suggest it wasn't the thing they'd been building toward but plainly was. “There's been a lot of conversation this season around your physicality,” someone said. “The adjustment to the professional level. Heading into Unrivaled, is that something you've been working on?”

She took the half-second she always took. “Everybody at this level is strong and experienced,” she said. “It's about continuing to develop, taking care of your body, putting yourself in the best position to compete every night. That's the work.”

Strong. She'd said that word so many times this year it had almost stopped meaning anything specific. It was a direction disguised as a fact; a thing she was moving toward, presented as a thing she already possessed in sufficient quantity. The journalists nodded and wrote something down and she watched them do it and thought about the version of the answer that existed underneath the one she'd given.

What surfaced, briefly and without her permission, was the conversation she’d overheard from the tunnel at College Park Center. September. Last game of the season. Two women in the row above her, talking the way people talked about athletes who were still in the room - casually, like fame would negate proximity and they wouldn’t be overheard. She'd caught it mid-sentence and stood completely still in the shadow of the tunnel entrance and listened. It hadn't been mean. That was the thing she always came back to. It had been the tone of a reasonable observation, tossed between two people who had no idea she was there.

Lowkey she's kinda skinny for this level.

Yeah… but she still gets wherever she wants.

And then they'd moved on, as easily as they'd started, the way people did when they hadn't said anything that felt like a thing. She'd kept walking. Hadn't turned. Hadn't done anything that would have suggested she'd caught a single syllable of it.

It sat there though. The way it always did - not loud, not sharp, just there. Same feeling, different register. A journalist with a recorder was not the same as two strangers in a tunnel. She knew that. The feeling wasn’t entirely different. She’d never said that out loud and wasn’t starting now.

The journalists nodded and wrote something down. She watched them do it and thought about the version of the answer that existed underneath the one she'd given. The version that had said, she'd been “managing patellar tendonitis since high school. Every day, every practice, every game.” She'd said that out loud earlier in the season, in a room not unlike this one. “You manage it at all times. There's no day where it probably doesn't hurt.” And before that, the tibial plateau fracture. And before that, the ACL. By the time she arrived in this league she'd already rebuilt her body twice, had already made her peace with pain as a permanent condition of her existence as a professional athlete, had already learned to perform at a level that made none of that visible. And still the conversation circled back to the frame. As if surviving wasn't evidence. As if rebuilding yourself twice said nothing about what you were made of.

She took it seriously. She'd been taking it seriously for years, which was why she'd named the gap herself in September, in the privacy of a car at night. The gap was real. The solution was hers. She just wasn't going to explain how she knew, not here, not in this room. The moment she put it in language these cameras could use, it stopped being hers. It became a narrative about limitations rather than a problem she'd already started solving, and she'd spent enough time watching herself get discussed in terms of what she couldn't do to have no interest in providing new material.

“Do you feel like it's affected your game?” someone followed up.

“It's part of development,” she said. And moved on.

Phee found her later at the water station, in between individual shoots. Of course she did. She poured herself a water and stood next to her and didn’t say anything for a moment, in the way of someone who had been watching out for you and was just now confirming you were okay.

“The programme,” Phee said.

“I know.”

“Your answer in there was diplomatic.”

“It was accurate.”

Phee looked at her. Napheesa Collier looking at you was its own experience - the weight of intelligence that was both strategic and personal, that tracked what you were saying and what you weren't and didn't pretend not to notice the gap. She was one of the best basketball players in the world and she had also built this league, and those two things coexisted in her in a way that produced a kind of authority that wasn't about status.

“I know what you think about it,” Phee said.

“Then you know I'm going to do it.”

“I know you're going to show up. I'm asking if you're going to be present.”

Paige drank her water. This was the question. Showing up was the baseline - what you owed the institution, what any professional owed a programme they'd agreed to. Being present was different. Actually open, actually receiving what someone was trying to give you rather than managing the transaction from behind the professional face until it was over. She'd been declining to do that for six years, not because she was stubborn but because the alone had worked. She'd built herself twice. She'd come back from two surgeries and managed chronic pain and rebuilt trust in a body that had failed her, and she'd done all of it on her own terms in her own way without anyone's framework, and the alone had produced a rookie season and a Rookie of the Year award and thirty straight games in double figures to start her career, a number no guard in the history of this league had ever reached. The alone had worked. Which made it the hardest thing in the world to put down.

There was also the other thing, the thing underneath the practical resistance, the one she didn't examine directly but that was there if she was willing to look at it honestly. She didn't want help with this one. Not because she was above it. But because the narrative around her body had been managed by other people's opinions for long enough that the idea of bringing someone else into it - handing the assessment over, allowing someone else to define the gap and design the intervention - felt uncomfortably close to conceding the point. To admitting the version of the conversation she'd been declining to have all season. She knew the gap. She'd found it herself. She'd diagnosed it in two possessions in September and had been quietly building her understanding of it ever since. That was hers. The solution would be hers too. She didn't need someone to tell her what she already knew.

“The person we've assigned to you is good,” Phee said. She didn't say how she knew. She didn't say what she'd read or what she'd been involved in selecting or how far back the attention went. She just said, “good,” which was its own kind of information about what she knew and what she'd decided to give Paige of it. “She's been thinking about the gap you're dealing with for a long time,” she said. “Longer than the job. That's all I'll say.”

Paige looked at her.

Phee held the look. Patient. She'd said what she meant and was going to let it land. “I know what you think about it,” she said. “I know you've named it yourself. I know you have a plan.” A pause. “I'm not asking you to give up the plan. I'm asking you to be in the room.”

“Three sessions,” Phee said. “Give it three sessions before you make a decision. That's all I'm asking. Three sessions and then you get to have an opinion.”

Three sessions. A low bar and a non-negotiable one at the same time, which was exactly how Phee operated - here is the minimum you owe the thing I built, and it is framed generously enough that declining it is impossible without revealing something about yourself you'd rather not reveal. Paige had sat across the table from Napheesa Collier in board settings and understood this about her before she'd understood almost anything else, she didn't argue. She arranged situations so that the right thing was also the easiest thing, and then she waited.

“Three sessions,” Paige said.

Phee nodded. Done. “Your team is going to be fun to watch,” she said. “I genuinely mean that.” And she was gone, down the hallway in the opposite direction, already somewhere else, already three steps ahead of this conversation.

Paige stood at the water station for a moment longer than she needed to. Turned it over. The breakfast table. The labelling system. The broccolini that counted. The dark curls she’d clocked twice now without seeing a face. She was building something she didn’t have a name for yet. She told herself she’d name it when she had more information. She went to find her team.

The afternoon was photos and more press and the social texture of fifty-four athletes in the same building, which produced its own energy; conversations happening in hallways, people who'd been opponents all season finding each other in common areas and being easy with each other in the way you were easy with people you'd spent years competing against and therefore understood completely. She talked to Chelsea Gray for four minutes about spacing in the three-on-three format and it was one of the better basketball conversations she'd had all month. Gray played like she had decided years ago to be the best at this and had been quietly proving it with the intelligence of someone who had decided she was going to be the best at this and had been proving it quietly and consistently for years. Paige was going to enjoy the matchup.

She found Zaza at the end of the afternoon in the common area with the end-of-day energy of someone who was ready to just be twenty-three again, not a professional basketball player. “How are you?” Zaza said, which meant something more specific than the words.

“I'm good.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“I know.” Paige sat down next to her. The corridor was quieter now, the day winding down, most of the press gone. “The programme.”

“I figured.”

“Individual assignments are coming tonight.”

“I know.” Zaza looked at her sideways. “You already know it's the right thing.”

“I know the logic is right.”

“That's not the same thing.”

“No,” Paige said. “It's not.”

Zaza was quiet for a moment. Then: “You don’t have to trust the plan. You just have to trust the person long enough to find out if the plan is right.”

Paige thought about this. “That's the thing though. I don't know the person.”

“Not yet.”

Paige looked at the floor. Not yet. Which was technically true and felt like more than that.

“The breakfast this morning,” Zaza said, more carefully. “That was from the performance kitchen. From whoever they've assigned to you.”

Paige looked at her.

“The development pool room is next to it. I could hear.” She paused. “She's been here since December twenty-sixth. Alone. Just setting up. The labelling system, all of it.”

December twenty-sixth. The day after Christmas. Paige thought about that, about arriving in a city the day after Christmas to set up a kitchen correctly before anyone arrived to use it. About being alone in a facility for weeks before the season started. About what it said about someone that they showed up that early and that quietly, without announcement, without making anything of it.

“Okay,” Paige said.

“Okay meaning?”

“Okay meaning I heard you.”

Zaza nodded. Left it there.

By five o'clock she had been in the building for nine hours and had eaten the eggs at seven-fifteen and the broccolini at eight-thirty and basically nothing after that. This was not a complaint and was not something she was particularly aware of in real time - the day had the quality long professional days had - the adrenaline of being required to be switched-on did a decent job of substituting for everything else, and she'd run on that substitution before. What she noticed, at five o'clock, walking between the final session and the locker room, was that her legs felt slightly wrong. Not tired wrong, she knew tired, knew what muscle fatigue felt like after real exertion and this wasn't that. More like flat. Like the charge had run low somewhere underneath everything and was doing its best to hold on without making a scene. She put it in the later pile, where most things her body reported in the middle of a long day went. She'd deal with it later.

She didn't deal with it later. She went to the court instead.

The building had mostly cleared by six. Staff were wrapping. The lighting rigs were coming down. The Sephora Studio was being packed away. Paige changed back into her own clothes and walked the facility alone for a few minutes - the court, the film room, the corridor outside the second practice space, the hallway on the second floor where the performance offices were. At the end of the hall: a door with a small printed label. Nutrition/Recovery Kitchen: Staff. The light underneath it was off. She kept walking. She went back to the court.

She picked up a ball and stood at the three-point line without doing anything for a moment. The facility was quiet enough that the first bounce carried - sharp and clean, nothing to absorb it. She liked courts like this. Empty but lit. Still available, not required.

She dribbled to the wing. Net. The sound the net made was different from any other sound in the world and always had been, since she was six years old. Clean and certain and entirely hers. She moved to the corner. Net. The elbow. Net. A pull-up from the free-throw line that felt slightly off; she took it again, found the correction and made the second one. Better.

Not a workout. Not structured. Just the cleanest version of herself available after a day that had required a lot of the other versions. No professional face. No diplomatic answer. No management of how something landed in a room. Just her and the net; is it going in or isn’t it. The answer was always hers.

She thought about the day while she shot, which was something she’d learned to do rather than fight. The thinking was going to happen; better to let it happen while her body was doing something it knew. The session with Noelle. The team in a room for the first time. The briefing. Phee’s announcement landing in the way things land when they’re right and still uncomfortable. The email at the end of it all. Someone with a folder. Someone she didn’t know yet.

The part she kept for places like this - empty courts, end of long days, nobody watching - was the other thing. The thing underneath the diagnosis. She had done the work. All of it. Come back from every surgery that by rights should have taken years from her game and hadn’t, managed daily pain she’d simply factored into the cost of being herself, rebuilt trust in her own body twice from near zero. That work was real and she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. She had arrived in this league with everything she’d built. That wasn’t nothing.

But she’d been using what she’d survived as evidence that she had everything she needed, and those weren’t the same ledger. Survival was one column. Optimal was another. She had been very, very good at the first one for so long that she’d let herself blur the line between them. Phee had said it from the outside tonight without knowing she was saying it. Paige had known it from the inside since September. Both angles pointed at the same thing.

​​​​​​​​She shot again. Net. Pulled up from the elbow. Net.

She was going to give Phee the three sessions. She was going to be present. She was going to go in with her own diagnosis already made and her own understanding already built, because that was hers and she wasn't handing it over. But she was also - quietly, in the private ledger she kept only on empty courts - starting to let herself wonder what it would look like to not be doing the accounting entirely alone.

She put the ball back and got her things and went outside into a Miami evening that was warm and amber and entirely unconcerned with what kind of day she'd had. She ordered a car. She stood on the pavement waiting for it and looked at the building behind her and thought about the season that was starting. The team she had. The format that was built for her brain. The foundation problem she'd been carrying since September, which she was going to address, on her own terms, in her own time, starting with three sessions she'd promised Phee.

The car arrived. She got in.

Her phone buzzed before she'd told the driver the address. The email had a subject line she recognised immediately.

Individual Performance Nutrition Assignment - Breeze BC.

She opened it in the back of the car with the Miami streets going past the windows.

Player: Paige Bueckers.

Nutrition Specialist: Azzi Fudd, MS, RD.

She went straight to Google. She always looked things up. Columbia. A master's in sports nutrition and performance dietetics, recently completed in October. Twenty-three years old - a year younger than Paige - which landed as a detail that took a moment to place. Two lines of professional biography that were clean and specific and told her nothing about approach or philosophy or what the person was actually like in a room. No image attached. Nothing to give her away.

She held the phone for a moment.

No preconceptions in either direction. That was the thing she kept coming back to. She'd had wrong frameworks put on her before - coaches, trainers, the get in the weight room people, the frame people, the people who arrived with a conclusion already formed and then arranged the evidence to fit it - and she knew the cost of that, the cost of managing someone else's wrong story about your body on top of everything else you were managing. No preconceptions beat wrong ones. She’d learned that. She had no idea who this person was, which meant she also had no reason yet to defend against who they might be. That was something. She could work with that.

She put the phone in her pocket and looked out the window at the city.

She thought about a kitchen set up on December twenty-sixth. About a person who had arrived in Miami the day after Christmas with no players in the building yet, no team, nothing to set up for except the eventual fact of it. Who had organised a refrigerator system and labelled everything and prepared a breakfast spread for a media day twelve days away and then been at the end of the table at eight forty-seven in the morning checking labels she'd already checked, because that was the work and the work was what she came for.

Longer than the job.

That phrase had been sitting with her since the water station corridor and she'd been turning it over the way she turned things over, looking for the shape, the edge, trying to understand exactly what it was telling her. Someone who had been thinking about the gap she was carrying for a long time. Before the job existed. Before Paige had any idea. The foundation problem she'd diagnosed herself in September, in the privacy of a car at night, that she'd been building a solution for alone ever since - someone else had apparently been looking at it too, from the outside, from a distance, without access to how it felt from the inside. And had come to Miami about it.

She wasn't sure what to do with that. She wasn't going to pretend it was nothing. She filed it in the place she filed things she wasn't ready to examine yet, alongside the breakfast labels and the half-second at the table and the notes app folder she'd created 15 minutes ago that still didn't have a name.

She'd give it three sessions.

The car moved through the amber Miami evening and she watched the city go past - lit intersections, restaurants still open, the warm continuousness of a place that never paused - and told herself she was done thinking about it for tonight. She was going to call her dad. She was going to eat something real, properly this time, not whatever the adrenaline of the day had been standing in for. She was going to go to sleep because training camp officially started in two days and she had a season to build.

She was mostly successful at not thinking about it.

Mostly.

Her phone buzzed. Not a comment. A notification - TikTok - the kind that meant something had been posted.

@breezebasketballclub Feeling breezy in Miami 🌬️

PB5...Year 1 in @unrivaledbasketball loading 📶

She watched it for a moment. The video was the one they'd shot that afternoon; her walking slowly into a spotlight, the Sephora Tunnel lit the way it was lit for games, the light that made everything coming through it look like it had been waiting to arrive. They'd filmed it as part of the intro package. She hadn't seen it until now.

She watched it twice. Then she put her phone face-down on the seat beside her, not before turning on do not disturb once more, and looked out at the amber Miami evening going past.

Year One loading.

“Yeah,” she said, to no one in particular. “Okay.”

The car kept moving.

[pboogerswbb]

PYRAMIDS - chapter 5

Paige Bueckers x stripper!oc Warnings: internalised homophobia, descriptions of violence and possibly disturbing things, substance abuse, smut, sex work, slight discussions about religion, cheating, the smut is filthy and a little rough bewarned (PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE READING) Wordcount: 12K A/C: grace is not grace berger this is NOT A GRACE BERGER X PAIGE BUECKERS FIC

-

2026, DALLAS, TX

The firm, pebbled rubber is oddly hot in Paige’s hands as she alternates the ball between them. Left, right, left right. The way she’s done countless times. It’s just her - no audience, no team, just the ball and a basket and Paige’s swift feet. Bright red numbers glaring down at her from the scoreboard, reading 0-0.

The smell of her childhood gym overpowers everything else, taking her back to being barely 10-years-old, her dad’s whistle somewhere in the distance when it was time to make a play. Here the time doesn’t run, but Paige knows it has to be now. She throws the ball all the way from the logo, watching it fly. It swishes through the net like a dream. The buzzer light goes, but there’s no sound. No shift on the scoreboard. It’s just as before. 0-0.

Wondrously, a second ball materialises directly into Paige’s hands. She throws again. Nothing but net. Still no point. Just as she’s about to shoot a third time something stops her. A howl of wind. Cool blow breathing down her neck. The air shifts into a winter night, the lines on the maple court disappearing under pure, white snow. 

Suddenly it’s everywhere, covering all of the court untouched. At once, Paige’s toes ache and stiffen from the cold, her breath an abstract cloud of fog reappearing with each exhale. The weight of the ball is gone from her hands. So is the hoop. Looking down, Paige sees her shirt covered in glitter just as white as the snow. She tries to wipe it off, over and over. None of it even shifts, sharp against her palms and cutting into her skin.

A laugh bubbles across, carried by the howl of the wind. Lana’s laugh. Paige’s ears perk up, eyes drawn to the single door out of this place. From underneath she can already see pink and purple light and smoke hizzing low and heavy. Before she can finish her thought Paige is already standing by the concrete, heavy bass and incoherent chatter of crowds booming from behind it. She tries the handle but the door only clicks, locked. Like a miracle Paige finds a key from her pocket slipping it in easily. It fits, and turns just like it’s supposed to - but the door doesn’t open, no matter how perfectly it seems to match the lock. Frustration growing she yanks on it, tugging on the handle desperately. To her shock it unlocks from the inside, sliding open finally.

Behind it there is a red velvet curtain. Paige slips through it, the door shutting behind her with a loud slam. She bumps into a group of people at some sort of club, haunted by that one laughter she’s chasing. The crowd won’t move, stiff and unwilling to give way for Paige who drags her sneakers in the snow. In the back of her head she can feel eyes boring into her scalp. She really shouldn’t be recognised. Her cold hands fly to her neck, fingers itching for the cool metal. The nervous habit of playing with her cross is in vain, there’s no chain around her neck. Funny, Paige can’t remember the last time she took the cross off.

As she keeps struggling further in the snow, gorgeous girls in tiny clothes and long legs wrapped around poles surround her. Engraved with beautiful details only to their long necks, for they’re missing faces like someone forgot to finish them off - like something from a horror movie. Paige knows they’re there without having to look, their heels digging into the snow. They all spin identically, nonexistent eyes staring at Paige. She pushes deeper in the crowd that’s seeming to slowly allow her through a winding path. She feels herself growing antsy, where is her chain? Where is Lana?

At last, lying in a bed of fur coats there’s Lana. Lovely as ever, half nude and running her hands along the soft fabrics all around her. Just as Paige lets the relief in, a man crawls in, shaking snow off his shoes. Paige can’t explain. She just senses it. The upcoming danger, the impending doom that sits heavy at the bottom of her gut, a bite of an unchewed apple getting stuck in her throat.

“Lana!” Paige yells but the girl won’t hear. The man inches closer. Paige tries to run but is blinded by headlights so bright she doubts her irises will ever recover. Her body jolts so hard she feels it in her chest, a sharp pain slamming into her knee spreading throughout her body. Blinded by the lights, she only sees the white pure snow disrupted by trickles of blood red drops dirtying the pure, untouched canvas. The moment Paige tilts her head upwards the laughter echoes in her ears again, and even still the moment the mattress shifts and she’s back in her bedroom among the scent of clean cotton and the lilacs in the vase.

A clumsy hand rubs tired eyes, pushing the heavy duvet off her overheating body. The cool air is like diving into fresh water after sunbathing too long. Paige kicks her leg off the bed, the claustrophobic sensation of the girl warm as the sun pressing into her side, clinging in fear of the blonde slipping away. It’s too late.

Paige pushes her off, careful not because she cares but because she doesn’t need Grace waking up with her. Paige liked her quiet mornings, the silence of the house only filled with a single pair of footsteps. She makes breakfast for one, scrambling eggs with peppers, sweats hanging low on her waist. The nausea hits in waves, a pounding in her head as a reminder of what occurred last night. If it wasn’t for the practice she had sworn to go to and a team she would give her life for she’d still be in bed, dreaming of whatever greasy food her body craved at the minute.

The sourdough toasting causes rumbles to rise from Paige’s stomach as she stares at her phone screen - the blank conversation, the empty page that might grow into anything. She leans into the counter staring at the contact. L is all she wrote out for a name in an effort not to get caught. As if that made it any better. Paige had officially become the asshole she fought so hard not to be.

Hi

Paige’s finger hovers over send. It would be the final dive into the depths. Final game over. She looks over to the cookie jar on the counter, half empty now. Her mother’s recipe. Jesus. She closes the app, reading through ESPN instead. The words turn to gibberish, she can’t pick up a single headline before she’s returning back to the blank texts.

Did you get home safe?

“Your eggs are burning,” a soft voice drifts from the living room, gentle eyes still tired.

Paige jumps, urgently closing the app and tossing her phone into her pocket to stir through the eggs to get them unstuck from the pan.

“Just a little brown,” Paige murmurs, turning off the stove.

The girl tiptoes over wearing an old blue UConn shirt she stole from Paige, pressing her lips on the blonde’s bare shoulder. 

“Good morning babe,” she hums, wrapping her arms a little too tight around Paige’s torso. 

“Mornin’” Paige answers, feeling her throat tighten.

“Hungover?” Grace giggles, nuzzling her nose against Paige’s ear. Paige chuckles nervously as she slips away to the fridge for anything to drink.

“Clearly,” Paige answers, pouring the orange juice down her throat straight out of the carton.

“Stop, you know I hate that,” Grace scolds as she walks over.

Paige swallows. It was too early for this. Her head was killing. She didn’t need to be scolded like some teenager.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she grunts, putting the carton back in. The girl goes quiet, walking around the island and sitting down. Her green eyes follow Paige as she prepares a plate for herself, never looking up.

“Will you be fine by tomorrow? You know my pa-”

“I know your parents are coming, Grace,” Paige spits. The words come rushed and harsh. Maybe it’s the headache pounding between her ears.

“Fine,” Grace huffs, going quiet again. It has been like this for months now. The harder Paige grew, the more sensitive and fragile Grace became. The harder she tried the further she pushed Paige who felt far away at this point. On another planet.

“Sorry,” Paige says. It’s all she can say. She doesn’t care to explain and she can’t be better. It’s against her nature she’s found.

“It’s okay, I know you’re tired,” Grace excuses, always forgiving her far too easily. “Well, my dad wanted to go to a nice restaurant tomorrow. Around eight? They’re really excited, y’know. My mom loves seeing us together-”

The words blur into the background as Paige eats standing up, back facing her girlfriend. Her eyes are stuck on her phone, trying to choose the right words. Each of them seem corny, too needy. If there only was a way to reach out without seeming so desperate. Paige couldn’t think of a single one - the only thing she knew for certain was she had to send that text. She wanted to swim in Lana, to be consumed and to consume her the same. To cross that threshold. It had become impossible to resist the temptation.

“Paige? Are you even listening?”

Paige darkens her screen, flipping the phone away.

“Yeah, sure,” she glances over her shoulder. The disappointed expression she sees breaks her heart. Paige hated being the cause of that.

As Grace jumps off the seat, Paige nods the girl over. Obedient as always she makes her way around the island even with a pout on her lips. The blonde pulls her in, lifting her onto the marble counter.

“Paige, I need to go shower,” the girl whines but melts into her anyway the moment Paige kisses her long neck. Her hands run along the girl’s soft thighs, squeezing them. It had been well over a month since Paige had touched Grace this way, immediately making her putty in her hands. Paige knew it was overdue, that only this would get the sad look off the girl’s face.

“Paige,” Grace giggles, scratching along Paige’s back. There are no goosebumps, no jolt in her stomach. 

The blonde pulls back, kissing her girlfriend before lifting her back down.

“Go shower,” she smiles, smacking the girl’s butt as she hops away suddenly joyed.

“You should come with me,” Grace teases, giggling her way into the bathroom. But Paige is already far away with the device on her hands staring into the bright glare of the screen. 

What did u put in that drink? My head kills

She presses send, still tasting Lana in her mouth. The house quiets again, the weight rolling off Paige’s shoulders.

-

There’s an ache in Lana’s feet and a blister blooming at her heel from the new boots she bought, causing her to hiss as she rubs the pain away. She leans her back against the couch that was already here when she moved in, stretching her legs along the beige carpet. With her brown eyes glued to the TV the glare washes out her pale skin as night falls outside the dirty windows. She curls her knees to her chest, resting the bowl of cereal between them where bruises are beginning to form blue and purple.

“Okay,” Lexi pants, brushing through her blonde hair urgently. “I’m off.” 

She’s dressed uncharacteristically in all black, pulling on stiletto boots. Off to see some French man with more money than either of them could imagine. They both know what she’s off to do. No reason to mention it.

Lana lifts her eyes from the tv, eyeing her best friend.

“You’re trying to be classy now?” She asks. The words come out clumsy. 

Lana hated it, the way she could live in this country all her life and yet never reach the subtle intricacies of the English language. No matter how hard she tries, she never comes off quite right. She was never funny the way she intended, and somehow always rude. She wasn’t a cold person. There was warmth in her and humor beyond sarcasm. It was English - the language just didn’t quite fit in her mouth.

“Oui,” Lexi grins, eyes dragging to the TV blasting in the background as she smooths over the black dress. “What on earth are you watching?”

“I put it on for you,” Lana mumbles, mouth full of cereal. She swallows it, pointing her spoon to the screen not caring about the milk dripping all over the floor. “Isn’t this what lesbians watch?”

“Haha, how funny,” Lexi groans, strutting over and kissing the top of Lana’s head. A loud roar bursts from the TV.

“Stay safe,” Lana tells her friend strutting towards the door, eyes locked elsewhere.

“I wi- Lana!” Lexi whines, looking over her shoulder. “Is that my cereal again?!”

Lana shrugs, waving her off. “You can make that French man buy you more.”

“I told you not to eat it.”

Lana rolls her eyes, finishing her last bite defiantly. “I will get you more next week.”

“Next week?” Lexi hits the back of Lana’s head, something her mother used to do. She jumps with the sting.

“Tomorrow,” Lana groans, rubbing over her head.

Lexi’s about to argue, knowing her friend far too well. But time ticks away.

“I need to go,” Lexi huffs, fixing her hair one more time, eyes glancing towards the game. “Isn’t that your blondie? Paige?”

The camera closes in on Paige Bueckers at the free-throw line, letting the ball spin between her hands before she takes her first shot.

“Aren’t you late?” Lana reminds her, watching as she scrambles. “You look hot, go make some money.”

“Okay, love you!” Lexi waves, rushing out the door. Lana never said it back. In her family they never said words so meaningful so casually. It wasn’t a greeting, it was a declaration. She did love Lexi, there was no need for her to remind the girl at every moment.

“And Paige Bueckers with 32 now leading the Wings to another playoff victory. It’s looking up for the young player in her first WNBA playoffs.”

Lana watches, eyes dragging to the jersey number five. She didn’t understand much about the sport, and didn’t need to. Paige Bueckers was good. Really good. She could hear from the endless praise coming from the mouths of commentators, the way the crowd reacted to her. Suddenly the blonde seemed a million times more powerful.

Lana opens the text from Paige left unanswered. She didn’t mean for her number to be used in such a casual way. It was just in case the blonde needed her. Replying could be dangerous. It might cross some sort of imaginary line between Lana remaining a mere concept to her turning into a real character in Paige’s story.

Nothing unusual. Americans are all bad drinkers.

She sends it anyway, putting the phone down beside the bowl with only a spoonful of milk left. Maybe it’ll be a good thing. Maybe they both need a friend right now.

Oh u think u can drink more than me?

The notification lights up her screen soon after, causing Lana’s mouth to spread into a subtle smile as she’s already typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

Please. I’m Ukrainian. American drinks are mostly juice anyway.

-

The tall room stirs in an organised manner like a banquet hall might, the orderly chaos of waiters and customers performing their nightly routines. Cutlery and glassware play melodies, real crystal of the wine glasses harmonising with the sounds of the room. The polite discussions, the pleasant jazz, loud laughter from table number four where birthday celebrations continue according to the flaming candles being blown out by an older gentleman. His wife dotes and fusses, insisting on cutting him a piece of his vanilla bean cake. The pair move with a harmony only decades of marriage and life together can create. Still, the man leans over towards the stunning young waitress, letting his eye linger on her backside when she walks by.

Paige cuts into her steak, eyeing the couple. It was a restaurant she only went to any time Grace’s parents came to town, her dad obsessed with the lobster. If it had been up to her she’d be having some barbeque, ribs and coleslaw, preferably at home in her pajamas. Alone. It seemed she never got to be alone anymore. Even in her own house that she paid for.

“So I told the guy he needs to place an offer tomorrow or the place will be gone.”

Mr. Miller loved talking work. He came from a long line of real-estate agents, focusing on the more luxurious side of things - no studios or anything south of Dallas. Only the finest for his clients. That’s how Paige had met Grace, looking for a new home with the help of Mr. Miller and his intern daughter, trying to follow in his footsteps. Mr. Miller essentially sold Paige her first house and in return she ended up making love to his daughter before the papers were even signed. It’s funny, Paige doesn’t even know when they ended up becoming more. In the rookie year chaos Grace sort of slipped in, suddenly calling Paige her partner and living in that very house she sold.

Paige laughs along with the table, Grace’s hand on her knee holding on like she might slip from her grasp. The blonde’s not sure what the joke was, her mind somewhere else. Her eyes are locked on the expensive red velvet the chairs are lined with, transforming in her mind into the heavy curtains from her dream some nights ago. It was just a faint memory now, the images becoming hazy. But the velvet she remembers, the way it lined every wall and door like a labyrinth. 

Nostrils flaring, Paige’s phone lights up on her lap. Tilting the phone slightly, her eyes drop to the screen.

When are you playing your next game?

She bites on her lower lip to stop the smile from forming as she already types back.

Tomorrow. You gonna watch?

No. Just need to know when to avoid my TV.

A quiet chuckle spills from Paige’s lips. Before she can reply, a picture pops up. Lana flipping off a pair of boots on the ground, long nails decorated with rhinestones. It must be taken in her apartment, other shoes piled next to them. Paige zooms in on the background for any hints or clues. She needed to know more - to know everything.

These shoes are making my feet bleed

U got new nails

Another picture, now of Lana’s small hand to show off the brand new acrylics, grabbing a bottle of water. Paige sits up straighter, trying to push the images certainly not appropriate for right now out of her head.

I like them

You haven’t come to see me

There’s a chill that runs from her spine causing goosebumps to rise at her arms against the linen of her shirt. 

U miss me?

“Well the marble you have is great quality, right Paige?”

Paige’s eyes shoot up from her lap to the expectant faces surrounding her, confusion all over her expression. There’s a moment, a beat too long until Grace chuckles and wraps an arm around Paige’s wrist. 

“It’s so nice,” Grace smiles, answering for her girlfriend.

Paige drops the phone screen down onto her lap, feeling it buzz against her thigh. She can already feel Grace tensing up, squeezing her tighter than necessary. The phone buzzes again, the sweet girl beside her glaring at it.

“Sorry, talkin’ bout some deal with Nike,” Paige apologises, turning her phone on do not disturb - but not before she sees the text back.

I miss your money.

-

The burning in Lana’s back informs her of the countless preying pairs of eyes digging into her skin. She didn’t have to do much, the slight lean against the empty table and the vape between her lips enough to draw the attention of men everywhere. Lana’s dark eyes are on the stage though, watching Lexi crawling half naked over the platform, cash flying at her like snowflakes that drift with a peaceful grace.

Lana digs out her phone, wiping her burning nose. She doesn’t hesitate when the texts open. The coke always made her a little too courageous. 

When are you coming to see me?

“How much?” A guy barely in his twenties judging by the startled look on his face asks, tapping Lana on the shoulder.

“Ugh. No,” Lana shoos him off, not caring about hurt feelings or pleading eyes, her gaze locked on the lit up screen. He might as well be air. She watches the three dots appear in the bubble, heel tapping against the wood impatiently.

If u miss me u could just call me

Lana’s tongue flicks over her glossed lips. Texting was fine, Lana had decided so. But calling felt a million times more intimate. Like letting a stranger know where you held your spare key. Besides, it’s not like Lana missed her - or anyone for that matter. She wasn’t a misser. People come and go, that’s life. But she preferred Paige’s company over these men tonight, and most nights. 

Before Lana gets the chance to reply, another message pops up.

Or u miss what I did to that pussy?

The girl giggles, partly covering her mouth. Here is world famous Paige Bueckers sending her dirty texts. Just the thought made Lana’s stomach flip, reminded of last time. In all honesty Lana never really enjoyed sex. It had become so transactional even in her own life she couldn’t separate between the performance or the act itself. The show of it all is what she lives for, to be on display like that for the sake of someone else’s pleasure. With Paige it had been strange though, different. Sex with her seemed like something else.

If you keep talking like this I’m gonna have to charge 5 bucks a text

“Lana,” The bald-headed man calls from beside the stage, whistling her over like some tamed animal looking to obey its owner. In a way Johnny did own her, he would tell who Lana would entertain, whose bed she would keep warm. In return Johnny kept her safe, he fed her and kept her well. In some way they loved each other, or more so the exchange between the two - the one that kept money in his pocket and coke in Lana’s drawer.

“What now,” Lana rolls her eyes. At least Johnny never scolded her attitude. He knew it’s what drew the men in. With dragging steps the girl walks over, the scent of cologne nauseating her.

“Why did you turn that boy down?” Johnny hisses, nodding towards the scrawny boy sipping a margarita. “His dad-”

“I don’t do father and son. It’s creepy,” Lana interrupts the man, sipping on a vodka soda.

“Lana, baby, listen.” Johnny holds the girl still, trying to meet her restless gaze, which seems unable to focus on a single thing for more than a few fleeting seconds. “I owe his dad a big favour. No weird shit. Just him.”

Lana senses the desperation in Johnny’s voice and the way his fingers dig into her bare arms. Her brown eyes flick towards the boy, awkward and avoiding everyone’s gaze. A sense of pity washes over, only for a moment.

“I’ll eat him alive,” Lana groans. “Get Dolly.”

“Dolly’s home with her boyfriend,” Johnny complains, digging through his pockets for cash. He slides it into the band of Lana’s panties, lingering with his touch at her hip. 

“Right,” Lana rolls her eyes. It never made sense to her - trying to maintain a relationship in their line of work. There was no world in which it worked, not even childhood fairytales. The cash tickles against her back as she looks over again. “He’s over 21?”

“Yes, but Ion think there’s much uh, experience,” Johnny mumbles, the pair watching the guy pulling at his pants to hide his arousal over Lexi on stage.

“Jesus, the things I do for you,” Lana puffs her vape one more time before handing it to Johnny. “You owe me.”

-

The floral tones of Grace’s perfume intrude into Paige’s nostrils as the girl leans into her neck, sprawled over her lap. The movie playing on the TV is just a lull in the background, the real cause for Paige’s rapid heartbeat right on her phone. Her heart beats so loud she fears Grace might be able to feel it, her head pressed against her chest. 

“Can you play with my hair?” Grace asks in a whiny tone Paige hated - a tone that told her how much the girl really needed her. Paige wasn’t in a place for that sort of pressure in her life, she didn’t want to be needed. Not by her at least.

“I already did,” she murmurs, the words slurring off as she anxiously keeps opening the text left on read. It had been an hour and 12 minutes since Lana read it, yet there was no answer. Paige’s leg bounces up and down, the restlessness beginning to take over again.

“More,” the girl whines straight into her ear. Paige feels sick, her head elsewhere.

“Not now,” Paige huffs, sitting up so Grace is forced off her.

She looks up confused, pausing the movie.

“You don’t like it?”

Paige could see that look she knew so well, the one threatening a long, late night talk about feelings. She was so sick of talking about her feelings all the time, or listening to Grace’s. Didn’t they have anything else to talk about?

“S’ not that. I’m just thinkin’ bout the playoffs,” Paige lies, rubbing her tired face. Now that there was some space between them Paige could feel herself able to breathe better. The tightness in her chest remains, the rope tying around her heart.

Just as Grace is about to lean in, Paige stands up, sweats hanging low on her waist.

“I’ma go for a run,” is all the blonde says before slipping away from Grace. An hour and 13 minutes.

The nausea chokes down her neck, a sharp knot at the edge of her bobbing throat. A cool wind doesn’t bring the relief Paige hoped for, the humidity still weighs down on her like a heavy curtain. It doesn’t take long for her back to drip with sweat as she pulls her hood up, staring at the steady rhythm of her steps against the pavement. Every minute that passes without a vibration against her thigh is worse than the next. Her stomach drops with every breath.

Paige runs faster as her thoughts accelerate from fears to vivid images flashing through her head - Lana tangled with a man, naked and vulnerable like she was with Paige. Giving far too much to the men who only care about getting themselves off. Just using her as if she’s not even a person, like she’s just a concept, a pet, an object. The thought made Paige sick to her stomach. It wasn’t that she needed Lana to be hers. She was only worried that something would happen to the girl. That the men wouldn’t treat her with the respect Paige did, handling her like the fragile swan she was.

How many sex workers ended up hurt in their jobs? Or worse? Maybe there was safety in the club but up there in the motel room Lana was all alone. And what about when she got home? Paige was certain some of these guys were crazy, the types to follow a girl home. Lana was the exact type to attract men like that. So how could they be stopped? Who kept Lana safe?

Somehow she ends up back at her car, speeding along with a simple destination and adrenaline in her veins. Paige could see it vividly in her head, the blood on the white sheets, the fear in Lana’s eyes. She presses down on the gas, her chest aching with anxiety.

The usual half an hour in traffic is cut in half by Paige’s reckless driving. Her knuckles turn white against the steering wheel as she approaches the building she had come well acquainted with surprisingly fast. The Lonestar waits for Paige in the horizon under the dark sky sparkling with stars.

The sound of Paige’s laboured breaths fill the car as the engine stops, nostrils flaring with each exhale. She had no plan, no idea how she’d find Lana - only a determination that caused everything else to become a blur in a matter of seconds. Paige unbuckles her seatbelt, hand already on the handle when there’s a buzz. That expectant vibration against her leg. She stops, digging through her pockets for the device. Her dry eyes burn as they land on the screen, lighting up with a notification.

What I don’t miss is that ugly hat. The rest of you can come.

Relief washes over Paige, bright and ecstatic like a childhood Christmas. It hits her all at once, the aches of her chest washing away with the wave. She drops the phone onto her lap, smiling like an idiot. Like she wasn’t just sick to her stomach speeding through red lights. No blood drawn, no feathers ruffled. Lana safe and sound, surrounded by all these men and still texting her. Paige starts the car, driving off with the windows open, letting the air blow her blonde hair all over. As long as Lana was safe, Paige would be okay. As long as she kept texting.

-

“There’s chicken in the freezer, and I made burritos too, but you need to warm them up on your own okay? There’s some salad too and if you run out of food you can call my mom and go over there to eat.”

Grace has been fussing for what feels like hours, going through every nook of the house with Paige. She felt like a teenager being left alone for the first time. Grace’s warmth and maternal instincts had grown into full mom-mode in only a matter of the seven long months they had been dating. Paige stares at the wall, Grace’s words turning into incoherent mush. She might have felt offended if she didn’t feel so invisible. She wasn’t some incapable child. Paige had taken care of herself since before she should have - and taken care of others too. It’s what she prided herself on. Grace got her so wrong.

“I did your laundry but remember to take it out of the dryer,” Grace says, closing the fridge. The cold air flutters against Paige’s freckled face as she nods. Paige never felt so humiliated, so out of control. This was her apartment, her food in the fridge, all hers. But Grace somehow seemed to be everywhere.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Paige huffs, trying to hide her annoyance. She throws herself on the couch, pulling out her phone to cancel out the noise of the girl pesting her. Grace follows, pulling the device from the blonde’s hands.

“I’ll miss you baby,” she says, straddling Paige suddenly. The only thing Paige feels is the restless need to reach for her phone again.

“Yeah, miss you too,” Paige mumbles, ignoring the way Grace’s lips land on her pulsepoint, lingering there. Thankfully Paige didn’t bruise easy. “But it’s only a few days.”

“Already miss you,” Grace breathes into her ear, grinding her hips down. Paige knows exactly the meaning, practically feeling the girl purring and getting wet on her lap. God, it used to drive Paige crazy. Now she barely felt a tingle.

“What will you do without me?” The girl hums, pulling Paige’s idle hands to her hips. Paige’s tongue feels frozen, unable to utter a word - so she pulls on Grace’s dark locks and brings her mouth to hers. For a moment Paige thinks she can do this, her fingers already unbuttoning the girl’s jeans. With her eyes closed and the heavy breathing between the two Grace might as well be Lana, and these might be the very lips Paige has fantasised about ever since she met her.

“God, I need you,” Grace whines, her touch grazing over Paige’s shoulders.

“Been too long,” Paige huffs, seeing glitter and red velvet and smelling the smoke the moment she shuts her eyes.

“Need you to touch me baby,” Grace pleads, scared the fleeting moment might pass far too soon like it seemed to with Paige. Just as Paige’s big hand on Grace’s hip dips into the band of her jeans, the floral tones of Grace’s scent take over, bringing Paige back to her living room and the couch she never got to pick out herself. The moment she hesitates there’s a sudden ring of Grace’s phone and it’s over. Saved by the bell.

“Fuck,” Grace pants. “My Uber is here.”

“Shame,” Paige mutters, wiping her lips dry of the girl. Suddenly sober, the relief she feels when the weight of the girl is gone from her lap overwhelms her senses. Paige is already reaching for her phone, not bothering to walk Grace to the door.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few days. I love you,” Grace murmurs, walking over and kissing Paige’s forehead. 

“I love you too,” Paige says the words without feeling their weight. “Safe flight, ok?”

And then she’s gone with a slam of the door. The silence of Paige’s apartment rings like a symphony in her ears. Her fingers are already sliding over the letters on her screen, leaning into the cushions of the couch. She exhales. Finally.

What u doing thursday?

-

By Thursday evening Paige had already imagined the night a dozen different ways since Monday. In her mind it was hard to visualise the ethereal details of Lana’s face, turning her into a blurry outline of a human being. The details were elsewhere, in her scent, the way her skin felt, how electric Lana made the air around her. In Paige’s imagination she had become a feeling, an allegory, a mirage of Paige’s darkest fantasies. This made the missing part so much worse. Paige missed her terribly when she wasn’t in her line of view. It made everything insecure and uncertain, like she was just a creation of a tale, a made-up character. When Lana was gone, Paige feared she was never real. That she’d never lay her blue eyes on that porcelain skin, or imprint the details of her expressions into her brain.

These thoughts churned through Paige all day, the uncertainty of Lana even showing up. It was risky, the nice hotel filled with prestigious guests for the launch party of Paige’s new shoe with Nike. Suits and ties, champagne, shaking hands with strangers had become a new normal for her. All the business talk went straight over her head even worse than usual tonight. Thankfully no one seemed to notice when she retreated upstairs into the suite far too big for her considering she could just drive home anyway. She considered it, inviting Lana into her home. But the idea of the floral scent seeping into her skin was nauseating enough. She had to be kept pure.

A knock on the door has Paige scrambling to her feet, the buttoned shirt half undone to her abdomen as she pulls on the handle. It’s a relief like no other, the proof that Lana is still real and not a figment of her imagination.

The girl leans against the doorframe, pulling expensive sunglasses to her forehead with a sigh. Without a word of greeting, she walks past Paige pushing the cropped fur jacket off her shoulders onto the hardwood floors. It’s funny, she almost looks like she belongs there in the midst of the expensive fabrics and rich warmth of the fancy room if it wasn’t for the platform heels decorating her small feet. 

It was odd to see her like this, there was no glitter on her black dress, no boots running all the way up to her thighs. Just plain, tight clothing to show her figure and freshly washed hair left unstyled, subtle makeup on her face with lips painted a vibrant red. Paige had never seen a sight so beautiful, nearly stumbling as she picks up Lana’s jacket and hangs it neatly on a hanger.

“Isn’t this nice,” Lana hums with her back to Paige, running the very same nails Paige had already seen in pictures along the soft curtains. “I didn’t know there were places like this in Dallas.”

Paige’s chest aches, it breaks her heart how much Lana must not know or get to see. She would give it all to her, if Lana only allowed it. 

“You’d be surprised,” Paige answers, carefully closing in on the girl. She follows Lana to the window, allowing just a few inches of space between her front to Lana’s back. Close enough to feel the heat of a Dallas fall to radiate off her. Close enough for vanilla and cherries. It was hard to comprehend this was the same girl she had been texting this past week constantly.

Lana cranes her neck, looking over her bare shoulder at the taller woman.

“Why do you look so nice?” She asks. When her doe eyes meet Paige’s she feels herself slipping in deeper, stuttering over words.

“I don’t always look nice?”

Lana doesn’t answer, sliding between Paige and the curtain and throwing herself on the king-sized bed, barely taking up a third of it. As if it’s her hotel room and Paige is the guest. The girl rolls to her back, dress hiking further up her pillowy thighs. It’s impossible not to stare.

“Drink?” Paige asks, suddenly thirsty. She walks to the stacked minibar, grabbing a bottle after another.

“That’s bad vodka,” Lana says, leaning against her elbows. “Is there gin?”

Nodding, she grabs the bottle and a pair of glasses off the tray on top. “Gin and tonic?”

“Mhm,” Lana hums. No please. No politeness. Just Paige serving her happily in this humongous suite.

The girl scoots herself up the white sheets, yanking the snug dress back down and eyes locked on the blonde, handing over the fizzing drink. She leans against the mahogany headboard, taking a sip. 

“We could’ve met at the motel,” Lana says, a little amused, shifting as Paige’s weight tips the mattress. The blonde gulps half her drink at once.

“I had an event for this thing I’m doin’,” Paige explains, wiping the condensation onto her black pants.

“What thing?” Lana asks, putting the glass down on the bedside table. Her lipstick is staining the rim.

“I’m getting a new shoe,” Paige shrugs, doing the same with her empty cup.

“With who?” Lana asks, fixing her bracelet absentmindedly.

“Nike.”

Suddenly the girl sits up further, turning her knees in Paige’s direction. 

“Nike?” The wide eyes and her elevated voice make it clear Paige finally caught her attention.

“Yea,” Paige grins, watching Lana’s lips tilt into a wicked smile.

“They’re paying you well?”

“A good amount.”

Lana leans in, her bare ankle grazing Paige’s leg. “Why haven’t you come to the club? I could help you spend some.”

Paige chuckles. “I’ve been busy.”

Lana’s brow lifts, a dramatic gasp leaving her mouth. “With another girl?” It’s just a joke, but there's an outline of guilt that ghosts Paige. Just out of reach. Something she knows she should feel.

“Well you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“So you liked my services last time?” Lana teases, rolling over to her stomach. Paige’s blue eyes linger on the flimsy neckline of the dress, Lana’s breasts threatening to spill out as she leans forward, hair thrown to the side.

“A lot,” Paige breathes, her tongue wetting her lips. “I think you liked mine too.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing to like. You pay me.”

Paige grins. “I remember, trust ma.”

Lana shifts, kicking her heels in the air. For a moment Paige swears she arches her back, pushing up her hips enough to cause electricity to run into Paige’s abdomen.

The girl glares at her. “I’m a great actress,” Lana teases.

“That wasn’t acting,” Paige huffs, still tasting her vividly in her mouth. Paige’s nostrils flare when her eyes travel to the one forbidden place she needed a bite of - Lana’s lips.

“I’m just that good,” Lana grins, dropping her leg to rest it over Paige’s.

“No one’s that good,” Paige murmurs, her voice turning hoarse with need. The heat in her ears seems to crawl downwards her back as her fingers work on another button of her shirt.

For a small moment Lana’s dark eyes glance at Paige’s bare abdomen, the muscles contracting underneath the band of her black sports bra. Licking her lips, Lana climbs up to her knees, flipping her head away with a dramatic sigh. The black fabric shifts with the sudden movement, the red panties peeking out between her legs.

The repeated sigh distracts Paige’s accelerating thoughts. When she looks up, there’s a deep pout on the girl’s face.

“Lana?” Paige asks, sitting further up.

“I said you look nice maybe fifteen times already,” Lana rolls her eyes, dramatically huffing.

“I think that was once,” Paige corrects her, amused. Another huff.

“Wow, I guess you think I’m ugly then,” the girl sighs, biting down on her lower lip to kill the smirk threatening to form at the corner of her mouth. Affection courses through Paige like a wild horse, causing her heart to gallop.

“Lana,” she mutters, voice softening as she reaches for the pale, delicate wrist. She pulls it back, still avoiding eye contact with the blonde.

“C’mere mama,” Paige finally coos, grabbing her face so small in her big hand, Lana defiantly batting her eyes towards her. “You look fine as hell, you know that.”

Lana rolls her eyes, unimpressed by this. It’s all a play, but Paige will gladly take part and act out her role. 

“All those other girls at the club? You smoke em,” Paige praises, low and rumbling. “So fucking stunning.” She runs her free hand down to Lana’s waist, feeling the thin fabric of the dress. “Did all this for me?”

“You wish,” Lana fights feebly, unable to help the slight flush growing on her round cheeks.

Letting go of the sweet face in her hands Paige wets her lips.

“Get up,” Paige orders. “Gimme a spin. Lemme see that body.”

There. Finally Lana’s eyes flash with a win she’s been craving for, climbing clumsily over Paige’s lap onto the floor. Every touch, every accidental graze is like fuel to the fire burning within Paige, anticipation growing each second.

Lana stumbles on the floor in her heels like a baby deer before finding her balance, spinning on the black platforms until her back is turned to Paige, peeking over her shoulder at the girl. The room seems to spin with them, every curve of Lana’s body more tempting than the next. The flimsy fabric of the dress is ruthless, clinging to each and every inch of her body - luckily Lana is perfect. There’s not a single flaw in Paige’s eyes.

“Goddamn,” Paige hums, feeling wetness gather in her boxers at the sight of her. “C’mere.”

Bubbling with giggles, blooming with life, Lana tiptoes further, grabbing hold of the pillar at the foot of the four-poster bed and spinning around it.

“I said come here,” Paige commands, unbuttoning the rest of her shirt and leaving it wide open. 

Laughter like windchimes plays melodies in the air as the girl tiptoes to the further post, pressing her soft cheek against it.

“Come get me.”

Paige rushes up, white shirt blowing around as she runs after the laughing Lana. Just as her hands try to reach, Lana jumps to the bed, crawling over it like a leopard. Breathless, Paige grabs Lana’s cold ankle the moment she’s getting off, dragging her forcibly against the soft linen the dress gathering up past her thighs to her hips with the sudden movement. She pins Lana between herself and the mattress, gripping her waist tight.

“You freak, help!” Lana laughs, attempts of pushing the stronger girl off her feeble. She’s completely helpless like this, chest heaving with adrenaline.

“Ain’t no one coming to help you,” Paige grunts, the arousal growing with Lana’s resistance. She hooks her thumbs around the dainty fabric of the hem of the dress, pushing it all the way up to her stomach. 

“Stop,” Lana giggles, buzzing with the same sudden need. There was no denying that Paige overpowering her so easily had Lana’s core throbbing. It had been a while since she had someone like this, who loved the play as much as she did.

“Thought you want me to take what I want,” Paige reminds her, the words still ringing in her ears from last time. Lana squirms, kicking her legs. Shifting her weight, Paige presses her stronger thighs on top of them to keep them in place.

“Never said that,” the girl underneath pouts, a slight whine to her voice enough to drive Paige insane.

“You didn’t?” Paige’s hands caress her inner thighs, moving upwards against her milky skin to her lower stomach, fingertips teasing by the band of the red thong.

“No,” she hums but bucks her hips closer anyway. A loud gulp makes her throat bob, nipples hardening against the black dress.

“You want me to stop?”

Lana’s face shifts, eyes flicking between Paige’s face and her hand so close to where she needed it. Her mind is a battlefield between her pride and submitting to get what she wants - no, needs. Both options seem horrific.

“No,” Lana whispers, eyes widening with her softening tone.

A winner's smirk appears on Paige’s face. It looks natural on her.

“That’s what I thought,” Paige hums, brushing a finger lightly over the fabric of her panties. The girl shutters.

“You gonna beg?” The blonde asks, sitting up on her knees that push the girl’s legs further apart. Her eyes draw to her center and the wetness seeping through her underwear.

“No,” Lana huffs, bucking her hips again.

“Stop. Beg.”

“No.”

Fuck Paige loved this.

“Beg or I’m not gon’ touch you,” Paige hisses, though the idea breaks her heart. “And I can see you wanna be touched real bad.”

Lana huffs and whines, eyes burning as she tries to helplessly squirm. Anything to regain her pride. Anything so she doesn’t have to say that single word.

“Paige,” she whimpers, remembering the effect of it last time. It’s enough, she’s won this battle, Paige’s eyes turning dark.

“Shit,” she hums, pushing the panties to the side. Her breath stutters at the smooth, glistening skin of her cunt underneath. She’s even wetter than last time. Paige would remember, she’s been replaying it in her head like a prayer, like a spell.

“You’re so wet,” Paige groans, slapping her fingers against Lana’s pussy soft at first. When there’s no refusal, or safeword, she does it a little harder, feeling the girl jump underneath her.

“Fuck you,” Lana hisses, her words at war with her body. 

“You wanna cum?” Paige asks, her brows rising, pressing the girl deeper into the soft sheets.

Lana exhales heavy, plump lips parted as she nods.

“Then be good and I might let you,” Paige murmurs, eyes locking on Lana’s face as if to memorise her. Every breath and blink, the exact diameter of her blown out pupils.

Her brown eyes soften the moment Paige’s fingers make contact with the small peak at her center. Blood rushes straight to it, making Lana lightheaded and dumb just for a moment, body giving up control far too easy. With her legs forced open, she’s unable to do anything but lie there and feel it all, the way Paige’s skilled fingers rub from side to side in her folds, the wet sounds filling the room quickly. Lana bites down on her lip, doing everything to keep her face from contorting with pleasure, to keep in the moans.

“Stop that,” Paige’s free hand grabs her cheeks again, pushing them together. Lana’s eyes are low and heavy, staring up at her as though she’s barely comprehending her words. “Remember last time? Don’t want no acting, ma. Lemme hear you.”

Lana’s face softens, brows lifting and mouth opening wide to let out a soft moan. Paige could cum in her boxers just from those sounds alone, spreading Lana’s wetness all over her folds. Her body seemed to remember so fast, to obey its natural instincts instead of sticking to the well-practiced motions of before. It was better than any praise Paige could hear, to see her vulnerable and naked like this, giving in so fucking easy.

Lana’s trembling hands travel down between her legs, yanking on Paige’s wrist suddenly.

“Hands off,” Paige says sternly. “Use your words.”

Lana’s back arches with frustration, brows furrowed deep onto her face. The discomfort of it was apparent, a surprising contrast to the way she was so open about all things related to sex. “Inside” she hisses, blinking her eyes slowly.

It works like clockwork, the desperation in her voice. Paige’s two fingers drop down to her entrance and without warning slip in. Lana gasps loud, her hands finding Paige’s open linen shirt and tugging on it. Paige doesn’t care about the price tag, or the fear of it getting destroyed by her. She doesn’t care about much right now but pleasing the girl underneath. To conquer her this way.

“Oh shit,” Paige hisses, the tightness against her fingers throbbing around her. With learned confidence she curls them against the spongy tissue, careful at first. 

“Ah,” Lana’s eyes roll back, finally kicking her legs free from Paige’s hold and wrapping them around the blonde’s back, heels clacking together. 

“Use your words,” Paige moans, pulling her fingers back to see them glistening under the warm hue of the expensive lights. She slams them back in, curling again.

“Oh- Paige,” Lana whimpers, letting her pretty eyes fall shut.

“I said use your words,” Paige leans down, kissing the sweet spot behind the girl’s ear now. When she feels her shudder, she knows she’s got her right at her mercy.

“Feels fucking good,” Lana cries out, Paige’s thumb flicking in her folds as her fingertips reach for one spot in particular. She feels it, a softness. Paige presses down on it, the girl’s legs suddenly shaking.

“Right there huh?” Paige asks arrogantly, repeating the movement harder. Again, and again. Lana can’t speak, red lips wide open, her pink tongue peeking out, covered in the spit Paige wanted so desperately to taste. She had never wanted to kiss anyone so bad.

“Huh” Paige repeats, thrusting her fingers in and out of the girl. 

“Right there,” Lana’s voice shakes, uncharacteristically weak as she takes what Paige gives her, eyes shut tight and whiney moans erupting from her throat with each curl of Paige’s fingers. A warm wetness trickles down Paige’s wrist, spilling onto the expensive bed sheets. But Paige’s eyes are locked on Lana’s perfect mouth.

“Want you tasting my spit,” Paige groans, thumb rubbing sloppily against Lana’s clit. Her body reacts, throwing back her head.

“No kissing,” Lana pants even in her state of euphoria.

“Nah, I wanna-” Paige hesitates. “Let me spit in your mouth, ma.”

There’s no hesitation, no need to think it through. Just Lana’s pink tongue coming out of her mouth, taunting the blonde girl fucking her. In a moment of desperation, Paige lets the warm glob gather at her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, it spills from her tongue down onto Lana’s, watching as it lands against her perfect mouth.

“Swallow,” Paige grunts, trying to hide her arousal but the word comes out shaky. Lana’s too far gone, fucked too stupid to notice. Her painted lips shut in a pout, the girl swallowing with a gulp.

“Good girl,” Paige coos, the sight enough to get her core pulsing.

“Don’t stop,” Lana whines, letting go of the linen and reaching up to wrap her arms around Paige’s neck, pulling the girl flush against her. Paige feels dizzy, feeling Lana’s hardened nipples on her skin as her fingers continue working, slipping in and out tirelessly.

“I’ma get you there baby, don’t worry,” Paige moans. Lana shifts underneath, her leg landing between Paige’s thighs with all the squirming. Bucking her hips her soft thigh presses between the blonde’s suit pants, where her wetness pools untouched.

“Oh my God,” Paige whispers, feeling a strange urge to press back. 

“I’m close,” Lana cries out, the stretch of Paige’s fingers growing more intense as she throbs and pulses around her. She’s too gone to consider the mess she’s making, wetness squirting out with each curl of Paige’s long digits against her walls.

“I can feel it,” Paige grunts, fighting herself from locking Lana’s thigh between her legs to grind down on. It’s strange, an urge she hadn’t felt in years. In forever.

“You gon’ cum for me?” Paige asks, pressing herself against Lana’s leg as she fucks her.

“Mhm,” Lana moans, brows lifting as the throbbing grows more and more intense at the verge of her peak. Paige can’t take it, the feel of her pussy on her fingers, the leg squirming and trembling against her core. She feels confused, at the edge of total loss of control.

“No,” Paige’s movements stop, pulling her fingers out as she sits up, sweat trickling down her back.

“W-what?!” Lana’s eyes shoot open, her core visibly pulsing around nothing now.

“I dunno if you deserve to cum,” Paige pants, an excuse to give herself a break before getting too enthusiastic. 

The girl sits up, on the verge of crying or yelling at the blonde with the burning need between her bare thighs. Paige pulls the shirt off her shoulders, watching Lana speechless and trembling and completely fucked out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She asks, genuinely mad. Good. Paige was getting mad too, irrationally so. She almost lost all her control because of the temptress in her bed.

“Take that dress off.”

“No,” Lana argues, licking her lips angrily.

“Guess I’m not helping you then,” Paige spits, climbing off the bed and pulling off her suit pants, grateful that the black fabric of her boxers doesn’t show how she’s dripping into them.

“Then don’t,” Lana hisses, eyes lingering on Paige’s form, the faint lines of muscles built from years of discipline.

“Or you could just take off the dress,” Paige murmurs, walking to the side of the bed and petting Lana’s sweet, flushed face. She kisses her teeth, a small smirk growing on her lips, “Might as well be wearing nothin’, it makes you look like a slut.”

“Yeah?” Lana pulls Paige down on the bed, the wood of the bedframe cool against the heat of her back. “I think you like sluts.”

Paige shakes her head. “Nah, I only like one.”

It seems to be the right answer, for Lana’s hands pull the flimsy dress over her head onto the floor, leaving her only in the red satin of her thong. Paige’s chest heaves, blinking rapidly at the sight to take in every detail. How did she miss it the first time? The songbird tattooed over Lana’s ribs.

“You’re cruel,” Lana says, sitting there nearly naked, watching Paige leaning against the pile of pillows behind her.

“You don’t mean that,” Paige coos softly, eyes staring at the girl’s pink nipples.

“Then help me,” she whines, tilting her head to the side, her hair following with the movement.

“Help yourself,” Paige nods at her own lap. In a matter of seconds Lana is on her, but not the way she intended. Instead of hovering over her thigh, the girl pulls off her panties and sits her wet cunt onto Paige’s abdomen, against the contracting muscles. She’s soaked, causing a mess Paige could never get sick of.

“Shit,” Paige hisses, looking up at Lana rolling her hips against her body, using her to get herself off. A soft moan spills from the girl’s lips, tongue darting out to wet them and messing with the lipstick. She looks completely fucked out, shamelessly chasing her own peak rubbing her pussy against Paige’s abs. 

“Just like that,” Paige praises, gripping the girl’s ass hard enough to bruise. She gasps, reaching behind her back and grabbing Paige’s muscular thigh igniting that fire from before. Suddenly it hits her, how out of control she is - underneath Lana with a burning in her core, being used as a means to get off. She could feel it all slipping away from her. She needed to do something.

Reaching upwards, Paige’s hand wraps around Lana’s neck - not hard, but just a reminder of the one really in charge. The girl doesn’t seem to mind, grinding herself down faster with her free hand gripping Paige’s wrist. Her brown eyes open, full of lust and need as she moans, chasing eye contact.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Paige huffs, regaining her control. Lana nods, words coming broken between whimpers.

“You think I’m a slut?”

Paige bats her eyes, a knot tightening inside her. “Look at you, ‘course you are.”

Something in the girl seems to shift in response to the humiliation, movements turning sloppier, moans becoming more guttural. Her head lulls forward, small hand digging into the one around her throat and prying the thumb from her skin, dragging it to her lips. For a second Paige thinks it’s only a dream when Lana latches on, sucking enough for her cheeks to hollow. She never considered this an option, the second best thing to the one thing she needed.

Her mouth is wet, warm and lovely, the sensation of her tongue circling the finger going straight to her core. Suddenly Paige feels a jolt, edging her climax with just the mere feeling of Lana’s mouth. Her lipstick is everywhere now, making a mess all over Paige’s fingers and her pale skin.

“Fuck ma, I need you to cum.”

“Mhm?” Lana whines, letting Paige feel out every inch of her mouth as she grinds her hips sloppy and fast, the muscles in her abdomen tightening with each roll, perky breasts following the movement.

“I’ma need you to,” Paige groans, fighting every urge to let the ecstasy wash over her.

With a muffled moan, Lana’s movements become erratic giving Paige the permission to follow right after, both of their whimpers and grunts filling the room. Paige feels out Lana’s perfect tongue, running her thumb against it as saliva pools between the girl’s teeth, imagining how it must feel, how that perfect mouth must taste.

As the girl’s movements come to a halt, in that post-climax haze she crashes down into Paige, her face buried in the empty space between Paige’s neck and shoulder. Paige must be on the verge of insanity when she wraps an arm around Lana, petting up and down her spine, fingers studying each vertebra. Only then does she come to a realisation about their situation - there was no shower beforehand, no cash upfront, no laying out the rules or following after the rigid steps of their last time together. They had unraveled completely on their own.

Lana’s ribs flare against the blonde beneath her with each laboured breath, hot exhales tickling Paige’s neck. Paige doesn’t dare move or make a sound, imprinting the way Lana’s weight presses into her. It doesn’t last for long, Lana rolling over and wordlessly walking to the shower.

-

Prepared to see her gone, Paige is surprised to find Lana wrapped in a white robe at the center of the bed as if she might as well own it. The silence twists in her gut as she dries the ends of her blonde hair dripping down her back. There hadn’t been a single word since. It’s just how Lana operated. She doesn’t bother lifting her gaze, eyes glued to the device in her hands. Even with the blank expression she took Paige’s breath away, stripped down and bare like this.

What seems to get her attention is Paige digging her wallet for a stack of cash and leaving it on the neatly organised vanity. Lana cranes her neck, batting her eyes approvingly. It’s all Paige gets.

“What time is it?” Lana asks, stretching her arms above her head.

“Late,” Paige murmurs, watching the girl’s every breath thinking of any excuse to make the moment stretch out. The minute Lana would be out of sight the visions will come back, the dreams of blood and snow and awful men doing awful things to her. She sits down on the left side of the bed, Lana refusing to scooch from her rightful spot in the middle, bare thighs pressing together.

“You hungry?” Paige suddenly asks. She doesn’t dare watch Lana’s face, preparing herself for the stern no hanging on the girl’s lips.

“Sure,” Lana hums, reaching over Paige to leave her phone on the table and grabbing the folded menu beside it. Heart stammering, Paige feels the pressure of Lana’s shoulder snug against her side, holding the pamphlet so they both can see. 

“Wow, lobster,” Lana points at the price. “Look at that.”

Paige’s neck bobs, eyes locked on the curve of the girl’s button nose. “You can get it if you want. Can get anything.”

“Maybe I want steak,” Lana blurts out, grabbing Paige’s arm and wrapping it around her waist so casually it startles the blonde. She doesn’t seem to recognise the effect she has on Paige, the way Paige’s chest tightens as she curls up against her.

“Why are you so quiet?” Lana asks, a slight smirk on her face. “You don’t eat meat?”

Paige huffs, furrowing her brows. “I look like I don’t eat meat?”

Lana shrugs. “I thought lesbians don’t eat meat.”

“I eat meat,” Paige argues, fingers pressing into the girl’s side. She doesn’t seem to mind. She watches Paige make the call, staring blankly with her pretty brown eyes as the blonde orders, too nervous to meet her gaze. When she’s done, Lana shifts, lying sideways on the bed with her bare legs on Paige’s lap. Her weight still burns on Paige's side, the wonderful dream of her curled up there far too short.

“What do you get out of it?” Lana asks suddenly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Out of what?” Paige asks, studying the soft pale skin of her calves.

“Sex.” The bluntness of the words is startling.

“Oh,” Paige chuckles, heat rising up her neck. “I get stuff.”

Lana leans against her elbows, kicking her manicured toes back and forth. “But why don’t you want me to touch you?”

Paige’s brows furrow, looking at the confused face of the soft-cheeked girl. “It’s not just you. Ion want anyone touching me.”

“Then what’s the point of sex?” Lana asks, tilting her head. The robe is loosening, revealing a bare shoulder.

Paige blinks at the girl, a little amused. “Y’know I came right?”

“Pfft, that’s not possible,” Lana leans back, pressing herself into the sheets. 

“You don’t believe me?” Paige asks, big hand wrapping around Lana’s boney ankles.

“No.”

“I did cum,” Paige argues. “Ion need to be touched to cum.”

“That’s impossible. Maybe you just think you’re cumming.”

“I know when I’m cumming,” the blonde fights, watching Lana close.

“That is so strange,” Lana puffs, shutting her eyes. Carefully, Paige drags her fingers to the girl’s small feet and presses into the bones and muscles. She follows the way Lana’s face softens, a content sigh leaving her parted lips.

“Is this extra?” Paige teases.

“It should be,” Lana murmurs, but her tone is answer enough. There’s a silence more comfortable than before, Paige massaging her lovely feet, carefully avoiding the blister. At least that part of the texts was true.

“Where are you from Paige Bueckers?”

The question shakes the blonde. It seemed so personal, so out of Lana’s realm of care. 

“Minnesota,” Paige hums, feeling the soft arch of her foot.

“Are your parents religious too? They raised you to be like that?” It almost comes off as an insult.

“They are. But I think their relationship to faith is different. I found a lot of it on my own when I got hurt.”

“What do you mean?” Lana asks blankly, eyes still shut and goosebumps rising on her calves.

Paige shifts, feeling the strange, pulsing pressure in her knee. The constant reminder of what she had been through. 

“I fucked up my knee pretty bad a couple times,” Paige hums, reaching for Lana’s hand and bringing it to the scar on her skin, now faded but still undoubtedly there. The girl feels for it, long acrylics scratching Paige.

“You couldn’t play?” Lana asks, eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah, I got really down,” Paige explains, surprisingly comfortable in Lana’s quiet presence. “God helped me through it.”

Lana blinks her wide eyes, trying to understand. “Don’t you feel like that takes credit from all the work you did to get yourself back from it, though?”

Paige’s hand toys with the silver chain hanging off her neck. “I guess I don’t see it that way. I still worked hard and was resilient, God just blessed me with it.”

The girl stays quiet, watching the profile of the blonde and the way her hair begins to curl as it dries. 

“Stop staring,” Paige murmurs, nostrils flared.

Lana’s lips twist into a smile as her eyes flicker elsewhere.

“You know, if you wore some makeup you could date a man. You’re pretty.”

The words cause such a reaction Paige misses the compliment at the end, brows rising with amusement.

“Sorry?”

Lana shrugs. “You’re too pretty to be a lesbian.”

“What does that have anything to do with me being gay?” Paige laughs it off, completely shocked

“I’m just saying, maybe eventually you meet the right guy.”

“I would rather die,” Paige snorts, startled by how little Lana seemed to understand. “You think I can just choose?”

“Maybe this is unpopular to you Americans but yes, it is a choice,” Lana hums. For a second Paige thinks she’s joking, but the blank expression says otherwise.

“You think I can choose to like a man? Attraction isn’t a choice, Lana.”

“And I think it is,” Lana answers. “I pretend to be attracted to men for a job.”

Paige looks over, aching to diffuse the sudden tension between them. There’s only one way she knows how. With sudden movements she climbs over the girl, pinning her to the mattress and kissing her neck feverishly, at the very spots she learned made Lana give in so easily.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna do the fucking if I gotta date a man?” Paige teases, biting on Lana’s earlobe. The robe seems to fall open, Lana’s naked body pressing against the blonde’s as she giggles, weakly trying to push her off. Just as Paige is slotting her knee between the girl’s thighs, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Face dripping with frustration, Paige climbs up and lets in the food, unable to miss the server’s widened eyes locked on the girl on the bed, tightening the robe around her. A feeling that Paige hadn’t felt in a long time trickles down her bones, seeping into her bloodstream. It couldn’t be described as anything but possessiveness. When the door shuts with a slam the relief is so great Paige has to take conscious effort to soften her shoulders, a sense of pride filling her watching Lana gleam at the food, already stealing fries off Paige’s plate. It was Paige who made her cum, who rubbed her feet, who fed her and would take care of her - buried deep down was the hope that if she kept this up long enough Lana would realise it’s much better than the life she was living now.

“It’s good?” Paige grins, walking over to the foot of the bed where Lana sits on her knees, reaching over for a bite of the caesar salad Paige ordered as a side for herself.

“I’m eating all of this,” Lana says with her mouth full, not caring much about manners or appearing ladylike. Paige had never been so attracted to anyone. Like a glimpse of the real person under all the layers of performance.

“Eat as much as you want,” Paige sits down, chewing on the perfectly greasy fries. “I’ll order more too if you want.”

“You’re trying to make me fat Paige Bueckers,” Lana jokes, cutting into her perfectly medium rare steak. 

“Tempting,” Paige adds, unable to take her eyes off the girl. “Would look just as sexy.”

The words slip out, revealing a little too much of how deep Lana had dug herself into Paige’s heart in such a short while. But the girl doesn’t react or seem to care, sipping on her ice cold diet coke.

They barely talk, eating their feast in silence. Uneasy with the quiet, Paige turns on the TV for some background noise, letting some reality garbage play. The scene is oddly domestic, a sense of ease between the two of them. Maybe it was the texting, or the way things escalated today, but something had shifted. For Paige at least. This was more than intrigue now. Far more.

“I’m never eating again,” Lana huffs, crawling back towards the headboard and letting the pillows swallow her once the plates are nearly cleaned up by the pair.

Paige laughs, finishing the last of her fries. “I thought you were gonna eat it all, little lady. C’mon.” A third of the steak sits on the porcelain plate, untouched, red juice oozing out of it.

“I lied,” Lana sighs, patting the spot next to her. An invitation, a rare one certainly.

Paige makes her way beside the girl, the show getting increasingly more interesting as she watches. It must be late, 2am at least, and the exhaustion was beginning to wear her down. Lana felt it too, yawning in her robe. It would be any minute now, she would get dressed and with a quiet goodbye, she would be gone again. And Paige would be terrified once more.

“You lie a lot?” Paige asks half-heartedly. The girl beside her shifts, her warm leg rolling over hers and cheek pressing into Paige’s chest. 

“Mm, it’s my job Paige Bueckers,” the girl whispers, the words slurred with exhaustion. With stuttering breaths Paige shifts enough to look down, watching the miracle curled up on her. The long lashes pressing into Lana’s flushed cheeks, mouth parted to make way for her slowing exhales, the freckles on the tip of her nose. This couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe Paige was still in that dream that she had been replaying every time she closed her eyes, trapped for eternity. It would be okay, she thinks. If it was like this she could bear any nightmare or terror her mind conjures. Anything for a little piece of this heaven.

“Don’t lie to me,” Paige hums, voice barely audible in the quiet mumble of the TV. But Lana’s far away, sleeping peacefully. And for the first time in a week Paige sleeps soundly too, knowing that the girl was finally safe, protected from the terrible world outside. Paige was a blessed person. It didn’t matter if Lana didn’t believe. By proxy she would be blessed too. God wouldn’t dare hurt someone Paige cared for so deeply.

In the early morning sun, Paige is startled awake but not by the nightmare this time - instead it’s the sunbeams pouring through the curtains that force the blonde’s eyes open. Still in her robe, her foot reaches for the girl but she’s not there. There’s no weight on the mattress, no soft breathing to listen to. Sitting up, Paige sets the glasses from the bedside table to the bridge of her nose. Lana’s bags are gone, and so is the pile of cash from the vanity, remnants of a white thin line clumsily cleaned off it. She could be anywhere now and Paige would never know. Only a single note left behind.

Thanks for the steak. See you at the club Paige Bueckers. - L

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary@lupinqs@bueckersbitch@lilpaigeyherbo@pbucketsblurbs@pazzifan1@she-is-my-unrequited-love34@octaviabl3ck@basketball4455627@authentic-girl03@ebiboo@vamptizm @user1269 @differentsaladpanda

[vamptizm]

paige bueckers x gf!reader texts pt. 14

it’s been 4 months since the last one 💀 mb

[everyonewatchesuconnwbb]

Guys is it js me or do azzi and avantika lowk look similar 😭😭😭

[dripanddrive]

Hot Lap Chapter 9: Monza

Word Count: 18.5k

Summary: Paige chooses her words carefully. She’s never had to talk about Gabby before, never had to wade into describing the dynamic. So many times over the last ten months, she’s thought about Gabby and wondered what her perspective would be.

Authors Note: Thank you to family fc and also to my fantastic thought partners, @nellstark and @buffalo1221, who give countless hours reading, brainstorming, and editing.

Hot Lap Chapter 9: Monza

Storrs, CT

Paige has an eighth grade English essay she’s supposed to be working on. Some nonsense about analyzing the destructive nature of Catherine and Heathcliff’s obsessive love in Wuthering Heights. She’s of the opinion that Heathcliff and Catherine are both wholly terrible and absolutely deserve to make each other miserable, but she’s going to have to find a longer way to say that. 

Preferably in three to five pages, double spaced. 

All to say, Paige is supposed to be working on her English essay, but in reality she’s watching YouTube coverage of the latest karting race on the F4 circuit from Shanghai. The commentary is in Mandarin, obviously, but Paige doesn’t need commentary to understand the difficult chicanes and daring overtake moves. 

The feed has been following the track leader. He made some good moves initially, but has since been coasting pretty easy. 

Paige is just considering whether she ought to actually get started on her essay when an email alert pops up. She almost swipes it away but then her eyes catch on the subject line. 

She switches to her email, interested to see what the google alert on Azzi Fudd has picked up. 

Mercedes Announces 2016 Lauda Fellowship Award

—--Brackley, UK: Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 Team announced that the 2016 Lauda Fellowship has been awarded to third year Imperial College London student Azzi Fudd. Ms. Fudd received her undergraduate MEng degree with Honours in Aeronautical Engineering from Imperial College London and is currently pursuing a PhD in Advanced Aeronautical Engineering and Computational Methods at the same institution. The Lauda Fellowship is a highly-competitive two-year occupational integrated engineering program. Ms. Fudd is a native of Fairfax, VA (United States), and a graduate of Boston’s The Gallagher School. 

Azzi Fudd is going to Mercedes. 

That’s so cool. 

Paige follows her on Twitter. Not that the account has Azzi Fudd’s name attached, but Paige knows it's her. Her observations on races are sharp, and she’s funny. 

Mercedes, though. That’s super fucking cool. Must be her dream come true, to work for an F1 team. That’s the ultimate dream; working in Formula 1. It’s what Paige thinks about when she’s trying to go to sleep. It’s why she lives so far away from her dad. 

Everything to chase the dream. 

She reads the announcement again, saving it. She does a quick google search of The Gallagher School and learns it’s a fancy academic academy in Boston. The kind that looks like it costs more than Paige could ever dream of. 

Paige switches back to the YouTube channel and the karting race. 

Maybe someday she’ll be good enough to drive for Formula 1 and she’ll meet Azzi Fudd. 

—--

Monaco

The jet lands at Nice Côte d'Azur Airport just before nine. The Urus is waiting for her on the edge of the airstrip, delivered by whatever service her manager pays to make things happen. Maybe there are some parts of the good life that she’s started to lean into; the best part of being an F1 driver is never having to justify that she wants to fucking drive. 

So many of the other drivers also live in Monaco and most of them prefer to take a helicopter from the airport in France over the border to Monaco; Paige always enjoys time in the car. She puts some moody SZA on and settles into the leather seat. It’s a fine drive; not majestic or all that pretty at night, but she’s alone and in a sick fucking car, and that’s enough. 

Driving also gives her time to think, though that’s a complicated pastime these days. There are so many questions that have no answers, and all of them take up space in her head. Definitely not rent free, because she feels like she’s paying for it. The fight between Diana and Sue is still a mystery, and Azzi’s involvement makes it relevant. The purple dress also plagues Paige’s thoughts, imagining it draped on Azzi’s body. But fantasies turn into dread thoughts, because the issue of the connection between Azzi and Sabrina also circles. 

At least Paige can be proud of herself for holding to her resolve. Things were good with Azzi, in Zandvoort. No crashouts, no heated exchanges. Just collaboration and trust and a little bit of connection. 

Even while losing a fucking bet. God, Paige had no business making it in the first place.

Her apartment in Monaco is in Fontvieille, the waterfront district. It’s fancy and modern and Phee’s fiance owns the building, hence the steep discount. Paige appreciates the connect but she hates everything about Monaco; it’s small and insular and the wealth is grotesque. She only decided to move there in a fit of rage after the Abu Dhabi blow up, because clearly living in Azzi’s apartment in Brackley was no longer an option for her home base. She needed to make decisions to give herself a sense of control — no matter how rash or stupid the decisions were. 

By the time she parks and takes the resident elevator to her floor, Paige’s body has started to feel like lead. The effects of the race linger, of course, but it’s compounded by everything else. One weekend back and it’s already started to build, all the things that are eating her from the inside out. She tries to breathe it out as she stares at herself in the reflection of the elevator, but it only partly works.  

The flat came furnished, and Paige has brought almost nothing new into the mix. The walls are bare other than the tasteful pieces of art that the designer put up; an abstract oil painting in the living room, a watercolor of the harbor in the hallway. Paige stuck the photostrip of her and Nika from the Mercedes Christmas party a few years ago onto the fridge and called it a day. 

There’s a luggage stand at the foot of her bed. It’s always there, her carry-on always laid out and open whenever she’s in Monaco. Paige puts it there now, unzips it to lay flat and grabs her clothes to toss them in the laundry. 

She orders dinner and showers while she waits; not the quick scrub from the motor home, but a long and steaming session, sitting on the built-in stone bench and letting the water cascade over her head. She’ll have another massage tomorrow, be stretched out and have her muscles attended to. That was the biggest shock about jumping from F4 to F3; learning that her body’s a tool. 

There’s a Vietnamese place she likes to order from. The pho sits warm in her belly, the spicy broth everything that feels good after a long weekend; especially in Monaco where the air conditioning is turned up high. Higher, even, than Paige feels, locked in an ivory tower. 

Her hair hangs half wet about her, the ends dripping into sodden patches that stretch across her shoulders. She puts the TV on while she eats; she’s watching Severence, and also Traitors. Neither of them align in any way with her mood or her interests, but too many other shows remind her of Azzi, of their life in Brackley. They’d binged so many shows together, curled up on Azzi’s shitty couch. Most of the time, Azzi had also been working on something — numbers or models or assessments — while Paige yapped her own commentary as well.  

Sometimes when Paige wants it to hurt extra badly, she’ll re-watch the episode of Schitt’s Creek where David sings to Patrick. 

There are about three hundred text notifications on her phone; fully half of them are from the only group chat that Paige doesn’t have muted — the vacation group. She scans the messages lazily, reaction responds to Veronica’s picture of her foundation leaking all over her suitcase and laughing at the photo Kate sent earlier, of Nika availing herself to a drumstick from the Haas hospitality suite. 

Then she wades through the rest of the notifications, pasting the same response to most of the congratulations for being on the podium. 

Thanks! Car felt good, looking forward to Monza!

It’s eleven p.m. in Monaco, which means it’s four in Minnesota. Drivers like their routines, prefer to keep to the same pre and post race habits; Paige opens her contacts and calls her dad. 

“Hey, honey. Great race.”

It’s verbatim what he texted her earlier, but the warmth in his voice makes Paige smile. She longs for it to feel like ease but it doesn’t have the comfort of a soft landing place.  

“Hi, Dad. Thanks. You at home?”

“Just about to cook up some burgers.”

She can hear him close the grill lid, the ting of the spatula as he sets it down. He lives in a decent suburb outside Minneapolis, in a nice enough neighborhood. After Paige started covering expenses with prize money, he went to school and got an Associates Degree, and now he works as an insurance claims adjustor. It seems like soul-killing, mindless work to Paige, but he likes it. It’s certainly better than the multiple jobs he worked at a time to keep them afloat in those early years. 

They talk about the race, because that’s an easy subject for them. 

“Looked like the traction was shot pretty early. ‘Specially on your front right.”

“Gone,” Paige confirms. “Worse than the data predictions indicated. Keeping in the racing line was hard.”

When they’ve dissected the seventy-two laps to his satisfaction, Paige clears her throat. 

“How’s Angela doing?” Her dad has a girlfriend. In fairness he always has a girlfriend, but Angela’s been around for a solid two years now. She’s nice in the way that most folks in the Midwest are, but best of all she’s a good cook and she seems to adore Paige’s dad. And Paige likes that there’s someone who dotes on him, who takes care of him. It can’t be her —- it can’t be her —- so at least there’s someone. 

“Oh, she’s fine. Busy week for her at work so she and her girlfriends are having a girls night.”

Girls night aka white wine spritzers. White Girl Magic, Azzi used to say with a laugh. Paige feels the ghost of a smile. 

“You, um. You wanna come for Monza? I’ll send you a ticket. Angela too.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I can’t,” he says, as Paige expects he will. “I wish I could, really. But I have a big team seminar that Monday morning. Big boss’ll be there and everything.”

It was worth it to ask; she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he says yes, someday. 

“But hey,” he says, animated, “Just a few weeks to Austin. We’ll be there that Thursday night. Can’t wait to see you, Bug.”

“I’m excited to see you too,” Paige tells him. They haven’t seen each other since Miami, early in the season. And he came to the opener in Melbourne, too. She wonders, briefly, what it would be like to hug him and not let go.

“And Vegas? I know you can’t do Interlagos, but you said you’d check about Vegas. I have a suite reserved just in case.”

It’s a lie, she doesn’t have anything reserved but she’ll be able to get something with one text to her people.  

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she hurries to say, before he can make a regretful sound and give her an excuse. She doesn’t know if he has some official algorithm for how he decides what to attend, but going to Vegas three weeks after seeing her in Austin is surely pushing the boundaries of it. 

“I don’t want to hassle you, Bug—”

“--- You’re my dad, it’s not a hassle,” she cuts him off, a little sharper than she’d prefer to be. 

“Not a hassle, then,” he allows, a little slower. “But you’re busy, Paigey. I know that.”

“Drivers always have family at races,” she reminds him. “Half the grid has their parents at every race.”

Caitlin Clark’s parents are always there. Every single weekend. Their anxiety gives Paige anxiety. And Veronica likes having her mom around as much as she can be. Aliyah Boston’s sisters have been there a dozen times this season alone.

“Well, speaking of parents—” 

“Dad,” Paige groans, because she also knows where this is going. “Why are you and Mom still talking, even?” 

They’ve been divorced since she was two; she doesn’t have any memories of them together. 

“Come on, Bug, don’t be annoyed. Your Mom just misses you. She wants to see you more. She was wondering, since you’ll be in North America for a while—”

“I’m not going to Montana,” Paige says flatly, cutting him off. 

“Come on, cut her some slack, Paige. She cares about you.”

She exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. It’s absurd that even after all these years, this is still a topic of contention. 

“She has the same offer to visit in Vegas. And Austin. And Interlagos. And any race in Europe if she wants a nice vacation. Hell, I’d fly her to fucking Asia if she wanted to come.” 

Her mom hates races and race weekends. She doesn’t say it but she doesn’t want the little kids around that kind of environment; as though a racetrack isn’t where Paige grew up. She’s got a new family, a picture perfect image that Paige doesn’t fit into and doesn’t understand. 

“Think about calling her.”

“So she can lay a guilt trip about me not making it to Billings this year? Pass.”

“Paige—”

“I can barely get you to come to a race, you think I want to hash it out with her as well?” She snaps it at him and immediately regrets it as she hears the sharp intake on the other end of the line. “Sorry,” she says, before he can say anything. “I’m tired. Been a long day. I’m exhausted. I should probably get to bed. I have an early recovery session tomorrow.”

She doesn’t have to be anywhere until ten. DiJonai was adamant about wanting her to sleep in, to actually get some recovery. 

“Okay, honey. I’ll let you go,” her dad says, happy to take the easy out. “Congrats again, on the podium. You and Sonia looked great up there.”

Paige’s throat is dry and swollen. Swallowing feels like sandpaper. 

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Bug.”

Paige hangs up and tosses the phone onto the couch in frustration. She doesn’t know why things feel so complicated. 

For a moment the guilt sits heavy and she considers texting her mom, but then her mom would just call, because she knows that Paige and her dad talk after each race and she thinks she deserves that right as well. But Paige does not have the energy to deal with her mom right now. Not with the weird mood she’s in. So, instead, she takes the blanket from the back of the couch. 

It’s a heavy, aesthetically pleasing throw. Not soft or cuddly. Like everything else —- including the throw pillows — it came with the flat. But it works just fine to keep her warm as she watches TV. 

Paige has made it exactly thirty minutes into the episode of Severence — fucking mind trip  — when her phone lights up. She and Alessandra have been going back and forth about whether or not Alessa wants to build a deluxe chicken coop at the farm in upstate NY; Paige doesn’t understand anyone’s desire to have chickens, so she doesn’t look over immediately, assuming it to be another TikTok of fancy poultry houses.

But it’s not. It’s another voice memo from Azzi. 

She sees the delivery and the summary: I was thinking today… (3:42)

Paige turns her attention back to the TV. She wants to be able to watch this stupid show, to be able to wait to listen to the audio message, to be able to do anything without feeling the cavern in her chest. 

Because what Paige actually wants, what she really yearns for, is to watch Schitt’s Creek with Azzi tangled up with her. Not just their feet tangled under a blanket in the middle, but Azzi curled up alongside her, on top of her. 

She wants to feel the weight of Azzi on her chest, to idly twirl her little curls around a finger as they relax together. She wants the smell of Azzi’s shampoo in her nose, the sound of her breathing as a baseline to the audio from the show. Paige wants Azzi’s forehead in absent kissing distance, her nose in booping range.  

Paige wants the domesticity of a life with Azzi like a physical craving. 

It doesn’t feel like a three minute and forty-two second voice memo is going to give her that. 

And yet.

And yet. 

She mutes the TV. 

The first notes of Azzi’s voice inspire such a slew of emotions that she has to pause the recording. The swell is too much. That’s Azzi’s real voice. Not the one she uses in engineering meetings, or to talk track position during strategy sessions. Azzi’s honest voice, her vulnerable voice; husky and sweet and often sarcastic. The voice that Azzi used when they were alone together. And sure, Paige has heard it occasionally, over the past nine months; but most of those times — Silverstone and Budapest rush to mind — were also moments of deep emotion. 

It’s not even the voice that she used two hours earlier, sitting on the bench outside Zandvoort.

Azzi: 3:42: I was thinking today about the first time I ever went to Amsterdam. I was eighteen and my computational logic professor invited me to attend a conference. I spent the entire time inside attending sessions. They were interesting, the presenter on nonmonotonic reasoning was really good we actually ended up corresponding for a while, but it felt so fucked to go somewhere and not get to experience anything. I think that’s when I realized that I had to work to see the world, that going to other places wouldn’t just mean I got to explore. Foundationally, children should…

—

The recovery sessions that DiJonai subjects Paige to take all day. Paige gets her muscles loose in the gym, which makes everything hurt more, and then stretching and an ice bath, a message and more stretching. She sucks down a smoothie that’s a shade of green not found in nature, and the day gets capped by a pedicure. 

“Bro, what part of this is recovery?”

“It’s for me, recovering from dealing with you,” Nai tells her, eyes closed as the nail technician uses some kind of scrub on her calves and shins. 

They ask Paige what color she’d like, and because Paige speaks zero French and Nai is fluent, she ends up leaving the salon with bright pink toes. A stupid shade of bubblegum pink because it’s what DiJonai picked out and Paige couldn’t get her phone to load Google translate fast enough. Pointing and gesturing just felt rude. 

“I look like an idiot,” Paige grumbles, wiggling her toes inside her socks and slides. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” Nai dismisses, like she didn’t take a selfie at the salon and post it publicly on her Instagram account. 

“I know you’re being petty about the jet.” 

They can walk from the salon to Paige’s condo building. When they raced Monaco in May, Nika kept asking where shit was, like Paige had any fucking idea. She feels like a tourist not a resident, except this is a vacation that doesn’t end. Every time she breezes through she thinks about re-locating after the season concludes. She could easily base herself in Paris, or Rome, or literally any other major European city. 

Except London. 

Too many memories in London. 

“I just think it was rude of you to decline an offer to fly by private jet without consulting everyone in your party.”

Phee invited Paige and DiJonai to join her for the flight to Monza, which was nice of her. Paige sometimes thinks about when they both lived with Geno; young and lame and awkward. She’d followed Phee around like a little duckling. 

“The only other person in my party is you,” Paige deadpans. 

DiJonai arches her eyebrows. “And?”

“You can just say it was rude to say no without checking with you. You don’t have to make it all third person,” she laughs. 

“Fine,” DiJonai acquiesces. “It was rude of you to say no without checking with me.”

“Too bad, I’m the driver, I make the decisions,” Paige dismisses, smug. “Besides, I’m reducing my carbon footprint.”

“By driving to the factory and then Monza?”

Diana asked Paige and Soni to stop by the Lamborghini factory before they head on to Monza for the next race. Paige jumped at the opportunity to take the Urus for a longer drive than from the airport to her flat. 

“Chill, it’s a three hour drive.” 

It’s actually closer to five hours. 

“And I do great on AUX,” she continues. “Started putting together a playlist for us and everything.”

Nai rolls her eyes like that’s not impressive to her, but Paige sees the ghost of a smile there as well. They match well, she and DiJonai. Especially now that everything seems to be in the open between them. They know who they’re dealing with, who they are. It’s no longer superficial or surface-level. It’s more. And it’s more than just DiJonai investing in a client; Paige is determined to pour into DiJonai as well. 

“You better get us there safely,” Nai continues to lecture. “None of this F1 driver on a street course nonsense.”

“I mean, we’re gonna drive fast,” Paige warns her. “What’s the point of driving if you don’t go fast?”

DiJonai starts muttering about idiotic drivers and adrenaline junkies and something about youngins. Paige just smiles and falls into step alongside her. 

—--

Sant'Agata Bolognese, Italy

The Lamborghini headquarters — the factory — is a reflective landmark in Sant’Agata. The front of the building is just a giant wall of windows; iconic Lamborghinis visible on several floors of display and a few of the famous models parked outside the front doors. 

Paige walked inside for the first time on January 10th, completely in awe that this was now her driving home. They’d lined everyone up then, gathered the leadership near the entrance so everyone could shake her hand. She’d not even been able to look Azzi in the eye at that point and she’d never met Soni before. 

It feels different today, as she walks in the front door. She’s still new, still a rookie, but now she walks with success in her stride. She’s won for Team Lamborghini; not the ultimate prize of the Constructors’ Championship — not yet — but she’s delivered them wins, at least. 

“Paige. Good to see you.”

Diana’s waiting by the front doors, and it’s truly a mark of her belief in Paige that she’s there to do the greeting herself. They dap each other up, a show for all the folks subtly watching. 

“I heard you drove in.”

She hasn’t been to Sant’Agata in well over a month and that’s longer than she’d prefer to go between outings at the factory. Nika’s the one who told her how much the engineers love it when the drivers come by, and Paige deeply appreciates their work; it’s important that she show it. 

“Just parked out front,” Paige says with a smile. There’s a parking spot for her in the very front, in the private lot. It’s a stupid waste of space because she’s barely ever in Sant’Agata, but it’s the principal of the matter, she supposes. 

“You like the Urus?”

Paige smiles. She doesn’t have to pretend to be cool about this. “I fucking love it.”

She dropped DiJonai at the hotel on her way in. Three hours from Monaco to Monza turned into five hours to arrive in Sant’Agata, but DiJonai had been a trooper. Despite the earlier complaining, they had a good drive up from Monaco; easy conversation the entire ride. Nai talked about growing up in San Diego, about the adventures she’s gone on, the goals that she has for the future. Owning her own gym, maybe. Paige listened more than she talked, but it wasn’t elusion; now that DiJonai has let her in, she wants to invest. 

Chatting on a roadtrip while driving a Lamborghini Urus through the Italian countryside ranks as a pretty good way to get to know someone on a deeper level. 

“Come on,” Diana nods toward the staff doors. “Let’s dig in. Soni’s already here.”

But Diana seems to understand that half of why Paige is in Sant’Agata is to see and be seen, because they don’t walk directly to a meeting room. Instead, they take a long and circuitous route, walking the factory floor and popping into the engineering rooms. Paige shakes hands and gives hugs and says hello over and over. She thanks people for the work, tells them how much she loves the car, accepts their praise with a humble shrug. 

She feels it all, but performance is part of the persona. 

The meeting room is already full of familiar faces; Dorka, KK, Jana. The younger ones are even there too — Kelis and Blanca and Allie. Soni sits with an iced coffee, her casual look even more pronounced than it usually is at the paddock. Azzi’s wearing an old pair of dress pants and a soft green sweater Her eyes flick up when Paige enters the room, but she doesn’t stop talking in a low voice with Azurȧ. Paige slips into the seat next to Soni — the seat she assumes to be left for her. The two of them fist bump without even making eye contact.

“Alright everyone, let’s use this time wisely.” 

Diana stands at the head of the room, waiting for the chatter to stop. 

“It’s good to have the entire team together here at home. Paige, Soni, thanks for coming in before Monza.”

“Thrilled to see everyone,” Soni says with a sweet smile. She looks like a professional skateboarder and she sounds like a sorority girl. Paige finds the dichotomy strangely alluring. She makes a mental note to appeal to Soni again about considering becoming a lesbian. 

“Glad to be here,” Paige adds, shooting a few smiles at the engineers she remembers. 

“Okay,” Diana turns to business, “this is our last European race. We’ll hear from Dorka in a minute about what our strat ops projections indicate for Monza, but first I want to talk a little bit about the rest of the season.”

Diana launches into a review of the upcoming races, which are clustered nicely into groups; The Americas — Austin, São Paulo, Vegas — and Asia, with Singapore and Suzuka. And then the desert; Jeddah, Sakhir, Abu Dhabi. 

Paige feels a clench of anticipation zing through her at just the thought of the desert. The end of season races in Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and the UAE — that’s where championships are won. It can happen at any time in the latter half of the season, of course, but it’s most common to win in the desert. 

She’s not trying to count laps before they’re driven, but Lamborghini is in the lead for the Constructors’ Championship. They’re leading McLaren by sixty-one points; that means it’s theirs to lose. It means Paige has to be on her absolute fucking A game. 

Because one bad race for the team and the generous lead they’ve built is gone.

“We’re entering the difficult time,” Diana says, her tone low. “Everyone’s tired. There’s a lot of travel, we’ll be far from home. I know that’s hard. I do. But we need to lock in. Success is going to take everyone. Everyone.”

As far as pep talks go, it’s mid, but Diana does more with her presence than her words could ever do. And Paige isn’t alone in wanting to win; people joke about the drivers and their ego, but nobody talks enough about what the Dianas and the Sues of the world want. What the engineers at the factory, and the technicians on the floor, and the girls in marketing want with every ounce of their being. Everyone wants to win. 

And they’re all depending on Paige and Soni to do it. 

—--

Azzi: 5:26: … and I’ll fucking tell you it’s dangerous. If I have to read one more think piece from genuine computational economists about how AI is going to revolutionize the world I’m going to scream because the confidence rate is fucking deplorable. Math isn’t vibes, it’s not a fucking app that people can use and discard, and we as global citizens are just supposed to run entire systems based on what I truly believe is faulty logic? And the rate that they’re seeing medical students unable to process basic diagnoses without …

—--

There’s certainly enough at the factory to keep Paige and Soni busy for the day. The performance engineering team is clearly salivating over the opportunity to get them back in the simulator for real time instruction and feedback, and who are they to deny the team their presence? 

But beyond being in the simulator, Paige likes talking to the engineers. They’re already so far into the designs and production for next year’s car, and she eagerly tracks down the schematics team to talk through some of the details. They won’t tell her everything — hardly anything, actually — but they let her see some of the differences in the car components, and even if they don’t actually care about her opinion they ask for it. 

She could stay at the factory all day, tooling around with the engineering teams, but there are plans for dinner with the girls; Paige wanders around until she finds the heart of the strategy team huddled up Dorka’s office. Nika’s on the ground furiously taking notes in a little notebook while Azzi stands at the whiteboard; half a dozen other people — including Georgia and Caroline — are scattered around the room. 

“...coming off the long straight into Variante della Roggia? If we don’t have a slip stream?”

Georgia looks down at the tablet in her hand, squinting. “Differential says point two.”

Dorka sighs, pulling her glasses off her face and rubbing at her eyes. “Okay. So we’re not solving this today.”

One of the junior engineers in the room furrows her brow.  “The calculations—”

“Azzi,” Dorka interrupts, “given the numbers?”

Paige watches Azzi frown and shake her head. 

“No. Not if we’re losing half on the straight. But we should re-run the numbers.” 

It’s obvious that they’re all tired and frustrated. Dorka shakes her head, finally spying Paige hovering in the doorway. 

“Here, Paige, come on in. Have you come to save us bearing pastries? This would be an appropriate place for them.”

Paige laughs, her hands up. “Sorry, empty handed today.”

“Well, you have perfect timing,” Dorka smiles. “We’re done for the day. We’ll reconvene tomorrow. Strat-ops debrief at ten.”

The room starts to scatter, the junior engineers filing out quickly and Caroline and Azzi gathering around the desk to engage in last minute conversation. Nika and Georgia also hang about, though Nika nods Paige over to show her the acceleration arcs the team has just been discussing.

Paige doesn’t read in too deeply. She’s more absorbed in listening to what Dorka, Azzi, and Caroline are talking about. Straight line speed, and the wind projections for Sunday. 

Azzi looks different, since she’s at the factory. It’s been so long of seeing Azzi at the circuits, in the garages, and seeing her today Paige realizes she’d forgotten how good Azzi can look in business casual. It’s nothing, of course, compared to Azzi in actual casual; she’s devastating in an old pair of joggers and a threadbare longsleeve covered in holes.  

She’s lovely in the green sweater. It looks soft, strokable. Paige can just imagine how it would feel under her fingers. HQ always runs cold; it was that way at Mercedes and it’s clearly the same at Lamborghini, and the soft green cashmere offsets the beautiful black of Azzi’s ringlets, the deep hue of her skin. 

“Okay, I’m going to head out,” Nika says to Dorka, seemingly done with letting Paige observe Azzi from up close.  

“Have fun,” Dorka waves Nika off, already burying her nose into the data reports with Caroline and Azzi. 

Right as Paige and Nika start to leave, she sees Azzi flick her eyes up. They don’t say anything, but it’s a warm moment. Azzi doesn’t grin, or even smile, really, but there’s something sweet in her gaze. Something knowing. 

Paige gives her a little head nod before she follows Nika out of the office. 

—--

Sant’Agata is an old town, despite the modern furnishings that adorn it in the countryside. There’s not even a proper hotel, just a smattering of bed and breakfast spots. Nika and Georgia both live in flats in Modena, which is the larger town. It’s a twenty minute drive, but Georgia claims there are more food options and Nika says she doesn’t want to be under anyone’s thumb. 

Georgia and Soni are meeting them at dinner, but Nika wants to change first, so Paige drives her to the flat. 

“Diana was in and out of the engineering floor all day yesterday and today,” Nika says, like Paige asked. 

She didn’t, but she does want to know. 

“And?” 

Nika shrugs, her gaze on the Italian countryside. She grew up in Zagreb and living in these little towns — Brackley and now Modena and Sant’Agata — feels like a weird step back. That’s what she said when they lived together in Brackley, anyway, and Paige knows Nika doesn’t enjoy small town life, Italian countryside or not. Mercedes or Lamborghini or any other car maker. Nika’s meant for city life, for the fast pace. 

Paige spent so long putting her body where the fastest lap would take her that she never really noticed or cared that she didn’t fit her surroundings. 

“Nothing weird,” Nika confirms. “Nothing weird at all.”

“I bet Azzi doesn’t even know about the fight,” Paige murmurs. 

“Azzi doesn’t notice anything that isn’t the data.” 

“Where does she live?” 

When Paige made her first trip to the Lamborghini factory, in January, she’d been too emotionally fucked up to ask any questions about Azzi. To wonder where she lived or ask where she ate, and figure out if she was drinking enough water. She wasn’t, she never does, but Paige can think about it. 

With the nature of their roles, Azzi’s spent so much more time in Sant’Agata than Paige has; she’s been letting herself wonder more and more about what Azzi’s life is like in Italy. She plays out romantic little fantasies in her head about how Azzi might spend her time and the routines she’s established.  

“I don’t know,” Nika says, honestly. “I think she rides a bike to work, though. I’ve seen her pedal up a few times.”

Paige sighs, because that tracks. 

She taught Azzi how to drive, showed her how to work a pedal and a gearstick. And teaching this infernal woman to drive - Azzi, who knows more about how a car works than any other human that Paige has ever encountered - is the hardest thing Paige has ever done in her life. She won’t lie, when they went to the DVLA and Azzi had to take the driving test Paige was not confident that a license was going to be the end result that day. She’d been so surprised when Azzi returned with the evaluation instructor and said “I passed” that Azzi had glared and made Paige pay for dinner without even pretending to offer to pick up the tab.

“She hates driving,” Paige reminds Nika. The second part stays unspoken but present: and she’s bad at it.

“Yeah. She always takes team transport, if she can,” Nika confirms. 

So some things have stayed the same. 

“It’s pretty here,” she says, glancing out the window. Everything looks better when she’s behind the wheel of the Urus, but Italy is picturesque pretty much everywhere. Paige wishes she could appreciate it more. She wonders if Azzi appreciates it at all. 

“It’s Italy,” Nika contradicts, her voice unimpressed. “It looks the same everywhere. Croatia’s got more variety.”

Some things have definitely stayed the same. 

—-

Monza, Italy

Monza. The Temple of Speed. 

Paige raced most European circuits in Formula 3 and 2, so it's not like she's brand new. And yet, there's something exhilarating, something different, about racing as a Formula 1 driver.  But it's not the adulation, even though yes, of course, it's a giant ego boost to be the subject of such fervor. No, it's the feeling of power. Of knowing that she gave so much to get here, to be one of the twenty. To give everything still, to stay at the top. 

"I think I fucking hate all this red and yellow," Soni says, looking over the side of the wall, at the Ferrari flags that litter the pathway to the estate.  

They got forced into some kind of Ferrari x Formula 1 partnership event. A black tie gala at a freaking castle, like this is some kind of Bond movie. 

“I hate racing in Italy for someone else’s home race,” Paige admits. 

“They say there’s two religions in Italy,” Soni muses. “There’s the catholic church, and there’s Ferrari.”

“Time for another great schism, then. Long live Lamborghini,” she drawls.   

They arrived separately, each of them driving a vintage Ferrari convertible. Soni looks like an old Hollywood movie star in a black halter dress, her hair blown into glamour curls. Thanks to Lili, Paige herself looks like a fucking boss, the black Louis Vuitton suit fitted like a glove and the black cape with gold trim hanging from her shoulders like she's ruling a kingdom. Lamborghini may be a guest but their factory’s only forty kilometers down the road. They’re equal owners of this part of Italy and they travel like royalty. 

“Diana looked like she was swallowing glass,” Soni says with a snicker. “Her smile was so fake.”

"So was yours. So was mine,” Paige laughs. 

The two of them are taking refuge on one of the turret terraces, outfitted for the evening as a bar. They did the stuff they're obliged to do: a rope line, group shots, interacting with all the right people. Luckily, they don't have to play host for the evening: Kah and Julie are the unfortunate winners of that lottery, though Kah has stunned everyone by being genuinely agreeable and bubbly. 

Paige thinks she’s high as a kite.

"Oh there you two are." Veronica emerges onto the terrace, a glass of red wine in her hand. "How are you two always able to disappear so well?"

"We're aggressive about the worst part," Paige says. "And then once you make the rounds nobody cares. Did you at least bring the bottle?" 

Kate wiggles her eyebrows as she steps to join them, holding up the bottle of Casamigos Reposado and a handful of shot glasses; Cam appears at her side with four more. 

"Angels," Soni groans in relief. 

“We’re going to fucking pay for this tomorrow,” Paige mutters.

“Fun while it lasted,” Kate says as she disperses the shot glasses. Cam takes the bottle from her but pauses to open her purse. It’s about the size of a pocket square; Paige can’t imagine anything useful could actually fit in it. 

“Limes,” she says brightly. 

Paige stands corrected. 

“What are we drinking to,” Veronica asks. She’s put her wine on the ledge to help pour the tequila for everyone. There are little jewels threaded through her hair, the curls pulled into an elegant updo. It means every time she moves, she sparkles a little. Paige watches the way Kate’s eyes follow the glow. 

“To driving fast,” Cam suggests, and they all laugh.

“To driving fast,” Paige echos. 

The tequila burns. 

But what’s a little pleasure without a little pain? 

—--

Paige is early to the garage on Thursday morning. She's read the memo that outlined all the upgrades Lamborghini is bringing; Computational Fluid Dynamics — which everyone just calls CFD — has determined some aerodynamic adjustments. The front wing has changed, and the angles for the sides. She’s driven the changes in the simulator but it’s always different in the car after upgrades, and Paige wants to see for herself --- feel for herself --- how that'll translate. 

She won't be able to drive the car until Free Practice 1 in the morning, but new upgrades mean more to digest with the strategy plans. It means additional data to be conscious of, a deep sense of knowing that her car will drive differently. 

"You're in early," Georgia comments, walking by Paige. She’s wearing baggy cargo pants and her hair in a low bun, some stupid shell necklace hangs about her neck in a choker style. Idiotic kangaroo. 

"Fuck off, I'm not," Paige says, her eyes on the car. 

"Just admit her makeover makes you wet," Georgia teases, and Paige gives her a dirty look. 

The indignity. 

"Forcast still looking good?" 

"Should be clear," Georgia confirms. She barks some directions at a trio of junior engineers and walks over with Paige to look at the car. 

The car is assembled, thank god. Paige bends over the side, dips her head down and runs her fingers over one of the dials near the steering wheel. They've opened the flap a few millimeters, after Paige and Soni spent five straight races begging for more lift. Paige has no illusions that Azzi had anything to do with it, because it’s all the aero team and their CFD renderings, but it feels like a request has been granted, nonetheless.

"So," Georgia says. "Do you know Azzi's friend?"

Paige stands up. "Her friend?" 

"Kinda tall. Tattoos. Kinda French. You know, that one. Over there."

She waves her hand and Paige follows the direction across the garage; sure enough, in a little trio in the far corner, Azzi stands in conversation with Caroline and another woman. Azzi's the only one facing Paige but Paige doesn't need to see the face of the woman whose muscular frame is beautifully on display in the simple white shirt and cargo pants. Her hair is short, in rows that lead to a low bun, the kind of hair that’s easy to keep tidy and clean.  

Azzi sees Paige's stare, and her eyes leave the conversation to meet Paige's gaze. But that pulls the attention of the other woman, and she turns around. 

"Oh hey, Paige."

Low voice. Melodic. A hint of attitude because that’s just how she rolls. 

So. Gabby Williams is in Monza. 

Okay. 

There isn't time to interact, really. Paige barely has time to wave a half-distracted hello before Nika appears, dragging her through the garage to look at the newest telemetry reports from the recent simulation sessions. 

“CFD says that this will give a tenth on the curves, which you could really do with if you’re in dirty air,” Nika’s saying, running through computational charts and chicane speed calculations.

To be honest, Paige isn’t really paying attention, because for one, she did read her briefings and for two. Well. 

"Did you meet Gabby?"

Distracted, Nika shrugs. “Azzi's friend? Yeah. She made some intros earlier. You know her well?”

Paige knows Gabby. Paige also knows everything about Azzi. Knew everything about Azzi. 

"She's Azzi's roommate from boarding school," Paige supplies, like that means anything to Nika. It’s strange to think of the ways in which her life was separate, back in Brackley. Paige and Azzi was separate from Paige and Nika, even if both halves of her make up the whole. "Her oldest friend."

Nika pauses. "I guess it was weird that she had a friend."

Paige shoves her. "Don't be a dick."

Nika grunts. "Azzi put me on write up duty," she complains. "Just because she doesn't like the factory assessment."

"Then do it and be grateful for the opportunity,” Paige admonishes. "If she's asking you to do that it's obviously because she trusts your assessment.”

"You just think that because Azzi's a super genius we're all blessed to be in her presence," Nika mocks, going for the jugular since she’s in a mood. 

"She is a genius and we are blessed to be in her presence," Paige shrugs. 

"She said she wants to run you on light fuel in FP1 and 2," Nika shares, a little too smug and delighted for her words to be anything but true. 

"For fuck’s sake," Paige complains, groaning. "Why is she like this? Don’t write that assessment,” she directs. “She can live without."

“Unlike you,” Nika grumbles, “the rest of us don’t have options about deciding when we do and don’t want to listen to Azzi.” 

Well, that may be factual but Paige doesn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she pulls the telemetry reports from Nika’s hands and skips ahead five pages until she finds the graph that she wants. 

“This is going to be a problem,” she says, pointing her finger at the arc in the middle of the page. It’s been printed in color, which shows the velocity in red. It’s not a pretty curve the way it should be – more of a squiggle, really. 

Nika rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you say you already read it, could have saved so much time.”

“Bro, I did say it,” Paige reminds her. “You didn’t believe me.”

“Because you hate telemetry readouts, idiot. So you know her,” Nika loops back, non-linear as always. 

“Yeah.”

“Really well?”

Paige shrugs. “Well enough.” At Nika’s probing look she shrugs. “She’s Azzi’s ride or die.”

Nika opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but cuts off abruptly. Paige arches an eyebrow, daring Nika to say it, but her Croatian twin has always had a great sense of self preservation. 

Yeah. Good decision.

“Anything else you wanna share with the class? Not everyday Azzi brings a mysteriously beautiful woman into the paddock and you’re cool as a cucumber about it.”

“Gabby’s…cool,’ Paige says, choosing her words carefully. She’s never had to talk about Gabby before, never had to wade into describing the dynamic. So many times over the last ten months, she’s thought about Gabby and wondered what her perspective would be, what she’s said to Azzi, what she knows about Azzi’s intentions. What she knows about what happened between Paige and Azzi. And what she thinks of Paige as a result. 

“Resounding stamp of approval.”

But Paige doesn’t have anything else to add. Not until she and Gabby get a moment together, and Paige is honestly in no hurry for that. 

“Paige! You’re due at media.”

It’s CD, with her eyes on Paige, and she sighs in defeat. CD’s love language — and dedication to work — includes imposing herself as Paige’s handler, which always means less fun. Honestly, the woman seems to level up by sucking the joy out of Paige’s life. 

“Gotta go,” Paige breathes, half a second before she about faces and beelines it out of the garage, flat out pretending that she doesn’t see or hear CD.

“Best of luck,” Nika calls. “Go left. I’ll tell CD you went right.”

—--

Unfortunately, Paige is so distracted at Gabby’s presence and what it could mean, what it can yield, that she entirely forgets about her two other preoccupations; the fight between Diana and Sue, and having to be face to face with Sabrina. 

Which is, of course, why she arrives at the media waiting room and finds Sabrina already there. 

Sabrina’s sitting on one of the armchairs — it’s the padded kind, because Sophie’s always yapping about how uncomfortable the plastic chairs are and some F1 minion had to switch them out— scrolling on her phone, and she glances up briefly when Paige walks in. 

Fuck. Paige immediately wonders who their third is supposed to be. 

“Becca’s in our segment,” Sabrina says, lazily evaluating Paige’s entire countenance. 

Paige really wants to roll her eyes but one thing she’s always been cognizant of  — especially this year — is not wanting to look like a child when Sabrina’s around. It didn’t seem as important before, when she was still in F3 and even F2, but something about making the switch to F1 and having to contend with Sabrina in an entirely different context than she’d assumed they would have to interact has made Paige more conscious of how she presents. 

God, she wants to know. There’s so much she wants to ask, she feels like she’s at such a disadvantage. And the only thing that Paige hates nearly as much as losing is being at a disadvantage. Especially when it comes to information. 

Because Paige can put her elbows out and make space for herself on track; she’s an equal in ability to any of the other drivers, to anyone in a car. But off track. That’s a different story. 

Sabrina smiles, that stupid knowing smile.  

Paige leans against the wall and crosses her arms. Stares back. 

“Didn’t see you much at Zandvoort,” Sabrina says. “You have a good break?”

She’s enjoying this. She’s absolutely having the time of her life and Paige is doing her absolute damndest to keep herself in check. 

Do not. Crash out. 

Do NOT. Crash out. 

The words loop in Paige’s brain, trying to blanket every instinct she has. Because every instinct she has is screaming for violence. Physical. Verbal. Spiritual. She’ll take any and all, an act of God or a punch. 

Was it meant to be a secret, that Azzi saw Sabrina over break? None of the other girls noticed Azzi in the back of Sabrina’s picture, and Paige had to make a separate instagram account just to stalk every single member of Sabrina’s family and her friends. And Sabrina can’t know for sure that Paige saw the photo, that Paige knows Azzi was in California, in Walnut Creek. 

So really, Sabrina’s just enjoying Paige’s always-present misery of being out of the loop. 

“I did,” Paige says. She forces the casual tone into her voice, loosens her stance so everything about her screams chill. “You?”

“Yeah. Great break.”

Sabrina tips her head to the side, her smile widening just a little bit. The jut of her jaw is daring Paige. She’s trailing the gunpowder to dynamite and handing over a match. 

Where the fuck is Becca. 

“Nice run, in Zandvoort,” Sabrina says. It wasn’t a great race for her, but nothing embarrassing. Mercedes didn’t have pace, and Paige and Soni somehow managed to stick in there with Caitlin. Everyone gets lucky once in a while. “You’re settling in well,” she adds. 

Patronizing bitch. 

There are so many things Paige could say to that, depending on which way she wants to take it. But she doesn’t want to escalate this and she doesn’t want to walk away with her head down. She wants answers on Azzi but she sure as fuck isn’t going to Sabrina for them. 

“Lamborghini’s a good home,” is what she says instead, and she’s saved from having to engage further when Becca arrives, flustered because she had a run in with some kind of wildlife exiting the Williams garage. 

But even as Becca explains the story — something involving a bird — Sabrina and Paige continue to be aware of each other, not quite looking away but never escalating into another stare down. 

By the time the first batch of drivers exits the media room, they've cooled into something that can be viewed publicly. Paige keeps her head high, her wits around her, and holds the microphone tightly in her hand. She feels exposed in a way she didn’t earlier.

It’s a good reminder to always keep her fucking guard up. 

—-------

Azzi: 2:18: …and you know everyone goes on about the environmental footprint but the emissions of the cars are negligible compared to the operational side. Long-term ecological sustainability is imperative but don’t do a disservice to the sport by pretending that the hybridization of the cars is having any impact on reducing the impact Formula 1 has on the world. If you want to address the actual issues then focus on the infrastructure that the entire…

—-------

The hospitality suite is fairly empty when Paige sneaks in before the afternoon strategy ops meeting to see if there are any raspberry tartlets. A wonder --- there are three left --- and she scoops them all up. 

It's a short lived victory, because right as she's about to turn and leave, she makes eye contact with Gabby. 

She's seated at one of the four seater tables, her laptop near her at an angle. But she's also looking up, and their eyes meet, rendering egress not an option. 

"Gabby, hey."

"Paige."

Her tone is oddly formal. Strange. It's not cold — not with the way she's inviting Paige closer — but it's not warm. 

Paige leans down and daps her up, grateful that things with Gabby always had a vibe that was bro-adjacent enough that this is an acceptable way to physically greet her. 

"Wow, I can't believe I'm finally meeting the great Paige Bueckers."

Gabby's definitely mocking her, and there's certainly a thread in her voice that's sharp, but the rest of it just sounds like good natured ribbing. 

"Please stop."

"I can't," Gabby holds her hands up. "There are about five commercials that they play on one of the few tv stations we can access. Your Coca-Cola ad is one of them. I kid you not.”

"Where you from?"

She hates having to ask, to acknowledge that she doesn’t know. But Paige hasn’t spoken Gabby’s name out loud in over ten months, hasn’t talked to Azzi about where she’s been dispatched and what she’s been doing. 

"Burkina-Faso," Gabby says, her husky voice tinged with a childhood of living across the world. "Outside the city though. For the most part. Been there since early in the year."

She’s been with Doctors Without Borders since she finished her residency at Cedars-Sinai, back in Paige's first year in F3. Her specialty is pediatric care for children dealing with malnutrition and maternal-fetal obstetrics. But Paige knows that Gabby’s cleaned enough bullet holes and treated enough wounds caused by violence to give her a specialty in trauma that would admit her to the staff of any hospital in the world. 

"You good?"

"Yeah," Gabby shrugs, "I'm good." She adjusts her glasses, pressing the thin metal up the bridge of her nose. "What about you? You good?"

Her voice is suede. Soft if you stroke it right, rough if you go against the grain. She’s effortlessly cool, her aura bolstered by a deep I don’t give a fuck attitude that’s true down to the marrow of her bones. Paige remembers getting absolutely trashed with her in Brackley, walking home from a club in Paris in the freezing cold, spending one night in Prague consuming their weight in dumplings.

"Mmm. I'm good."

Before Burkina-Faso, Gabby spent two years in the Central African Republic, and before that she did a six month stint in Mali. Her assignments have always been in Africa; a lot of places there suffered under colonization and Gabby speaks French fluently.  

"You always were a shit liar, Paige."

She grins. "Most would argue differently." 

Gabby always saw more than she let on; Paige used to think it whenever she visited. She'd study Paige subtly, her eyes always assessing. There's no question that Gabby clocked Paige's feelings for Azzi long before Azzi herself did.

Paige always wondered if she told Azzi about it. She wonders now what Azzi told Gabby about Abu Dhabi. 

"When's your next posting?"

Gabby shrugs. "Heading back to the Ouagadougou area for a bit while I wait for a new posting, actually. Just came through to see Azzi."

"You stayin' for the race?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't miss the opportunity to see her in her element."

There's fire in Gabby's eyes. Paige doesn't know where it's directed and very honestly, she doesn't want to stick around to find out. 

"I gotta run. I'm due for a touchpoint with Diana."

Gabby looks like she knows a lot more than Paige does and Paige hates that. She despises not being in on the know, on the joke, on the take. Especially with Gabby, who probably has the best assessment of what happened. If there were anyone in the world who would have better access to Azzi's truth than Paige, it's Gabby. 

They were roommates at that boarding school; three years together that bonded them for life. Azzi was always skimpy on the details about school, but she said the best part of Gallagher was meeting Gabby. 

It was always such a lovely thing, to see the two of them together. Azzi would relax around Paige but only if they were alone; but when Gabby was around — that’s when Paige got to see Azzi happy and at ease and she got to do it from the rare vantage point of being the third wheel. It felt special. 

"I'll see you, then," Gabby says. She holds Paige’s gaze, unflinching; it’s disconcerting. 

Paige salutes — like a fucking idiot — and leaves the hospitality suite. As she walks toward the engineering debrief, she reflects on all the other times Gabby visited Azzi in Brackley. And the one time that Gabby happened to be around for the French Grand Prix and hung out in the garage and at the track with Paige for most of the weekend. The two of them drank Heinekins and tossed peanuts in a cup for hours. 

It’s strange to see Gabby again from such a faraway vantage point; to feel the resulting closeness from memories shared just deleted without intention. Paige doesn’t know how to be around her. 

Paige doesn’t know how to be. 

—--

It’s been some time since Lamborghini had a long media segment, so Paige and Soni get sent to do a twenty minute sit down with the comms team. 

“I just think, objectively—”

“I don’t know how your point of view could be objective—”

“That with my coloring and bone structure—”

“I have excellent bone structure—”

“That the polo looks better on me.”

“Unthinkable.”

Everyone thinks Soni’s such an angel but nobody has to see this side of her. Rude, assertive. Delusional. 

The producer attaching the microphones to them doesn’t look endeared by their shit. Seated across the half circle, Nastya surveys them with amusement. She’s already mic’d up, was just waiting for them to arrive. 

The costuming department is really leaning into the Italian sundress vibe. 

“Okay guys,” she says, when Paige and Soni are all settled, and they’ve already elbowed each other so many times that the producer made them separate the chairs by another half foot. “Two questions each, easy peasy. The weekend, the fans, the atmosphere.”

“Like any of this is going to air,” Paige says, with what she hopes is a charming sneer. 

“Don’t pout,” Nastya says, pointing one finger at Paige. “You had your home race; it’s Kah and Julie’s turn.” 

“She struggles to give up the spotlight,” Soni adds, helpfully. 

“Don’t we know it,” Nastya smiles. 

“She’s just as bad as me,” Paige asserts, glaring at both of them, unenthused. She’s saved only by the producer calling a start to the segment. 

“Well, it might be Ferrari’s home race this weekend in Monza, but there is another Italian team. I’m here with our favorite all-rookie team, our bulls in gold, Soni Citron and Paige Bueckers of Lamborghini. Welcome, ladies.”

There’s literally nothing that Paige hates more than being greeted with ladies, and judging by the look on Nastya’s face — glee, masquerading as warmth — she knows it. 

“Sup,” she grins, pasting the smile on. None of it’s real. Not at all. 

“Paige, tell me what it’s like to be racing here, in the heart of the Tifosi.”

Beside her, Soni straight up snorts, and then bursts into laughter. She can’t get it together, and then Nastya can’t keep it together and then Paige is the only one who’s got any decorum at all and the producer has to call cut so they can re-record the segment. 

—--

Dijonai summons Paige at the crack of dawn, because she’s a witch and that’s when she’s most powerful. 

They go for a run in the early morning, slightly cooler air, long before the track has opened to fans or even most employees. Paige has been running more, since DiJonai came into her life. She hates it less than usual, though she attributes that to just enjoying being in step next to Nai. It’s steadying to go out when it’s barely light and to watch the sunrise together. 

And getting up earlier means she’s actually sleeping earlier, sleeping better. Being less of a night owl and keeping to a schedule is actually doing wonders for cutting down her spiral time. If her body is too tired to stay awake then her brain has no choice but to succumb as well. 

Most trainers would have Paige on a treadmill during race weekend, but DiJonai seems to know what Paige needs, and being confined to the gym to sweat it out definitely isn’t it. 

“Loser buys breakfast,” Paige shouts, trying to edge out DiJonai as they round the corner to the back entrance and enter the home stretch. 

DiJonai smokes Paige, which isn’t surprising. Paige is still laughing as they come to a stop outside the motorhome area. 

“You’re an idiot,” DiJonai pants, doubled over. “I could run circles round you six ways to Sunday.”

Paige squirts at DiJonai with the waterbottle in her hand, and DiJonai slaps at Paige in retaliation; sadly for Nai, Paige is a sweaty mess, and her hand just slides off. 

“Fucking child,” DiJonai hisses, wrestling the water bottle from Paige’s hand and squirting her square in the face. 

Naturally, they’re so engrossed in getting one up on each other that they completely miss the two figures approaching from the Lamborghini Team Motorhome until they absolutely have an audience. And all of Paige’s luck has been given to her performance on the track, so obviously the two people are Azzi and Gabby. 

“Morning.”

It’s DiJonai who notices them first, and Paige turns, unexpectedly hit with the view of Azzi lit in the easy morning light. Ethereal. 

“Hey.”

She feels unexpectedly exposed, the black sports bra and light blue shorts leaving her open to Gabby’s direct gaze, to Azzi’s assessing eye. They can see the way her heart thumps, the way her lungs expand. 

“Y’all are up early,” Paige observes, stupidly. 

“Just getting some time in,” Gabby says. 

DiJonai blinks at Paige, then clearly loses patience. “Hi. I’m DiJonai, Paige’s performance coach.”

She and Gabby exchange greetings and a handshake, and Paige has to force herself to move her gaze to and from Azzi at a normal rate. 

God, she’s beautiful. Among her regrets — and there are many — Paige mourns that she never got to see Azzi wake up after their night together. Azzi bathed in morning light is as radiant as Azzi in starlight, as Azzi in dripping in victory, as resplendent as Azzi unshowered and wrinkled and buried in calculations. All the drip in the world and Paige never felt like she was anywhere near Azzi’s level. 

At a loss for what to do with her limbs and her face, Paige begins to stretch. They’ve been talking to each other through the voice memos, though neither of them acknowledge anything that they’ve sent in recordings over the previous days and weeks. 

It’s a strange way to communicate; everything’s a statement. No questions are asked. And in some ways, that makes it easier. Less pressure. In unspoken rules, they don’t talk about anything too deep, or about how things are between them. Paige doesn’t edit herself, doesn’t listen or re-record. She says whatever she says and she sends it. 

But it means she doesn’t ever record a message when she’s in a mood. 

“You ever been to this part of Italy before?” DiJonai and Gabby are making small talk, the easy kind of conversation that people can make upon acquaintance. And Paige is grateful, she really, really is. 

“Can we talk about aero load,” she asks Azzi. “I woke up this morning thinking about the simulations from the factory. Can you ask them to separate the arcs for the new wing package on the downforce-to-drag efficiency?”

The worst part is it isn’t even a lie. Not even a fib. Maybe Azzi wasn’t interested in being with someone who only cares about racing and doesn’t have any other interests. 

“You want them for the chicanes or the whole track?”

Paige grimaces. 

Azzi sighs. 

“I do think it’s worth it to look at,” Azzi agrees. “I’ll ask them this morning. Hopefully the team can send them over by this afternoon.”

Paige wipes some of the sweat from her brow and notices Azzi’s eyes flick down to her abs, where she’s unintentionally flexing. But Azzi looks away so quickly Paige almost wonders if she imagined it. But she didn’t. Definitely not when Azzi does it again, like she can’t even help herself. 

“Okay, we should probably head out,” Azzi says, and the way she’s absolutely not looking at Paige — at the smile Paige can’t quite suppress — is giving Paige life. 

“I have to be in the engineering room in an hour,” she adds, like it’s not meaningful that she’s running away. 

Azzi and Gabby walk away, and Paige turns to watch them go, her smile so wide it threatens to eclipse her face. DiJonai shoves her, muttering profanities. 

—--

She’s barely gotten her tyres to temp when there’s a traffic mix up during FP1.  Paige’s front wing gets clipped by Aliyah Boston in the Williams, and she has to be pulled in immediately. 

“We’re fine,” Nika says in her ear, as Paige pulls into the Lamborghini pit. It’s not a quick stop; the crew has to replace the front wing and Azzi’s ordered some tightening on the back flap as well. “We’ll send you back out in clean air,” Nika promises. 

The grandstands are filled with Ferrari red, though there’s a good amount of the Lamborghini black mixed in as well. Italians and their motorsport. Italians and their cars. 

“We’ve got forty-five minutes and a whole list of things to do,” Nika continues. She’s turned around on the pit wall so she can look at Paige, but the helmet visor’s down so Paige knows they aren’t really making eye contact. “Lock in, we’re fine.”

Paige appreciates the talk down. She hates starting a race weekend with an incident, no matter how small it is. Makes it feel like everything gets thrown off. She exhales, closing her eyes, putting the frustration out of her mind. 

The session isn’t a wash. They get some good data on the aero upgrades that have been made, and Paige gets a decent understanding of how the car feels different.  

“Balance is off,” Paige says in the debrief afterward, almost the moment she sits down. 

“Agreed,” Soni chimes in. “Really off — especially through the turns.”

Dorka nods. “We heard that on the radio from both of you. Let’s dive into that.”

“Variante del Rettifilo,” Paige says immediately. It’s a heavy-breaking chicane, a good spot to overtake. She wasn’t at speed but it’s a curve where she should need to go from about 300kph to just under 90kph. 

“You thought it was worse than Ascari,” Azzi asks, standing up to lean over the table and make a red little X on the track layout. 

Paige shrugs. “I think the balance is worse at speed with the intense braking. Way worse than at the left-right-left.”

Ascari is technical sequence. It’s fast, and it comes left-right-left, but it’s not the massive swing in speed that Rettifilo is. 

“Fighting for my life at Rettifilo,” Soni says. “Car was all over the place.”

“I couldn’t trust it through the corners,” Paige adds. “At speed it would have been way worse.”

“Is it pulling equally?” Jana asks, piping up from her spot next to Azzi. 

Paige furrows her brow. “Honestly it was all over the place. It didn’t feel consistent.”

“Maybe more on the left,” Soni suggests. “But, like, only slightly.”

It goes like that for over an hour. Paige and Soni break down all the parts of the car that felt off, share what went well, talk about how to approach FP2. The engineers around them are scrambling to take notes and align what they say with the data readouts, and in the center of the table, Dorka and Azurȧ have additional conversation about changes that can be made before the next session. 

Upgrades are great and they make the car better — there’s no question about that — but CFD can only tell so much. With upgrades come massive adjustments, and three practice sessions aren’t really enough to be able to prepare for qualifying, for the actual race. Paige and Soni spend time together away from the engineers, talking through the circuit and what felt especially difficult. Paige jots down their notes and then gives them to Nika, who shares whatever she deems relevant with the engineering team. 

There’s a tense atmosphere in the garage that feels different to the other race weekends; a collective feeling that everyone needs to figure things out so it can come together. Paige likes it, enjoys the camaraderie; it really feels like team effort, not just each person or crew doing their parts. 

—-------

Azzi: 1:39: …did that I think meaningful change could be made; it’s statistically impossible to posit that the drivers in F1 are the best in the world when the barrier to entry of the sport is beyond the means of the world’s population —even if you omit communities historically excluded from economic opportunity and households in the middle income distribution. I anticipate that if…

—-------

The team doesn’t break for lunch — not with so many changes that need to be made before the afternoon practice session, but people have to find time to eat. Paige wanders through the hospitality suite and sits for a few minutes with Nai, and they’re joined soon enough by Soni and Kiki.

It’s hot but not stupidly so, not egregiously unpleasant; she has enough of an appetite to be able to eat some of the pasta that’s on offer. She picks at an assortment of cut fruit, the watermelon not sweet enough for her American tastes and the pineapple too citrus for her tongue. In the end, she snags an apple and disappears back into the garages, strolling about with her racing overalls unzipped and sticking her nose into places it doesn’t belong. 

She finds Azzi in one of the huddle offices, curled up on the desk chair and crunching numbers, her mouth moving as she talks to herself, muttering about derivatives and velocity projections. 

“Ayo,” Paige grins, resting a shoulder on the doorframe. 

Azzi’s eyes flick up and she raises her eyebrows; not the best greeting Paige has ever had, but she’ll take it. Especially when she remembers Azzi being an embarrassed freak that morning. 

She reminds herself not to be smug. 

“You eat yet?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and she doesn’t wait for the answer. Just lobs the apple across the small office and watches as it hits Azzi on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Azzi winces as the apple bounces onto the table, scrambling to snatch it before it knocks over an uncapped bottle of water that Paige is sure pre-dates Azzi settling into the space. 

“Sorry,” she says, and it sounds like a lie even to her own ears. 

“I didn’t eat,” Azzi admits, biting into the apple. She’ll eat around the roundest part and then get her teeth into the ends, her lips pulling back as she takes delicate little nibbles. Paige wonders if she’s being an extra freak or just a normal freak for knowing how it’ll go. 

“You could say thank you,” she chastizes, inviting herself inside the small space and settling into the chair opposite the desk.

Even at Mercedes, where Azzi had an office, she never did much to make it personal. No real decorations or easy touches that let her inhabit the space. Because Azzi carries her work with her everywhere. In her head. In that beautiful brain. An office is just a place her body is. 

“Azurȧ’s implementing changes,” Azzi says, instead of communicating her gratitude for Paige saving her from imminent starvation. “We’ll do five laps and then recalibrate, in FP2.”

“Sounds good. Where’s Gabby? You send her off on her own?”

“She drove into town. Had to do some work. She stayed in the team home last night because there was an empty bed, but the junior engineers arrived this morning. I’ll meet her for a late dinner.”

It’s absolutely not Azzi’s preference to have anyone visit during a race weekend; she never has the time to hang out, and her focus is always on what needs to be done. She’s complained to Paige on any number of times about it; people want to see what F1 team staff do, want to see the action, but they don’t like being ignored for three days straight. 

But the nature of Gabby’s job means that often times her weekend visits can be spur of the moment. Her pre-approved long leave would be planned months in advance, but Paige remembers times when Gabby would send Azzi a What’s App message with hours to spare – hey, I’m heading to Europe. Where are you? — all because someone could randomly cover for her for a weekend. 

“Nice to have Gabby around,” Paige offers, inviting conversation. But Azzi only sighs and nods, the half lilt to her mouth not the big smile Paige expects. 

“Yeah…Yeah,” she tacks on, like she’s telling herself it’s true. “It’s good to see her.”

Gabby steadies Azzi. Paige saw her do it, early on, and tried to replicate it in a way that would feel authentic. She always thought she largely succeeded. Though events of the past year might indicate otherwise. 

All to say, it’s not the expression of glee that Paige expected. 

“Everything okay? With her? And… you?”

Azzi swallows, the delicate muscles in her throat moving in slow cohesion. She doesn’t look at Paige as she continues to write out formulas in her notebook, the pencil flying across the page even as she talks. “Yeah. Of course. Everything’s fine. Just, you know. Gabby being Gabby.” She waves her hand about, like that’ll clue Paige into what she means. 

“She loves you,” Paige says, because it seems like the right thing to say. 

“I know,” Azzi agrees. 

To Paige’s surprise, she’s a little choked up, like the reminder is necessary. “I miss her, when she’s gone,” she says, hurried. Like she hates to admit it. “I wish she’d just take a job in Paris, work out of a hospital.”

Azzi once told Paige that she always felt guilty that Gabby was off saving the world and she chose a career ensconced in the most gratuitous display of wealth, calculating numbers to line the pockets of the richest of the rich. 

But what could be done, really, when it was clear how deeply everything about racing made Azzi’s blood sing. 

“But that wouldn’t be Gabby,” Paige says, gently.

“No,” Azzi agrees. But it clearly doesn’t do anything to soothe her discontent.

There’s a frown on Azzi’s face, and Paige wants to kiss it away. She wants to run her thumb down the middle of Azzi’s forehead, to smooth out the furrow. Her fingers twitch with the urge. 

Paige clears her throat. “You, um. You heard from the factory yet, about the aero load?”

Azzi smiles, something like gratitude in her gaze for a moment. “No, not yet. But we’ve got a conference call in an hour. I’ll bring it up again.”

“I better go prep for FP2,” Paige says, standing. 

“Thanks,” Azzi says, when Paige is halfway out the door. She waves the apple a little. “For this.”

Maybe she means more than the apple. Maybe she means the forbidden fruit. 

“Anytime.”

Doesn’t really matter what she means, in the end. 

—--

The engineers are amazing, because the car feels like a different beast when Paige gets her on the track during FP2. The balance isn’t perfect but it’s markedly better. Certainly it’s drivable, controllable. 

“Already improved,” Paige says into the radio as she makes it past Rettifilo. 

“Tyre readings look good,” Nika confirms. “Williams, coming up on your left.”

She guides Paige through traffic and three more laps, brings her back into the garage and has her sit for ten minutes while engineers slide under the car to make adjustments. The whole time, Paige reads the telemetry screens that they slide over for her, the visor flicked up so only her eyes are visible. 

“Can I see the acceleration on the exit at Turn 9?”

Azzi wanders over, Nika on her heels. She puts a hand on the front of the car and the other on the seat, caging Paige in. 

“Okay, we’re changing the differential settings,” she says, gesturing to where KK’s plugged in to run a software update to the car. Paige can see her mouth moving, but her voice is only audible through the earbuds connected to the helmet. It’s too loud in the garage for any kind of chatter. “Talk to me.”

“A little understeer when I’m mid-corner,” Paige reports.

“How much?”

She tries to shrug but she can barely move with the safety harness. “Nothing dramatic.”

Azzi nods. “Okay. Let’s soften the rear bar. That might help you free the rear on entry.”

She taps the halo, the three-pronged titanium bars that surround the cockpit, and turns away, flipping the mobile amplifier attached to her waist to switch into another communications channel. Paige can’t hear her, but in her mirror, she sees Kelis straighten and then nod. She scurries away to communicate instructions, and Azzi turns back to Paige. 

“Okay. Give us four and we’ll have you back out there. Software update’s almost done.”

This is the part that Paige loves about the free practice sessions. It’s the only time she really gets to see Azzi in her element in the garage. Before, at Mercedes, when Paige was racing in F3 and more often when she was in F2, she’d been able to sit at Sue’s side during the races, listening to the comms and watching Azzi work. She’d always had a hundred questions for Azzi after, while they were commuting to the next race site or back to the factory in Brackley. 

Azzi in race mode is formidable. Paige misses being able to see it up close. 

—--

Paige and Soni meet in the garage to walk over to the driver’s debrief, giving Paige the opportunity to finally ask the question that’s been burning inside her all day. 

“You hear anything out of the Team Principals briefing?” 

“Nah, nothing on the paddock.”

“Visit that coffee cart tomorrow,” Paige suggests, not totally in jest. 

“Get your ass up and go with me,” Soni chirps back.

They’re strolling together, about to exit the garage, when Kelis comes running up. She skids to stop in front of them, smoke almost cartooning out of her ears. 

“Oh good, I caught you.” She looks a little out of breath. “Can you pop into the strat room before you head out? Azzi and Caroline are huddled. I think they’re heading out earlier than usual tonight.”

If Paige didn’t already know about Gabby’s presence, she’d be shocked to hear Azzi’s leaving the track early. She’s had to physically pull Azzi away from the circuit — too many times to count, really. 

And, indeed, Azzi and Caroline are huddled in the strategy room, an extremely large and detailed diagram of the car between them. It takes up nearly the entire length of the large conference table. It’s probably to some type of scale; 1:3 or something close. 

“Aero wants to run the cars with different wing angles,” Caroline says when they walk in. “Do either of you have a preference on who goes down?”

Soni shrugs. “I’m fine with it — unless you want it?”

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head. “I’d do it but I’m not desperate for it. Front wing was good.”

“I agree,” Azzi says, and she sounds annoyed. 

“Order?” Paige asks. 

“Strong suggestion,” Azzi answers. 

Soni bends over the table to look at the schematic with Caroline, so she can visualize where the changes will be on the front wing. Paige eases her hip onto the conference table, the giant Stanley waterbottle dangling from one of her fingers. 

“You and Gabby going for pizza?”

“Some pasta place that Georgia recommended,” Azzi says, her voice a little distant. She’s got a calculator in her hand - one of the graphic calculators that are always nearby. She punches in a series of combinations and then four more buttons, and nods to herself. “Here,” she calls, holding the calculator out. 

Jana comes by almost immediately, taking it and glancing at the screen. “I’ll give this to Gandy,” she says, walking away before Azzi says anything else. 

Paige raises her eyebrows and Azzi shrugs. “They find it helpful to see the math sometimes,” she admits. 

There’s a grin tugging at Paige’s lips, too strong an urge for her to suppress. 

“Your brain too fast?”

“Not exactly.”

“But something like that?” 

“Something like that.”

Now, she’s giving Paige her full attention, not bothering to pretend to be working on something else or actually working on something else. And she’s in jeans, today, which are almost worse than the leggings because her curves are on full display.  

So Paige is really suffering. 

“You reading anything good these days?” 

Azzi’s always got a book — correction, multiple books — on her nightstand. She prefers physical copies to digital, so she’s always lugging around a couple hundred pages. And the poetry, of course. Always the poetry.

“Nothing too exciting. You?”

Paige is so surprised, she’s sure she resembles a fish. It takes her a moment to recover.

She’s always been a big reader, because she had to spend a lot of time by herself; at the track, in Storrs, on the karting circuit. But she mostly read novels; mystery, some sci-fi, a lot of thrillers. 

When she met Azzi, she realized how much there was that she didn’t know; her reading material transformed. It wasn’t as prescribed as wanting to read things that Azzi was interested in, because Azzi was interested in everything. Paige started reading the newspaper and glancing through magazines about things other than car racing. She started consuming classic novels she hadn’t read in high school, and diving deeper into nonfiction. And, of course, poetry.

“Um, the new Karin Slaughter, but it gives me nightmares so I’ve been winding down by watching Bob’s Burgers.”

Azzi’s blank stare is almost comical. 

“Ask Gabby about it. I’ve got driver briefing now,” Paige says, making a face. “Pray for me.”

“Try not to piss off Cathy today,” Azzi advises.

“No promises,” Paige says, and she’s feeling really fucking bold, so she pairs the words with a little wink. 

She turns to walk away before she can see how it lands. It’s not cowardice, she tells herself; it’s giving Azzi the privacy to receive it. 

—--

Nika’s back in the morning, with her espresso bullshit. 

“I mean, it’s everywhere. Every-fucking-where.”

“It’ll never happen,” Paige disagrees. “We could never fucking get that lucky.”

But Nika shrugs, like she knows more than she does. She doesn’t, she just likes acting like she picks up better gossip because she thinks people like her more. They don’t. They like Paige more.

“Sophie’s in a worse mood than usual, that’s a fucking fact.”

“She almost started a fight at the briefing last night,” Paige dishes, like they didn’t discuss this very thing twelve hours earlier. Over dinner. And dessert. And a sparkling water. 

Paige isn’t even into gossip, really.

“I’m telling you, I think Red Bull is done with her bullshit.”

No. Paige doesn’t believe it. Sophie’s like a cockroach; she always finds a way. “Maybe Diana has heard something,” she offers, since Nika seems invested. 

“Think you could ask her?”

Paige can’t fucking ask Diana Taurasi if she has inside gossip on Sophie keeping her seat. 

“Did you put money on this?”

“That would be illegal,” Nika says, which doesn’t mean no. 

Paige finishes rubbing lotion into her hands and reaches for the gold ring that Nika gave her when they won for the first time in F3. It settles into her knuckle, a comforting presence. She glances in the mirror again, checking the fit. She’s due for breakfast with Diana and Soni. They’re going to sit at the hospitality suite — the outside portion, probably. 

“Diana really thinks she can eclipse Ferrari this weekend,” Nika snorts. 

“She’s sick of giving free press,” Paige theorizes. “We all had to go to that insipid gala.”

“Good word.”

“Yesterday’s crossword,” Paige admits; another habit she developed after meeting Azzi. 

They walk to the paddock together but Nika hurries ahead as they approach the turnstiles; Paige throws a peace sign at the photographer stationed by the entrance, not quite smiling but definitely not frowning. Head up, she can hear Lili saying in the back of her brain. 

“Good luck with breakfast,” Nika says, as she peels off toward the garage. 

Paige heads toward the paddock mall, to the Lamborghini hospitality suite. She finds Soni already seated, looking alert and fresh in the morning sunshine. 

“How many coffee’s you had already?”

“One,” Soni answers. Paige fixes her with an appraising stare. “Two,” she amends. “God, what are we going to talk about? Think of a plan.”

“Why do I have to think of the plan?”

Soni sighs, eyes roving over the paddock. There’s a good amount of foot traffic, but none of it’s really all that interesting. The celebrities won’t show up until later, closer to qualifying time. They’ve got to get through this breakfast, and FP3 before that. 

“Good morning,” Diana booms, her deep inflection tinged with a hint of amusement, just as it always is. She looks like the coolest version of Death, all in black. Paige doesn’t know 

They both rise to dap her up, and Diana says something that makes the three of them laugh. It’s half performance for the public, half for Diana’s benefit. She and Soni have to sing for their supper, after all. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill myself if I have to see those Ferraris on the podium,” Diana says through smiling teeth as she sits. 

“Same,” Soni says, her eyebrow moving infinitesimally. 

“We’ve got pace,” Paige asserts. She leans back, one elbow draped over the chair, the picture of nonchalance. 

“I would hope so.”

They order drinks and some breakfast. Paige picks at the eggs, at the toast, at the avocado slices. Soni seems happy to peel back a croissant one layer at a time. What a freak. 

Throughout, Diana pelts them with questions, asks for their opinions; on the aero package upgrades, on the drivers briefing, on what they think of the conversation that McLaren also brought good updates. She’s a master puppeteer, Diana, and Paige and Soni have to make enough eye contact to always be on the same page. 

“You think Sophie’s gonna keep her seat?” Paige asks it because why not, and across the table Soni smirks. 

“Feels like we’re not lucky enough to be rid of Sophie yet,” Diana sighs. Her water has two lemon slices in it, and a lime wedge. She doesn’t even have to ask for it that way anymore; everyone knows how she takes it. There are advantages to being known. Disadvantages, too. 

“And Mercedes,” Soni asks, her voice careful. “Sue looks like she’s been making moves. She just signed those F4 prospects.”

A silent assassin. Paige’s heart leaps into her throat. God, Soni can be bold. 

Diana chuckles; it could mean anything. 

“You know Sue,” she says, a wry smile on her face. “Always making moves. She can focus on the pipeline. I want us focused on the Constructor’s Championship.”

“Locked in,” Paige murmurs in agreement. 

“To the last lap,” Soni adds. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Diana approves. 

And she does. With lemon wedges and a lime. 

—--

Qualifying goes very well. Pole position again. 

Paige takes an extraordinary amount of pleasure in qualifying ahead of the Ferrari’s and she outright winks at Kah as she waits her turn to talk with Nastya. Even better for Paige, Caitlin takes an engine penalty and so she’s starting at the back of the grid.  

But it’s a good qualifying session for Team Lamborghini, since Soni starts third on the grid, after Phee. They shove at each other, before Soni steps up to talk to Nastya; and again after Paige finishes her own interview. 

By the time they make it out of press responsibilities and into the strategy debrief, Paige is itching to be done with the paddock. She hasn’t had a chance to change, so she’s still in her racing overalls, undone to the waist as always. She can’t wait to take a shower. 

“Since Paige is in pole, I think we should plan for the podium,” Dorka says. “Azzi—”

“No,” Azzi says, not even looking up from her notes. 

Paige watches in amusement as Dorka rolls her eyes and smooths a hand over her hair. Some things never fucking change, and Azzi’s eschewing of all things media is one of them. 

“I was going to say, that you should pick someone from your team, Azzi.”

“Jana and KK can battle it out,” Azzi says, and Paige watches as Jana and KK try to restrain themselves from squealing with delight. 

“I’ll try to win it for you,” Paige assures them. “Just make sure one of you can still stand and get on the podium with me.”

Halfway through the session, they take a break as the data load comes in. Paige takes the opportunity to duck back into the hallway, determined to track down some kind of snack in the kitchen. 

“Yo,” she says, as she enters. 

Gabby’s set up at the small table, a smoothie in her hand as she reads from a thick book. 

“Congrats on pole position,” she says. “Beautiful drive.”

The first time they met, Gabby took great glee in sharing stories of Azzi as a teen. Apparently she’d forced Gabby into watching Formula 1 enough that Gabby developed her own appreciation for the sport. 

“Thanks,” Page accepts the praise as gracefully as she can. “It’s a pretty good car. You having a fun weekend? Been a while since you’ve been to a race.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Gabby says. She fixes Paige with what could only be called an assessing gaze. 

Paige walks to the fridge, opening it to evaluate her options. Mostly waters. She turns to the cabinets to scrounge for some kind of baked good. 

“You being good to her?”

The words ring out in the silence. 

Paige pauses. Her back is to Gabby, which doesn’t feel good from a confrontation perspective, but at least it gives her the opportunity to gather herself. She takes a deep breath and turns around.

“No. You don’t get to ask me that.”

Gabby arches an eyebrow. She’s always been so sure of herself, and it’s not confidence so much as it is an innate assurance that she has the right to meddle. Or to speak on any topic that she likes; Paige never minded it before because Gabby always picked topics in which she was an expert so it didn’t feel intrusive. 

“Don’t I?”

But this feels intrusive. It feels like an accusation. Like Gabby’s needling where Paige is just now scabbed over. 

“Don’t fuck with me about this, Gabby. It’s honestly none of your business.”

She’s never been so blunt with Gabby. Certainly, she’s never been so aggressive. Because Gabby was always fun, always enjoyable to be around, but she was also Azzi’s best friend. Always someone Paige knew she needed to be on good terms with. To curry favor with.

And it had been fine, because Gabby liked her. Paige knew it. That’s why it was easy. 

“She’s my best friend,” Gabby says, unrepentant. “It is my business if she’s getting punched over and over.”

Paige prays for patience. She grips the countertop behind her, squeezing until she can feel the strain in her fingers. 

“Things are better between us. But that’s taking a lot of work on my part. Azzi made decisions. And I’m just living with the consequences. You don’t get to tell me how I’m doing that wrong.”

There’s a glint in Gabby’s eyes. Hard, like diamonds.

“She told me about Abu Dhabi.”

Paige freezes. For a body so in motion, she sure can slam on the breaks. 

“So she told you how she fucked me and then blindsided me,” Paige snaps, irritated that she doesn’t have the upper hand. Hell, she doesn’t even have equal footing.  

“Told me all of it,” Gabby continues, so cool and even. “What you said.”

“What Azzi did in Abu Dhabi fucked me up,” Paige says, her voice carefully calm. “As I’m sure you can imagine.”

Gabby shrugs, like she’s not moved by the argument. And fine, she’s probably right not to be swayed. Because if Azzi did tell her everything then Paige certainly came out looking like mud on the bottom of her boot. What she said to Azzi was inexcusable. You don’t say the kind of things that Paige said to the woman you love, no matter the circumstances. 

“Fucked her up too,” Gabby shares, and Paige can’t help but wince. Hurting Azzi will always be the worst thing she’s done. 

“I apologized.”

“And she accepted.” 

“We’re moving on.”

“Sure.”

Just statements. Little facts that don’t give any kind of accurate representation about the state of the relationship between Paige and Azzi in the time between Abu Dhabi and today; days upon days when she couldn’t do anything but revisit memory row, second and third and fourth guessing every important interaction she and Azzi ever had. 

“I’m trying,” she admits, opening herself for scrutiny. Inviting Gabby’s judgement. “I’m trying so hard to be good to her. To be good for her. And it’s so fucking hard when I’m in the goddman dark.”

If Gabby’s got anything to say in response, she doesn’t get the chance. 

“PAIGE.” 

It’s Jana, calling down the hallway. She appears a moment later, poking her head into the kitchen. She seems to read the tension in the room and then shrug like she doesn’t care. “Azzi wants you.”

Paige nods, and follows after her. She tells herself it’s not running away. 

—-------

Azzi: 3:01:...the idea of gen-eds, in quotation marks. They’re general education for a reason and the more universities specialize, the more it becomes apparent that we’re absolutely failing as a society. To flourish is to evolve and through evolution a key component is adaptability. We’re just ridding ourselves as a human race of that ability. I swear the…

—-------

Gabby’s words linger with Paige. They play in her brain over and over again, a strain of music that she just can't excise. 

You being good to her?

It’s part guilt and part longing. Paige wants so badly to be good to Azzi, to be the kind person she always imagined herself to be. But all her actions during the first part of the season — since she found out about Azzi leaving Mercedes, really— point to someone different. Someone young. Inexperience masquerading as confidence with a touch of arrogance. 

More than a touch, really. 

She sweats in the gym, a post-day workout that’s probably inadvisable. But she can’t quiet her mind and the need to move is humming in her veins. Driving a car’s not an option, not really. Not as fast as she wants to go. 

Seeing Gabby again is fucking her up. Because Gabby’s a reminder of everything that’s different. She’s a walking, talking, yapping reminder of all the ways that Paige and Azzi aren’t what they used to be. 

She puts the set of dumbbells she’s been curling back on the rack and sits on the bench to take a breather. Really, she should quit. She should go and take a shower, get herself ready for bed. Do some meditation and some stretching and prepare for her race. 

Instead, she pulls her phone out. Opens up her photos app, scrolls up and up and up, until she gets to the pictures from December. From the end of last season. There’s a picture of Nika, drinking a cup of Qahwah when they had breakfast on the Friday morning before the Bahrain race. And before that, in Suzuka; a photo of Azzi in front of Nagoya Castle. She’s looking up at the structure, a curious look on her face. Paige probably took the photo while Azzi was yapping about the history of the castle, spitting facts from the travel brochure. She’d noticed Paige taking  a photo, because the next picture is her hand, reaching out to turn Paige away. 

She swipes back, letting the photo of Azzi staring up at the castle settle in the center of the screen. 

Paige stares until it goes dark. 

—--

There’s final work being done to the car. 

Adjustments, double checks, triple checks. Paige sits on a tool cabinet, rolling a washer along her knuckles. She’s looking at the car but she’s not seeing it. Not really. Her mind is on the track, on the curves, the turns, the acceleration and the straight line speed. 

“You look like a serial killer,” Jana comments. She’s entering data at a computer, standing just a few feet away. 

“I’m concentrating.”

“On how you’re gonna kill someone?”

“Would you talk to Alyssa Thomas like this?”

Jana only laughs. “Please. She’s more of a serial killer than you are.”

That’s fair. 

Paige sighs, thumping her head against the wall and trying to find a way to sit with the electricity that’s started humming through her body. Race day, race day, race day. 

Starting on pole is great, is ideal, is everything that a driver wants. She’s starting first at Monza. It still doesn’t feel real, sometimes. It won’t, probably, until she does it all again next year. Repetition ruins enjoyment, or whatever the phrase is. 

The Mclarens are coming for them. Paige can tell. It’s in Phee’s steely gaze on the paddock, in the lock of her jaw as she walks.  Nothing bad, nothing that would sour the air between them. But Phee’s a competitor. A world champion. 

She doesn’t like being showed up by a rookie. 

Paige is going to need to have her elbows out. It’s fine. She’s bony.

—-

They all suffer through the driver’s parade. The Tifosi are out in force, massive swaths of red sections and a roar that accompanies the swell of color. They cheer for their gods; for Kah and Julie, for the prancing horse, for the cars that have won them championships. 

There are big pockets of black, of the gold bull; Paige and Soni sit on the back of the convertible and wave, feeding on the energy. 

There’s something different about racing in Italy; it feels like more. Paige won in Imola and she wants to win in Monza, and everything that happens off the track matters less and less as the minutes tick away. 

She sits through strategy briefings, through the last minute data readouts. Diana gives a pep talk, Dorka gives instructions. The pit crew boss gives advice. 

All of it washes over Paige. Part of her brain takes it in, incorporates it into what she needs in her foot and between her hands, but she doesn’t break concentration. 

In her driver’s room, she kneels, just in a sports bra and her boxers. Her weight rests on her heels, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, palms facing up. It’s not prayer, what she does. Sometimes. But not always. Not today. 

Because she’s feeling a lot. Too much. They aren’t early in the season anymore; things feel different now. It’s less about having something to prove and more about showing what she can do. 

The door opens and Nika slips inside, though Paige doesn’t open her eyes. A hundred things are probably calling for Nika’s attention, for her focus. But she’s here, with Paige. 

“We gonna talk about it?”

Surprised, she looks over. “About what?”

“About how you’re fourteen points back from championship leader and Caitlin Clark is starting at the back of the grid today.”

It’s in her mind. How could it not be? She has the opportunity to take the lead in the championship today. A clean race would do it. 

“Let’s focus on finishing today in one piece,” she says, deflecting. Winning a world championship isn’t something she can focus on today. It’s all about Monza. 

“We got this, Twin.”

We got this. 

—-------

Azzi: 41 seconds: Did I ever tell you about my first F1 race? I swear to god, Paige, it felt like the world had changed.

—-------

A different driver emerges from the ready room. 

Still Paige, still her. But another version of herself. Someone who only cares about being in the car.

There’s the pageantry of the anthem and the nonsense statement about diversity — nonsense because all this sport cares about is money, about winning. And then Paige is standing in the garage with DiJonai getting ready to walk out. 

Gabby’s in the garage, nestled amongst the celebrities and the other onlookers; Paige sees her but doesn’t dive any deeper. She can’t. 

She’s got a race to win. 

As she climbs into the car and the formation lap begins — with her right in front — she doesn’t look at the crowd. Only the pavement. Only the circuit. 

They’re in the Ferrari temple and what Paige wants to do feels like desecration. Her foot is itching, her hands are twitching. As she waits on the starting line she shakes her hands, wiggles her feet. She let’s the ants out and pulls herself together. 

4. 3. 2. 1. 

It’s not a great start. It’s good, but not great. With Soni behind her she’d be able to fly into first but it’s Phee who’s in second, so Paige has to cut the racing line off and dart to take the front. She manages the swing and then she’s roaring out ahead, the orange of Phee’s McLaren a blur in her mirrors. 

“Hold steady, Paige.”

Nika’s a cucumber, keeping Paige steady. She talks her through the chicanes, through defense, through the tyre degradation. She keeps first place and pits first to stop Phee from an undertake; it’s a sub-two second stop, and Paige gets released into a beautiful spot. 

“Beautiful stop everyone, thank you,” she says into the radio. 

The rest is on her. 

It’s hard, because it’s always hard. Nothing comes easy in this sport. Everything is earned. 

But when Paige crosses the line first, adding twenty-five points to her name and taking first place from Caitlin Clark in the driver’s championship, the relief is quick. 

“That’s a win for Lamborghini and a lead for you, Paige Bueckers,” Nika says on the radio. 

“Well done, Paige. Great drive. Let’s celebrate,” Diana says. 

When Paige pulls to a stop and jumps out of the car, it crashes down upon her. She grits her teeth against the tears, against the onslaught of emotion. But she runs into Nika’s arms and buries her face — helmet and all — in her best friend’s neck. 

“Championship leader, twin.”

“Fuck, we’re really here, twin.”

She turns to receive Soni, who started and finished third, and then she goes to weigh and take her shit off. 

While she’s waiting, after she downs most of a bottle of water, she squats down, her head ducked and turned away from the camera. She wants to remember this moment, this feeling. Even if it all goes away after next race. Even if it never comes back. She’s leading the championship. 

Paige stands up when Nastya starts to interview Soni, and finishes the bottle of water, immediately grabbing for the next one. As she looks at the team all assembled her eyes search for and find Azzi. 

She’s standing at the barrier with Gabby by her side, arms draped over and elbows perched on the edge. They’re talking to each other, some kind of conversation that doesn’t require eye contact – because they’re both looking at Paige. 

Paige doesn’t know what kind of expression Gabby has on her face, what she’s thinking; if she’s glaring daggers or looking at Paige like she’s not worthy, if Gabby hates her for the terrible things Paige said or if she thinks that Paige didn’t fight hard enough for Azzi. Paige can’t see any of that because all she sees is Azzi. 

Their eyes lock and the rest of the world falls away. 

She’s here because of Azzi. In first place, at Lamborghini, in Formula 1. And while Paige is the one who gets all the credit, she would never have made it without her. Azzi helped her in a million different ways. Taught her, supported her, led her. 

Planned her races. 

Her strategy. 

At the end of the day, Paige is just the tool. 

—----

Media after the race is a blur. People keep asking Paige what it feels like to be leading the championship, to be the first rookie to lead the championship. She says the same soundbites over and over, because staying on message with the media is easy. 

A state of gratitude. Focusing on where her feet are. On repeat. 

There’s more sponsor appearances — pictures are taken, autographs signed — but then she’s released to the strategy meeting, and the room gives her a standing round of applause as she enters. 

“Please stop,” she begs. “We’re still in first as a team, that’s all that matters.”

Her eyes rove over the occupants, and immediately find what’s missing. 

“Where’s Azzi,” she asks Nika, her brows pulled together. 

“Gabby’s leaving,” Nika says, gesturing in the direction of the paddock exit. “Azzi went to walk her. Just now.”

Paige doesn’t give it much thought. “I’ll be right back,” she says, leaving Nika and the rest of the room behind as she beelines out of the maze of the garage tunnels and makes her way to the paddock. 

She jogs though, ducking people wishing her well and calling congratulations, until she reaches the designated lot that the staff can use to catch the team rideshare or pick up private rides. 

“Hey,” she calls, as she approaches. 

Azzi and Gabby are standing next to one of the private car charters, likely booked to take Gabby to the Milan airport. Gabby has one hand on the open rear passenger door, but they both turn as Paige reaches them. 

“I um…” 

She pauses, not sure of what she should say. She just ran all the way out here like an idiot; she’s still in her racing overalls, for fuck’s sake. Unzipped and looking cool, obviously, but still kind of an idiot. 

And she doesn’t even know what to say. 

But then Gabby steps away from the car, moves away from Azzi. She clasps Paige’s hand between their chests and reaches out with her other arm to hug Paige.  

“Don’t let me be wrong about you, Bueckers,” she says in Paige’s ear, her voice low and melodic. 

Gratitude floods Paige’s system, the relief coursing through her at an astonishing rate. She needed this, needed it from Gabby. And she might be wrong — she might be so wrong — but Paige chooses to believe that Gabby’s rooting for her, and for a reason. And that gives her hope. 

“Be safe,” she says, knocking their temples together. 

Then Gabby pulls away. She tugs Azzi into one more hug and kisses her forehead, before setting her backpack in the car and sliding in. Paige watches Azzi shut the door and step back, their shoulders brushing as they watch the car pull away and start the drive to the circuit entrance.  

“She’ll be okay,” Paige says, turning to look at Azzi in profile. Azzi’s not crying because she’s not like that, but her eyes are dark as they follow the car. 

“I know.”

She turns toward Paige, the late afternoon sun reflecting off her hair. Paige would swear she can see rainbows in the way the strands gleam. 

“First place in the Driver’s Championship,” Azzi says. “I hope you feel proud.”

They aren’t eye to eye, exactly. Azzi’s an inch or two shorter, so Paige just has to tip her face down the barest bit for eye contact. She bites her lip, emotion threatening to make another appearance. 

She’s moving before she can think it through, before she can second guess or ask permission. Paige hugs Azzi, wrapping her arms around the woman she loves, the woman she’s loved for so long. 

Azzi freezes, her limbs seemingly locked up for a moment, but then she melts into the embrace. Her hands come up Paige’s back and press to her tightly, right under the bra line; Paige is wearing the turtleneck of the fireproofs so she can’t feel the touch of Azzi’s skin to hers but the heat soaks in. More than the engine, more than the weather, more than the fire that always seems to be blazing inside. 

I did it for you, she wants to say. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into Azzi’s temple. 

It’s an acceptable hug to have in public, an understandable exchange for the two of them to have in full view of everyone who could possibly be watching. 

“Thank you,” she whispers again, the smell of Azzi’s curly shampoo filling her nostrils. The faint scent of motor oil’s there too. Paige is so at peace she feels lightheaded for a moment. 

Azzi doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move to put distance between them. “You don’t need to thank me for anything,” she says. “You did it.”

But Paige knows the truth. 

They hold each other for another five, seven, ten seconds. 

“We should get back to the debrief,” Azzi says, taking a step back. Her hands slide away slowly. 

“Yeah,” Paige agrees. She also takes a step back, deliberately putting space between them. Not too much. 

But just enough. 

For now. 

[buffalo1221]

can you fix a broken heart

Synopsis: Between flirtation, fan encounters, and one spectacularly petty ex, Paige and Azzi’s “casual dinner” proves anything but casual.

warnings: angst & exes. a super great combo.

wc: 7k

chapter 14:

The restaurant had only been open a few weeks, but everyone in Seattle was already talking about it. A trendy spot downtown with a lauded chef from Milan, Azzi had to pull more than a few strings to get a reservation. She definitely owed her agent a fruit basket, but Paige mentioned offhand wanting to try the place one day, so that was a charge Azzi was happy to swipe her card for.

The space was impressive. That’s one thing Azzi couldn’t debate. Brushed gold accents against dark wood, massive windows reflecting the city lights, sparkling like part of the decor. It was modern without feeling cold, intimate without being stuffy. Twenty stories up, Azzi took in the site of the city with Mount Rainier in the backdrop, catching the waning wisps of sun. It was a truly spectacular sight. 

But none of it compared to the view sitting across from her.

Paige sat back in a plush, low backed chair in black pants and a faded wash button-up. The soft, gray fabric had Azzi making a mental note to not let Paige leave her house with it in the morning. Her hair was down in loose waves, a natural look Azzi loved but didn’t always get to see during their stolen moments between work. Paige also looked relaxed, which was dangerous. The nonchalant act did something to Azzi, not that Paige would ever be informed of it. She had some dignity. 

And Azzi looked good too. She knew that. She had known it the second she slipped on the black dress Sydnee pulled, the loose fabric skimming over her body before dropping low in the back, the scoop of it revealing just more than enough of her chest to make a point. Paige had confirmed it the moment Azzi opened the door. The blonde had stood in Azzi’s doorway staring at her with her mouth actually falling open, eyes dragging slowly from her black heels, up her legs to her face and then right back down again like she couldn’t help herself.

Azzi was still pretty sure she had seen drool forming too, but she let Paige keep her pride intact.

The memory made the corner of her mouth lift as she took a sip of water, pretending it didn’t absolutely inflate her ego. Across from her, Paige looked at Azzi like she was trying very hard to behave. She wasn’t very successful. Azzi could still see the same hunger that apparently hadn’t dissipated after the quickie Azzi allowed in the car. And if that’s maybe why she decided on a dress for the evening, that was no one’s business but her own.

“So,” Azzi said, folding her arms lightly against the edge of the table as she looked at Paige over the flickering candle. “How’s work been?”

“Good,” Paige said. “Busy, but good.”

She leaned back a little in her chair, one arm draped over the side. Azzi couldn’t believe how good the woman looked doing absolutely nothing.

Before she could reply, the waitress appeared beside them with their drinks balanced expertly on a black tray. She set down Paige’s old fashioned first, the amber liquid catching the warm restaurant light, then Azzi’s glass of red wine.

“Thank you,” Paige said, waiting until the waitress moved away before lifting her glass. 

Azzi took a sip of her wine, relishing the bitterness of the vintage on her tongue. “Is Brittani behaving?”

Paige immediately laughed, which was Azzi’s first clue that whatever came next was going to annoy her.

“Actually,” Paige said, grinning stupidly, “she came downstairs in her robe the other day while I was working, and when I tell you this thing was hanging on for dear life—”

“Paige.”

“What?” Paige asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes gave her away. “I’m just saying, there was a lot going on. A lot of lace and—”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Stop rage baiting me,” she warned. “I’m not falling for it.” 

That only made Paige’s smirk widen. She swirled her drink once, then took a slow sip, looking maddeningly pleased with herself as she peered at Azzi over the rim of her glass. Azzi hated how attractive she looked doing it. Hated it even more because Paige clearly knew exactly what she was doing. And okay, maybe it was working because she debated dragging the blonde into the bathroom to wipe the smirk off her stupidly perfect face. 

“Mm,” Paige hummed after she swallowed. “Seems like you already did.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she was smiling as she glanced again at the view of Mt. Ranier. When she looked back, Paige was still watching her with that same smug expression.

“Why did you even take this job?” Azzi asked, partly to redirect, partly because she genuinely wanted to know. “Usually you only take smaller projects.” 

The teasing in Paige’s expression gave way to something more thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about expanding the business,” she offered. “It’s a good jumping off point.” 

That caught Azzi’s attention. She straightened a little in her seat. “Expanding how?”

Paige looked down at her drink for a second, either studying the ice or organizing her thoughts before saying them out loud. “For a while, it’s mostly just been home repairs, basic odd jobs, stuff like that. That was kind of my dad’s thing, and when I took over last year, I just…” She gave a small shrug. “Ran with it.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting her talk.

“But I like designing and redoing spaces,” Paige went on. “More than I thought I would, honestly. I like the bigger picture of it. Figuring out how something can function better and look better. So the goal is to take on more in-depth renovations. Like built-ins, kitchens, bathrooms. That kind of stuff.” She glanced back up at Azzi, more animated now, excitement laced in her expression. “This job’s paying a lot, and if it goes well, could be a good stepping stone into that type of work since they know a lot of people in the area.”

Azzi felt something warm unfurl in her chest at the way Paige talked about it. There was no false modesty or trying to play it cool. Paige was excited about the possibilities, about the vision.

“That’s really cool,” Azzi said. She meant it too. “Would you hire people?”

Paige nodded. “Eventually, yeah.”

Azzi cocked her head. “Nika again?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely the fuck not,” she scoffed.

Azzi laughed fully, and Paige’s mouth curled with satisfaction.

“She’s my twin,” Paige said, “but we would kill each other.”

“That’s fair.”

“I love her,” Paige added. “Deeply. But if I had to manage her like full-time? One of us would end up in prison.”

Azzi laughed softly again and let her gaze linger on Paige’s face. There was something endearing about how sure she sounded about all of this. The ambition was hot and Azzi found herself wanting to do everything in her power to help make it happen. 

“Well,” Azzi said, tracing one finger lightly over the stem of her wine glass, “if you need any help with marketing or editing the website or anything, I know a really good graphic designer.”

Paige’s expression changed instantly, and not subtly either. Her shoulders dipped, blue eyes dropping to her drink. 

Azzi felt herself pull back just a little. “Or not,” she said gently, trying to claw back the words that had an obvious impact. “No pressure. Just thought I’d offer, is all.”

Paige looked up quickly. “No. No, I appreciate the offer. I do.” She exhaled through her nose and glanced down again. “I know I need to update the website. It’s just…” Her finger started running slowly around the rim of the whiskey glass. “I made it for my dad a while back when I was in high school. We sat at the kitchen table going back and forth for hours. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to change it. ”

Azzi felt the words hit her in the chest like a Brittany Griner screen. For a second, guilt pricked at her for bringing it up at all. But beneath that, when she peeled back the layered emotions, she was glad Paige was letting her see this part of her instead of brushing it off. 

“And the logo?” Azzi asked carefully.

Paige gave a small, almost embarrassed nod, crimson creeping up her cheeks. “I made it when I was like thirteen. Thought it was so cool.”

Azzi smiled at the image of a much younger version of Paige, sitting there, designing a clip art logo for her dad’s business with complete sincerity. It was so absurdly sweet it made something in her chest pinch.

“It’s actually really cute,” she said.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Please don’t call my logo cute,” she groaned.

“It’s cute,” Azzi reiterated, still smiling. “You’re cute.”

Paige shook her head, but there was a smile on her mouth now.

“Well, if you want my contacts, let me know. Either way, I’m excited to see you take that next step. You deserve it.”

Azzi really meant it, too. She loved the way Paige loved her work, the quiet intensity that came over her when she described her day. Paige worked harder than almost anyone Azzi knew, and Azzi was surrounded by professional athletes. She showed up early, stayed late, and carried the kind of responsibility most people would have run from years ago. Azzi wanted great things for her. Not just because she liked her, but because Paige had earned them.

For a moment, Paige just looked at her with a fond expression. Then she smiled, and this one was different from the teasing ones or the cocky ones or even the shy ones. It bordered on pride, and it was certainly having an effect on Azzi.

“Thanks,” Paige said softly, her cheeks slightly flushed. 

Azzi lifted her glass again, unable to stop the smile tugging at her own mouth. “To taking over Seattle one renovation at a time, then.”

Paige raised her old fashioned toward her. “And to not hiring Nika.”

Their glasses clinked softly between them, cutting through the laugh they shared.

After another sip of wine, Azzi glanced at the menu in front of her, then back up at Paige.

“We should probably figure out what we’re going to order, huh?”

Paige let out a quiet hum of agreement and reached for her menu. Azzi did the same, unfolding the sleek leather-bound book and scanning the options even though she had already perused the menu online and knew what she was going to order. 

Paige glanced over the top of her menu. “What are you getting?”

“The spinach and asiago stuffed portobello mushroom cap,” she rattled off. “It comes with risotto and a baby spinach salad with balsamic.”

Paige slowly lowered her menu and made a face, her lips pulled together and protruding slightly.

Azzi looked up. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige hummed. 

“You’re making a face…” 

Paige looked unconvinced by the choice. “A mushroom cap does not qualify as dinner.” 

“It’s stuffed,” Azzi shot back.

“With sadness?”

Azzi stared at her for a beat, then shook her head. “You have the palate of a small child.”

Paige put a hand to her chest like she had been deeply wounded. “Okay. First of all, that’s rude.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” Paige argued. “Second of all, don’t come asking for a bite of my dinner when you realize it’s better.”

“And what are you getting?”

She already knew exactly what Paige would order but it was fun pretending otherwise. 

“The Tomahawk steak with garlic smashed fingerling potatoes.”

Bingo.

Azzi arched a brow, satisfied that she knew the blonde so well. And that she was getting steak because she was absolutely going to steal some of it. Still, she couldn’t resist the chance to goad Paige. “You are literally at one of the nicest restaurants in the city.”

“And?”

“And you’re ordering steak and potatoes like a middle-aged Midwestern dad.”

That made Paige grin, the shit eating one Azzi knew all too well. “And I already know you’re going to steal some of it…” 

Azzi rolled her eyes, though she didn’t argue. There was something deeply unsurprising about Paige choosing the most simple thing available on the menu. Even in a place full of truffle reductions and microgreens, she was still going to find the closest adjacent to meat and potatoes and call it a day.

Their waitress returned a minute later, a petite brunette with long flowy hair, pen poised over her little black notepad.

“Have we decided?” she asked.

Azzi nodded and gave her order first. The waitress smiled and wrote it down before turning to Paige.

“I’ll do the Tomahawk, please,” Paige said, not even glancing at the menu again.

The waitress jotted that down and then flicked her assessing gaze back up to Paige. “And how would you like your steak cooked?”

“Medium rare, please.”

Azzi folded her menu closed just as the waitress finished writing, but before she could reach forward, Paige was already leaning in to slide it from her hands. She stacked Azzi’s menu with her own and handed both back to the waitress with a polite, “Thank you.”

It was such a small thing, but so Paige. Azzi always noticed the casual way she did those instinctive little gestures without making a show of it. Almost like she was trained that way and didn’t even recognize the thoughtfulness. 

The waitress smiled and headed back toward the kitchen, and Azzi watched Paige settle into her seat again, fingers curling around her glass.

“What?” Paige asked, catching her looking, eyebrows knitting together slightly.

Azzi shook her head, lifting her wine to her mouth to hide a coy smile. “Nothing.”

They fell back into conversation easily after that. Paige asked a few questions about the road trip, and Azzi found herself telling her more than she usually told most people. She admitted she’d been exhausted, that the rookies were wearing on her patience, and that her legs were still a little dead.

At one point, someone passing their table slowed and lifted a hand in silent recognition.

Azzi smiled automatically and waved back, but thankfully, the woman kept walking.

Azzi let out a small breath and looked back at Paige. “Sorry.”

Paige barely reacted, just lifted one shoulder and waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.”

Azzi studied her for a second, half expecting even the smallest flicker of annoyance, but Paige just picked up her drink again like it genuinely hadn’t bothered her at all. Which was… different than what Azzi was used to.

The appetizers came a few minutes later. They were arranged so beautifully Azzi almost felt bad disturbing them, but also, no she didn't because they looked delicious. Paige immediately reached for one of the bacon wrapped scallops on the small shared plate between them, and Azzi was in the middle of saying something about how predictable she was when she noticed movement near the table.

An older teenager stood there, hovering nervously with her phone clutched in both hands.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” the girl said quickly, eyes darting between them before landing on Azzi. “Would you mind if I took a picture with you? Please? It’s okay if not, but I’m, like, the biggest fan.”

Azzi’s stomach dipped.

It wasn’t the girl’s fault. She looked sweet and genuinely nervous, and Azzi knew exactly what it meant to have someone be excited enough to work up the courage to ask. If she hadn’t been sitting across from Paige, in the middle of dinner, the guilt wouldn’t have flared hot in her chest.

She turned, already ready to shoot Paige an apologetic look and gently tell the girl maybe not right now, but Paige was already pushing back her chair.

“Want me to take it for you?” Paige asked, reaching for the phone before Azzi could even open her mouth.

The girl’s whole face lit up. “Oh my God, yes. Thank you.”

Azzi couldn’t help smiling as the girl hurried around the table and leaned down beside her. Azzi shifted in her seat, angling herself while Paige stepped back a few feet and held up the phone.

“Okay,” Paige said. “Ready?”

The girl nodded and Paige snapped a few pictures, then glanced at the screen before handing the phone back. “These look good.”

“Thank you so much,” the girl said breathlessly, then looked at Azzi again. She beamed one last time before hurrying out of the restaurant to catch up with the rest of her family.

Paige sat back down and smiled softly across the table, seemingly unbothered by the whole interaction.

Azzi looked at her for a second, then let out a quiet exhale. “Sorry. Again.”

Paige reached for her drink. “Why are you apologizing?”

Azzi gave her a look. “Because we’re at dinner.”

Paige took a sip, then set the glass down and met Azzi’s gaze. “It only bothers me if it bothers you.”

Something twisted inside of Azzi eased at that. She leaned back in her chair, fingertips gripping the stem of her wine glass.

“Sometimes it can be a lot,” she admitted. “But…” She glanced into her wine, at the dark red liquid, then back up to Paige’s attentive and perfect face. “I owe everything I have to this game. So if I can help grow it, I feel like I owe it.”

Paige nodded like she really understood what Azzi meant. It made her want to say more.

“It also, unfortunately, means that everything I do is under a microscope.”

The words came out drier than she meant them to, but Paige’s expression didn’t change. She just kept looking at her with that same calm attention that always made Azzi feel a little warm and fuzzy.

Just then, Azzi felt a warm brush at the inside of her calf. Her breath caught just slightly as Paige’s foot slid up her exposed skin, then back down again beneath the white tablecloth.

Azzi lowered her glass and bit the inside of her lip before shooting Paige a warning glare.

Paige, of course, looked entirely innocent, ceasing to stop the movements.

“What?” she asked, voice low and maddeningly casual as she lifted another scallop with her fork. 

Her eyes never left Azzi’s as she brought it to her mouth, lips parting slowly before closing around the bite. Paige lingered there, then slowly dragged the fork free with deliberate ease. 

Azzi held her gaze, heat rising in her face despite herself. A bit of the balsamic glaze glistened at the corner of her mouth as she swallowed, and Azzi had the very appropriate thought that she should lean across the table and lick it away herself.

Thankfully, no one around them could see a thing under the long tablecloth, though that just meant Paige knew she could get away with it.

“Behave,” Azzi warned.

Paige’s mouth curled, but her foot stayed exactly where it was, sending waves of heat up Azzi’s legs that unfortunately settled right between her legs.

Their entrées arrived a bit later, and by then, the restaurant had grown louder. A boisterous energy hung in the air. Azzi had barely started on her risotto when an older couple passed their table on the way toward the exit.

The man slowed, glanced at Azzi, and smiled.

“Congrats on the All-Star nomination,” he said, lifting a hand in a thumbs-up. “We’ll be watching.”

Azzi smiled politely. “Thank you.”

The couple kept moving, apparently respecting the fact that she was at dinner, and across from her Paige went very still.

“You got nominated for All-Star?” 

Paige’s voice wavered and Azzi looked up from her plate.

“Yeah.” She swallowed her bite. “It got announced a couple hours ago.” Then, because Paige looked genuinely shocked, she added, “You didn’t know?”

Paige stared at her, incredulous. “You think if I knew I wouldn’t say anything?”

Azzi laughed, disbelieving. “It’s all over social media, P.”

Paige gave her a flat look and literally scoffed. “Bro, I was working all day and then rushed home so I could shower and get ready to take this pretty girl out on a date. Sorry I didn’t have time to scroll through social media.” 

Azzi saw it happen in real time, the exact second Paige realized what she had said. Her expression changed immediately, confidence slipping, eyes widening just a fraction. She looked like a deer caught in headlights and Azzi almost wished she could snap a photo. 

“I mean,” Paige said quickly, already backpedaling, “not that I was trying to… I just meant… obviously, if you don’t want to call it that, that’s totally—”

Azzi felt something unbearably fond rise up in her chest as she watched Paige stammer and stutter her way through the thoughts in her head.

“Hey,” she said, drawing Paige out of her tailspin. “It’s a date.”

Paige stilled, hand freezing in the air, mid-way to shoveling another bite of steak into her mouth like she was trying to shut herself up. She looked at Azzi like she wasn’t sure she had heard right. Then the slowest, biggest grin spread across her face, so open and goofy and pleased that Azzi had to look down at her plate for a moment just to keep from smiling too hard herself.

It didn’t help though, nor did it stop the blush spreading across her cheeks. Something that was mirrored in Paige when she flicked her gaze back up.

“That’s good,” Paige said, in a tone that suggested she was trying very hard to sound normal even though she was obviously failing. “Cool. Great. Good to know.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling into her wine before taking a sip. Paige was still grinning unabashedly when Azzi set her glass back down.

“Sarah got nominated too,” Azzi said. “We’re all going out after the game tomorrow night to celebrate. The Storm’s throwing us a big party since we have a few days off.”

Paige nodded, some of the teasing ease returning to her face. “That’s huge. Congrats, Az. You really deserve it,” she said. “You’ve been killing it this year.”

Azzi dragged her fork lightly through the edge of her risotto, then looked up. “You should come.”

That wiped the grin from Paige’s face, but only because something softer took its place. “To the party?”

Azzi didn’t even have to think about it. She was more sure than she probably should have been, considering the state of everything else in her life. She’d certainly have to tell her teammates to take it easy on Paige and actually use her real name, but still, the answer came easy.

“Yeah,” she said, meeting Paige’s eyes. “I want you there with me.”

Paige held her gaze for a beat, then nodded. “Okay.”

It was only one word, but it felt like more than that. Like they were both aware this was a public recognition, at least in front of Azzi’s team, and that was a step further than where they started the day.

Azzi took another bite of her dinner, trying and failing to act unaffected while across from her, Paige still wore her fond, gummy smile. Neither of them looked away for a moment. Azzi’s thoughts were blurred by the weight of Paige’s gaze locked on hers, and Azzi could still feel the warmth of her own words hanging between them. Maybe she was offering more than she should have given the circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it when Paige was looking at her like that.

Only then Azzi caught something else in her expression, a thought that seemed to make her pause. Almost like there was something she was trying to reconcile. 

Paige lifted her glass and took a sip of her old fashioned, eyes looking away for only a second before she said, “Busy week for you. Your house was pictured in NW Magazine, then the All-Star nomination?”

Azzi felt her stomach tighten, knowing exactly where this was heading. And she deserved it. 

She set her fork down carefully, caring about Paige enough to give her full attention. “You saw the spread, huh?”

She didn’t ask if Paige read the article. That would be facetious. The tone in her voice made it clear that she’d read it and Azzi wasn’t going to make Paige say the hard part out loud. She respected her more than that. 

Paige nodded once, choosing not to elaborate, instead looking down at her plate and pushing a piece of steak through the few remaining potatoes with her fork. She looked dejected, and the tiny remnant of hope Azzi was holding onto that she hadn’t seen Mark listed as her husband for the world to see slipped away. 

Azzi exhaled through her nose. She should have seen it coming, should have known Paige would see it. The puzzle pieces began to click; the day of the article release coinciding with the night Paige uncharacteristically went to bed early. It annoyed her at the time, as did the fact that Paige ignored her follow up texts that night, but now she knew why. And she felt so dumb for not recognizing that for what it really was at the time. 

The silence from Paige now annoyed her, though. Not because Paige had done anything wrong, but because it immediately made the guilt rush in harder. She knew how it must have looked, how the article must have made Paige feel. 

The worst part was that she had meant to bring it up herself. Too late for that, though. All that was left to do was damage control. 

“I already had words with my agent about it,” Azzi stated evenly, trying to explain away her role in the mishap. “She should’ve pulled that line from the story. I thought she did.”

Paige gave a small shrug, still not looking up. “I get it. I know how much of your job is about optics.”

Azzi frowned, hating how small Paige looked.

“It’s not even about that,” she said quickly. “It was written months ago, before the split. She thought asking to take it out would just call more attention to it. I don’t want it to become a big thing while I’m in season. And Mark is just being an asshole as usual and we're trying not to set him off so he’ll just sign the papers.”

Azzi heard herself rambling and knew she was doing it. She just couldn’t seem to stop. 

Because what she really didn’t want was for Paige to read the wrong thing in any of it. She didn’t want her to think Azzi let it go live without caring how it might make Paige feel, or think Mark still occupied some meaningful place in her life beyond being a fucking headache she was trying to keep from turning into a migraine. 

“There’s just a lot going on right now,” Azzi added. God, she hated how defensive she sounded about the whole messed up situation. “A lot of pressure… and people are always looking for something to turn into a story.”

That, at least, finally got Paige to look up.

Her face wasn’t hard. If anything, that made it worse. She looked understanding, certainly a little hurt, but understanding all the same. She was trying to make it easier on Azzi when Azzi knew she didn’t deserve that.

Azzi fucking hated it. She never wanted to be the reason Paige’s light dimmed. 

Without really thinking about the optics or consequences, she reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around Paige’s hand where it rested near her plate. She gave it a small squeeze, trying to reassure her.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi whispered sincerely, unsure what else she could even say. She’d literally said it all in her rant, and she was pretty sure none of it helped.  

Paige’s eyes flicked down to their joined hands. She opened her mouth to say something,  just as a throat cleared beside them.

Azzi quickly drew her hand back and turned, panic surging through her, expecting another fan.

A woman stood beside their table, no phone in hand, so that set Azzi at ease. Once the initial panic faded, Azzi assessed the woman. She was beautiful in an objective way, petite with dark brunette hair falling in soft waves around a pretty, polished face. Her dress was tight and expensive-looking, nails perfectly manicured, face dusted with a bit too much makeup. None of that was what caught Azzi’s attention, though.

It was the way she was looking at Paige—only at Paige—eyes locked on the blonde like Azzi didn’t even exist.

Azzi’s stomach dropped a half inch. She turned back toward Paige and recognized the change immediately. Paige had gone completely motionless in her chair, shoulders tight, face ghostly white, hands frozen on the table. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Paige,” the woman said.

Paige blinked slowly a few times, then pulled in a deep breath like she was forcing herself back into her body.

“Hey, Elle.”

Oh.

Azzi hated her instantly.

She hated the way Elle said Paige’s name. Hated the way she hadn’t acknowledged Azzi at all. Hated the shift she’d pulled out of Paige in under two seconds, the way she’d drained the life from her before she even spoke. 

“How are you?” Elle asked, her voice smooth and velvety. 

Yet another thing Azzi fucking hated. 

“Good.” Paige cleared her throat. “I’m, uh, doing well.”

She had found her voice, but only barely. Azzi could hear the strain tucked into the words. So could Elle, apparently, because the corner of her mouth curled up in a way Azzi also disliked.

Then, finally, Elle dragged her gaze away from Paige and looked at Azzi.

Her eyes ran over her once, almost bored at first, but Azzi watched the moment recognition clicked into place.

“Wow, Paige,” Elle said, a low hum of fake approval in her voice. “You’ve certainly done well for yourself.”

Azzi met her stare head-on. She didn’t flinch or blink or even offer so much as a polite smile. If Elle wanted to make this difficult, fine. Azzi could do difficult. She was great at being difficult, actually. 

Elle’s expression barely changed, but she finally addressed her directly. “Azzi Fudd. Seattle Storm, yeah?”

Azzi gave a short nod. “That’s me,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“Paige was always the biggest fan.”

The way she said it made Azzi’s skin prickle. She could read it for what it was, a joke at Paige’s expense. Like Paige’s feelings, whatever they had once been, were something embarrassing to toss onto the table between them as a way to make her feel small.

Azzi’s hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass, wishing it was Elle’s neck instead.

She glanced at Paige and immediately wished she hadn’t, because Paige’s jaw was clenched, eyes glazed over. Azzi wanted to crawl across the table and pull the blonde into her arms, but she had something else to do first. 

“How’d you two meet?” Elle asked. “A game maybe? Paige bought season tickets the year you got drafted, you know.” 

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to put Elle in her place, but Paige cut in before she could say a word.

“She hired me to do some work around her house.”

Elle laughed.

It was cold, sharp, and ugly enough to make Azzi’s spine straighten. She really fucking hated this woman. Like maybe more than anyone else on the planet, Mark included. And that was saying something because he was a Grade A Douchebag. 

Elle looked back at Azzi. “She still have that cute little small business?”

Cute. 

Little.

Something hot sparked behind Azzi’s ribs, a flood of anger surging through her as she debated whether or not her agent would be able to get her out of jail before her game tomorrow if she caught an assault charge. 

“She does still have her business,” Azzi said evenly, reluctantly accepting that physical violence was off the table. At least for now. “And it’s doing really well.” 

Elle tilted her head, clearly having expected something else. Maybe embarrassment or for Azzi to have mirrored her own condescension.

Instead, Azzi set her wine glass down and smiled sweetly. 

“She’s expanding too, you know? I’m really proud of her and all the hard work she puts in.” 

Elle’s expression tightened by a fraction, seemingly annoyed she wasn’t getting the reaction she’d hoped for.

Good.

Azzi kept going. This was easy. 

“I knew from that first job how great Paige was,” she went on, voice light and calm, “She was just so attentive and really hands-on. I really appreciated her thorough attention to detail and how she really took her time when she took care of me—I mean my house.”

Across the table, Paige nearly choked on her water. Then sat up a little taller.

It was subtle, but Azzi saw it. She also caught the surprise in Paige’s face, something that made Azzi feel even bolder than she already had.

“She’s an amazing person and I’m lucky to have her.” Her eyes flicked deliberately toward Paige for a beat, smiling at the blonde, before returning to Elle. “I don’t know who was dumb enough to fumble her before, but I’m glad they did.” 

Elle rolled her eyes and scoffed. Azzi could tell she was pretending the whole thing was beneath her, but the words needled under her skin.

It just made Azzi smile wider. She knew women like this. She’d been around them her whole life. That look meant Azzi was winning. 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” she said, her tone still perfectly polite as she reached back across the table and gave Paige’s hand a squeeze caring fuck all who saw, “we’re trying to enjoy our dinner. It was nice meeting you, Ella.” 

It absolutely had not been nice.

Elle let out a scoff, the sound brittle and annoyed. “Have fun with your groupie, Fudd,” she sneered, then turned on her heel and stalked away without another word.

Azzi watched her go until she sat down at a table a few rows away where a man was waiting.

Only then did she turn back to Paige.

The tension was still written all over her. In the rigid line of her shoulders. In the way her fingers were curled too tightly around her fork. In the faint, stunned look that hadn’t fully left her pale face yet.

Despite the triumphant feeling of sticking up for Paige, of winning that round, Azzi’s anger didn’t vanish with Elle’s exit. Because she had seen the effects. The way Paige had frozen. The way she seemed to fold inward on herself, all the usual swagger and goofiness slipping away. 

Azzi didn’t like that at all.

The reaction was understandable. Seeing an ex, especially one that hurt you, was never easy. She couldn’t blame Paige for the dazed expression etched into her face.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, giving her hand one more squeeze before pulling back. 

Paige nodded, but she still looked a little bit in shock. 

Azzi was unconvinced to say the least. “I can tell that got to you…”

Paige let out a slow breath through her nose and glanced down at the table before looking back up. She was smiling now, but it was thin, clearly assembled with added effort. “It’s fine, Az. Just wasn’t expecting to see her is all.” 

Paige was trying. Really trying. But Azzi could tell it was a battle, so before Paige could say anything else, she lifted a hand and flagged down the waitress.

“Could we get the check, please?”

Paige didn’t argue while the waitress was standing there, but the second she walked away, she gave Azzi a look. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Azzi said simply. “We were done eating anyway.” 

Paige’s brows pinched. “What about dessert?”

“I’ll have something better at home instead,” Azzi replied with a wink. 

Paige’s expression softened for half a second before something else settled over it instead. Azzi knew most of Paige’s looks, but this one escaped her.

When the check came tucked neatly into a black leather folder, Azzi reached for it first. With a scoff, Paige snatched it out of her hand so fast Azzi almost laughed.

“Hey,” Azzi whined playfully. 

Paige shot her a pointed look, already pulling her card from her wallet. “You said this is a date, so ain’t no way you’re paying.”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. Under any other circumstances, maybe she would have pushed. But the familiar spark was back in Paige’s eyes, the little flare of indignation, the possessive certainty in her voice. It felt more like her again, so Azzi let her have it.

“Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll get the next one.”

Paige laughed under her breath, then handed the folder back to the waitress when she returned. Azzi watched some of the strain leave her shoulders, but she knew it wasn’t gone. After a couple months of this, Azzi wasn’t naive enough to think that the whiplash of the night could be erased by a little flirting. 

When the waitress returned the card and receipt, Paige signed it quickly and stood, reaching for Azzi before she had fully pushed her own chair back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Paige said, her hand finding Azzi’s back as they made their way through the crowded restaurant. Azzi couldn’t tell if Paige needed the physical contact to ground herself, or if it was for show as they walked by Elle and her date, but she felt the touch burn hot through the thin black fabric of her dress.

It was intimate, but still subtle enough to disappear into the movement around them. Azzi let herself lean into it slightly, wishing she could give in all the way like she wanted to. Paige’s hand stayed at the small of her back until they stepped out into the damp evening chill that always settled in after sunset, the streets glowing under scattered streetlights.  

It felt nice.

Normal, even. 

Unfortunately, once they were inside Paige’s truck and the doors shut with a solid thud, something shifted.

Paige started the engine and pulled out into traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the console between them. She didn’t reach across and grab Azzi’s hand like she had when she picked her up, a tell tale sign in and of itself seeing as the blonde could never keep her hands to herself. Azzi knew Paige well enough to recognize her energy was off, and she couldn’t really blame her. 

Azzi leaned her head lightly against the passenger window, watching the glow of the city slide past as they drove. She didn’t say anything about it. Paige hated being cornered when she wasn’t ready to talk. Azzi had learned that pretty quickly.

Still, she couldn’t stop the thoughts from circling.

The fans who interrupted dinner.

The article about Mark.

And, most of all, Elle.

It was clear she hadn’t shaken it all off, and Azzi wondered what hurt most. The pointed shots Elle took at Paige, belittling her business and status of their relationship. Or was it Mark and the fact that Azzi was still publicly tethered to him, keeping Azzi from being able to give Paige what she really wanted. No, what she deserved. It was decidedly an amalgamation of the three, which meant Azzi was partly to blame for the hole that was blown into Paige’s chest tonight. 

Thoughts still rattling around, a few minutes later, they pulled onto Azzi’s street. Paige, quiet as she’d been the entire ride back, pulled into the driveway and shifted it into park.

Neither of them moved, a silence bordering on awkward settling in.

Azzi turned toward her, recognizing the keys still in the ignition and the hum of the engine below. “Are you… going to come in?”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, gaze dropping briefly to the steering wheel.

“I’m really tired,” she mumbled after a second. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

Of course. 

Azzi tried not to show her disappointment, but clearly failed. 

“It’s been a long day,” Paige added quickly, like she knew Azzi needed reassurance. Which was admittedly absurd, considering what Paige had just endured. “And I need to get an early start tomorrow if I’m gonna make it to your game on time.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Right. Okay...”

It made sense. Completely reasonable. Still, the knot of disappointment tightened in her stomach. She could feel the distance between them now. 

Azzi studied Paige’s profile for a moment.

She understood why Paige’s lips were drawn in a straight line, fingers tight around the steering wheel. It had to be hard seeing an ex that you once bought a ring for before finding out she was cheating on you, all while out on a first date with someone you couldn’t even be publicly out on a date with because said date was still technically married. 

Azzi couldn’t say all of that though, so she settled on, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Paige looked over at her and nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll be good.” 

Azzi could recognize when a smile didn’t reach Paige’s eyes. This one certainly didn’t, and she held that blue-eyed gaze for another second, debating whether to push.

But Paige had her own ways of working through things. Even if it was different from Azzi’s. If Paige wanted to talk about it, she would, and trying to push the matter when she was clearly still trying to process it all wouldn’t help.

Azzi took a slow breath and shifted slightly in her seat.

“Are you still going to come out with us tomorrow after the game?” she asked, trying to keep the uncertainty from her tone. 

Paige’s expression relaxed, like she could see right through the nerves Azzi was trying not to show. She reached across the console and took Azzi’s hand, squeezing it.

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said, the words breathing reassurance into Azzi's lungs. “I can’t wait to celebrate you.”

Whatever was bothering Paige wasn’t enough to keep her away long. Azzi counted that as a small victory. 

Paige leaned toward her then, closing the space between them and pressing her lips to Azzi’s. The kiss was soft. It wasn’t enough to fully quell the unease in her belly, so Azzi lifted a hand to the back of Paige’s neck, trying to deepen it, to pull her closer. Paige just pulled back after a second with a quiet sigh under her breath.

She leaned forward again, brushing a quick kiss against the tip of Azzi’s sloped nose.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Azzi nodded, letting out a sigh. “Okay.”

She opened the door, climbed down from the truck into the cool night air, then turned back around and caught Paige’s gaze.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight, P.” 

She wanted to add that she had a good time, that she couldn’t wait for next time, but wasn’t sure if that would just be pouring more gasoline onto the fire she started and Elle dropped the match on. And maybe she hoped Paige would say that in return. 

“Of course, beautiful,” Paige replied, forcing a small smile onto her face. 

Wishful thinking. 

Reluctantly, Azzi shut the truck door gently behind her. The porch light glowed above the front door as she walked up the short path, the gravel crunching softly under her heels.

When she reached the door, she turned back. Paige was still sitting there in the truck, watching her. Azzi lifted a hand in a small wave that Paige returned before putting the truck in reverse and backing slowly out of the driveway.

Azzi stood there watching the taillights disappear down the quiet street, wishing the night had ended differently.

[buffalo1221]

can you fix a broken heart

Synopsis: Between locker room interrogations, a dangerously domestic dinner, and a very suspicious toolbox, Azzi is realizing two things: Paige Bueckers is a problem… and she doesn't mind it one bit.

warnings: i don't think any. smut? sad lover girls? tool boxes?

a/n: as always thanks for drip for the editing and brainstorming and family fc for the emotional support required to write certain aspects of this chapter.

wc: 15k

chapter 13:

Azzi stood at her locker with her jersey peeled halfway off, sports bra damp with sweat. Around her, teammates moved about in the usual post-practice chaos. Some groaning as they dropped onto the chairs in front of their cubbies, others laughing and joking about something stupid Coach Sonia said to the rookies.

Her legs still felt heavy from drills, a deep burn that lived in her muscles and refused to leave even when she stopped moving. With a sigh. Azzi sank onto her chair and reached into her locker. Her phone was wedged under her bag and a pair of shoes, but lit up as soon as her fingers brushed it. 

Countless notifications filled the screen, but her eyes only scanned for one name: Paige.

Azzi’s thumb hovered for a beat, glancing around the room, unsure if it was safe to open. The locker room was loud and alive, but no one was paying her much attention. She opened the message, angling the screen so no one could see it if Paige went rogue, which… she often did. Not that Azzi was complaining. 

Paige: you alive or did coach murder you with fitness again today?

Paige: because if she did i’d be pretty sad 

Azzi felt the smile break across her face before she could stop it. It stretched her cheeks and made her eyes go soft, but she didn’t even realize she was sitting there grinning like an idiot with her practice jersey bunched in her hands until a voice cut through the noise.

“So,” Gabby said, loud enough that it turned heads, “what’s hot contractor girl saying that’s got you so smiley?”

Azzi’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

Gabby’s eyebrows climbed. She pointed at Azzi’s face, twirling her finger in a dramatic circle. “That. That right there.”

Sarah looked up from where she was digging through her bag, expression nonchalant as always. “That’s your Paige smile.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, then glanced down at her phone. “I don’t have a Paige smile.”

Across from her, Dom made a noncommittal sound that was halfway to a laugh. She didn’t even look up at first, just kept peeling tape off her wrist like she was savoring the way Azzi turned a bit frantic.

Azzi shot her a look. A do-you-want-to-live-today kind of look that she didn’t have to try that hard to conjure, because what the fuck. Dom was supposed to be on her side. 

Dom finally lifted her head, and shrugged lazily. “That’s the smile you get when you’re talking to hot contractor girl.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard she was pretty sure she saw the inside of her own skull. “You’re all ridiculous. And stop calling her that.”

She wasn’t actually mad, but still. 

“Mhm,” Gabby hummed, clearly unconvinced. She leaned back against her locker, arms folded. She looked like she had all the time in the world, even though Azzi knew she was due in the training room in ten minutes. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s true. And I guess it's kind of cute. I was getting tired of seeing you mope around because of that asshole Marky Mark.”

“I wasn’t moping,” Azzi shot back automatically. 

Sarah’s mouth curled slightly like she was holding back a smile. “Your face was less… sunny.”

Azzi glowered at her, then looked back at her phone, pretending the screen was fascinating enough to require her full attention. Three little dots appeared to show Paige was typing again so it actually was. She could feel her teammates’ eyes on her like heat lamps as the next barrage of texts rolled through.

Dom let out a short laugh. “Look at her. She’s blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” Azzi added, a desperate lie that absolutely no one believed. 

Gabby stepped closer like she couldn’t help herself. “Read it out loud.”

Azzi. Would. Literally. Rather. Die. 

“No.”

“Come on,” Gabby pleaded, dramatic, hands clasped like she was praying. “Just one. Give us something. We deserve it after those suicides Coach made us run.”

Azzi instinctively tucked her phone closer to her body as Sarah tried to peer over her shoulder. “You deserve nothing.” She pushed Sarah’s shoulder, gently shoving her away. “I’m not giving you meddlers shit.”

Dom pointed at her with the lazy confidence of someone who was still an actual teenager. “Protective of her, too. Oh, it’s bad for you.”

“It’s not bad for me,” Azzi insisted, and she heard how defensive she sounded. And the annoyance laced in her words. Maybe it was bad for her but she was not about to give them even more ammo. 

Sarah took a few steps back, hands raised in surrender. “You’re allowed to admit you like her, Fudd,” she said while reaching into her locker to grab her bag. 

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to say something dismissive, because that was easier and she was good at that. It always felt safer to be annoyed than soft, to keep her walls up instead of letting people in. Then again, that’s what got her into this mess to begin with. Unfortunately, Paige literally had experience in demolition. And masonry. So she was coming through the wall whether Azzi liked it or not. 

But then she looked back at the message, back at Paige’s words filling the screen, and she realized her face had already given her away.

Paige made her laugh. She made her feel alive again, which was quite a feat considering Mark had sucked the life out of her. It wasn’t just the flirting and the ridiculously hot sex, either. Paige talked to Azzi like she wasn’t a brand or a headline. It was the ease of it, the way Azzi could be exhausted and sweaty and still feel lighter just seeing Paige’s name pop up on her phone.

She was always smiling for Paige lately. In grocery store aisles. In the backseat of her car, or Paige’s truck bed. In her kitchen at midnight when she should have been asleep. In the locker room, apparently, like an actual idiot.

Gabby grabbed her towel and flicked it at Azzi’s shoulder as she passed on the way to the showers. “Text her back and tell her I said sup.”

Azzi swatted at her with her sweaty jersey. “Shut up. You are so unserious bro.”

The words didn’t have any bite. They didn’t even really have heat. Because Azzi was down bad for Paige and she couldn’t really pretend that wasn’t true any longer. They’d hadn’t talked about it yet, but it became pretty clear it wasn’t just casual sex anymore when she volunteered to babysit Theo a few nights ago. And when Marta came home from the hospital, peeled her sleepy son off their laps, and ushered them into the guest bedroom where Azzi fell asleep wrapped in Paige’s arms, Azzi knew had never felt more secure.  

“Whatever you say, Fudd,” Gabby called over her shoulder. “I better see her at the game this weekend,” she added before she tugged open the shower door and a cloud of steam engulfed her. 

Azzi glanced down again and typed back before she could overthink it.

Azzi: i survived

Azzi: barely

Azzi: gabby’s dumbass had us running suicides becuase she couldn’t shut up 

She hit send and the response came immediately. 

Paige: tell gabby i’ll fight her if she doesn’t get her shit together 

Paige: i need my girl with nice fresh legs next time i see her… 

Azzi tried. She really tried to wipe the expression off her face, to reset herself back into normal. The attempt failed spectacularly when her mind drifted to filthy places. 

“There it is again,” Sarah sang from across the room.

Azzi stuffed her phone into her pocket aggressively and reached for her hoodie, desperate to get out of the locker room and away from prying eyes. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was looking forward to calling Paige on her drive home. “You’re all obsessed with me. Go to therapy or something.”

Sarah’s laugh was quiet. “We’re obsessed with the fact that you’re finally smiling again.”

Azzi pulled the hoodie on and shook her head free from it, cheeks still hot. 

She should have been irritated or embarrassed by her teammates’ incessant meddling. Instead, she found herself wondering who would actually win in a fight between Paige and Gabby. The blonde was scrappy, but her money was, unfortunately, on Gabby. 

“Tell Paige I say hi,” Sarah chuckled as Azzi strolled out of the locker room rolling her eyes. 

She didn’t have a Paige smile.

Okay. Fine. Maybe she did. But everyone could fuck right off about it. 

**************

Three very busy days later, Azzi found herself at a local sponsor dinner. She didn’t hate these obligations, viewing them more as a necessary evil. Honestly, after all these years, Azzi could plaster on a fake smile and do these types of dinners in her sleep. Right now, that was unfortunate, because it meant her body showed up while her mind wandered off the second she sat down.

The restaurant was expensive, but then again, they always were. Bougie, low lighting, servers constantly hovering in case you so much as thought about needing something. Azzi still couldn’t figure out how they moved like they were gliding, but she was always impressed. Located downtown, the restaurant was a new spot that she’d usually be excited to check out. And yes, her usual dinner dates of Gabby and Sarah were there, but both were drawn into conversation with different groups. Everyone was always desperate for a minute of the superstars’ time. 

Azzi was thankful to have a moment of peace after Doug, or maybe it was Don, excused himself to get another drink. Not that he’d asked if she needed one. She did, especially since there was at least another hour to endure. She sat at a long table draped in white linen, every place setting looking identical, like they’d measured the distance between utensils with a ruler. There were small floral arrangements in the center, bursts of color that smelled faintly sweet, and little branded cards tucked beside the menus, reminding everyone exactly why they were here and who was paying for it.

Azzi wore a dress she hadn’t picked out herself. That was by design. Sydnee, her stylist, had sent it over, and now she was sitting in the muted pastel pink dress with a polite smile and a practiced posture. It was fitted and flattering, making her look more composed than she felt, with a slit that probably seemed tasteful on paper.

She’d already said hello to a few executives and answered questions about the season, pretending she wasn’t being asked the same five things over and over, laughing at way too many jokes that weren’t funny because that was also part of the job. Always making the donors feel good and valued and stroking egos so they’d keep opening their wallets even if some of them were clearly just interested in the players opening their legs. 

Fucking pigs. 

Her phone had been face-down beside her water glass for most of the evening, a silent promise to herself that she’d be good.

But Don or Doug or whatever was caught up talking to Curt at the bar and didn’t seem like he was coming back anytime soon. The conversation across the table had also shifted into something she didn’t need to be present for, and her willpower cracked.

She slid her phone into her lap and woke the screen with her thumb. A text from Paige was right there, obviously, and it immediately made Azzi’s shoulders loosen, her body recognizing relief before her brain could argue.

Paige: i hope you’re having fun and that the food is good! 

Azzi had to laugh at that. Paige was always telling her about new spots she tried out around town. The girl loved to eat, something Azzi benefited from in more ways than one. She stared at the empty text box for a second, then typed before someone could demand her attention.

Azzi: it’s fine

Azzi: i just wish i was with you instead of at this bougie dinner

She hit send and looked up quickly. Across the table, a man in a tailored suit was talking about brand alignment. To his left, another man nodded like he understood what that meant. He was in insurance, or something, and based on Azzi’s earlier conversation, he didn’t seem like he even knew his left from right. 

The phone buzzed almost immediately, dragging her focus back down.

Paige: me too

Paige: what would we be doing if you were here?

The corner of Azzi’s mouth curled. She pressed her lips together to hide it, then took a sip from her glass of ice water. It didn’t help. Heat climbed up Azzi’s neck, and she glanced around frantically, thankful no one was paying attention to her.

She typed under the table, keeping her expression carefully neutral. Or… at least she hoped.

Azzi: you tell me

Paige’s response came quick, like she’d been waiting.

Paige: well i’m in bed so…

Azzi’s throat went dry. She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the slit in her dress sliding open a little more with the movement. The fabric felt rough, but the cool air kissed the newly exposed skin. 

Another message popped up before Azzi could respond.

Paige: use your imagination?

Azzi pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to smile like an idiot at a table full of people.

Azzi: help me out? 

Azzi: i’m not feeling very imaginative

She expected Paige to come back with something smug or teasing, the usual quip that would make Azzi’s cheeks burn harder. But a minute passed by with no response so Azzi found herself making a decision that felt equal parts reckless and thrilling in the same breath.

Her phone was angled toward her lap, hidden under the tablecloth. She lowered it slightly and lifted her knee just enough to catch the line of her leg, the slit of her dress, the exposed skin. It wasn’t explicit, but it would be enough to send Paige into a tailspin.

She snapped the photo, then hesitated for half a second like her own good sense might return. It didn’t, so she sent it.

The response came so fast she almost laughed.

Paige: fuck az

Paige: you can’t send me stuff like that

Azzi’s heart thudded hard against her ribs, threatening to crack them. She stared at the screen, warmth spreading through her in a way that made the room feel way too small. Or maybe it was just all the men taking up the air.  

Paige: you sure you can’t come over after so i can get you right?

Azzi’s stomach dipped. She shifted again, grip tightening on her phone, the noise of dinner blurring at the edges of her focus. All she cared about at this moment was Paige. 

Azzi: i have early lift and practice tomorrow but i wish

She meant it, regretting the words as soon as she sent them. Because she wanted nothing more than to have Paige on top of her, or underneath her, or pressing her against the wall. She really wasn’t picky as long as it ended in one of those mind-blowing orgasms Paige always delivered.

Paige’s reply took a moment longer this time, and Azzi could practically feel her thinking on the other end, like she was deciding how far to push, how much to ask for. 

The phone buzzed again.

Paige: call me when you get home?

Azzi’s eyes narrowed.

Paige: i want to hear your voice in my ear later when i touch myself to that photo

Azzi’s breath caught. She went still, heat moving through her in a slow, all-encompassing wave before it settled right between her legs. Her skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve had woken up and decided to pay attention. She stared at the screen trying to keep her face blank so the rich men at her table couldn’t tell she was practically getting off from texts with her… well, what was Paige? 

That was a problem for another day. 

It was insane, really. The fact that Paige could do this to her with a few words in a text. The fact that Azzi was sitting at a sponsor dinner in a dress chosen by someone else, surrounded by people who would write her name in press releases, and all she could think about was Paige in bed, waiting.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Azzi was on the court or how controlled she tried to be everywhere else. Paige made her forget how to be coherent.

Azzi glanced up, forcing her face back into place. The table was still talking, Doug or Don or honestly, maybe it was Dylan, was still at the bar talking to Curt Miller.

Azzi: i can definitely do that

She hit send and let her phone rest in her lap for a second, pulse skittering like it had nowhere to go. Above the tablecloth, she lifted her wine glass with a steady hand even though she was practically unraveling in real time.

Azzi smiled over her glass at the table, and tried not to think about how much she was already counting down the minutes until she could leave.

**************

Azzi sat at the kitchen island in Paige’s house, perched on a wooden stool with a low back, a glass of red wine in front of her. It had been a week since they’d seen each other in person. Between Paige’s busy work schedule and another away game for Azzi—amongst other obligations—the timing just hadn’t lined up.

But here Azzi was, finally in Paige’s beautiful home, watching her move around the kitchen with the kind of competence that made Azzi both irrationally annoyed and wildly turned on. The blonde was dressed casually in black sweatpants and a plain black tee, hair pulled back in a bun. She looked entirely too composed given what had just gone down between them after weeks of pent up frustration.  

On the counter in front of Azzi, there was a cutting board dusted with herbs and lemon zest. A pot of rice simmered on the stove, while Paige checked the sheet pan of vegetables in the oven that made the whole room smell delectable. When Paige said she could cook, Azzi didn’t know she meant like this. And she certainly didn’t know she’d look like fucking Giada in the kitchen while doing it. 

Azzi took a slow sip of her wine and tried to pretend to be normal about it.

Paige glanced over her shoulder after closing the oven, catching Azzi watching. The corner of her mouth lifted. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi squeaked. 

Paige’s smile widened like she’d caught a lie. “You’re staring.”

Azzi set her glass down with a quiet clink. “I’m just observing dinner being made. I’m very particular about what goes into my body.” 

“I’m so sure,” she snorted, winking at Azzi. Before Azzi could protest the crude joke, Paige turned back to the stove, stirring the rice. “If you’re going to observe, can you at least be useful and grab me some butter from the fridge?”

“So unserious,” Azzi mumbled under her breath as she slid off the stool and crossed the kitchen, brushing past Paige to get to the refrigerator. 

The cold air spilled out when she opened the door, and after scanning the shelves for a moment, she leaned in and grabbed the butter. Before she could step back to close it, she felt Paige’s body pressing into her back. She paused for a second when Paige’s hand landed lightly at her waist, squeezing gently as she reached around her for something.

It wasn’t even a grab, barely any pressure, but it still made Azzi’s entire body light up.

She felt Paige press a kiss to her temple before retreating. Azzi closed the fridge and turned, butter in hand, to find Paige a few steps away. She stood casually, hand extended for the butter, a light sheen of heat on her skin from standing over the stove and hustling around the kitchen. Azzi’s mind did that thing it had been doing more and more lately, where it stopped offering coherent thoughts and just delivered a single, desperate conclusion.

She wanted Paige.

Paige’s gaze dipped briefly to Azzi’s mouth, and Azzi was pretty sure she felt it too, even if she was trying not to.

Azzi handed her the butter, but she didn’t let go immediately. Her fingers brushed Paige’s, and the contact felt like a match striking. Paige’s breath hitched, so subtle most people would miss it, and that felt like gasoline being poured on. 

She stepped in and backed Paige into the edge of the counter with a confidence that surprised even her. Paige, who was usually in control, didn’t resist. She winced when the cool counter hit her back, but her hands came up automatically, finding Azzi’s hips like that was where they belonged. 

Azzi closed the gap and kissed her.

It was hungry, the kind of kiss that erased thoughts; her hands slid around Paige’s shoulders and tangled in her hair. Paige tasted like wine, and Azzi didn’t know how she kept finding herself here, pressed into Paige like she was starving, like her body had decided Paige was the only thing that could make her feel settled. But here she was, desperate for it, moaning into her mouth when Paige kissed back with the same intensity, hands palming her ass and desperately pulling her closer. 

Azzi’s heart raced hard enough she could feel it in her throat, her fingertips, her cunt. She could’ve stayed like that, submitting her body to Paige until the world stopped existing.

Then the oven beeped.

Paige froze for half a second, then exhaled against Azzi’s lips and pulled her mouth away with a groan that sounded laced with regret.

“You’re killing me, baby,” Paige said, breath unsteady. Her forehead tipped forward until it touched Azzi’s and she sighed like it physically pained her to pull back. “I have to take the veggies out before they burn.” 

Azzi’s hands stayed wrapped around Paige’s neck, unable to bring herself to take them off because then the blonde could slip away. “I just need you, P.”

Paige’s laugh came out low and rough, making Azzi’s stomach somersault. She slipped a hand under Azzi’s chin and tilted her face up, blue eyes sparkling and entirely too smug. “Did the two times I took care of you when you got here count for nothing?”

Crimson flashed through Azzi’s cheeks, heat creeping up her neck. She should’ve been embarrassed, but she really didn’t care to hide the effects Paige had on her anymore. Azzi was still buzzing, wired from the way Paige had undone her earlier, both of them unable to control themselves when they reached Paige’s room during the “tour” the blonde was so eager to give. 

“Oh, it definitely counted,” Azzi said, voice quieter now as her mind drifted to the very recent memory. “I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

Paige’s expression softened, and for a second she looked almost pleased in a way that wasn’t cocky at all. She leaned in and kissed Azzi again, slower this time. “Give me five minutes,” she murmured against Azzi’s mouth. “If I don’t finish dinner, I’m going to end up dragging you back to my room and we’ll forget food exists.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a devious smirk. “Would that be so bad?”

Paige shot her a look that said yes, but not in a way that meant no, ignoring the fact that her house would probably end up burning down. Then she turned, crossing the kitchen to the oven, while Azzi stood there watching her, wanting to jump the blonde again.

Paige pulled the sheet pan out, steam rising, vegetables browned at the edges. She moved quickly after that, almost frantically, like she had to stay in motion to keep herself from getting distracted again. She plated garlic-herb steaks, spooned rice pilaf neatly beside them, and then arranged the roasted vegetables with way too much precision.

Azzi almost wanted to tease her for it. She didn’t, though, because the sight of Paige deliberately putting so much care into this meal was so fucking endearing. Something twisted in Azzi’s chest, unable to remember the last time she’d felt so well taken care of. 

And Paige wasn’t even her girlfriend. 

Technically, they weren’t even dating. 

It’s not that Azzi hadn’t thought about it. Of course she had. Almost nonstop. Paige was sweet and thoughtful and unbelievably sexy and could do unspeakable things with that cocky mouth. And don’t get Azzi started about how attractive she found Paige’s competence, a stark contrast to Mark’s weaponized incompetence. 

Azzi’s life was a mess, though, and to top it off, she was a public figure. That certainly complicated things. She wasn’t even officially divorced. The world still thought she was in a happy marriage and Mark was holding everything over her head, drawing things out as long as possible. He wanted a chance to talk, to explain, though Azzi wasn’t sure why he was putting in effort now that they were over when he hadn’t done anything to try and save their marriage when it maybe could have been salvaged. Nor was she sure what he was even holding onto. Their marriage had been emotionally over for so long now and as dumb as he sometimes was, even Mark had to recognize that. 

But she didn’t know what Paige wanted, either. It was clear the blonde was interested. Though whether the dinner and lunches were just a way to make ending up in bed together slightly less casual was up for debate. Azzi was busy and she couldn’t blame Paige for seeking out someone else when exclusivity had never been discussed. 

“You alright?” 

Azzi’s head snapped to Paige. She offered a small smile, nodding as Paige carried the plates to the dining table. Azzi followed, stopping to let Paige pull her chair out for her with that same half-smirk. 

After refilling their wine glasses, she queued up Olivia Dean softly on the speakers. She pressed a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before sinking into the chair across from her with a fond expression.

Azzi lifted her brows. “You treat all the girls you bring here this nice?”

It was a joke. Or it was supposed to be, because Azzi treated humor as a sword and a shield and she wasn’t sure what to do with the warm feeling blooming in her chest.

Paige’s smile faltered, just for a second, and Azzi hadn't meant for that to happen. Or maybe she had. It looked like something in the words snagged on a memory from the way Paige’s shoulders sagged. Then Paige exhaled, gaze flicking down to her plate before returning to Azzi’s face.

“In full disclosure,” Paige said, voice steady but still laced with a hint of uncertainty, “I haven’t been talking to anyone else since we met.”

The honest words were unexpected, and Azzi studied Paige’s face, finding her lips pulled together in a thin line. She looked almost uncomfortable, and Azzi understood; this was uncharted territory for them. Azzi nodded, throat tightening as she grabbed her wine glass and took a sip, desperate for an excuse to look away. She was glad. She was more than glad. She also didn’t know what to do with how glad she was to hear those words. So she leaned into honesty.

“Me either.”

Paige looked up quickly at the words, and Azzi watched in real time as her lips curved into a smile that she couldn’t help but mirror. The two of them sat here, grinning at each other dopily, until Azzi felt the blush start to overtake her face and she quickly cleared her throat.

Azzi, in her sublime wisdom, tried to cover the seriousness that settled in with another joke. “And what about before?” she asked, tipping her glass slightly. “Any crazy housewife clients I need to be worried about?”

She followed it with a laugh that Paige mirrored. Though it didn’t match the look in her eyes. 

“No crazy housewives.”

“What about crazy exes?” 

Azzi watched closely as Paige’s expression shifted.

“I’ve really only had one serious relationship,” Paige replied. “Her name was Elle.”

Azzi paused, fork hovering over her plate. It wasn’t jealousy that hit her first. It was curiosity, edged with something protective because it was clear the memories being stirred up weren’t fond. 

“How long were you together?” Azzi asked, unable to contain her curiosity now. 

Paige’s jaw flexed before she bit her bottom lip. She stared at the table for a beat like she was deciding whether to say the rest, then met Azzi’s eyes again.

“Long enough for me to have bought a ring and pictured building a family with her.”

Azzi blinked, caught a bit in shock. An unwanted image of Paige kneeling somewhere, of believing in forever with someone else formed. And the thought of someone breaking that trust made her angry, even if it had worked in her favor. 

“What happened?” Azzi asked carefully. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Paige’s mouth pressed into a tight line and she exhaled through her nose. “I came home early from work one day and found her in bed with some dude.” Her tone stayed flat, like she was reciting facts she’d told herself enough times to make them stop hurting. “And that was that.”

Azzi’s chest cinched. She reached across the table without thinking and covered Paige’s wrist with her hand, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said, and she meant it in a way that went beyond sympathy. She meant it like she was furious that anyone had ever looked at Paige and decided she wasn’t enough.

Paige shrugged, but didn’t dismiss the touch. “It was almost two years ago,” she said. “It’s fine.”

Azzi didn’t believe her, but she didn’t push. It was clear there were still lingering feelings, but she just gave Paige’s hand a squeeze, then let go.

“So,” Azzi said, forcing her voice lighter as she gathered a pile of veggies on her fork and looked to shift the conversation, “is your secret talent cooking? Because I feel like this is going to ruin restaurant food for me.”

Paige’s smile returned, cleary grateful for the pivot even if she didn’t say it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just being honest,” Azzi corrected, and Paige laughed, the tension easing like it had been a knot that finally loosened. “This is flames.” 

And she wasn’t lying. Dinner was annoyingly good because it was just another thing Paige was perfect at. The steak was excellently cooked, the rice seasoned perfectly, the vegetables crisp at the edges and bursting with flavor. Azzi found herself talking more than she usually did as they ate, telling Paige little pieces of her day, laughing when Paige made fun of her for trying to convince her coach to let them stop doing fitness. It felt easy, and real, and like what she wanted to do every night. 

When they finished, Paige took both plates without letting Azzi argue and carried them to the kitchen. Azzi followed, leaning against the counter while Paige ran water and stacked dishes with the same casual hotness she did everything with. The one that made Azzi want to peel her clothes off and press her mouth over every inch of Paige’s skin. 

Azzi watched her for a moment, then shook her head, unable to help herself. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Paige turned, drying her big hands on a towel, and Azzi’s attention caught on the veins standing out along her knuckles. 

“Keep my hands to myself around you,” Paige said entirely too smoothly.

Blue eyes dragged over her slowly, and Azzi’s body went still and restless all at once, like Paige had said a whole sentence without opening her mouth. Their eyes met and Azzi couldn’t hold the stare without feeling that familiar yet frazzled flutter spark through her, because Paige was looking at her like her goal was to make Azzi forget her own name. And Azzi was certainly willing to let her try. 

Then Paige closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. 

Azzi made a soft sound of surprise into Paige’s mouth and laughed against her lips when Paige pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Real smooth, Bueckers,” Azzi murmured.

Paige’s grin was immediate. “Smooth enough to skip movie night and take you right to my bed?”

Azzi pretended to consider it, tapping her chin like she was weighing options. “Hmm.” She dragged the sound out, enjoying the way Paige’s hands tightened at her waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Paige leaned in, voice dropping. “I seem to recall I promised you something.” Her mouth brushed Azzi’s again, enough to make Azzi’s knees feel unsteady. Her mind shifted through all the things Paige had promised, but nothing could prepare Azzi for the words that left her mouth. “I’m going to wear your jersey,” she murmured pulling her lips from Azzi’s to whisper in her ear, “and fuck you so good that you’ll think about it every time you look up in the stands and see me wearing it.”

Azzi’s breath caught, her pulse jumping so hard it felt like it knocked loose every thought in her head until the only one left was how badly she wanted that to come true. 

Paige’s long fingers wrapped around the back of Azzi’s neck, dragging her in for a filthy kiss. She pulled back, taking in Azzi’s foggy gaze with a satisfied look, like she’d achieved exactly what she wanted.

Azzi didn’t bother pretending she had self-control after that.

Then again, Paige barely gave her the chance. She caught Azzi at the waist and lifted her easily. Azzi let out a surprised laugh that turned into a giggle as she wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist, arms sliding over Paige’s broad shoulders.

“Paige,” she managed, but it came out breathy and useless, more sound than warning.

Paige’s answer was her mouth at Azzi’s neck, lips attached like she couldn’t stand even another second of distance. Paige stumbled once as she started down the hall, catching herself with a soft curse that made Azzi laugh again, but the laughter didn’t last. It melted into something hotter as Paige kept moving down the hall with Azzi in her arms, kissing and biting and breathing her in like she was a drug and Paige was addicted. 

Azzi’s head tipped back, warmth pulsing through her, spreading fast, turning all-consuming. Every press of Paige’s mouth left trails of heat and Azzi clung tightly, dizzy with it, feeling like she was being carried straight into fire and somehow craving every second of the burn.

When she woke hours later, morning sunlight filtering through the curtains in soft stripes across the bed, she was still blanketed in warmth. It lingered in her limbs, in her chest, in that perfect morning haze that made the world feel fuzzy.

Then she shifted, realizing the warmth wasn’t only memory.

Paige was wrapped around her from behind, arm draped over her waist, hand relaxed at her hip, breath warm against the back of Azzi’s neck. She went still for a moment just to feel it, closing her eyes again just to let it sink in.

Her first thought was that she’d slept better than she had in weeks. Her second thought was simpler, softer, yet somehow sucked the air from her lungs.  

Paige was still here.

Azzi let the realization settle. 

It wasn’t that they hadn’t spent nights together in pieces. They’d gotten close enough to taste it, but this was different. This was waking up and realizing the night hadn’t ended with Paige slipping out of her bed for work before Azzi opened her eyes, leaving behind nothing but a dent in the pillow. It wasn’t Azzi quietly putting her clothes back on and heading out into the night because she had a chartered team plane to catch.  

Azzi turned slowly, careful not to wake her, and came face-to-face with blue eyes already open and watching her.

Paige’s hair was a mess, pushed in every direction, her face stripped of the smirk she wore so naturally. She looked softer in the morning, so goddamn beautiful. A sight Azzi could get used to. 

Half-asleep, Azzi blinked slowly. “You’re still here.”

Paige’s mouth tightened, knowing she’d earned that dig. “I’m still here,” she confirmed with a smile. “Barely, though. I called and told my boss I had this really hot girl in my bed and I was going to have to be a little late this morning.”

Azzi let out a laugh that felt too loud for the quiet room. “Your boss, huh?” she repeated, amused.

Paige shrugged, blue eyes catching the morning sun and sparkling with mischief. “She was very understanding.”

Azzi’s smile lingered as she leaned in and kissed Paige, soft at first, then slid her tongue into her mouth to deepen it. She wanted to sink into it, wanted to pull Paige closer and forget there was such a thing as morning, as work and practices and schedules, and run back what they’d done last night.

But Paige pulled back.

Azzi’s brows furrowed. Paige’s face had changed, the playful warmth replaced by something almost strained. She leaned in again, pressing her mouth to Paige’s, trying to coax her back into it.

Paige kissed her for a second but then pulled away again.

Azzi leaned back on her elbow just enough to look at her, confusion sharpening, wrinkles creasing her forehead. “The hot girl in your bed is trying to take advantage of you,” she said, tone half-joking but her eyes searching Paige’s face.

Paige’s expression flickered, like she was fighting something. She seemed to be in pain but for no obvious reason.

Azzi’s stomach flipped. “What’s wrong?”

Paige held Azzi’s gaze for a beat too long, then exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her gaze to the bed. “I gotta pee.”

“What?”

Paige let her head fall back onto the pillow and groaned as her cheeks turned a bright pink hue. “I’ve been up for an hour,” she admitted, sounding disgusted with herself. “But Nai told me if I wasn’t in bed when you woke up today, she was going to kill me. So I’ve been laying here holding it.”

The silence that followed lasted maybe half a second. Then Azzi erupted into a full-bodied laugh because it was so ridiculous and so endearing and so Paige it almost hurt.

“Oh my God.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed and she playfully swatted Azzi’s arm. “Don’t laugh at me, bro.”

“I am absolutely laughing at you,” Azzi said, still chuckling as she shoved at Paige’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Go. Hurry up before you piss the bed.”

Paige rolled out of bed, moving fast but still managing to toss a look back at Azzi with that cocky smirk returning now that the crisis had been named. “I gotta change the sheets anyway after last night, princess,” she playfully chided with a wink.

“Fuck all the way off,” Azzi called after her, even though Paige definitely needed to change them and it was definitely due to Azzi.

Paige disappeared into the bathroom and Azzi heard the door click shut. A second later, there was the unmistakable sound of relief, followed by Paige’s muffled, “Jesus.”

Azzi’s laughter softened into something quieter as she sank back into the pillows that smelled like Paige, staring up at the ceiling. Her chest felt warm, body full in a way that she couldn’t really explain. 

Yes, Paige was utterly ridiculous. But Paige had also laid in bed for an hour in some degree of discomfort, because she decided that Azzi waking up alone again would feel like a mistake she didn’t want to repeat.

Azzi smiled into the pillow, kicking her feet giddily under the covers as butterflies fluttered in her belly. Because Paige was still here, and apparently willing to do stupid things to make sure Azzi knew it. Azzi was in trouble.

*************

A week passed. A busy week, though unfortunately that’s how Azzi would describe all of them since she was in the middle of season. 

The doorknob to her bedroom was loose. It had been loose for a week. Azzi had ignored it the way she had ignored a lot of small household annoyances before meeting Paige and suddenly needing a reason to get everything in her house fixed. She’d assumed it would keep working because it always had.

Then, two nights ago, it had stuck so badly she’d had to yank it with both hands and really put her back into it to get into her room. She was seriously afraid that the next time it happened she would get trapped in her bedroom. A totally rational thought.

So she texted Paige, obviously. She couldn’t let the problem linger and who else was she going to call?

Paige showed up the next afternoon in jeans and a fitted hoodie, hair pulled back, tool bag slung over one shoulder. Azzi met her at the door in sweats and a t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower, trying not to look like she’d been waiting impatiently all morning.

Paige’s grin widened the second she saw her. “Hey, baby.”

Azzi rolled her eyes automatically at the pet name, but it didn’t do anything to stop Paige from leaning in and planting a kiss on her lips. Because obviously she liked it. “Hey.”

Paige stepped inside, and only then did Azzi notice the extra thing in her hand. It wasn’t her usual big black tool bag. It was smaller, almost like a lunchbox, with a handle and a neat latch.

Azzi pointed at it, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that?”

Paige lifted it like she was presenting a gift. “I got it for you.” She handed it over before Azzi could decide whether she was allowed to be touched by this level of thoughtfulness. “It’s a little toolbox. Nothing crazy, just the essentials. Figured it might be a good thing for you to have.”

Azzi took it, and laughed. It was either that or stare at Paige like a complete fool. “I don’t know how to use any of this.”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “I can teach you, Az.”

Something moved through Azzi’s chest. Not heat exactly. Well, not only heat. It was that weird, uncomfortable softness that had been catching her off guard lately, the feeling of being taken care of without having to ask for it. Which was something Paige was annoyingly perfect at doing—somehow making her feel cared for and empowered at the same time.

Azzi covered her falter with a smirk, hopeful to hide it from Paige. “But if I know how to do all this,” Azzi said, lifting the toolbox slightly for show, “maybe I won’t need to call you.”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. Not for a single second. 

She stepped in, one hand sliding to the back of Azzi’s neck, fingers possessive, making Azzi’s whole body light up. Paige pulled her in and kissed her like the threat of not being needed was something she had to rebuff immediately.

Azzi melted into it with a soft moan she didn’t mean to make. She dropped the tool box with a thud, hands finding Paige’s waist, then her hoodie, gripping like she had just as much to prove. Paige tasted like coffee and mint gum and the confidence with which she slid her tongue into Azzi’s mouth made her feel dizzy.

When Paige pulled back, she kept her hand at Azzi’s neck, thumb brushing lightly just under her ear. Her smirk was cocky and satisfied and Azzi didn’t even want to try to knock her down a peg because it was so sexy.

“I think you’ll still call,” Paige murmured.

“Yeah?” 

Azzi tried to sound coy, she really did. But her breath was unsteady and Paige just chuckled and bent down to grab the tool box. Then she nodded toward the stairs, like she was only there for business and hadn’t just kissed Azzi into a different fucking dimension. 

“C’mon. Show me the issue,” she called over her shoulder. 

Azzi followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. 

The doorknob wobbled when Paige tested it, turning too easily, the latch catching with an aggravating little jerk.

Paige clicked her tongue. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Azzi knew that already. It’s why she called. Yet somehow, Paige still managed to look hot citing a common fact. 

Azzi hovered, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that she was an adult and needed help with a doorknob. Paige didn’t make her feel stupid about it, though. Paige never did.

Nodding at the toolbox, Paige instructed Azzi to open it. She did, flipping the latch and lifting the lid.

She stared at the assortment inside. All the tool handles inside were a bold pink that looked like it belonged in a Barbie Dreamhouse instead of a toolbox. 

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Are you serious?”

Paige’s expression didn’t waver. “I figured you’d be more likely to use it if they were cute.”

Azzi sighed but was still smiling. “You’re not wrong.”

“Okay grab what we need.” 

Mustering up confidence, desperate to pass the test Paige was throwing at her, Azzi reached in and grabbed the first thing that looked useful. She held it up and Paige’s mouth twitched. 

“No.”

Azzi frowned. “No?”

“That’s a wrench.” She pointed to the screw on the doorknob. “We need a Phillips head screwdriver to tighten these.”

Paige said it like that was obvious, but Azzi just blinked slowly and let out a sigh. “A what?”

Paige laughed quietly, squatting down beside Azzi. Shoulders brushing together, Paige leaned in and planted a kiss to Azzi’s cheek before turning her attention back to the tools. “This,” she said, pulling out one of the screwdrivers and turning it so Azzi could see the cross-shaped tip. “Is a Phillips head.”

Azzi stared at it like Paige had handed her something written in another language. “How do you know all of this?” 

Paige shrugged. “Because I’m hot and handy.”

Azzi snorted. “Don’t forget humble too.”

Paige bumped her shoulder. “Hold this for me.”

Azzi did, watching as Paige knelt by the doorknob and pointed out the screws, patiently explaining what needed to be done and why. She spoke to Azzi like she assumed Azzi could learn this, and despite Azzi feeling like that was certainly not the case, she appreciated it. 

“See?” Paige said. “You just tighten these. Righty-tighty.”

Azzi crouched beside her, taking the screwdriver when Paige offered it. Her fingers slipped a little at first, and Paige’s hand covered hers, guiding the movement. Her breath warmed the side of Azzi’s face when she spoke. Her hand stayed on Azzi’s wrist a second longer than necessary, probably doing it on purpose to just to wind her up because they both knew how this was going to end.

Azzi tightened the screw, then another. 

Paige leaned back slightly, giving Azzi room. She missed the closeness immediately. 

“Okay, now test it.”

Azzi stood and twisted the knob. It turned smoothly, clicked cleanly, and the latch slid into place like it was supposed to.

Azzi’s eyes widened with pride. “I did it,” she shrieked excitedly. 

Paige’s gaze lifted to her face, and the look she gave her made Azzi’s stomach flip. 

“You did,” Paige said softly, eyes flickering with pride. “Look at you.”

Azzi tried to play it cool. “So I’m basically you now.”

Paige grinned. “Not quite but maybe one day.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She set the screwdriver back into the toolbox and snapped it closed, feeling absurdly satisfied for accomplishing such a small task.

Paige straightened, stretching her arms above her head, leaving Azzi trying to ignore the sliver of abs the movement exposed.

“Wait,” she said, like she’d just remembered something. “We gotta do one more thing.”

Azzi’s brows lifted. “We do?”

Paige nodded. “Can you go grab the thing on the top of my toolbag downstairs?”

Azzi hesitated at the lack of specificity, not that she could tell the tools apart anyway. “The thing on the top?”

Paige walked over and spun the golden doorknob, testing it again with exaggerated seriousness. “Just trust me. We need it.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. Paige’s tone was too casual and also too innocent, which meant she was absolutely neither of those things.

Still, Azzi shrugged and headed downstairs, barefoot on the cool wood floors. Paige’s tool bag was by the entryway. Azzi paused, still a little suspicious, then tugged the zipper open.

She expected a drill. A wrench. Something boring sitting on top.

Instead, her fingers brushed something smooth and unfamiliar, and when she pulled it free, her entire body went hot.

It was black and brand new. Not a tool in any normal sense, but she had no doubt it could certainly get the job done. 

Azzi stared at it for a second too long, heat climbing up her neck as her brain caught up to what her hands were holding. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, half horrified, half thrilled. She blew out a deep breath.

Upstairs, Paige called, “Az?”

Azzi swallowed, gripping the thing like it might combust in her hands, then forced herself to move. Each step up the stairs felt louder than it should have, her heart pulse thudding in her ears.

When she kicked the door open, Paige was already inside. She was stretched out on Azzi’s bed, shirt and jeans discarded somewhere on the floor. Her skin looked golden in the afternoon light, her chest rising and falling with a lazy rhythm. She looked like she’d been waiting for an audience, arms folded behind her head, body relaxed and shameless, a smug little smirk on her mouth that made Azzi stop short in the doorway.

Paige’s eyes flicked to what Azzi was holding.

Then back to Azzi’s face.

Azzi stood there frozen, heat rushing through her so fast it made her dizzy. “You are something else, Bueckers”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Still think you won’t call me if you learn how to use tools?”

Azzi’s mouth went dry. She took a step forward, then another. Paige’s gaze tracked her the whole time, calm and confident, like she already knew how this was going to end. Truthfully, they both did.

Azzi stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at Paige who lifted her brows expectantly. 

Azzi’s laugh came out shaky. “This is not a tool.”

Paige shrugged, her smile turning dangerous. “Depends how you use it.”

Azzi shook her head as Paige scooted forward, hand sliding to her hip, fingers warm and sure. “Come here,” she murmured.

Azzi leaned down, kissing Paige hard, like she needed to shut her up before Paige said something that made her completely lose control. Paige kissed her back with the same steady confidence she had in the kitchen, in the hallway, in every room she occupied because she was Paige and she always knew what she wanted.

Breathless, Azzi pulled back after a minute, staring at Paige’s puffy lips, then her eyes. Her body felt like it was on fire, from her core to the tips of her fingers. 

Paige’s hand squeezed her hip. “You trust me?”

“Yes.” 

Azzi didn’t hesitate, nor did she question the fact that she didn’t need to pause and consider, and Paige’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, her smirk returned and she tugged Azzi closer.

She reached out, took the strap-on from Azzi’s hand, and began to fasten it onto her harness with ease. When she was done, she turned, giving Azzi a view that made her knees weak. 

Azzi could only stare, trying to process the fact that Paige was so confident. Obviously. She had definitely done this before. But Azzi hadn't, a thought that made her stomach twist with a mix of excitement and nerves. The reality of it was so much bigger than the fantasy that lived in her head.

Paige’s expression shifted, her gaze softening as it landed on Azzi’s face. She must have seen the hesitation in Azzi’s eye.

"Hey," Paige said, her voice dropping an octave. "We don't have to."

Azzi shook her head before she could second-guess herself. "No," she breathed out. "I want it."

Paige’s smirk returned, but it was sharper now, less teasing and more intent. "Okay. Then get on your knees, Az."

Holy fuck. 

Azzi obeyed without thinking, sinking down to the floor between Paige’s legs, thankful for the soft carpet to cushion her knees. She wrapped her hand around the strap-on, her fingers trembling slightly even though this wasn’t her first time doing this, and lowered her head. She took Paige in, sucking her into her mouth, her tongue tracing the silicone with a desperate kind of curiosity.

Paige let out a low, guttural noise that vibrated through Azzi’s hands. Her gaze turned feral, dark and hungry, as she watched Azzi bob her head, bottoming out the strap in the back of her throat. Having Paige’s attention like this was intoxicating.

Her hand tangled in Azzi’s hair after a minute, scratching gently at her scalp . "How do you want it, baby?" she asked, her voice rough. 

Azzi looked up at her, her lips wet and swollen, underwear absolutely soaked. She knew what she liked, but she also loved when Paige took control, when Paige told her exactly what to do. It was such a contrast to how she was in everyday life, but the ability to just feel without having to think or perform was exhilarating. 

She pulled back, letting the silicone go from between her lips with a pop that made Paige practically growl. "You tell me," Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can be such a good listener, P.” 

Paige’s eyes darkened further at the show of obedience, her fingers tightening in Azzi’s hair. On the court, in front of thousands of fans, Azzi might be in charge. But here? She was more than willing to relinquish control.

Azzi barely had time to breathe before Paige’s hands were at her waist, guiding her back up with that calm, unhurried certainty.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” Paige ordered, pointing for emphasis. 

Azzi eagerly scrambled to obey, almost getting tangled up as she ripped her off her clothes. She was laughing under her breath because she could still feel the ridiculousness of the moment, and that was another thing that she hadn’t realized how much she loved and had missed; sex being fun. She flipped onto the mattress, breath already uneven at the anticipation, heat rising fast in her chest.

Paige followed, climbing over her with possessiveness that made Azzi’s brain go blank. “Lay back,” Paige said, her hand sliding up Azzi’s side, thumb brushing her warm skin with a softness that didn’t match the wild look dancing in her eyes.

The sheets were cool on Azzi’s back as she settled in, feeling Paige stroking her thighs gently as she positioned herself between Azzi’s legs. The moment the tip of the strap pressed against her clit, Azzi’s hips bucked. "Fuck, P," she gasped against Paige’s lips, her hands gripping those broad shoulders. She sounded desperate. 

Paige groaned, continuing to drag the head of the strap through Azzi’s slick folds, tantalizingly slow.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Paige breathed, dropping her forehead against Azzi’s for a second, like she was struggling to maintain composure. 

“Only for you,” Azzi gasped, and the words came out breathless. “I only get like this for you.”

Paige lifted her head to look at her, eyes dark and blown wide enough that the blue almost disappeared. “You been thinking about this?” she asked, voice rough.

Azzi could only nod as Paige finally pushed in, inch by inch. The sensation stole Azzi’s breath, pulling a broken sound from her throat before she could stop it. Of course she’d been thinking about it. Ever since Paige mentioned it on the phone that night, voice low and filthy in her ear, it had lodged in Azzi’s brain and refused to leave.

And still, in her wildest fantasies, she hadn’t pictured it like this. Not this intense or perfect. Which was… seriously questionable on her part, considering how infuriatingly good Paige was at nearly everything. 

Paige moved slowly, watching Azzi’s face like she was reading it, like she wanted to see every flicker of reaction and catalog it away for future reference. Judging from the way Paige always left her undone, sometimes it felt like she had a manual. 

“That’s my good girl,” Paige murmured, and there was something almost reverent in it. Like Paige couldn’t believe she got to be the one doing this.  Like she was the lucky one, and not Azzi who was, based on the wild look in Paige’s eyes, about to have the best orgasm of her life. 

Azzi couldn’t think. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts or really do anything except breathe and hold on as Paige filled her completely. The stretch was overwhelming and somehow exactly right, her back arching off the bed.

Paige made a rough sound, hands gripping Azzi’s thighs, drawing her legs wider, settling even deeper. “Fuck,” she breathed. “You take me so well.”

The pressure had Azzi feeling like she was coming apart from the inside.

“You like that, baby?” Paige asked.

Azzi nodded again, helpless, her brain cloudy with lust and the overwhelming feeling of desire. 

It wasn’t enough for Paige.

“I need you to answer me,” Paige said, voice strained, like she was losing her composure. “You like when I fill you up like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Azzi moaned, the word breaking. “You—” She swallowed, trying again when Paige didn’t let her off the hook. “You feel… perfect.”

Paige’s expression flickered, hunger sharpening. “You’re so fucking tight,” she whispered in awe, like it was praise. 

Azzi whimpered, body clenching around Paige’s dick without permission. Heat spread through her, fast and liquid, and Paige still wasn’t even moving the way Azzi needed. The anticipation was torture. The fullness had her shaking, anticipating building. 

“Please, Paige,” Azzi breathed, desperate. Her mind spun. She was so full, stretched so perfectly, but she needed more. She needed everything Paige could give her, and even then she still wasn’t sure she’d ever get enough of the blonde. 

Paige dipped her head, their breaths tangling. “Please what, Az?” she murmured. “Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

Azzi’s body reacted hard to that, the words sinking straight into her as she clenched around the silicone. She’d never been more turned on in her life. 

“Please,” she whispered again, voice raw. “I need—”

Paige rolled her hips just slightly, a small movement that sent a sharp wave of sensation through Azzi and stole the rest of her sentence from her throat.

“What do you need?” Paige asked, almost gentle, like she wasn’t smirking down at her. Her hand slid up from Azzi’s thigh, traveling higher until her long fingers wrapped around Azzi’s chin and tipped her face up.

Their eyes met and Paige’s mouth curved into a cocky fucking grin that Azzi wished she had the strength to wipe off. Then again, she maybe didn’t because it was unbelievably hot. Whatever. 

“Use your words.” 

Azzi’s chest heaved, desperate to fill her longs with oxygen, brain feeling like it was deprived of anything that wasn’t Paige. She tightened her grip on Paige’s shoulders. “I need you to fuck me, P,” she said, voice shaking with it. “Make me yours.”

She didn’t know what came over her with the words, but she must have said something right because a strangled sound tore out of Paige as she finally started to move. It was slow at first, shallow, deliberate thrusts that had them both gasping and clawing at each other. Despite being the one in control, Paige’s control was visibly frayed, her jaw clenching as she set a rhythm that was patient and punishing at the same time.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned, eyes fixed on Azzi like she couldn’t look away. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. Taking my dick so well.” 

The possessive edge in her voice, combined with the way she kept pushing deeper, again and again and hitting that perfect spot, dragged Azzi closer to the brink. Her vision flared white at the edges.

“Paige,” Azzi moaned, nails digging into Paige's shoulders hard enough that she knew there’d be remnants of it come morning. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” Paige said, voice strained with a heady mix of pleasure and desire. “I can feel you—” She swallowed, breath shuddering. “I can feel your pussy so tight around me.”

The bed frame creaked in protest, a sound that was lost beneath the wet, frantic sounds of their bodies slapping against each other and the ragged sounds tearing from Azzi’s throat. Paige’s eyes were locked on hers, expression a mixture of fierce concentration and raw, unadulterated desire.

Azzi was close, so close, the pressure building in her stomach like a coiled spring. “You feel so good,” Azzi hummed, feeling herself tightening around Paige. “So fucking good.” 

Paige started thrusting harder, faster, driving waves of pleasure through Azzi’s body, each thrust pushing her closer to completely unraveling.

“That’s right, let me hear how good I make you feel, baby,” Paige demanded, voice wrecked. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine.”

The combination of Paige’s possessive words and tone, the fullness, the relentless pressure had her seeing literal stars.

“All yours,” Azzi agreed breathlessly, her nails dragging over Paige’s back as pleasure built rapidly in her core. “I’m all yours, P.” 

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Paige rasped, her voice thick with pleasure, fingers digging in. “So fucking perfect, Az.”

The praise sent Azzi spiraling. Her thoughts scattered completely, her mind narrowing to the tightening coil low in her belly.

“Paige,” she gasped. “I’m going to cum.”

“Cum for me,” Paige commanded, her fingers sliding down to stroke Azzi’s clit. “Make a mess on my dick.”

Azzi’s orgasm crashed over her like a breaking wave. The tension snapped all at once, sparks racing through her body to the tips of her fingers and curled toes.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige hissed.

They collapsed into a tangle of limbs, Azzi’s forehead pressed against Paige’s shoulder as their chests rose and fell together. The kiss between them was messy and breathless, mouths finding each other again even as they struggled to catch their breath. 

Azzi felt boneless in the aftermath, drifting somewhere warm and weightless, but instinct still pulled her closer. Her hand slipped down Paige’s side, searching for contact, tracing the curve of her hip before settling between her legs.

When her fingers brushed against damp skin, Azzi gasped softly into Paige’s mouth. Her thumb pressed experimentally, and the realization hit immediately.

Paige was soaked.

The knowledge sent a sharp rush of heat through Azzi’s chest, something electric lighting up her nerves. But before Azzi could do more than graze her fingers there, a firm hand caught her wrist.

“Not yet,” Paige murmured against her lips, voice rough and commanding.

She pinned Azzi’s hand gently but decisively to the mattress, her thumb brushing slowly over the racing pulse in Azzi’s wrist.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

The promise in her voice sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine. She swallowed hard, her body already stirring again despite the lingering tremors of the last release.

“I need more,” Paige said, dropping Azzi’s wrist to run her long fingers through Azzi’s slick folds. She collected the arousal that gathered there, then brought her fingers to her mouth, slipping the digits inside and moaning at the taste. 

“I can’t,” Azzi whimpered, oversensitive now.

“I promise you can take it,” Paige murmured, guiding her carefully as she shifted them. Paige flopped onto her back, chest rising and falling as she looked up at her, the strap-on jutting up from her hips. “I need to see you ride me, baby.”

The desperation in Paige’s voice sent another rush of heat up Azzi’s spine.

"Please, Az.” 

Paige wasn’t demanding now, she was asking. Begging, even. It was dizzying, knowing she had the cocky blonde so worked up. And who was Azzi to deny Paige what she wanted?

Despite the exhaustion in her limbs, Azzi swung a leg over Paige, straddling her waist. Her thighs trembled as she lowered herself down again, her head falling back as the sensation of being full flooded through her.

"Fuck, you take it so well," Paige groaned, her grip tightening on Azzi’s hips as she watched Azzi’s cunt swallow her dick. "So tight and wet for me. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"

Azzi nodded, it was all she could do. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness that pushed her to her limits. This angle felt different. Deeper. She was technically the one in the position of control, but Paige’s hands were still on her hips, guiding her movements like she knew exactly what pace Azzi needed.

Starting slow, Azzi rolled her hips instinctively while Paige’s hands roamed over her body. Her thumbs pinched Azzi’s nipples, palms sliding across her abs, fingers gripping her hips, before settling firmly at the curve of her ass.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Paige moaned, adjusting the angle slightly. “So fucking good for me. I love watching you ride me like this.”

As Paige’s lips found Azzi's neck, laying a trail of hot, open mouth kisses, Azzi’s slow rhythm quickly turned frantic. Her body chased the feeling, desperate for the release already building again. Paige was quick to catch on, raising her hips in rhythm, thrusting deep inside. Eyes clamping shut, Azzi’s breath turned ragged as her mind turned to the singular focus of chasing her orgasm. 

“Look at me,” Paige demanded hoarsely, fingers wrapping gently around her throat. 

Azzi forced her eyes open, brown eyes meeting blue, and the intensity in Paige’s gaze was her undoing. The pressure inside her built and built until her entire body trembled with it.

“I’m going to be thinking about this every night you’re not in my bed,” Paige promised, her hands now frantically palming Azzi’s breasts. “Just picturing you riding me like this. Your perfect tits bouncing in my face while you look completely wrecked. God, Az. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Azzi’s mind went blank.

Fingers digging into the warm skin of Azzi’s ass, she pulled Azzi down, strap bottoming out with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, loud and obscene, and Azzi couldn't look away from the sight of her own hands gripping Paige’s shoulders, knuckles white with exertion. Every thrust sent shockwaves through her, vibrating in her bones, making her feel stretched and completely owned by Paige.

"Tell me how it feels," Paige pleaded, her voice sharp as she leaned up to capture Azzi’s lips again. "Tell me how good it is when I fuck you like this."

"So good," Azzi sobbed, the words torn from her. "I’ve never…it’s never been this good,” she stuttered, lost in the sensation. “You’re so fucking deep, Paige. Fuck. Don't stop."

She felt so exposed, her body on display, her tits bouncing with every slam of Paige’s hips. It was submission, a total surrender of control, which wasn’t something she relinquished easily.

"That's it," Paige growled, her rhythm becoming erratic. "Take what I give you. Come on, baby. Cum for me again. I want to feel you fall apart on my dick."

The words, the command, the relentless pressure was all too much. Azzi’s body seized, a scream tearing from her lungs as a second, more intense orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shaking and utterly spent.

With a broken cry, she collapsed forward against Paige’s chest, completely boneless, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

Paige wrapped her arms around her immediately, leaning back and holding her there while they both struggled to catch their breath.

Azzi was dazed and spent, her cheek pressed against Paige’s shoulder, the warmth of her body grounding her as the last tremors rippled through her body and faded away.

After a moment, Azzi felt Paige’s fingers drifting softly along her spine, slow and soothing in the quiet aftermath of the most intense sex she’d ever had. It still amazed her how easily Paige could shift from so commanding one moment to impossibly tender the next. It was like both sides of her existed in perfect balance, attending to exactly what Azzi needed in the moment.

Azzi was learning more about her every day. And tonight, through the quiet haze of it all, she learned that she was falling for Paige. Or, maybe, that she already had.

*************

Paige’s day had been a parade of small annoyances. She’d shown up with her tools, a plan for the day, and what she thought was enough patience to get through it, only to find out her client had decided to have different opinions about everything now that the work was halfway done. 

She was halfway through a remodel on a townhouse with nice bones and a lot of money thrown at it. Newlyweds with big dreams of marble counters, expensive appliances, and a kitchen island that was enormous yet useless. Apparently daddy had bestowed a generous wedding gift that the couple was hellbent on blowing through. 

Paige usually didn’t take bigger remodel jobs like this, but Brittani and Ken were friends of a past client, and she did have dreams of expanding the business. Paige figured this was as good a place as any to start. Plus, they didn’t blink at the monstrous price tag she put on the job. 

Unfortunately, working on Brittani and Ken’s place meant actually dealing with Brittani. 

Visually, that wasn’t all that bad. Brittani was objectively hot, even if in a way that felt wildly overdone. Platinum blonde hair always styled in perfect waves, fake boobs, makeup always fresh, clothes always chosen to cling tightly to the body she spent hours in the gym perfecting daily to keep her husband happy. The issue was her too-white smile that lingered too long and her propensity to stand too close, fingers resting on Paige’s arm or back or leg when she asked questions that had already been answered twice. The fact that she didn’t work and was quite literally always home didn’t help. 

Honestly, Paige was used to dealing with this in a sense. Brittani wasn’t the first bored housewife that had thrown herself at Paige, and she probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, by early afternoon, Paige was crouched down hanging a cabinet door, thinking about the fact that she could be literally anywhere else and be happier.

Her phone buzzed against the counter.

Paige glanced at it, expecting a call from a supplier about an order that got messed up. Instead, the screen lit up with Azzi’s name and Paige’s entire mood shifted so fast it almost gave her whiplash.

She tapped it open and was greeted with the magnificent sight of Azzi in practice gear, sweat-darkened at the collar, hair slicked back and messy. Her cheeks were flushed, lashes clumped slightly, and she was making a face that was half exhausted and half smug.

Paige felt her mouth curve automatically. Even like this, Azzi looked unbelievable. It was so easy for her to make Paige lose focus.

Paige didn’t even hesitate before she started typing, thumb moving fast.

Paige: come over so i can lick that sweat off you baby

The reply came almost instantly.

Azzi: you’re sick

Paige’s grin widened. She leaned her hip against the counter and typed back casually like she wasn’t about to get ambushed by Brittani at any moment. 

Paige: ntm on me. you love it freaky. 

Azzi: maybe 

Azzi: maybe not 

A minute passed before another text came through. 

Azzi: are you even home? cuz i’m done for the day and could definitely use a shower if you’re interested in helping with that… 

Paige made a sound that was not appropriate for daylight hours in a client’s house.

It wasn’t a quiet sound. No, that would have been too merciful. It was a full-body groan that escaped before she could swallow it down, and she immediately regretted the lack of control when footsteps tapped toward the kitchen.

Brittani appeared in the doorway, wearing pink pants complete with a matching pink jacket, her perfectly waxed brows lifted in concern. Paige straightened so fast.

At least this time, Paige noticed with a grim sort of amusement, Brittani was wearing shorts that actually covered her ass. Miracles happened.

“Paige?” Brittani asked, voice overly sweet. “Are you okay? I heard… something.”

Paige cleared her throat and set her phone face-down on the counter pretending those texts hadn’t just ruined her ability to think. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Brittani stepped closer, eyes flicking slowly down Paige’s body, then back up to her face. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked, the offer dripping with honey. “Water? Coffee? I could run out and grab us some beers—”

“I’m good,” Paige said firmly, keeping her tone polite but final. As if Brittani would ever drink a beer. Certainly she was a Cosmo girl. “Just dealing with some supplier issues. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Brittani lingered in the kitchen longer than necessary, like she thought Paige might change her mind. Paige just peered back with a tight smile and lifted her drill, so Brittani nodded. “Oh you could never disturb me,” she said, voice coy. “Well, I’m  just right upstairs… in my bedroom… if you need anything,” she said, and walked away with a slow sway that Paige refused to acknowledge.

The second Brittani disappeared, Paige grabbed her phone again.

Paige: no but i wish i was instead of at this house

Azzi: brittani behaving?

Paige let out a laugh through her nose, because Azzi’s jealousy still caught her off guard. It felt a little ridiculous considering they weren’t actually together, but still, Azzi’s casual possessiveness made Paige feel a bit warm all over. 

Paige: today she is. she’s at least wearing shorts that cover her full ass 

Azzi: i hate her

Paige smiled wider, picturing the pout Azzi would be wearing right now, the one that made her look like she was offended simply by the existence of other people. Paige’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, softened by the image. She could almost hear Azzi’s voice, all clipped and serious like she wasn’t being a brat.

Paige: she’s harmless

Azzi: you sure?

The answer was yes, because in reality, Brittani was harmless. Still, Paige’s grin turned sly, unable to pass up a chance to get Azzi riled up. It usually worked in her favor. 

Paige: well she did tell me she’d be upstairs “in her bedroom” if i need anything

Paige: and i think she means literally anything

Azzi: wtf 

Azzi: do i need to come there and let her know who you belong to?

Paige’s breath got stuck in her throat. 

It wasn’t the words exactly. It was the way Azzi was claiming her, or at least that’s what Paige thought was happening. This was need, wrapped in possessiveness, but also delivered in a neat little text message like a dare.

Heart hammering against her ribs, she glanced toward the doorway, making sure Brittani was still gone. Then she typed back with a boldness that surprised even her, because she wasn’t sure she was prepared for the answer. 

Paige: and who do i belong to az?

There was a pause long enough for Paige to feel it in her bones. She stared at the screen, waiting, pulse jumping like she wasn’t really sure where this was headed. 

Then the reply came.

Azzi: why don’t you come over tonight and i’ll show you…

Paige’s whole body went hot. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting a grin she couldn’t hide even if she tried.

She typed with one hand, smirking at the invitation while deciding to see how far she could push the line. 

Paige: i think that can be arranged 

Paige: but we already know who YOU belong to 

Azzi: and who is that? 

Paige: me. 

Paige: at least it sure seemed that way based on the way you were screaming my name when you took my strap the other night… 

Azzi: that was AI

Paige: bro you’re so unserious 

Paige: nika called me out for the scratches on my back when we were in stewie’s pool the other day so thanks for that 

Paige: she told theo i got attacked by a cat… 

Azzi: tell nika to mind her own damn business 

Paige laughed at that. 

Paige: i’ve been trying for like over fifteen years bro 

Azzi: yeah yeah. so tonight? 

Paige: i’ll be there once i wrap up here and shower. i can grab dinner for us on the way. 

Azzi: save the shower for my place 

Azzi: and bring something that can be reheated 

Paige: bet. 

She hit send and stood there for a second, leaning against the cool counter, staring at their messages. 

Then she tucked her phone back into her pocket, picked up her drill, and tried to remember how to do her job while her brain fast-forwarded to what she knew was going to be a very eventful night.

*************

The Sports Bra, Seattle’s all-women’s sports bar, was loud like it always was during a Storm game, a steady roar that rose with every made shot and dipped with every miss. Massive TVs lined the walls, most tuned to the Storm matchup, with a few scattered screens showing an NWSL game between Gotham and the Spirit.

Paige sat on a bar stool wedged between Nika and Nai. The matchup against the Indiana Fever had the place packed tighter than usual, which meant Paige’s knee was pressed into Nika’s leg and her elbow kept bumping DiJonai on the other side. Paige and Nika were locked in, beers in hand, tracking every possession while Nai picked at a basket of fries she refused to share on principle.

On the screen, the third quarter clock ticked down. Azzi was playing like she always did. Hounding on defense and drilling threes all while, in Paige’s very professional opinion, making it look effortless. And being extremely sexy. The problem was the scoreboard.

The Storm were down twelve. The gap ebbed and flowed, but the game refused to let them breathe. Or at least that’s how Paige felt as she watched Azzi sink another shot to cut the lead back down. 

A minute later, Nika groaned when Skylar’s three rimmed out. “Come on,” she muttered, leaning forward with her elbows on the sticky bar top.

Paige didn’t say anything. She was trying to pretend she wasn’t overly invested, even though her eyes stayed locked on Azzi whenever she was on the screen. She could feel Nai clocking it. Nika too. They were both nosy as hell, and neither of them ever missed an opportunity to call her out.

“That’s your girl,” Nai said lazily, mouth full of fries.

Paige didn’t take her eyes off the TV. “She’s not technically my girl.”

Nai snorted. “Sure. If we’re speaking in technicalities. But you’ve also been spending all your free time together, so…what do you call that then, P?” 

Paige lifted her beer, took a sip, and tried to look unbothered. It was getting harder lately. Not because Paige wasn’t used to being teased, but because the teasing had started to sound like the truth. 

The last few weeks had shifted things. They weren’t official and certainly nothing with an actual name, but it was real enough that Paige’s body remembered Azzi even when she wasn’t in the room, and had her thinking in weekends and dinners and mornings spent cuddled in bed, not just quickies and stolen time.

“Don’t you guys have a dinner date planned for when she gets back too?” Nai prodded. “Thanks for the invite by the way. Been dying to try that place.”  

Paige rolled her eyes, saved from the interrogation when her phone buzzed against the table.

She glanced down and saw a text from Marta, with a link below it.

Marta: yo azzi is famous again

Nai immediately leaned in. “What’s that?”

Paige tapped it, the screen loading slowly because the bar Wi-Fi was trash. A website for the Pacific NW Magazine opened, with a photo of Azzi’s house front and center. She began to scroll, seeing spreads of the living room and the ornate staircase and the kitchen, every detail perfectly staged.

Paige smiled before she could stop it. Of course Azzi’s house had been featured. It was beautiful in the way old homes were. Perfect architecture, stunning woodwork, the kind of house that looked like it had stories in the walls. Paige was lucky to know some of those stories. 

Nika craned her neck over Paige’s shoulder to get a better look. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” Paige said, still smiling as she scrolled the stunning photos. “She didn’t tell me.”

Nai’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting,” she hummed.

It wasn’t that interesting. Maybe Azzi just wanted it to be a surprise. Or she forgot. Paige’s mind rattled off ten different reasons why Azzi didn’t tell her, none of them concerning. 

Paige nudged Nai’s arm with her elbow. “Stop reading too much into everything.” 

On the TV, the third quarter ended, and the bar collectively exhaled. Everyone started talking at once, ordering another round and arguing about what the coach should do. Paige dropped her attention to her phone and started reading the article, eyes skimming the details about architecture and design to see how the magazine had framed Azzi’s life.

Then she saw it.

It was in the third paragraph, written like it was just another charming detail about Azzi’s perfect home and perfect little life. 

“Fudd and her husband, Mark Brenner, purchased the house in the Harvard-Belmont district of Seattle four years ago…”

Paige went still so fast it felt like something inside her froze. Her stomach dropped, sitting heavy in her gut, like a floor giving out beneath her.

Mark Brenner.

Husband.

The words looked wrong together and also painfully familiar, because Paige had known, hadn’t she? She’d known what the world thought. She’d known there were complications. She’d known Azzi’s name still didn’t exist alone in headlines.

Seeing it written like that, though, in a magazine article for the world to see felt like being reminded she was standing outside a door she wasn’t allowed to open.

So maybe that’s why Azzi hadn’t mentioned it. 

Cool. 

Her smile disappeared as fast as it formed, fingers tightening around the phone as she blew out a deep breath. For a second, she couldn’t make her body move.

Nika noticed first. She bumped Paige’s shoulder lightly. “Yo,” she said, low enough that Nai didn’t immediately catch it. “You okay?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just turned the phone slightly and held it up, letting Nika read.

Nika’s expression shifted as she scanned the line. Her mouth flattened, her eyes narrowing and flicking back to Paige’s face.

Paige forced out a laugh that sounded wrong. “Cool, right?” she said, voice tight. “Mentions her husband. Love that.”

Nai leaned in then, catching the change in Paige’s demeanor. “What’s going on?”

Paige didn’t want to explain it out loud, couldn’t bring herself to actually say the words. But Nai was already peering at the screen, reading, making that little noise she made when she realized something was complicated.

After a moment, Nai leaned back. 

“Okay,” Nai said slowly, and her tone shifted into something more measured. “This is probably old.”

Paige’s eyes stayed glued on the sentence, hoping she could make it disappear if she stared hard enough. Her chest felt tight, like it was cinched in a vice, or maybe Azzi’s hand was just in there squeezing. It sure felt that way. 

Nai continued, gentler now, hands up like she was talking someone down off a ledge. “These pieces don’t happen overnight. A magazine feature like this gets planned, written, edited well in advance. Half a year at least. Sometimes longer. Don’t read too much into it.”

Paige nodded once, because it was easier than arguing. Nai worked in media and knew how this stuff played out. She was probably right in the technical sense, but that’s not what Paige felt like debating. 

Because regardless of timing and logistics and all that other bullshit, it still felt like a slap in the face. A reminder that Azzi isn’t hers, not really. like being reminded she was standing outside a door she wasn’t allowed to open.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, even though it wasn’t true. She took a sip of her beer, the taste of her IPA suddenly even more bitter. “It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal.

It shouldn’t have been, and that almost made it worse. Paige hadn’t asked Azzi for promises. She hadn’t asked for labels. She hadn’t pushed. She’d been careful, letting things unfold with the kind of patience she didn’t usually have. And still, her chest ached like she’d been punched.

Because lately it hadn’t felt casual. Lately it had felt like they were building something. She could sense Azzi inching closer and closer to letting Paige matter in a way that wasn’t just physical. Paige had started to believe it, too, which was its own kind of stupidity given the circumstances. 

Now she was staring at a sentence that made it clear Azzi was still attached to someone else in the only way the public cared about.

It shouldn’t have made Paige feel possessive, but it definitely did.

It shouldn’t have made her think of Elle. It did that too. The old memory cutting in—coming home early, the wrong sounds behind a bedroom door, the way the world tilted when she realized she’d been planning a future with someone who had been lying to her.

Paige didn’t want to punish Azzi for a narrative Azzi might not even control. She also didn’t know what to do with the fear that rose in her anyway.

Nika didn’t look convinced and Nai certainly didn’t either. Paige could feel them on either side of her, the way their bodies angled in, sharing a look over her head that she knew was some sort of silent conversation. They didn’t want to say the scary thing out loud, at least not in front of her. 

Paige’s stomach tightened. She hated that look, and the pity it implied.

On the TV, the fourth quarter started. Azzi was back on the screen. Paige should have been focused on that, and on cheering for her. Instead, Paige kept seeing that line.

Her husband.

Her fucking husband. 

People who had husbands didn’t have girlfriends. Not privately. And definitely not publicly. 

Paige exhaled and set her half-drank beer down. “It’s been a long day,” she said, standing abruptly. Nai flinched as the bar stool screeched against the floor when she pushed back. “I’m gonna go home.”

Nika grabbed her wrist. “Paige,” she said, eyes holding a softness rarely seen there. “Don’t.”

Paige forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeated, because it was her favorite lie these days even though everyone knew she was full of shit. “I just want to go to bed.”

Nai opened her mouth like she wanted to say something—maybe something that would make Paige sit back down or maybe something to help her through it—but Paige shook her head, unwilling to hear it.

“Seriously,” Paige said, voice steady even though she was trying her best not to crack wide open. “I’m good.”

Nika looked like she wanted to argue, but Paige gently pulled her wrist free anyway, and walked to the door before she could change her mind. 

She drove home with the radio off, hands tight on the steering wheel, mind stuck on a sentence she couldn’t unsee and all the spiraling thoughts that came with it.

When she got home, she tossed her keys into the bowl by the door, kicked her boots off with a sigh, and tried to roll out some of the tension that had settled in her shoulders after laying hardwood floors all day. Her house was dim and quiet, and coming home to that calm usually felt like relief. Tonight it just felt like something was missing. 

Azzi had a two game away trip though, and that meant Paige wouldn’t see her for a few more days. Not that she’d even know what to say to her right now.

So Paige showered, longer than necessary, letting hot water pound against her shoulders like it could knock the thought loose. It didn’t.

When she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her waist, her phone lit up on the bathroom counter.

Azzi.

Paige’s stomach dropped again, because even now the sight of her name did something to her. Paige dried her hands, picked up the phone, and opened the message.

Azzi: u watch?

Paige stared at it for a beat, chewing at the inside of her cheek, then typed back.

Paige: yeah. good game

Azzi: not really we lost

Paige: you played a good game though 

Azzi: a lot of good that did 

Azzi: fucking indiana of all teams 

Paige could hear the frustration in the words, could practically see Azzi’s face, that glare she got when she was pissed off. Paige knew what usually came next. Azzi would call to rant and replay and Paige would listen and talk her down and distract her in the many ways she knew how to do. 

Paige stood in her bedroom, towel still clutched at her waist, and felt something inside her sag.

She knew what would normally happen, but she couldn’t be the soft place for Azzi to land while her own pride felt raw and stupid and bruised. And she couldn’t fake it tonight.

Before Azzi could even ask, Paige typed first, fingers moving fast so she could get ahead of it. Because if Azzi called, she’d answer.

Paige: i’m exhausted. early morning tomorrow. i’m gonna crash

She stared at the message, throat tight, hating herself for it and hating how much she wanted to call Azzi anyway.

Then she hit send.

Paige tossed the phone down on her bed like it weighed too much. She stood there in the bedroom, towel slipping slightly at her hips, house quiet around her.

She could already picture Azzi’s response. The small frown of disappointment. The confusion she’d try to mask. 

Still, Paige didn’t move. Nor did she reach for the phone again when she heard it vibrate a minute later with a response.

Because tonight, she couldn’t pretend to be okay as the realization sunk in—Azzi wasn’t really even hers to have. 

At least not yet. 

[buffalo1221]

can you fix a broken heart

Synopsis: Between locker room interrogations, a dangerously domestic dinner, and a very suspicious toolbox, Azzi is realizing two things: Paige Bueckers is a problem… and she doesn't mind it one bit.

warnings: i don't think any. smut? sad lover girls? tool boxes?

a/n: as always thanks for drip for the editing and brainstorming and family fc for the emotional support required to write certain aspects of this chapter.

wc: 15k

chapter 13:

Azzi stood at her locker with her jersey peeled halfway off, sports bra damp with sweat. Around her, teammates moved about in the usual post-practice chaos. Some groaning as they dropped onto the chairs in front of their cubbies, others laughing and joking about something stupid Coach Sonia said to the rookies.

Her legs still felt heavy from drills, a deep burn that lived in her muscles and refused to leave even when she stopped moving. With a sigh. Azzi sank onto her chair and reached into her locker. Her phone was wedged under her bag and a pair of shoes, but lit up as soon as her fingers brushed it. 

Countless notifications filled the screen, but her eyes only scanned for one name: Paige.

Azzi’s thumb hovered for a beat, glancing around the room, unsure if it was safe to open. The locker room was loud and alive, but no one was paying her much attention. She opened the message, angling the screen so no one could see it if Paige went rogue, which… she often did. Not that Azzi was complaining. 

Paige: you alive or did coach murder you with fitness again today?

Paige: because if she did i’d be pretty sad 

Azzi felt the smile break across her face before she could stop it. It stretched her cheeks and made her eyes go soft, but she didn’t even realize she was sitting there grinning like an idiot with her practice jersey bunched in her hands until a voice cut through the noise.

“So,” Gabby said, loud enough that it turned heads, “what’s hot contractor girl saying that’s got you so smiley?”

Azzi’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

Gabby’s eyebrows climbed. She pointed at Azzi’s face, twirling her finger in a dramatic circle. “That. That right there.”

Sarah looked up from where she was digging through her bag, expression nonchalant as always. “That’s your Paige smile.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, then glanced down at her phone. “I don’t have a Paige smile.”

Across from her, Dom made a noncommittal sound that was halfway to a laugh. She didn’t even look up at first, just kept peeling tape off her wrist like she was savoring the way Azzi turned a bit frantic.

Azzi shot her a look. A do-you-want-to-live-today kind of look that she didn’t have to try that hard to conjure, because what the fuck. Dom was supposed to be on her side. 

Dom finally lifted her head, and shrugged lazily. “That’s the smile you get when you’re talking to hot contractor girl.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard she was pretty sure she saw the inside of her own skull. “You’re all ridiculous. And stop calling her that.”

She wasn’t actually mad, but still. 

“Mhm,” Gabby hummed, clearly unconvinced. She leaned back against her locker, arms folded. She looked like she had all the time in the world, even though Azzi knew she was due in the training room in ten minutes. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s true. And I guess it's kind of cute. I was getting tired of seeing you mope around because of that asshole Marky Mark.”

“I wasn’t moping,” Azzi shot back automatically. 

Sarah’s mouth curled slightly like she was holding back a smile. “Your face was less… sunny.”

Azzi glowered at her, then looked back at her phone, pretending the screen was fascinating enough to require her full attention. Three little dots appeared to show Paige was typing again so it actually was. She could feel her teammates’ eyes on her like heat lamps as the next barrage of texts rolled through.

Dom let out a short laugh. “Look at her. She’s blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” Azzi added, a desperate lie that absolutely no one believed. 

Gabby stepped closer like she couldn’t help herself. “Read it out loud.”

Azzi. Would. Literally. Rather. Die. 

“No.”

“Come on,” Gabby pleaded, dramatic, hands clasped like she was praying. “Just one. Give us something. We deserve it after those suicides Coach made us run.”

Azzi instinctively tucked her phone closer to her body as Sarah tried to peer over her shoulder. “You deserve nothing.” She pushed Sarah’s shoulder, gently shoving her away. “I’m not giving you meddlers shit.”

Dom pointed at her with the lazy confidence of someone who was still an actual teenager. “Protective of her, too. Oh, it’s bad for you.”

“It’s not bad for me,” Azzi insisted, and she heard how defensive she sounded. And the annoyance laced in her words. Maybe it was bad for her but she was not about to give them even more ammo. 

Sarah took a few steps back, hands raised in surrender. “You’re allowed to admit you like her, Fudd,” she said while reaching into her locker to grab her bag. 

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to say something dismissive, because that was easier and she was good at that. It always felt safer to be annoyed than soft, to keep her walls up instead of letting people in. Then again, that’s what got her into this mess to begin with. Unfortunately, Paige literally had experience in demolition. And masonry. So she was coming through the wall whether Azzi liked it or not. 

But then she looked back at the message, back at Paige’s words filling the screen, and she realized her face had already given her away.

Paige made her laugh. She made her feel alive again, which was quite a feat considering Mark had sucked the life out of her. It wasn’t just the flirting and the ridiculously hot sex, either. Paige talked to Azzi like she wasn’t a brand or a headline. It was the ease of it, the way Azzi could be exhausted and sweaty and still feel lighter just seeing Paige’s name pop up on her phone.

She was always smiling for Paige lately. In grocery store aisles. In the backseat of her car, or Paige’s truck bed. In her kitchen at midnight when she should have been asleep. In the locker room, apparently, like an actual idiot.

Gabby grabbed her towel and flicked it at Azzi’s shoulder as she passed on the way to the showers. “Text her back and tell her I said sup.”

Azzi swatted at her with her sweaty jersey. “Shut up. You are so unserious bro.”

The words didn’t have any bite. They didn’t even really have heat. Because Azzi was down bad for Paige and she couldn’t really pretend that wasn’t true any longer. They’d hadn’t talked about it yet, but it became pretty clear it wasn’t just casual sex anymore when she volunteered to babysit Theo a few nights ago. And when Marta came home from the hospital, peeled her sleepy son off their laps, and ushered them into the guest bedroom where Azzi fell asleep wrapped in Paige’s arms, Azzi knew had never felt more secure.  

“Whatever you say, Fudd,” Gabby called over her shoulder. “I better see her at the game this weekend,” she added before she tugged open the shower door and a cloud of steam engulfed her. 

Azzi glanced down again and typed back before she could overthink it.

Azzi: i survived

Azzi: barely

Azzi: gabby’s dumbass had us running suicides becuase she couldn’t shut up 

She hit send and the response came immediately. 

Paige: tell gabby i’ll fight her if she doesn’t get her shit together 

Paige: i need my girl with nice fresh legs next time i see her… 

Azzi tried. She really tried to wipe the expression off her face, to reset herself back into normal. The attempt failed spectacularly when her mind drifted to filthy places. 

“There it is again,” Sarah sang from across the room.

Azzi stuffed her phone into her pocket aggressively and reached for her hoodie, desperate to get out of the locker room and away from prying eyes. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was looking forward to calling Paige on her drive home. “You’re all obsessed with me. Go to therapy or something.”

Sarah’s laugh was quiet. “We’re obsessed with the fact that you’re finally smiling again.”

Azzi pulled the hoodie on and shook her head free from it, cheeks still hot. 

She should have been irritated or embarrassed by her teammates’ incessant meddling. Instead, she found herself wondering who would actually win in a fight between Paige and Gabby. The blonde was scrappy, but her money was, unfortunately, on Gabby. 

“Tell Paige I say hi,” Sarah chuckled as Azzi strolled out of the locker room rolling her eyes. 

She didn’t have a Paige smile.

Okay. Fine. Maybe she did. But everyone could fuck right off about it. 

**************

Three very busy days later, Azzi found herself at a local sponsor dinner. She didn’t hate these obligations, viewing them more as a necessary evil. Honestly, after all these years, Azzi could plaster on a fake smile and do these types of dinners in her sleep. Right now, that was unfortunate, because it meant her body showed up while her mind wandered off the second she sat down.

The restaurant was expensive, but then again, they always were. Bougie, low lighting, servers constantly hovering in case you so much as thought about needing something. Azzi still couldn’t figure out how they moved like they were gliding, but she was always impressed. Located downtown, the restaurant was a new spot that she’d usually be excited to check out. And yes, her usual dinner dates of Gabby and Sarah were there, but both were drawn into conversation with different groups. Everyone was always desperate for a minute of the superstars’ time. 

Azzi was thankful to have a moment of peace after Doug, or maybe it was Don, excused himself to get another drink. Not that he’d asked if she needed one. She did, especially since there was at least another hour to endure. She sat at a long table draped in white linen, every place setting looking identical, like they’d measured the distance between utensils with a ruler. There were small floral arrangements in the center, bursts of color that smelled faintly sweet, and little branded cards tucked beside the menus, reminding everyone exactly why they were here and who was paying for it.

Azzi wore a dress she hadn’t picked out herself. That was by design. Sydnee, her stylist, had sent it over, and now she was sitting in the muted pastel pink dress with a polite smile and a practiced posture. It was fitted and flattering, making her look more composed than she felt, with a slit that probably seemed tasteful on paper.

She’d already said hello to a few executives and answered questions about the season, pretending she wasn’t being asked the same five things over and over, laughing at way too many jokes that weren’t funny because that was also part of the job. Always making the donors feel good and valued and stroking egos so they’d keep opening their wallets even if some of them were clearly just interested in the players opening their legs. 

Fucking pigs. 

Her phone had been face-down beside her water glass for most of the evening, a silent promise to herself that she’d be good.

But Don or Doug or whatever was caught up talking to Curt at the bar and didn’t seem like he was coming back anytime soon. The conversation across the table had also shifted into something she didn’t need to be present for, and her willpower cracked.

She slid her phone into her lap and woke the screen with her thumb. A text from Paige was right there, obviously, and it immediately made Azzi’s shoulders loosen, her body recognizing relief before her brain could argue.

Paige: i hope you’re having fun and that the food is good! 

Azzi had to laugh at that. Paige was always telling her about new spots she tried out around town. The girl loved to eat, something Azzi benefited from in more ways than one. She stared at the empty text box for a second, then typed before someone could demand her attention.

Azzi: it’s fine

Azzi: i just wish i was with you instead of at this bougie dinner

She hit send and looked up quickly. Across the table, a man in a tailored suit was talking about brand alignment. To his left, another man nodded like he understood what that meant. He was in insurance, or something, and based on Azzi’s earlier conversation, he didn’t seem like he even knew his left from right. 

The phone buzzed almost immediately, dragging her focus back down.

Paige: me too

Paige: what would we be doing if you were here?

The corner of Azzi’s mouth curled. She pressed her lips together to hide it, then took a sip from her glass of ice water. It didn’t help. Heat climbed up Azzi’s neck, and she glanced around frantically, thankful no one was paying attention to her.

She typed under the table, keeping her expression carefully neutral. Or… at least she hoped.

Azzi: you tell me

Paige’s response came quick, like she’d been waiting.

Paige: well i’m in bed so…

Azzi’s throat went dry. She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the slit in her dress sliding open a little more with the movement. The fabric felt rough, but the cool air kissed the newly exposed skin. 

Another message popped up before Azzi could respond.

Paige: use your imagination?

Azzi pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, forcing herself not to smile like an idiot at a table full of people.

Azzi: help me out? 

Azzi: i’m not feeling very imaginative

She expected Paige to come back with something smug or teasing, the usual quip that would make Azzi’s cheeks burn harder. But a minute passed by with no response so Azzi found herself making a decision that felt equal parts reckless and thrilling in the same breath.

Her phone was angled toward her lap, hidden under the tablecloth. She lowered it slightly and lifted her knee just enough to catch the line of her leg, the slit of her dress, the exposed skin. It wasn’t explicit, but it would be enough to send Paige into a tailspin.

She snapped the photo, then hesitated for half a second like her own good sense might return. It didn’t, so she sent it.

The response came so fast she almost laughed.

Paige: fuck az

Paige: you can’t send me stuff like that

Azzi’s heart thudded hard against her ribs, threatening to crack them. She stared at the screen, warmth spreading through her in a way that made the room feel way too small. Or maybe it was just all the men taking up the air.  

Paige: you sure you can’t come over after so i can get you right?

Azzi’s stomach dipped. She shifted again, grip tightening on her phone, the noise of dinner blurring at the edges of her focus. All she cared about at this moment was Paige. 

Azzi: i have early lift and practice tomorrow but i wish

She meant it, regretting the words as soon as she sent them. Because she wanted nothing more than to have Paige on top of her, or underneath her, or pressing her against the wall. She really wasn’t picky as long as it ended in one of those mind-blowing orgasms Paige always delivered.

Paige’s reply took a moment longer this time, and Azzi could practically feel her thinking on the other end, like she was deciding how far to push, how much to ask for. 

The phone buzzed again.

Paige: call me when you get home?

Azzi’s eyes narrowed.

Paige: i want to hear your voice in my ear later when i touch myself to that photo

Azzi’s breath caught. She went still, heat moving through her in a slow, all-encompassing wave before it settled right between her legs. Her skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve had woken up and decided to pay attention. She stared at the screen trying to keep her face blank so the rich men at her table couldn’t tell she was practically getting off from texts with her… well, what was Paige? 

That was a problem for another day. 

It was insane, really. The fact that Paige could do this to her with a few words in a text. The fact that Azzi was sitting at a sponsor dinner in a dress chosen by someone else, surrounded by people who would write her name in press releases, and all she could think about was Paige in bed, waiting.

It didn’t matter how disciplined Azzi was on the court or how controlled she tried to be everywhere else. Paige made her forget how to be coherent.

Azzi glanced up, forcing her face back into place. The table was still talking, Doug or Don or honestly, maybe it was Dylan, was still at the bar talking to Curt Miller.

Azzi: i can definitely do that

She hit send and let her phone rest in her lap for a second, pulse skittering like it had nowhere to go. Above the tablecloth, she lifted her wine glass with a steady hand even though she was practically unraveling in real time.

Azzi smiled over her glass at the table, and tried not to think about how much she was already counting down the minutes until she could leave.

**************

Azzi sat at the kitchen island in Paige’s house, perched on a wooden stool with a low back, a glass of red wine in front of her. It had been a week since they’d seen each other in person. Between Paige’s busy work schedule and another away game for Azzi—amongst other obligations—the timing just hadn’t lined up.

But here Azzi was, finally in Paige’s beautiful home, watching her move around the kitchen with the kind of competence that made Azzi both irrationally annoyed and wildly turned on. The blonde was dressed casually in black sweatpants and a plain black tee, hair pulled back in a bun. She looked entirely too composed given what had just gone down between them after weeks of pent up frustration.  

On the counter in front of Azzi, there was a cutting board dusted with herbs and lemon zest. A pot of rice simmered on the stove, while Paige checked the sheet pan of vegetables in the oven that made the whole room smell delectable. When Paige said she could cook, Azzi didn’t know she meant like this. And she certainly didn’t know she’d look like fucking Giada in the kitchen while doing it. 

Azzi took a slow sip of her wine and tried to pretend to be normal about it.

Paige glanced over her shoulder after closing the oven, catching Azzi watching. The corner of her mouth lifted. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi squeaked. 

Paige’s smile widened like she’d caught a lie. “You’re staring.”

Azzi set her glass down with a quiet clink. “I’m just observing dinner being made. I’m very particular about what goes into my body.” 

“I’m so sure,” she snorted, winking at Azzi. Before Azzi could protest the crude joke, Paige turned back to the stove, stirring the rice. “If you’re going to observe, can you at least be useful and grab me some butter from the fridge?”

“So unserious,” Azzi mumbled under her breath as she slid off the stool and crossed the kitchen, brushing past Paige to get to the refrigerator. 

The cold air spilled out when she opened the door, and after scanning the shelves for a moment, she leaned in and grabbed the butter. Before she could step back to close it, she felt Paige’s body pressing into her back. She paused for a second when Paige’s hand landed lightly at her waist, squeezing gently as she reached around her for something.

It wasn’t even a grab, barely any pressure, but it still made Azzi’s entire body light up.

She felt Paige press a kiss to her temple before retreating. Azzi closed the fridge and turned, butter in hand, to find Paige a few steps away. She stood casually, hand extended for the butter, a light sheen of heat on her skin from standing over the stove and hustling around the kitchen. Azzi’s mind did that thing it had been doing more and more lately, where it stopped offering coherent thoughts and just delivered a single, desperate conclusion.

She wanted Paige.

Paige’s gaze dipped briefly to Azzi’s mouth, and Azzi was pretty sure she felt it too, even if she was trying not to.

Azzi handed her the butter, but she didn’t let go immediately. Her fingers brushed Paige’s, and the contact felt like a match striking. Paige’s breath hitched, so subtle most people would miss it, and that felt like gasoline being poured on. 

She stepped in and backed Paige into the edge of the counter with a confidence that surprised even her. Paige, who was usually in control, didn’t resist. She winced when the cool counter hit her back, but her hands came up automatically, finding Azzi’s hips like that was where they belonged. 

Azzi closed the gap and kissed her.

It was hungry, the kind of kiss that erased thoughts; her hands slid around Paige’s shoulders and tangled in her hair. Paige tasted like wine, and Azzi didn’t know how she kept finding herself here, pressed into Paige like she was starving, like her body had decided Paige was the only thing that could make her feel settled. But here she was, desperate for it, moaning into her mouth when Paige kissed back with the same intensity, hands palming her ass and desperately pulling her closer. 

Azzi’s heart raced hard enough she could feel it in her throat, her fingertips, her cunt. She could’ve stayed like that, submitting her body to Paige until the world stopped existing.

Then the oven beeped.

Paige froze for half a second, then exhaled against Azzi’s lips and pulled her mouth away with a groan that sounded laced with regret.

“You’re killing me, baby,” Paige said, breath unsteady. Her forehead tipped forward until it touched Azzi’s and she sighed like it physically pained her to pull back. “I have to take the veggies out before they burn.” 

Azzi’s hands stayed wrapped around Paige’s neck, unable to bring herself to take them off because then the blonde could slip away. “I just need you, P.”

Paige’s laugh came out low and rough, making Azzi’s stomach somersault. She slipped a hand under Azzi’s chin and tilted her face up, blue eyes sparkling and entirely too smug. “Did the two times I took care of you when you got here count for nothing?”

Crimson flashed through Azzi’s cheeks, heat creeping up her neck. She should’ve been embarrassed, but she really didn’t care to hide the effects Paige had on her anymore. Azzi was still buzzing, wired from the way Paige had undone her earlier, both of them unable to control themselves when they reached Paige’s room during the “tour” the blonde was so eager to give. 

“Oh, it definitely counted,” Azzi said, voice quieter now as her mind drifted to the very recent memory. “I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

Paige’s expression softened, and for a second she looked almost pleased in a way that wasn’t cocky at all. She leaned in and kissed Azzi again, slower this time. “Give me five minutes,” she murmured against Azzi’s mouth. “If I don’t finish dinner, I’m going to end up dragging you back to my room and we’ll forget food exists.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a devious smirk. “Would that be so bad?”

Paige shot her a look that said yes, but not in a way that meant no, ignoring the fact that her house would probably end up burning down. Then she turned, crossing the kitchen to the oven, while Azzi stood there watching her, wanting to jump the blonde again.

Paige pulled the sheet pan out, steam rising, vegetables browned at the edges. She moved quickly after that, almost frantically, like she had to stay in motion to keep herself from getting distracted again. She plated garlic-herb steaks, spooned rice pilaf neatly beside them, and then arranged the roasted vegetables with way too much precision.

Azzi almost wanted to tease her for it. She didn’t, though, because the sight of Paige deliberately putting so much care into this meal was so fucking endearing. Something twisted in Azzi’s chest, unable to remember the last time she’d felt so well taken care of. 

And Paige wasn’t even her girlfriend. 

Technically, they weren’t even dating. 

It’s not that Azzi hadn’t thought about it. Of course she had. Almost nonstop. Paige was sweet and thoughtful and unbelievably sexy and could do unspeakable things with that cocky mouth. And don’t get Azzi started about how attractive she found Paige’s competence, a stark contrast to Mark’s weaponized incompetence. 

Azzi’s life was a mess, though, and to top it off, she was a public figure. That certainly complicated things. She wasn’t even officially divorced. The world still thought she was in a happy marriage and Mark was holding everything over her head, drawing things out as long as possible. He wanted a chance to talk, to explain, though Azzi wasn’t sure why he was putting in effort now that they were over when he hadn’t done anything to try and save their marriage when it maybe could have been salvaged. Nor was she sure what he was even holding onto. Their marriage had been emotionally over for so long now and as dumb as he sometimes was, even Mark had to recognize that. 

But she didn’t know what Paige wanted, either. It was clear the blonde was interested. Though whether the dinner and lunches were just a way to make ending up in bed together slightly less casual was up for debate. Azzi was busy and she couldn’t blame Paige for seeking out someone else when exclusivity had never been discussed. 

“You alright?” 

Azzi’s head snapped to Paige. She offered a small smile, nodding as Paige carried the plates to the dining table. Azzi followed, stopping to let Paige pull her chair out for her with that same half-smirk. 

After refilling their wine glasses, she queued up Olivia Dean softly on the speakers. She pressed a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before sinking into the chair across from her with a fond expression.

Azzi lifted her brows. “You treat all the girls you bring here this nice?”

It was a joke. Or it was supposed to be, because Azzi treated humor as a sword and a shield and she wasn’t sure what to do with the warm feeling blooming in her chest.

Paige’s smile faltered, just for a second, and Azzi hadn't meant for that to happen. Or maybe she had. It looked like something in the words snagged on a memory from the way Paige’s shoulders sagged. Then Paige exhaled, gaze flicking down to her plate before returning to Azzi’s face.

“In full disclosure,” Paige said, voice steady but still laced with a hint of uncertainty, “I haven’t been talking to anyone else since we met.”

The honest words were unexpected, and Azzi studied Paige’s face, finding her lips pulled together in a thin line. She looked almost uncomfortable, and Azzi understood; this was uncharted territory for them. Azzi nodded, throat tightening as she grabbed her wine glass and took a sip, desperate for an excuse to look away. She was glad. She was more than glad. She also didn’t know what to do with how glad she was to hear those words. So she leaned into honesty.

“Me either.”

Paige looked up quickly at the words, and Azzi watched in real time as her lips curved into a smile that she couldn’t help but mirror. The two of them sat here, grinning at each other dopily, until Azzi felt the blush start to overtake her face and she quickly cleared her throat.

Azzi, in her sublime wisdom, tried to cover the seriousness that settled in with another joke. “And what about before?” she asked, tipping her glass slightly. “Any crazy housewife clients I need to be worried about?”

She followed it with a laugh that Paige mirrored. Though it didn’t match the look in her eyes. 

“No crazy housewives.”

“What about crazy exes?” 

Azzi watched closely as Paige’s expression shifted.

“I’ve really only had one serious relationship,” Paige replied. “Her name was Elle.”

Azzi paused, fork hovering over her plate. It wasn’t jealousy that hit her first. It was curiosity, edged with something protective because it was clear the memories being stirred up weren’t fond. 

“How long were you together?” Azzi asked, unable to contain her curiosity now. 

Paige’s jaw flexed before she bit her bottom lip. She stared at the table for a beat like she was deciding whether to say the rest, then met Azzi’s eyes again.

“Long enough for me to have bought a ring and pictured building a family with her.”

Azzi blinked, caught a bit in shock. An unwanted image of Paige kneeling somewhere, of believing in forever with someone else formed. And the thought of someone breaking that trust made her angry, even if it had worked in her favor. 

“What happened?” Azzi asked carefully. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Paige’s mouth pressed into a tight line and she exhaled through her nose. “I came home early from work one day and found her in bed with some dude.” Her tone stayed flat, like she was reciting facts she’d told herself enough times to make them stop hurting. “And that was that.”

Azzi’s chest cinched. She reached across the table without thinking and covered Paige’s wrist with her hand, thumb brushing lightly over her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said, and she meant it in a way that went beyond sympathy. She meant it like she was furious that anyone had ever looked at Paige and decided she wasn’t enough.

Paige shrugged, but didn’t dismiss the touch. “It was almost two years ago,” she said. “It’s fine.”

Azzi didn’t believe her, but she didn’t push. It was clear there were still lingering feelings, but she just gave Paige’s hand a squeeze, then let go.

“So,” Azzi said, forcing her voice lighter as she gathered a pile of veggies on her fork and looked to shift the conversation, “is your secret talent cooking? Because I feel like this is going to ruin restaurant food for me.”

Paige’s smile returned, cleary grateful for the pivot even if she didn’t say it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just being honest,” Azzi corrected, and Paige laughed, the tension easing like it had been a knot that finally loosened. “This is flames.” 

And she wasn’t lying. Dinner was annoyingly good because it was just another thing Paige was perfect at. The steak was excellently cooked, the rice seasoned perfectly, the vegetables crisp at the edges and bursting with flavor. Azzi found herself talking more than she usually did as they ate, telling Paige little pieces of her day, laughing when Paige made fun of her for trying to convince her coach to let them stop doing fitness. It felt easy, and real, and like what she wanted to do every night. 

When they finished, Paige took both plates without letting Azzi argue and carried them to the kitchen. Azzi followed, leaning against the counter while Paige ran water and stacked dishes with the same casual hotness she did everything with. The one that made Azzi want to peel her clothes off and press her mouth over every inch of Paige’s skin. 

Azzi watched her for a moment, then shook her head, unable to help herself. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Paige turned, drying her big hands on a towel, and Azzi’s attention caught on the veins standing out along her knuckles. 

“Keep my hands to myself around you,” Paige said entirely too smoothly.

Blue eyes dragged over her slowly, and Azzi’s body went still and restless all at once, like Paige had said a whole sentence without opening her mouth. Their eyes met and Azzi couldn’t hold the stare without feeling that familiar yet frazzled flutter spark through her, because Paige was looking at her like her goal was to make Azzi forget her own name. And Azzi was certainly willing to let her try. 

Then Paige closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. 

Azzi made a soft sound of surprise into Paige’s mouth and laughed against her lips when Paige pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Real smooth, Bueckers,” Azzi murmured.

Paige’s grin was immediate. “Smooth enough to skip movie night and take you right to my bed?”

Azzi pretended to consider it, tapping her chin like she was weighing options. “Hmm.” She dragged the sound out, enjoying the way Paige’s hands tightened at her waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Paige leaned in, voice dropping. “I seem to recall I promised you something.” Her mouth brushed Azzi’s again, enough to make Azzi’s knees feel unsteady. Her mind shifted through all the things Paige had promised, but nothing could prepare Azzi for the words that left her mouth. “I’m going to wear your jersey,” she murmured pulling her lips from Azzi’s to whisper in her ear, “and fuck you so good that you’ll think about it every time you look up in the stands and see me wearing it.”

Azzi’s breath caught, her pulse jumping so hard it felt like it knocked loose every thought in her head until the only one left was how badly she wanted that to come true. 

Paige’s long fingers wrapped around the back of Azzi’s neck, dragging her in for a filthy kiss. She pulled back, taking in Azzi’s foggy gaze with a satisfied look, like she’d achieved exactly what she wanted.

Azzi didn’t bother pretending she had self-control after that.

Then again, Paige barely gave her the chance. She caught Azzi at the waist and lifted her easily. Azzi let out a surprised laugh that turned into a giggle as she wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist, arms sliding over Paige’s broad shoulders.

“Paige,” she managed, but it came out breathy and useless, more sound than warning.

Paige’s answer was her mouth at Azzi’s neck, lips attached like she couldn’t stand even another second of distance. Paige stumbled once as she started down the hall, catching herself with a soft curse that made Azzi laugh again, but the laughter didn’t last. It melted into something hotter as Paige kept moving down the hall with Azzi in her arms, kissing and biting and breathing her in like she was a drug and Paige was addicted. 

Azzi’s head tipped back, warmth pulsing through her, spreading fast, turning all-consuming. Every press of Paige’s mouth left trails of heat and Azzi clung tightly, dizzy with it, feeling like she was being carried straight into fire and somehow craving every second of the burn.

When she woke hours later, morning sunlight filtering through the curtains in soft stripes across the bed, she was still blanketed in warmth. It lingered in her limbs, in her chest, in that perfect morning haze that made the world feel fuzzy.

Then she shifted, realizing the warmth wasn’t only memory.

Paige was wrapped around her from behind, arm draped over her waist, hand relaxed at her hip, breath warm against the back of Azzi’s neck. She went still for a moment just to feel it, closing her eyes again just to let it sink in.

Her first thought was that she’d slept better than she had in weeks. Her second thought was simpler, softer, yet somehow sucked the air from her lungs.  

Paige was still here.

Azzi let the realization settle. 

It wasn’t that they hadn’t spent nights together in pieces. They’d gotten close enough to taste it, but this was different. This was waking up and realizing the night hadn’t ended with Paige slipping out of her bed for work before Azzi opened her eyes, leaving behind nothing but a dent in the pillow. It wasn’t Azzi quietly putting her clothes back on and heading out into the night because she had a chartered team plane to catch.  

Azzi turned slowly, careful not to wake her, and came face-to-face with blue eyes already open and watching her.

Paige’s hair was a mess, pushed in every direction, her face stripped of the smirk she wore so naturally. She looked softer in the morning, so goddamn beautiful. A sight Azzi could get used to. 

Half-asleep, Azzi blinked slowly. “You’re still here.”

Paige’s mouth tightened, knowing she’d earned that dig. “I’m still here,” she confirmed with a smile. “Barely, though. I called and told my boss I had this really hot girl in my bed and I was going to have to be a little late this morning.”

Azzi let out a laugh that felt too loud for the quiet room. “Your boss, huh?” she repeated, amused.

Paige shrugged, blue eyes catching the morning sun and sparkling with mischief. “She was very understanding.”

Azzi’s smile lingered as she leaned in and kissed Paige, soft at first, then slid her tongue into her mouth to deepen it. She wanted to sink into it, wanted to pull Paige closer and forget there was such a thing as morning, as work and practices and schedules, and run back what they’d done last night.

But Paige pulled back.

Azzi’s brows furrowed. Paige’s face had changed, the playful warmth replaced by something almost strained. She leaned in again, pressing her mouth to Paige’s, trying to coax her back into it.

Paige kissed her for a second but then pulled away again.

Azzi leaned back on her elbow just enough to look at her, confusion sharpening, wrinkles creasing her forehead. “The hot girl in your bed is trying to take advantage of you,” she said, tone half-joking but her eyes searching Paige’s face.

Paige’s expression flickered, like she was fighting something. She seemed to be in pain but for no obvious reason.

Azzi’s stomach flipped. “What’s wrong?”

Paige held Azzi’s gaze for a beat too long, then exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her gaze to the bed. “I gotta pee.”

“What?”

Paige let her head fall back onto the pillow and groaned as her cheeks turned a bright pink hue. “I’ve been up for an hour,” she admitted, sounding disgusted with herself. “But Nai told me if I wasn’t in bed when you woke up today, she was going to kill me. So I’ve been laying here holding it.”

The silence that followed lasted maybe half a second. Then Azzi erupted into a full-bodied laugh because it was so ridiculous and so endearing and so Paige it almost hurt.

“Oh my God.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed and she playfully swatted Azzi’s arm. “Don’t laugh at me, bro.”

“I am absolutely laughing at you,” Azzi said, still chuckling as she shoved at Paige’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Go. Hurry up before you piss the bed.”

Paige rolled out of bed, moving fast but still managing to toss a look back at Azzi with that cocky smirk returning now that the crisis had been named. “I gotta change the sheets anyway after last night, princess,” she playfully chided with a wink.

“Fuck all the way off,” Azzi called after her, even though Paige definitely needed to change them and it was definitely due to Azzi.

Paige disappeared into the bathroom and Azzi heard the door click shut. A second later, there was the unmistakable sound of relief, followed by Paige’s muffled, “Jesus.”

Azzi’s laughter softened into something quieter as she sank back into the pillows that smelled like Paige, staring up at the ceiling. Her chest felt warm, body full in a way that she couldn’t really explain. 

Yes, Paige was utterly ridiculous. But Paige had also laid in bed for an hour in some degree of discomfort, because she decided that Azzi waking up alone again would feel like a mistake she didn’t want to repeat.

Azzi smiled into the pillow, kicking her feet giddily under the covers as butterflies fluttered in her belly. Because Paige was still here, and apparently willing to do stupid things to make sure Azzi knew it. Azzi was in trouble.

*************

A week passed. A busy week, though unfortunately that’s how Azzi would describe all of them since she was in the middle of season. 

The doorknob to her bedroom was loose. It had been loose for a week. Azzi had ignored it the way she had ignored a lot of small household annoyances before meeting Paige and suddenly needing a reason to get everything in her house fixed. She’d assumed it would keep working because it always had.

Then, two nights ago, it had stuck so badly she’d had to yank it with both hands and really put her back into it to get into her room. She was seriously afraid that the next time it happened she would get trapped in her bedroom. A totally rational thought.

So she texted Paige, obviously. She couldn’t let the problem linger and who else was she going to call?

Paige showed up the next afternoon in jeans and a fitted hoodie, hair pulled back, tool bag slung over one shoulder. Azzi met her at the door in sweats and a t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower, trying not to look like she’d been waiting impatiently all morning.

Paige’s grin widened the second she saw her. “Hey, baby.”

Azzi rolled her eyes automatically at the pet name, but it didn’t do anything to stop Paige from leaning in and planting a kiss on her lips. Because obviously she liked it. “Hey.”

Paige stepped inside, and only then did Azzi notice the extra thing in her hand. It wasn’t her usual big black tool bag. It was smaller, almost like a lunchbox, with a handle and a neat latch.

Azzi pointed at it, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that?”

Paige lifted it like she was presenting a gift. “I got it for you.” She handed it over before Azzi could decide whether she was allowed to be touched by this level of thoughtfulness. “It’s a little toolbox. Nothing crazy, just the essentials. Figured it might be a good thing for you to have.”

Azzi took it, and laughed. It was either that or stare at Paige like a complete fool. “I don’t know how to use any of this.”

Paige’s eyes flicked over her face, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “I can teach you, Az.”

Something moved through Azzi’s chest. Not heat exactly. Well, not only heat. It was that weird, uncomfortable softness that had been catching her off guard lately, the feeling of being taken care of without having to ask for it. Which was something Paige was annoyingly perfect at doing—somehow making her feel cared for and empowered at the same time.

Azzi covered her falter with a smirk, hopeful to hide it from Paige. “But if I know how to do all this,” Azzi said, lifting the toolbox slightly for show, “maybe I won’t need to call you.”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. Not for a single second. 

She stepped in, one hand sliding to the back of Azzi’s neck, fingers possessive, making Azzi’s whole body light up. Paige pulled her in and kissed her like the threat of not being needed was something she had to rebuff immediately.

Azzi melted into it with a soft moan she didn’t mean to make. She dropped the tool box with a thud, hands finding Paige’s waist, then her hoodie, gripping like she had just as much to prove. Paige tasted like coffee and mint gum and the confidence with which she slid her tongue into Azzi’s mouth made her feel dizzy.

When Paige pulled back, she kept her hand at Azzi’s neck, thumb brushing lightly just under her ear. Her smirk was cocky and satisfied and Azzi didn’t even want to try to knock her down a peg because it was so sexy.

“I think you’ll still call,” Paige murmured.

“Yeah?” 

Azzi tried to sound coy, she really did. But her breath was unsteady and Paige just chuckled and bent down to grab the tool box. Then she nodded toward the stairs, like she was only there for business and hadn’t just kissed Azzi into a different fucking dimension. 

“C’mon. Show me the issue,” she called over her shoulder. 

Azzi followed her up the stairs to the bedroom. 

The doorknob wobbled when Paige tested it, turning too easily, the latch catching with an aggravating little jerk.

Paige clicked her tongue. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Azzi knew that already. It’s why she called. Yet somehow, Paige still managed to look hot citing a common fact. 

Azzi hovered, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that she was an adult and needed help with a doorknob. Paige didn’t make her feel stupid about it, though. Paige never did.

Nodding at the toolbox, Paige instructed Azzi to open it. She did, flipping the latch and lifting the lid.

She stared at the assortment inside. All the tool handles inside were a bold pink that looked like it belonged in a Barbie Dreamhouse instead of a toolbox. 

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Are you serious?”

Paige’s expression didn’t waver. “I figured you’d be more likely to use it if they were cute.”

Azzi sighed but was still smiling. “You’re not wrong.”

“Okay grab what we need.” 

Mustering up confidence, desperate to pass the test Paige was throwing at her, Azzi reached in and grabbed the first thing that looked useful. She held it up and Paige’s mouth twitched. 

“No.”

Azzi frowned. “No?”

“That’s a wrench.” She pointed to the screw on the doorknob. “We need a Phillips head screwdriver to tighten these.”

Paige said it like that was obvious, but Azzi just blinked slowly and let out a sigh. “A what?”

Paige laughed quietly, squatting down beside Azzi. Shoulders brushing together, Paige leaned in and planted a kiss to Azzi’s cheek before turning her attention back to the tools. “This,” she said, pulling out one of the screwdrivers and turning it so Azzi could see the cross-shaped tip. “Is a Phillips head.”

Azzi stared at it like Paige had handed her something written in another language. “How do you know all of this?” 

Paige shrugged. “Because I’m hot and handy.”

Azzi snorted. “Don’t forget humble too.”

Paige bumped her shoulder. “Hold this for me.”

Azzi did, watching as Paige knelt by the doorknob and pointed out the screws, patiently explaining what needed to be done and why. She spoke to Azzi like she assumed Azzi could learn this, and despite Azzi feeling like that was certainly not the case, she appreciated it. 

“See?” Paige said. “You just tighten these. Righty-tighty.”

Azzi crouched beside her, taking the screwdriver when Paige offered it. Her fingers slipped a little at first, and Paige’s hand covered hers, guiding the movement. Her breath warmed the side of Azzi’s face when she spoke. Her hand stayed on Azzi’s wrist a second longer than necessary, probably doing it on purpose to just to wind her up because they both knew how this was going to end.

Azzi tightened the screw, then another. 

Paige leaned back slightly, giving Azzi room. She missed the closeness immediately. 

“Okay, now test it.”

Azzi stood and twisted the knob. It turned smoothly, clicked cleanly, and the latch slid into place like it was supposed to.

Azzi’s eyes widened with pride. “I did it,” she shrieked excitedly. 

Paige’s gaze lifted to her face, and the look she gave her made Azzi’s stomach flip. 

“You did,” Paige said softly, eyes flickering with pride. “Look at you.”

Azzi tried to play it cool. “So I’m basically you now.”

Paige grinned. “Not quite but maybe one day.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She set the screwdriver back into the toolbox and snapped it closed, feeling absurdly satisfied for accomplishing such a small task.

Paige straightened, stretching her arms above her head, leaving Azzi trying to ignore the sliver of abs the movement exposed.

“Wait,” she said, like she’d just remembered something. “We gotta do one more thing.”

Azzi’s brows lifted. “We do?”

Paige nodded. “Can you go grab the thing on the top of my toolbag downstairs?”

Azzi hesitated at the lack of specificity, not that she could tell the tools apart anyway. “The thing on the top?”

Paige walked over and spun the golden doorknob, testing it again with exaggerated seriousness. “Just trust me. We need it.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. Paige’s tone was too casual and also too innocent, which meant she was absolutely neither of those things.

Still, Azzi shrugged and headed downstairs, barefoot on the cool wood floors. Paige’s tool bag was by the entryway. Azzi paused, still a little suspicious, then tugged the zipper open.

She expected a drill. A wrench. Something boring sitting on top.

Instead, her fingers brushed something smooth and unfamiliar, and when she pulled it free, her entire body went hot.

It was black and brand new. Not a tool in any normal sense, but she had no doubt it could certainly get the job done. 

Azzi stared at it for a second too long, heat climbing up her neck as her brain caught up to what her hands were holding. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, half horrified, half thrilled. She blew out a deep breath.

Upstairs, Paige called, “Az?”

Azzi swallowed, gripping the thing like it might combust in her hands, then forced herself to move. Each step up the stairs felt louder than it should have, her heart pulse thudding in her ears.

When she kicked the door open, Paige was already inside. She was stretched out on Azzi’s bed, shirt and jeans discarded somewhere on the floor. Her skin looked golden in the afternoon light, her chest rising and falling with a lazy rhythm. She looked like she’d been waiting for an audience, arms folded behind her head, body relaxed and shameless, a smug little smirk on her mouth that made Azzi stop short in the doorway.

Paige’s eyes flicked to what Azzi was holding.

Then back to Azzi’s face.

Azzi stood there frozen, heat rushing through her so fast it made her dizzy. “You are something else, Bueckers”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Still think you won’t call me if you learn how to use tools?”

Azzi’s mouth went dry. She took a step forward, then another. Paige’s gaze tracked her the whole time, calm and confident, like she already knew how this was going to end. Truthfully, they both did.

Azzi stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at Paige who lifted her brows expectantly. 

Azzi’s laugh came out shaky. “This is not a tool.”

Paige shrugged, her smile turning dangerous. “Depends how you use it.”

Azzi shook her head as Paige scooted forward, hand sliding to her hip, fingers warm and sure. “Come here,” she murmured.

Azzi leaned down, kissing Paige hard, like she needed to shut her up before Paige said something that made her completely lose control. Paige kissed her back with the same steady confidence she had in the kitchen, in the hallway, in every room she occupied because she was Paige and she always knew what she wanted.

Breathless, Azzi pulled back after a minute, staring at Paige’s puffy lips, then her eyes. Her body felt like it was on fire, from her core to the tips of her fingers. 

Paige’s hand squeezed her hip. “You trust me?”

“Yes.” 

Azzi didn’t hesitate, nor did she question the fact that she didn’t need to pause and consider, and Paige’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, her smirk returned and she tugged Azzi closer.

She reached out, took the strap-on from Azzi’s hand, and began to fasten it onto her harness with ease. When she was done, she turned, giving Azzi a view that made her knees weak. 

Azzi could only stare, trying to process the fact that Paige was so confident. Obviously. She had definitely done this before. But Azzi hadn't, a thought that made her stomach twist with a mix of excitement and nerves. The reality of it was so much bigger than the fantasy that lived in her head.

Paige’s expression shifted, her gaze softening as it landed on Azzi’s face. She must have seen the hesitation in Azzi’s eye.

"Hey," Paige said, her voice dropping an octave. "We don't have to."

Azzi shook her head before she could second-guess herself. "No," she breathed out. "I want it."

Paige’s smirk returned, but it was sharper now, less teasing and more intent. "Okay. Then get on your knees, Az."

Holy fuck. 

Azzi obeyed without thinking, sinking down to the floor between Paige’s legs, thankful for the soft carpet to cushion her knees. She wrapped her hand around the strap-on, her fingers trembling slightly even though this wasn’t her first time doing this, and lowered her head. She took Paige in, sucking her into her mouth, her tongue tracing the silicone with a desperate kind of curiosity.

Paige let out a low, guttural noise that vibrated through Azzi’s hands. Her gaze turned feral, dark and hungry, as she watched Azzi bob her head, bottoming out the strap in the back of her throat. Having Paige’s attention like this was intoxicating.

Her hand tangled in Azzi’s hair after a minute, scratching gently at her scalp . "How do you want it, baby?" she asked, her voice rough. 

Azzi looked up at her, her lips wet and swollen, underwear absolutely soaked. She knew what she liked, but she also loved when Paige took control, when Paige told her exactly what to do. It was such a contrast to how she was in everyday life, but the ability to just feel without having to think or perform was exhilarating. 

She pulled back, letting the silicone go from between her lips with a pop that made Paige practically growl. "You tell me," Azzi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can be such a good listener, P.” 

Paige’s eyes darkened further at the show of obedience, her fingers tightening in Azzi’s hair. On the court, in front of thousands of fans, Azzi might be in charge. But here? She was more than willing to relinquish control.

Azzi barely had time to breathe before Paige’s hands were at her waist, guiding her back up with that calm, unhurried certainty.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” Paige ordered, pointing for emphasis. 

Azzi eagerly scrambled to obey, almost getting tangled up as she ripped her off her clothes. She was laughing under her breath because she could still feel the ridiculousness of the moment, and that was another thing that she hadn’t realized how much she loved and had missed; sex being fun. She flipped onto the mattress, breath already uneven at the anticipation, heat rising fast in her chest.

Paige followed, climbing over her with possessiveness that made Azzi’s brain go blank. “Lay back,” Paige said, her hand sliding up Azzi’s side, thumb brushing her warm skin with a softness that didn’t match the wild look dancing in her eyes.

The sheets were cool on Azzi’s back as she settled in, feeling Paige stroking her thighs gently as she positioned herself between Azzi’s legs. The moment the tip of the strap pressed against her clit, Azzi’s hips bucked. "Fuck, P," she gasped against Paige’s lips, her hands gripping those broad shoulders. She sounded desperate. 

Paige groaned, continuing to drag the head of the strap through Azzi’s slick folds, tantalizingly slow.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Paige breathed, dropping her forehead against Azzi’s for a second, like she was struggling to maintain composure. 

“Only for you,” Azzi gasped, and the words came out breathless. “I only get like this for you.”

Paige lifted her head to look at her, eyes dark and blown wide enough that the blue almost disappeared. “You been thinking about this?” she asked, voice rough.

Azzi could only nod as Paige finally pushed in, inch by inch. The sensation stole Azzi’s breath, pulling a broken sound from her throat before she could stop it. Of course she’d been thinking about it. Ever since Paige mentioned it on the phone that night, voice low and filthy in her ear, it had lodged in Azzi’s brain and refused to leave.

And still, in her wildest fantasies, she hadn’t pictured it like this. Not this intense or perfect. Which was… seriously questionable on her part, considering how infuriatingly good Paige was at nearly everything. 

Paige moved slowly, watching Azzi’s face like she was reading it, like she wanted to see every flicker of reaction and catalog it away for future reference. Judging from the way Paige always left her undone, sometimes it felt like she had a manual. 

“That’s my good girl,” Paige murmured, and there was something almost reverent in it. Like Paige couldn’t believe she got to be the one doing this.  Like she was the lucky one, and not Azzi who was, based on the wild look in Paige’s eyes, about to have the best orgasm of her life. 

Azzi couldn’t think. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts or really do anything except breathe and hold on as Paige filled her completely. The stretch was overwhelming and somehow exactly right, her back arching off the bed.

Paige made a rough sound, hands gripping Azzi’s thighs, drawing her legs wider, settling even deeper. “Fuck,” she breathed. “You take me so well.”

The pressure had Azzi feeling like she was coming apart from the inside.

“You like that, baby?” Paige asked.

Azzi nodded again, helpless, her brain cloudy with lust and the overwhelming feeling of desire. 

It wasn’t enough for Paige.

“I need you to answer me,” Paige said, voice strained, like she was losing her composure. “You like when I fill you up like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Azzi moaned, the word breaking. “You—” She swallowed, trying again when Paige didn’t let her off the hook. “You feel… perfect.”

Paige’s expression flickered, hunger sharpening. “You’re so fucking tight,” she whispered in awe, like it was praise. 

Azzi whimpered, body clenching around Paige’s dick without permission. Heat spread through her, fast and liquid, and Paige still wasn’t even moving the way Azzi needed. The anticipation was torture. The fullness had her shaking, anticipating building. 

“Please, Paige,” Azzi breathed, desperate. Her mind spun. She was so full, stretched so perfectly, but she needed more. She needed everything Paige could give her, and even then she still wasn’t sure she’d ever get enough of the blonde. 

Paige dipped her head, their breaths tangling. “Please what, Az?” she murmured. “Be a good girl and tell me what you need.”

Azzi’s body reacted hard to that, the words sinking straight into her as she clenched around the silicone. She’d never been more turned on in her life. 

“Please,” she whispered again, voice raw. “I need—”

Paige rolled her hips just slightly, a small movement that sent a sharp wave of sensation through Azzi and stole the rest of her sentence from her throat.

“What do you need?” Paige asked, almost gentle, like she wasn’t smirking down at her. Her hand slid up from Azzi’s thigh, traveling higher until her long fingers wrapped around Azzi’s chin and tipped her face up.

Their eyes met and Paige’s mouth curved into a cocky fucking grin that Azzi wished she had the strength to wipe off. Then again, she maybe didn’t because it was unbelievably hot. Whatever. 

“Use your words.” 

Azzi’s chest heaved, desperate to fill her longs with oxygen, brain feeling like it was deprived of anything that wasn’t Paige. She tightened her grip on Paige’s shoulders. “I need you to fuck me, P,” she said, voice shaking with it. “Make me yours.”

She didn’t know what came over her with the words, but she must have said something right because a strangled sound tore out of Paige as she finally started to move. It was slow at first, shallow, deliberate thrusts that had them both gasping and clawing at each other. Despite being the one in control, Paige’s control was visibly frayed, her jaw clenching as she set a rhythm that was patient and punishing at the same time.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned, eyes fixed on Azzi like she couldn’t look away. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. Taking my dick so well.” 

The possessive edge in her voice, combined with the way she kept pushing deeper, again and again and hitting that perfect spot, dragged Azzi closer to the brink. Her vision flared white at the edges.

“Paige,” Azzi moaned, nails digging into Paige's shoulders hard enough that she knew there’d be remnants of it come morning. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“I know, baby,” Paige said, voice strained with a heady mix of pleasure and desire. “I can feel you—” She swallowed, breath shuddering. “I can feel your pussy so tight around me.”

The bed frame creaked in protest, a sound that was lost beneath the wet, frantic sounds of their bodies slapping against each other and the ragged sounds tearing from Azzi’s throat. Paige’s eyes were locked on hers, expression a mixture of fierce concentration and raw, unadulterated desire.

Azzi was close, so close, the pressure building in her stomach like a coiled spring. “You feel so good,” Azzi hummed, feeling herself tightening around Paige. “So fucking good.” 

Paige started thrusting harder, faster, driving waves of pleasure through Azzi’s body, each thrust pushing her closer to completely unraveling.

“That’s right, let me hear how good I make you feel, baby,” Paige demanded, voice wrecked. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine.”

The combination of Paige’s possessive words and tone, the fullness, the relentless pressure had her seeing literal stars.

“All yours,” Azzi agreed breathlessly, her nails dragging over Paige’s back as pleasure built rapidly in her core. “I’m all yours, P.” 

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Paige rasped, her voice thick with pleasure, fingers digging in. “So fucking perfect, Az.”

The praise sent Azzi spiraling. Her thoughts scattered completely, her mind narrowing to the tightening coil low in her belly.

“Paige,” she gasped. “I’m going to cum.”

“Cum for me,” Paige commanded, her fingers sliding down to stroke Azzi’s clit. “Make a mess on my dick.”

Azzi’s orgasm crashed over her like a breaking wave. The tension snapped all at once, sparks racing through her body to the tips of her fingers and curled toes.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige hissed.

They collapsed into a tangle of limbs, Azzi’s forehead pressed against Paige’s shoulder as their chests rose and fell together. The kiss between them was messy and breathless, mouths finding each other again even as they struggled to catch their breath. 

Azzi felt boneless in the aftermath, drifting somewhere warm and weightless, but instinct still pulled her closer. Her hand slipped down Paige’s side, searching for contact, tracing the curve of her hip before settling between her legs.

When her fingers brushed against damp skin, Azzi gasped softly into Paige’s mouth. Her thumb pressed experimentally, and the realization hit immediately.

Paige was soaked.

The knowledge sent a sharp rush of heat through Azzi’s chest, something electric lighting up her nerves. But before Azzi could do more than graze her fingers there, a firm hand caught her wrist.

“Not yet,” Paige murmured against her lips, voice rough and commanding.

She pinned Azzi’s hand gently but decisively to the mattress, her thumb brushing slowly over the racing pulse in Azzi’s wrist.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

The promise in her voice sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine. She swallowed hard, her body already stirring again despite the lingering tremors of the last release.

“I need more,” Paige said, dropping Azzi’s wrist to run her long fingers through Azzi’s slick folds. She collected the arousal that gathered there, then brought her fingers to her mouth, slipping the digits inside and moaning at the taste. 

“I can’t,” Azzi whimpered, oversensitive now.

“I promise you can take it,” Paige murmured, guiding her carefully as she shifted them. Paige flopped onto her back, chest rising and falling as she looked up at her, the strap-on jutting up from her hips. “I need to see you ride me, baby.”

The desperation in Paige’s voice sent another rush of heat up Azzi’s spine.

"Please, Az.” 

Paige wasn’t demanding now, she was asking. Begging, even. It was dizzying, knowing she had the cocky blonde so worked up. And who was Azzi to deny Paige what she wanted?

Despite the exhaustion in her limbs, Azzi swung a leg over Paige, straddling her waist. Her thighs trembled as she lowered herself down again, her head falling back as the sensation of being full flooded through her.

"Fuck, you take it so well," Paige groaned, her grip tightening on Azzi’s hips as she watched Azzi’s cunt swallow her dick. "So tight and wet for me. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"

Azzi nodded, it was all she could do. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness that pushed her to her limits. This angle felt different. Deeper. She was technically the one in the position of control, but Paige’s hands were still on her hips, guiding her movements like she knew exactly what pace Azzi needed.

Starting slow, Azzi rolled her hips instinctively while Paige’s hands roamed over her body. Her thumbs pinched Azzi’s nipples, palms sliding across her abs, fingers gripping her hips, before settling firmly at the curve of her ass.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Paige moaned, adjusting the angle slightly. “So fucking good for me. I love watching you ride me like this.”

As Paige’s lips found Azzi's neck, laying a trail of hot, open mouth kisses, Azzi’s slow rhythm quickly turned frantic. Her body chased the feeling, desperate for the release already building again. Paige was quick to catch on, raising her hips in rhythm, thrusting deep inside. Eyes clamping shut, Azzi’s breath turned ragged as her mind turned to the singular focus of chasing her orgasm. 

“Look at me,” Paige demanded hoarsely, fingers wrapping gently around her throat. 

Azzi forced her eyes open, brown eyes meeting blue, and the intensity in Paige’s gaze was her undoing. The pressure inside her built and built until her entire body trembled with it.

“I’m going to be thinking about this every night you’re not in my bed,” Paige promised, her hands now frantically palming Azzi’s breasts. “Just picturing you riding me like this. Your perfect tits bouncing in my face while you look completely wrecked. God, Az. You’re so fucking sexy.”

Azzi’s mind went blank.

Fingers digging into the warm skin of Azzi’s ass, she pulled Azzi down, strap bottoming out with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, loud and obscene, and Azzi couldn't look away from the sight of her own hands gripping Paige’s shoulders, knuckles white with exertion. Every thrust sent shockwaves through her, vibrating in her bones, making her feel stretched and completely owned by Paige.

"Tell me how it feels," Paige pleaded, her voice sharp as she leaned up to capture Azzi’s lips again. "Tell me how good it is when I fuck you like this."

"So good," Azzi sobbed, the words torn from her. "I’ve never…it’s never been this good,” she stuttered, lost in the sensation. “You’re so fucking deep, Paige. Fuck. Don't stop."

She felt so exposed, her body on display, her tits bouncing with every slam of Paige’s hips. It was submission, a total surrender of control, which wasn’t something she relinquished easily.

"That's it," Paige growled, her rhythm becoming erratic. "Take what I give you. Come on, baby. Cum for me again. I want to feel you fall apart on my dick."

The words, the command, the relentless pressure was all too much. Azzi’s body seized, a scream tearing from her lungs as a second, more intense orgasm ripped through her, leaving her shaking and utterly spent.

With a broken cry, she collapsed forward against Paige’s chest, completely boneless, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

Paige wrapped her arms around her immediately, leaning back and holding her there while they both struggled to catch their breath.

Azzi was dazed and spent, her cheek pressed against Paige’s shoulder, the warmth of her body grounding her as the last tremors rippled through her body and faded away.

After a moment, Azzi felt Paige’s fingers drifting softly along her spine, slow and soothing in the quiet aftermath of the most intense sex she’d ever had. It still amazed her how easily Paige could shift from so commanding one moment to impossibly tender the next. It was like both sides of her existed in perfect balance, attending to exactly what Azzi needed in the moment.

Azzi was learning more about her every day. And tonight, through the quiet haze of it all, she learned that she was falling for Paige. Or, maybe, that she already had.

*************

Paige’s day had been a parade of small annoyances. She’d shown up with her tools, a plan for the day, and what she thought was enough patience to get through it, only to find out her client had decided to have different opinions about everything now that the work was halfway done. 

She was halfway through a remodel on a townhouse with nice bones and a lot of money thrown at it. Newlyweds with big dreams of marble counters, expensive appliances, and a kitchen island that was enormous yet useless. Apparently daddy had bestowed a generous wedding gift that the couple was hellbent on blowing through. 

Paige usually didn’t take bigger remodel jobs like this, but Brittani and Ken were friends of a past client, and she did have dreams of expanding the business. Paige figured this was as good a place as any to start. Plus, they didn’t blink at the monstrous price tag she put on the job. 

Unfortunately, working on Brittani and Ken’s place meant actually dealing with Brittani. 

Visually, that wasn’t all that bad. Brittani was objectively hot, even if in a way that felt wildly overdone. Platinum blonde hair always styled in perfect waves, fake boobs, makeup always fresh, clothes always chosen to cling tightly to the body she spent hours in the gym perfecting daily to keep her husband happy. The issue was her too-white smile that lingered too long and her propensity to stand too close, fingers resting on Paige’s arm or back or leg when she asked questions that had already been answered twice. The fact that she didn’t work and was quite literally always home didn’t help. 

Honestly, Paige was used to dealing with this in a sense. Brittani wasn’t the first bored housewife that had thrown herself at Paige, and she probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, by early afternoon, Paige was crouched down hanging a cabinet door, thinking about the fact that she could be literally anywhere else and be happier.

Her phone buzzed against the counter.

Paige glanced at it, expecting a call from a supplier about an order that got messed up. Instead, the screen lit up with Azzi’s name and Paige’s entire mood shifted so fast it almost gave her whiplash.

She tapped it open and was greeted with the magnificent sight of Azzi in practice gear, sweat-darkened at the collar, hair slicked back and messy. Her cheeks were flushed, lashes clumped slightly, and she was making a face that was half exhausted and half smug.

Paige felt her mouth curve automatically. Even like this, Azzi looked unbelievable. It was so easy for her to make Paige lose focus.

Paige didn’t even hesitate before she started typing, thumb moving fast.

Paige: come over so i can lick that sweat off you baby

The reply came almost instantly.

Azzi: you’re sick

Paige’s grin widened. She leaned her hip against the counter and typed back casually like she wasn’t about to get ambushed by Brittani at any moment. 

Paige: ntm on me. you love it freaky. 

Azzi: maybe 

Azzi: maybe not 

A minute passed before another text came through. 

Azzi: are you even home? cuz i’m done for the day and could definitely use a shower if you’re interested in helping with that… 

Paige made a sound that was not appropriate for daylight hours in a client’s house.

It wasn’t a quiet sound. No, that would have been too merciful. It was a full-body groan that escaped before she could swallow it down, and she immediately regretted the lack of control when footsteps tapped toward the kitchen.

Brittani appeared in the doorway, wearing pink pants complete with a matching pink jacket, her perfectly waxed brows lifted in concern. Paige straightened so fast.

At least this time, Paige noticed with a grim sort of amusement, Brittani was wearing shorts that actually covered her ass. Miracles happened.

“Paige?” Brittani asked, voice overly sweet. “Are you okay? I heard… something.”

Paige cleared her throat and set her phone face-down on the counter pretending those texts hadn’t just ruined her ability to think. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Brittani stepped closer, eyes flicking slowly down Paige’s body, then back up to her face. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked, the offer dripping with honey. “Water? Coffee? I could run out and grab us some beers—”

“I’m good,” Paige said firmly, keeping her tone polite but final. As if Brittani would ever drink a beer. Certainly she was a Cosmo girl. “Just dealing with some supplier issues. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Brittani lingered in the kitchen longer than necessary, like she thought Paige might change her mind. Paige just peered back with a tight smile and lifted her drill, so Brittani nodded. “Oh you could never disturb me,” she said, voice coy. “Well, I’m  just right upstairs… in my bedroom… if you need anything,” she said, and walked away with a slow sway that Paige refused to acknowledge.

The second Brittani disappeared, Paige grabbed her phone again.

Paige: no but i wish i was instead of at this house

Azzi: brittani behaving?

Paige let out a laugh through her nose, because Azzi’s jealousy still caught her off guard. It felt a little ridiculous considering they weren’t actually together, but still, Azzi’s casual possessiveness made Paige feel a bit warm all over. 

Paige: today she is. she’s at least wearing shorts that cover her full ass 

Azzi: i hate her

Paige smiled wider, picturing the pout Azzi would be wearing right now, the one that made her look like she was offended simply by the existence of other people. Paige’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, softened by the image. She could almost hear Azzi’s voice, all clipped and serious like she wasn’t being a brat.

Paige: she’s harmless

Azzi: you sure?

The answer was yes, because in reality, Brittani was harmless. Still, Paige’s grin turned sly, unable to pass up a chance to get Azzi riled up. It usually worked in her favor. 

Paige: well she did tell me she’d be upstairs “in her bedroom” if i need anything

Paige: and i think she means literally anything

Azzi: wtf 

Azzi: do i need to come there and let her know who you belong to?

Paige’s breath got stuck in her throat. 

It wasn’t the words exactly. It was the way Azzi was claiming her, or at least that’s what Paige thought was happening. This was need, wrapped in possessiveness, but also delivered in a neat little text message like a dare.

Heart hammering against her ribs, she glanced toward the doorway, making sure Brittani was still gone. Then she typed back with a boldness that surprised even her, because she wasn’t sure she was prepared for the answer. 

Paige: and who do i belong to az?

There was a pause long enough for Paige to feel it in her bones. She stared at the screen, waiting, pulse jumping like she wasn’t really sure where this was headed. 

Then the reply came.

Azzi: why don’t you come over tonight and i’ll show you…

Paige’s whole body went hot. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting a grin she couldn’t hide even if she tried.

She typed with one hand, smirking at the invitation while deciding to see how far she could push the line. 

Paige: i think that can be arranged 

Paige: but we already know who YOU belong to 

Azzi: and who is that? 

Paige: me. 

Paige: at least it sure seemed that way based on the way you were screaming my name when you took my strap the other night… 

Azzi: that was AI

Paige: bro you’re so unserious 

Paige: nika called me out for the scratches on my back when we were in stewie’s pool the other day so thanks for that 

Paige: she told theo i got attacked by a cat… 

Azzi: tell nika to mind her own damn business 

Paige laughed at that. 

Paige: i’ve been trying for like over fifteen years bro 

Azzi: yeah yeah. so tonight? 

Paige: i’ll be there once i wrap up here and shower. i can grab dinner for us on the way. 

Azzi: save the shower for my place 

Azzi: and bring something that can be reheated 

Paige: bet. 

She hit send and stood there for a second, leaning against the cool counter, staring at their messages. 

Then she tucked her phone back into her pocket, picked up her drill, and tried to remember how to do her job while her brain fast-forwarded to what she knew was going to be a very eventful night.

*************

The Sports Bra, Seattle’s all-women’s sports bar, was loud like it always was during a Storm game, a steady roar that rose with every made shot and dipped with every miss. Massive TVs lined the walls, most tuned to the Storm matchup, with a few scattered screens showing an NWSL game between Gotham and the Spirit.

Paige sat on a bar stool wedged between Nika and Nai. The matchup against the Indiana Fever had the place packed tighter than usual, which meant Paige’s knee was pressed into Nika’s leg and her elbow kept bumping DiJonai on the other side. Paige and Nika were locked in, beers in hand, tracking every possession while Nai picked at a basket of fries she refused to share on principle.

On the screen, the third quarter clock ticked down. Azzi was playing like she always did. Hounding on defense and drilling threes all while, in Paige’s very professional opinion, making it look effortless. And being extremely sexy. The problem was the scoreboard.

The Storm were down twelve. The gap ebbed and flowed, but the game refused to let them breathe. Or at least that’s how Paige felt as she watched Azzi sink another shot to cut the lead back down. 

A minute later, Nika groaned when Skylar’s three rimmed out. “Come on,” she muttered, leaning forward with her elbows on the sticky bar top.

Paige didn’t say anything. She was trying to pretend she wasn’t overly invested, even though her eyes stayed locked on Azzi whenever she was on the screen. She could feel Nai clocking it. Nika too. They were both nosy as hell, and neither of them ever missed an opportunity to call her out.

“That’s your girl,” Nai said lazily, mouth full of fries.

Paige didn’t take her eyes off the TV. “She’s not technically my girl.”

Nai snorted. “Sure. If we’re speaking in technicalities. But you’ve also been spending all your free time together, so…what do you call that then, P?” 

Paige lifted her beer, took a sip, and tried to look unbothered. It was getting harder lately. Not because Paige wasn’t used to being teased, but because the teasing had started to sound like the truth. 

The last few weeks had shifted things. They weren’t official and certainly nothing with an actual name, but it was real enough that Paige’s body remembered Azzi even when she wasn’t in the room, and had her thinking in weekends and dinners and mornings spent cuddled in bed, not just quickies and stolen time.

“Don’t you guys have a dinner date planned for when she gets back too?” Nai prodded. “Thanks for the invite by the way. Been dying to try that place.”  

Paige rolled her eyes, saved from the interrogation when her phone buzzed against the table.

She glanced down and saw a text from Marta, with a link below it.

Marta: yo azzi is famous again

Nai immediately leaned in. “What’s that?”

Paige tapped it, the screen loading slowly because the bar Wi-Fi was trash. A website for the Pacific NW Magazine opened, with a photo of Azzi’s house front and center. She began to scroll, seeing spreads of the living room and the ornate staircase and the kitchen, every detail perfectly staged.

Paige smiled before she could stop it. Of course Azzi’s house had been featured. It was beautiful in the way old homes were. Perfect architecture, stunning woodwork, the kind of house that looked like it had stories in the walls. Paige was lucky to know some of those stories. 

Nika craned her neck over Paige’s shoulder to get a better look. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” Paige said, still smiling as she scrolled the stunning photos. “She didn’t tell me.”

Nai’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting,” she hummed.

It wasn’t that interesting. Maybe Azzi just wanted it to be a surprise. Or she forgot. Paige’s mind rattled off ten different reasons why Azzi didn’t tell her, none of them concerning. 

Paige nudged Nai’s arm with her elbow. “Stop reading too much into everything.” 

On the TV, the third quarter ended, and the bar collectively exhaled. Everyone started talking at once, ordering another round and arguing about what the coach should do. Paige dropped her attention to her phone and started reading the article, eyes skimming the details about architecture and design to see how the magazine had framed Azzi’s life.

Then she saw it.

It was in the third paragraph, written like it was just another charming detail about Azzi’s perfect home and perfect little life. 

“Fudd and her husband, Mark Brenner, purchased the house in the Harvard-Belmont district of Seattle four years ago…”

Paige went still so fast it felt like something inside her froze. Her stomach dropped, sitting heavy in her gut, like a floor giving out beneath her.

Mark Brenner.

Husband.

The words looked wrong together and also painfully familiar, because Paige had known, hadn’t she? She’d known what the world thought. She’d known there were complications. She’d known Azzi’s name still didn’t exist alone in headlines.

Seeing it written like that, though, in a magazine article for the world to see felt like being reminded she was standing outside a door she wasn’t allowed to open.

So maybe that’s why Azzi hadn’t mentioned it. 

Cool. 

Her smile disappeared as fast as it formed, fingers tightening around the phone as she blew out a deep breath. For a second, she couldn’t make her body move.

Nika noticed first. She bumped Paige’s shoulder lightly. “Yo,” she said, low enough that Nai didn’t immediately catch it. “You okay?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just turned the phone slightly and held it up, letting Nika read.

Nika’s expression shifted as she scanned the line. Her mouth flattened, her eyes narrowing and flicking back to Paige’s face.

Paige forced out a laugh that sounded wrong. “Cool, right?” she said, voice tight. “Mentions her husband. Love that.”

Nai leaned in then, catching the change in Paige’s demeanor. “What’s going on?”

Paige didn’t want to explain it out loud, couldn’t bring herself to actually say the words. But Nai was already peering at the screen, reading, making that little noise she made when she realized something was complicated.

After a moment, Nai leaned back. 

“Okay,” Nai said slowly, and her tone shifted into something more measured. “This is probably old.”

Paige’s eyes stayed glued on the sentence, hoping she could make it disappear if she stared hard enough. Her chest felt tight, like it was cinched in a vice, or maybe Azzi’s hand was just in there squeezing. It sure felt that way. 

Nai continued, gentler now, hands up like she was talking someone down off a ledge. “These pieces don’t happen overnight. A magazine feature like this gets planned, written, edited well in advance. Half a year at least. Sometimes longer. Don’t read too much into it.”

Paige nodded once, because it was easier than arguing. Nai worked in media and knew how this stuff played out. She was probably right in the technical sense, but that’s not what Paige felt like debating. 

Because regardless of timing and logistics and all that other bullshit, it still felt like a slap in the face. A reminder that Azzi isn’t hers, not really. like being reminded she was standing outside a door she wasn’t allowed to open.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, even though it wasn’t true. She took a sip of her beer, the taste of her IPA suddenly even more bitter. “It’s not a big deal.”

But it was a big deal.

It shouldn’t have been, and that almost made it worse. Paige hadn’t asked Azzi for promises. She hadn’t asked for labels. She hadn’t pushed. She’d been careful, letting things unfold with the kind of patience she didn’t usually have. And still, her chest ached like she’d been punched.

Because lately it hadn’t felt casual. Lately it had felt like they were building something. She could sense Azzi inching closer and closer to letting Paige matter in a way that wasn’t just physical. Paige had started to believe it, too, which was its own kind of stupidity given the circumstances. 

Now she was staring at a sentence that made it clear Azzi was still attached to someone else in the only way the public cared about.

It shouldn’t have made Paige feel possessive, but it definitely did.

It shouldn’t have made her think of Elle. It did that too. The old memory cutting in—coming home early, the wrong sounds behind a bedroom door, the way the world tilted when she realized she’d been planning a future with someone who had been lying to her.

Paige didn’t want to punish Azzi for a narrative Azzi might not even control. She also didn’t know what to do with the fear that rose in her anyway.

Nika didn’t look convinced and Nai certainly didn’t either. Paige could feel them on either side of her, the way their bodies angled in, sharing a look over her head that she knew was some sort of silent conversation. They didn’t want to say the scary thing out loud, at least not in front of her. 

Paige’s stomach tightened. She hated that look, and the pity it implied.

On the TV, the fourth quarter started. Azzi was back on the screen. Paige should have been focused on that, and on cheering for her. Instead, Paige kept seeing that line.

Her husband.

Her fucking husband. 

People who had husbands didn’t have girlfriends. Not privately. And definitely not publicly. 

Paige exhaled and set her half-drank beer down. “It’s been a long day,” she said, standing abruptly. Nai flinched as the bar stool screeched against the floor when she pushed back. “I’m gonna go home.”

Nika grabbed her wrist. “Paige,” she said, eyes holding a softness rarely seen there. “Don’t.”

Paige forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeated, because it was her favorite lie these days even though everyone knew she was full of shit. “I just want to go to bed.”

Nai opened her mouth like she wanted to say something—maybe something that would make Paige sit back down or maybe something to help her through it—but Paige shook her head, unwilling to hear it.

“Seriously,” Paige said, voice steady even though she was trying her best not to crack wide open. “I’m good.”

Nika looked like she wanted to argue, but Paige gently pulled her wrist free anyway, and walked to the door before she could change her mind. 

She drove home with the radio off, hands tight on the steering wheel, mind stuck on a sentence she couldn’t unsee and all the spiraling thoughts that came with it.

When she got home, she tossed her keys into the bowl by the door, kicked her boots off with a sigh, and tried to roll out some of the tension that had settled in her shoulders after laying hardwood floors all day. Her house was dim and quiet, and coming home to that calm usually felt like relief. Tonight it just felt like something was missing. 

Azzi had a two game away trip though, and that meant Paige wouldn’t see her for a few more days. Not that she’d even know what to say to her right now.

So Paige showered, longer than necessary, letting hot water pound against her shoulders like it could knock the thought loose. It didn’t.

When she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her waist, her phone lit up on the bathroom counter.

Azzi.

Paige’s stomach dropped again, because even now the sight of her name did something to her. Paige dried her hands, picked up the phone, and opened the message.

Azzi: u watch?

Paige stared at it for a beat, chewing at the inside of her cheek, then typed back.

Paige: yeah. good game

Azzi: not really we lost

Paige: you played a good game though 

Azzi: a lot of good that did 

Azzi: fucking indiana of all teams 

Paige could hear the frustration in the words, could practically see Azzi’s face, that glare she got when she was pissed off. Paige knew what usually came next. Azzi would call to rant and replay and Paige would listen and talk her down and distract her in the many ways she knew how to do. 

Paige stood in her bedroom, towel still clutched at her waist, and felt something inside her sag.

She knew what would normally happen, but she couldn’t be the soft place for Azzi to land while her own pride felt raw and stupid and bruised. And she couldn’t fake it tonight.

Before Azzi could even ask, Paige typed first, fingers moving fast so she could get ahead of it. Because if Azzi called, she’d answer.

Paige: i’m exhausted. early morning tomorrow. i’m gonna crash

She stared at the message, throat tight, hating herself for it and hating how much she wanted to call Azzi anyway.

Then she hit send.

Paige tossed the phone down on her bed like it weighed too much. She stood there in the bedroom, towel slipping slightly at her hips, house quiet around her.

She could already picture Azzi’s response. The small frown of disappointment. The confusion she’d try to mask. 

Still, Paige didn’t move. Nor did she reach for the phone again when she heard it vibrate a minute later with a response.

Because tonight, she couldn’t pretend to be okay as the realization sunk in—Azzi wasn’t really even hers to have. 

At least not yet. 

[buffalo1221]

can you fix a broken heart

Synopsis: Azzi wins a game, loses a game, and completely loses the plot over Paige Bueckers wearing nothing but her jersey.

warnings: smut, so much smut, shower sex, truck bed sex, phone sex, sexting, down bad azzi, down bad paige, p?wp?

a/n: yes, the smut IS necessary to advance the plot. also, yes, i am aware i am going to hell for this. enjoy you heathens.

wc: 10k

chapter 11:

Azzi stood in the bathroom with the door shut, the mirror already fogging from the water warming in the shower behind her. She was wrapped in nothing but a towel, the thick cotton cinched at her chest, her hair loose and skin slicked with sweat after a grueling practice. 

Coach Sonia had not been happy with their performance, not that it was Azzi’s doing. Fucking rookies and their propensity for messing up plays. Still, she had to pay the price with the rest of the team, running shuttles for half an hour until it felt like there was a vice cinched around her chest. 

Unfortunately, the impromptu fitness session had her running behind schedule for lunch with her family. They were supposed to meet at her favorite little bistro downtown at noon. Azzi plucked her phone from the counter, bringing it closer to her face until the screen lit up on its own accord. 

11:30. 

She had just about thirty minutes until she needed to leave. The place was twenty minutes away, but she had a propensity for lateness, so they probably weren’t even expecting her until 12:30 anyway.

Azzi shot off a text that she was running behind, and was about to drop the phone back on the counter when her eye caught sight of the text chain underneath her family group chat. A mischievous grin twisted across her lips. 

She lifted the phone again, clicking onto the camera, and angling it just so. The photo wasn’t explicit, but it didn’t need to be. Bare shoulder, collarbone, the edge of the towel sitting low enough to suggest more than it showed. Her mouth curved as she sent it before she could overthink it.

The response came almost immediately.

Paige: baby. 

Azzi laughed quietly to herself, biting the inside of her cheek as a second message immediately followed.

Paige: you’re fucking killing me

Azzi leaned her hip against the counter, feeling a flutter gathering low in her stomach that had nothing to do with the cool marble. She sent back nothing but a winking emoji, which was, apparently, all the encouragement Paige needed.

Paige: how bout you drop that towel and send me another?

A few seconds passed by, the lack of response seemingly too long for Paige’s waning patience. 

Paige: please.

Paige: pretty please. 

Paige: see how polite i’m being?

Azzi shook her head, grin widening as she typed. 

Azzi: come see for yourself. about to hop in the shower before i meet my parents for lunch.

She meant it as a hypothetical tease, an empty dare tossed out with zero expectation it would be taken seriously. They’d both been bold over text the past few days, but Paige was busy and Azzi only had thirty minutes before she had to be out the door. 

The reply came fast enough to make her breath hitch.

Paige: bet

Azzi’s pulse jumped, heat pooling between her thighs, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. That had to be a joke. It had to be. Paige was always saying things half designed just to make Azzi squirm.

Azzi: I’ve only got 30 min before I have to leave :(

She bit her lip in disappointment, trying to level set. There was a pause in Paige’s responses, just long enough for Azzi to tell herself not to read into it. Then her phone buzzed again in rapid succession. 

Paige: i’m actually around the block picking up supplies

Paige: there’s a lot i can do in 30 minutes 

Paige: leave the front door unlocked

Azzi stared at the screen in disbelief, her thumb hovering, stomach doing somersaults. In the end, there really wasn’t anything to think about. She liked the message before she could second-guess the insanity of inviting Paige over for a shower quickie, a quiet laugh slipping out as she shook her head. 

She set the phone down on the counter, pulling the towel more snugly around her body and scurried out of the bathroom. As she made her way through the house, her thoughts drifted, unspooling easily to the last few days since brunch. The constant texts. The not-quite-innocent check-ins. If her family hadn’t been in town, Azzi was pretty sure she’d have found an excuse to invite Paige over every night that week. Her self-control was absolutely non-existent around the blonde, already a little addicted to the way Paige made her feel, to how easily she slipped under her skin and… into other places. And now that they didn’t need to beat around the bush, now that Paige had made it poignantly clear where she stood, Azzi felt her self-control dwindling even more. 

As she unlocked the front door, her thoughts flickered to Sunday night. Paige in the stands at her game, wearing her jersey, impossible to ignore from the court. But, of course, Azzi’s family was in town. Their eyes met after the final buzzer, and Paige shot her a smile and half-hearted wave, before tugging her friends away instead of venturing closer. She understood without needing it spelled out that it wasn’t the moment. Azzi had been grateful for that, even as something in her chest constricted.

In such a short time, seeing Paige and her friends at Storm games had become something Azzi relied on. She looked to the stands where they sat when she made a clutch shot, when she sank a deep three, or when she needed a look of encouragement during a rough stretch. Not saying hi after the final buzzer sounded had felt...off.

By the time she returned to the bathroom the steam had thickened, clouding the glass doors and clinging to Azzi’s skin as she stepped under the spray. She tilted her head back, reveling in the sensation of water cascading over her shoulders, tracing paths down her body. She was so lost in the warmth and the thoughts circling her mind that she didn't hear the bathroom door open or the soft click of it closing.

The first she knew of Paige’s presence was the sudden rush of cooler air as the shower door slid open, followed immediately by the unmistakable heat of a body pressing against her back. Paige’s strong arms wrapped around her waist, palms flattening against her stomach, pulling her flush until there was no space left between them. The soft, wonderful weight of Paige’s breasts molded to Azzi’s back, a stark, arousing contrast to the hard press of her hips.

Azzi’s breath caught, sharp and startled, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she let herself sink back into Paige’s hold, her head tipping slightly to the side as familiar lips brushed her neck. The contact sent a shiver down her spine.

“You weren’t joking, huh?” Azzi laughed softly, the sound dissolving into a gasp when Paige’s mouth pressed more firmly against her neck, teeth sinking in.

“You send me a photo like that,” Paige murmured against her skin, her breath hot and sending a shiver down Azzi’s spine that had nothing to do with the water temperature, “tell me you’re home alone and about to get in the shower, and you don’t expect me to show up?”

Azzi laughed again, breathless this time, reaching back blindly, hand flapping around until her arm hooked around Paige’s neck. She tugged her closer, smiling when Paige got the message immediately, her mouth returning to Azzi’s neck with renewed intent. 

“I think,” Azzi managed, her voice already unsteady from the way Paige’s lips felt, “I also told you I only have thirty minutes before I have to leave…”

Her words trailed off as Paige shifted behind her, hands moving with purpose, the implication unmistakable. One of Paige’s hands splayed flat against Azzi’s stomach, holding her steady, while the other slid lower. Paige didn’t rush it. Her fingers danced over wet skin, tracing the line of water droplets curling over Azzi’s hip, as if she had all the time in the world. Which was laughable, given they very much did not. And yet, with Paige’s hands on her, with the steam and the spray curling around them like a cocoon, it certainly felt that way. 

The moan that slipped from Paige’s mouth when her fingers slid through Azzi’s slick folds went straight through Azzi; she inhaled sharply, her body instantly responding to the dizzying touch.

“Fuck, baby,” Paige hissed in her ear, voice ragged like she could barely control it. 

Azzi turned her head just enough to catch Paige’s eye, her expression pure challenge as she reached back and guided Paige’s fingers toward her aching cunt. “That’s what I’m trying to do,” she murmured, smug even as her knees threatened to give out.

Paige didn’t need to be told twice. Not when Azzi was already soaked and clearly past pretending she had the upper hand. She took over with immediate confidence, two fingers sliding inside with a possessive ease that knocked the breath from Azzi’s lungs. Paige’s palm pressed perfectly against her clit, creating an overwhelming pressure with every deep, deliberate thrust of her fingers. The angle alone made Azzi’s head spin, the sensation of being completely surrounded leaving no room for thought. 

It felt different than their other encounters. There was no easing into it, no teasing preamble. The restraint Paige usually showed was gone. She moved with certainty, like she was fully aware of what Azzi needed and exactly how to give it to her. There was something possessive in the way she took over; Paige was establishing the terms, and Azzi had zero interest in arguing.

Paige fucked Azzi with a raw, unapologetic need, probably stemming from days of being wound up. Azzi had known exactly what she was doing with the texts and photos; she’d thoroughly enjoyed teasing Paige, and now she welcomed the reckoning.

Paige’s free hand stayed locked on Azzi’s stomach, holding them tightly together. And Azzi felt every inch of Paige’s lithe frame—the soft press of her breasts, the hard muscles of her thighs against her own, the relentless insistence of her long fingers inside her. There was no escaping the awareness of Paige everywhere, not that Azzi wanted to.

“You feel so fucking good like this,” Paige panted, lips brushing against Azzi’s shoulder blade. “So tight. Taking my fingers so deep, baby. I want to feel you cum all over my hand.”

The dirty talk, combined with the relentless stimulation, undid Azzi. She could feel the tension coiling deep in her belly, a white-hot fire building with every stroke. She pushed back against Paige, meeting her thrusts, desperate for more. The small, steamy space filled with sound—cascading water, the slap of wet skin, filthy moans—and Azzi had a fleeting, absurd thought that this was absolutely not how she’d planned to spend her afternoon.

She didn’t regret it for a second. 

Paige’s thumb found its mark, circling her clit with devastating precision, and that was it. Azzi cried out, a raw, broken sound that was swallowed by the hiss of the shower, as she clenched hard around Paige’s fingers. Paige drew it out just long enough to leave Azzi shaking before she finally slowed. She kissed along Azzi’s shoulders and neck with sudden softness that made Azzi’s knees weak all over again.

Only then did Paige slip her fingers free and wrap her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her tighter. Azzi slumped back against Paige, utterly spent, letting the water wash over them both.

For a moment, they stayed like that. Paige holding her steady, Azzi trying to remember how to breathe. Then Paige leaned down, mouth warm against her neck again, her hand again slipping lower.

“Fuck,” Paige murmured, voice reverent as she swirled two fingers through Azzi’s folds.

She lifted her hand, sucking her fingers into her mouth, and let out a  low, contented hum that vibrated from her throat. Paige’s expression was blissed-out in a way that sent a fresh spark of heat straight through Azzi. The look on her face wasn’t performative. It was worshipful. And fuck if that wasn’t one of the hottest things Azzi had ever seen.

“I think I need to clean you up properly,” Paige added, entirely too pleased with herself as she pulled her fingers out of her mouth with an exaggerated pop.

Azzi laughed, breathless, turning in Paige’s arms so they were chest to chest, her hands wrapped around Paige’s shoulders. “We’re in a shower...”

Paige didn’t answer. She just sank to her knees and raised a single, challenging eyebrow. The look was a silent, arrogant question—are you really turning this down?—coupled with that infuriating cocky smirk she wore so well. 

And, well,Azzi was absolutely not going to turn that down. In fact, the last of Azzi’s amusement evaporated, replaced by a fresh wave of hunger at the sight of Paige on her knees looking so fucking smug. Azzi had half a mind to be a brat and argue, but her body remembered the last time Paige was on her knees like that, and any thought of rebellion quickly dissipated.

She tangled her fingers roughly in Paige’s wet, tousled hair. She used the grip to guide the blonde exactly what she wanted, pressing Paige’s face right into her cunt, a silent command that was more powerful than any word. 

Paige went willingly, like this had always been the plan, and the sight of her there, looking up with raw hunger, made Azzi’s heart pound. 

It felt so good, and so different, to be able to freely take what she wanted, without having to barter with her emotions. The knowledge that Paige just wanted her to feel good made Azzi almost as wet as knowing what she was about to do.

They both knew they were on borrowed time.

Paige didn’t waste a second, flattening her tongue and licking a broad, firm stripe up her center. Azzi’s head fell back against the cool tile with a soft thud, a sharp gasp torn from her lips. The contrast was incredible—the cold wall at her back, the hot water on her skin, and the searing, mind-numbing heat of Paige’s mouth between her legs.

Paige’s mouth was a revelation, just like Azzi remembered. She was relentless, her tongue exploring every sensitive fold before zeroing in on her clit. She circled it, then sucked it between her lips and Azzi’s knees nearly buckled. Azzi wrenched her fingers tighter in Paige’s hair, and though she knew it probably hurt, Paige only moaned in response, her fingers digging deeper into Azzi’s ass as if for payback.

“Fuck, P,” Azzi choked out, the words torn from her as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Paige answered by sliding two fingers back inside her, pumping them deep before curling them just right. It was devastating in its precision, and Azzi found her entire world narrowing to the overwhelming pleasure. There was no room left for thought, only the overwhelming reality of Paige taking her apart piece by piece.

Azzi cried out as her second orgasm slammed into her, blinding and all-consuming.  

Paige stayed with her through every spasm, unhurried and merciless, drawing it out until Azzi had nothing left to give. By the time Paige finally pulled back, looking up at her with that infuriatingly smug satisfaction Azzi knew so well, Azzi’s legs gave out completely. She slid down the wall, boneless, breathless, and let herself be pulled into Paige’s lap.

God, she was so completely gone.

When Azzi finally came back to herself, her limbs felt heavy and useless, her pulse still roaring in her ears. Paige was right there, hands smoothing up and down her back, kissing her with a tenderness that felt almost unfair—like they weren’t on borrowed time, like thirty minutes wasn’t already bleeding away.

Azzi’s gaze dragged over Paige’s face, taking in the lazy satisfaction in her eyes, the way her lips still parted with a proud grin. A slow, dangerous smile curved across Azzi’s mouth.

Her hand slid down Paige’s side, tracing the sharp line of her hip, making her intentions unmistakable. Paige caught her wrist gently, reluctantly.

“Don’t you have to get going?” Paige asked softly, the familiar reminder of obligations hanging between them hitting like a sudden chill.

Azzi huffed a quiet laugh and leaned in, stealing another kiss, tasting herself on Paige’s mouth. “I can be five minutes late.”

Paige smiled against her lips, challenge written all over her face. “You sound pretty confident you can get me off in five minutes.”

Azzi’s brow arched as her fingers dipped lower, finding proof of just how ready Paige already was. “Looks like I should be.”

And if there’s one thing Azzi loved, it was competition. She was a champion at every level of the sport—high school, college, WNBA, international. Always looked down on and counted out, Azzi had learned to rise to the occasion. This was no exception.  

“Challenge accepted, Bueckers,” Azzi murmured against her ear, her voice low and husky. 

She didn’t waste another second.

Azzi took control with the same decisiveness Paige had moments earlier. Her hand found its home between Paige’s legs, and the guttural moan she pulled from the blonde was its own reward. 

“Fuck,” Paige breathed, her head falling back, eyes closed, expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss. “Please, Az…” 

Paige was swollen and slick, ready for her, and Azzi was absolutely happy to oblige. She slid two fingers inside in one smooth stroke, setting a fast rhythm from the start. There was no time for teasing. She was already pushing her luck, and they both knew it. Her thumb circled Paige’s clit while her fingers fucked her deep, and only after Paige’s body finally went slack, and the blonde slumped against her, boneless and panting and sated, did Azzi let a triumphant smirk slip onto her face. She slowly withdrew her fingers, pressing a soft kiss to Paige’s temple that felt more like punctuation than affection.

Then she straightened and stepped out of the shower, water trailing down her legs.

Azzi grabbed a soft cotton towel off the hook and turned, already smiling. 

“Three minutes and thirty-five seconds,” she mumbled, smug and satisfied.

“Fuck off,” Paige laughed, shutting off the water and wringing out her hair. “Ain’t no way you counted.”

Azzi shrugged, wrapping the towel around herself with deliberate slowness just as Paige stepped closer, fingers hooking into the edge of it like she might test her luck.

“Think I can beat that time anyway,” Paige said, eyes dragging shamelessly over Azzi. “Care to take that bet?”

Azzi laughed under her breath and set a gentle hand to Paige’s chest, pushing her back just enough to reestablish space between them. “Okay, nope,” she said, amused but firm. She handed Paige a towel. “You really gotta go. There’s absolutely no way I make it to lunch if you keep looking at me like that.”

Paige grinned as she took it, backing toward the clothes she’d abandoned on the floor. “You sure you want me to leave?”

Azzi grabbed another towel off the rod and snapped the end of it sharply against Paige’s ass. “Out,” she said, grinning. “Before I make a bad choice and get ridiculed by my family for the rest of the day.”

“Okay, okay,” Paige laughed as she shimmied into her boxers and jeans before pulling her shirt over her still-wet torso.

She took maybe two steps toward the door before doubling back with a mischievous grin.

Paige’s hands slid around Azzi’s waist before the brunette could protest, dipping lower, cupping her ass, digging in like she wanted to imprint her fingerprints. And then her lips were on Azzi, kissing her deep and reckless, warm tongue slipping into Azzi’s mouth as Paige devoured her with a lingering hunger. It knocked the air out of Azzi’s lungs, replacing it with a low, involuntary moan.

That sound, traitorous and loud, was what snapped Azzi out of it.

She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, using every ounce of willpower she possessed to push Paige back by the shoulders before she did something truly irresponsible. “Nope,” she said, still smiling and flushed, cinching her towel tighter to thwart the blonde’s advances as she pointed emphatically at the door. “Go. Right now.”

Paige grinned like she’d won something anyway, and Azzi watched her slip away, pulse still thrumming, already wishing that skipping lunch had been an option after all.

*************

It was late enough that Azzi’s house had finally gone quiet. After packing for their flight home, her parents retreated to bed around nine. And while her brothers were still up, they were too busy trying to merc fourteen year olds in Fortnite in the living room to have any idea what else was going on around them. 

Azzi showered, changed into an oversized sleep tee, and slid into bed with her phone resting on her stomach. Curled into the thick, still cool comforter, half watching some TikTok she wasn’t even paying attention to, Azzi sighed. Her family was leaving tomorrow, after a fun, but exhausting four-day visit. And unfortunately, there was no time to recover with a week-long road trip looming. 

Still, despite the exhaustion in her bones, her mind refused to settle. Plays, travel logistics, and straggling items that still needed to be packed hovered in her thoughts. And Paige. Always Paige these days.

Halfway through a not-that-funny TikTok Sarah sent her, Azzi’s phone buzzed. She smiled at the name, immediately clicking on the notification.

Her smile grew tenfold when she saw it was a photo from Paige. She looked good. Really fucking good. 

Dressed in a cream sweater vest, the cable knit looking so soft against her skin, paired with worn-in denim shorts, she looked hot but also casual in a way that only Paige could pull off. There was an easy confidence in the way she stood, one hip cocked, mouth tipped into a familiar smirk that made Azzi’s throat tighten. 

It wasn’t like she was trying to impress, and that was the problem. Paige wore it like she knew how good she looked and didn’t need anyone else to tell her. 

Damn, Azzi thought, liking the photo immediately. Then her eyes drifted to the time and they narrowed.

Azzi: where are you going?

Paige: Nika and Nai are dragging me out to the club

Azzi’s stomach dipped unexpectedly. Her mind filled in the scene: Paige on a crowded floor, music loud, bodies close. Girls leaning in. Laughing too close. Touching her arm. Touching… other places. 

She frowned at the screen, annoyed with herself for feeling it at all. They weren’t anything. Not officially. Not even close. So why was her stomach churning at the thought of Paige’s hands on someone else?

She typed a response before she could stop herself.

Azzi: looking like that you’re going to have girls hanging all over you

The reply came quickly.

Paige: jealous baby?

Azzi scoffed softly, rolling onto her side. Yes, flashed through her mind, but she had more dignity than that. Before she could respond, another message popped up.

Paige: don’t be

Paige: there’s only one girl I want all over me

Azzi knew she was absolutely being baited. Paige had a way of doing that, of tugging just enough to see if Azzi would bite. Tonight—and if she was being painfully honest, every night—she did.

Azzi: oh yeah? do I know her?

There was a pause that stretched long enough to make Azzi’s pulse tick up in anticipation.

Paige: you might. she’s a super sexy baddie that plays for the seattle storm. 

Paige: i kinda can’t stop thinking about her.

The words slammed into her chest and twisted, cinching tighter and tighter. Because if Azzi was being honest, she couldn’t stop thinking about Paige either. Her hands and her lips and her mouth, but also her face and her laugh and stupidly endearing smile. Azzi stared at the screen, a goofy grin splitting her lips that her brothers would definitely roast her for if they saw. 

Despite the jealousy, and knowing this was dangerous territory—emotionally if nothing else—all Azzi could think about was how badly she wanted Paige again. But time and commitments kept getting in the way. The road trip starting tomorrow, the packed schedule, the limited windows. All of it was eating away at her. Especially when most nights ended like this: laying in bed, phone in one hand, the other slipped beneath her boxers as they egged each other on with filth and photos. 

Azzi: when can i see you again? 

Azzi: i leave late tomorrow afternoon for a 3 game roadtrip 

The response made her inhale sharply.

Paige: i’m slammed all day tomorrow, but i could maybe skip lunch and eat you instead?

Paige: give you a good send off 😉

Azzi closed her eyes, a quiet laugh slipping out as heat pooled fast. Her mind definitely did not jump to the image of Paige on her knees, eating her out at the club. Or in the shower.

Lies. Yes, it fucking did.

Azzi: mhm i like that plan. send me the address tomorrow and i’ll swing by after i drop my family off at the airport.

She kicked the sheets down with her foot and rucked her shirt up, catching her toned abs and the edge of her boxers in the photo she snapped. It was a reminder of exactly what Paige would be missing tonight. If Azzi couldn’t be there, she wanted Paige to think about that photo for the next few hours. 

Azzi: keep this in mind if anyone tries to dance on you tonight

Paige: 🫡🫡🫡

Paige: no one else could ever compare anyway

Paige: night Az

Azzi stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary before setting the phone down. The house felt too quiet again, her thoughts already drifting ahead to tomorrow, to their propensity for borrowed time and stolen moments. But mostly, to the way Paige was slowly, steadily finding her way under Azzi’s skin.

Sleep came eventually, but it took longer than usual, her mind replaying the promise of a lunch she already knew would be anything but innocent. 

*************

Paige heard the car before she saw it.

The crunch of tires on gravel carried down the long, winding driveway, cutting through the quiet job site. The lot was bigger than most you found in Seattle, tucked back and shaded by towering trees that made the place feel far more remote than it actually was. Paige was sitting on the open tailgate of her truck, legs dangling, a cold bottle of water sweating in her hand as she took a break she’d told herself she earned.

She looked up just as the car rolled into view.

Azzi.

The sight made a rush of something warm and disorienting hit Paige all at once. Because here she was, gross and sweaty on a job site with no more than an hour to spare, and WNBA superstar Azzi Fudd was squeezing into her schedule before hopping on a flight to jet across the country. Paige knew she was blessed and highly favored with her orgasm-giving abilities, but this still felt like a dream. 

Azzi pulled in beside the truck and killed the engine, sunlight catching on the windshield. She stepped out wearing black Seattle Storm sweats, the hoodie loose on her frame, yellow and green logo bold against the dark fabric. It was casual and comfortable, but she still made it look too good for a random Wednesday afternoon. Paige vaguely wondered if that’s what she was wearing to the airport. She assumed it was, which meant… Azzi came to see her after dropping her family off at the airport, only to turn around and drive right back for her flight in an hour. 

Paige wasn’t sure what to do with that little bit of information. Luckily, there wasn't much time to dwell on it. Azzi reached back into the car and grabbed a paper bag before closing the door, heading toward her with an easy smile. Paige hadn’t even realized she was grinning until her cheeks started to ache.

Azzi hoisted the bag of food in the air with a smile that Paige could only classify as triumphant. And she definitely didn’t find it fucking adorable, nor was she going to unpack the fact that Azzi brought her lunch.

“I thought I was having something else for lunch,” Paige joked lightly as Azzi stopped in front of her.

Azzi laughed, setting the bag down on the tailgate beside her. “We’ll get to that,” she said. “But I figured you’d need sustenance after I deplete your energy reserves even more.” 

Paige blew a sharp exhale out of her nose, shaking her head, but her thoughts kept drifting somewhere dangerous. The effort. The intention. The thoughtfulness. The little moments of “is this just sex?” that kept stacking up. She didn’t comment on it, but it lodged itself somewhere deep in her brain to be analyzed later. Because no, this didn’t really feel like just sex anymore.

Azzi’s eyes flicked around the expansive property, subtle but telling. Paige caught it immediately.

“Clients are out of town until tomorrow night,” she said casually. “Just us here.”

Something lit behind Azzi’s eyes. A spark, one she’d seen before, that made Paige’s pulse skip a beat. 

“Well, in that case…”

Azzi didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she grabbed Paige by the front of her shirt, pulling her in for a kiss that lacked any pretense. Paige barely had time to register the taste of mint as Azzi’s tongue pressed into her mouth before she was reacting on instinct, hands dipping frantically to pull Azzi up into her lap. 

Her breath was knocked loose as Azzi clamored onto the tailgate, straddling her easily, her weight sinking down and pressing into Paige in the most delicious way. Azzi’s hands slid up, tugging Paige’s backwards Big Buckets Home Repair hat off and tossing it carelessly into the truck bed behind them before cupping her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw.

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s hips, gripping her firmly, and God, she felt good. Warm and solid and so much better than the pictures. 

Then Paige leaned in again, meeting Azzi’s mouth with an urgency that surprised even her. It was the inevitable result of days spent teasing each other through screens and the looming reality that Azzi was about to disappear for another week. Paige licked into the kiss, losing herself in it long enough to forget that they were very much still in her client’s driveway, that the truck bed liner was digging uncomfortably into her ass, and that this was, objectively, a terrible idea.

All of that dissolved as her thoughts zeroed in on Azzi in her lap, rocking her hips, driving her absolutely wild.

Azzi pulled back just long enough to press a hand to Paige’s chest and ease her down, her eyes dark and unmistakably focused. Paige let herself go, breath already coming faster, too far gone to mount even a half-hearted argument that they should maybe relocate somewhere with walls. Because who was she kidding. She’d deny Azzi nothing. Especially not when the image of Azzi looking fucked out in the shower a few days ago had been living rent free in her head ever since.

From her back, Paige regrouped.

Last time, she’d been the one unraveling. Begging and pliant in the shower. And the time before that, she’d been promising to be a fucking good girl. Paige had absolutely no intention of letting that dynamic stand. It had been fun, and sure, she didn’t mind switching it up every now and again—especially because a dominant Azzi was something out of a wet dream—but she liked control. Preferred it, actually. And she had every intention of reclaiming it now.

A slow grin curved her mouth as she let one hand drift lower, skimming the smooth plane of Azzi’s stomach before tracing the waistband of her sweats. She watched Azzi’s eyes follow the movement, heavy-lidded and hungry, giving silent permission without a word. Paige dipped her fingers beneath the elastic and groaned softly.

“Fuck, Az,” she breathed, a laugh caught in her throat. “You’re not wearing any underwear?”

Azzi pulled back just enough to grin, smug and completely unapologetic. “Figured you’d ruin whatever ones I put on anyway. I’ll put some on before my flight.”

Paige bit her bottom lip hard, eyes darkening as she shook her head. “You’re killing me.”

Azzi answered by rocking into her, and Paige lost the rest of the thought entirely. She sank her fingers into Azzi’s cunt without ceremony, rewarded immediately by Azzi’s sharp gasp against her neck and the way her hips stuttered, instinctively seeking more.

Paige grinned at how desperate she was, how needy. She took her time, savoring the way Azzi’s pussy clenched and fluttered around her fingers. 

“Fuck, Azzi,” Paige murmured, her voice a low rasp. “You feel so good.”

Then Paige started to move, a slow, torturous rhythm. Her thumb circled Azzi’s clit, and the response was immediate. A soft moan escaped Azzi’s lips, and she buried her face in the crook of Paige’s shoulder, body trembling, teeth sinking into the soft skin there. Paige could feel her heart racing, frantic and alive against her own chest, and it lit her on fire from the inside out. 

She added another finger, stretching Azzi just enough to draw a broken sound from her throat. Her back arched beautifully, hips rocking down onto Paige’s hand, movements messy and uncoordinated and driven entirely by instinct.

Christ. Paige had seen a lot of things in her life. This might’ve been the sexiest.

She loved this, loved watching Azzi come undone, knowing she was the one causing it.

“Look at me,” Paige commanded, grabbing Azzi’s face with her free hand, tilting her chin up with a firm grip. “I want to see you,” she rasped, her voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. “I want to see exactly how you look when I fuck you senseless. Don’t you dare hide from me.”

Azzi’s gaze was glassy and unfocused, lips parted as she panted, but a flicker of challenge ignited in her brown eyes, cutting through the haze of pleasure. Her lips, still parted, curved into a wicked smirk. “Is this what you’re going to think about at night while I’m gone, P?” she managed to taunt. 

Paige’s own grin turned predatory as a sharp thrill shot through her. “Yeah, baby,” she breathed, not missing a beat. “So you better ride these fingers hard and give me a good show to remember when I touch myself later.” 

Paige didn’t slow. She curled her fingers just right, hitting that spot she knew would undo her, and the guttural sound Azzi made shot straight through her.

“That’s it, baby,” Paige encouraged, voice thick with desire. “Take what you want. Use me. You look so fucking sexy riding my hand. I’m gonna think about this all week.”

She used her thumb to circle Azzi’s clit again, matching the pace of her fingers. The sensation was clearly overwhelming as Azzi’s movements grew more erratic, her thighs trembling where they bracketed Paige’s hips. She was close. Paige could feel it in the way her inner walls started to pulse, in the desperate, breathy moans that were now constant—sounds that lived in Paige’s brain, sounds she’d be thinking about for days.

At least until she got her hands on Azzi again. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” Paige groaned, dimly aware that her own boxers were absolutely ruined and mentally noting that she really should start planning better. “So wet for me, Az. I can feel how close you are. Let go for me, baby.”

That was all it took. 

Azzi went rigid with a shattered cry, head falling back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as the orgasm tore through her. Paige stayed steady, riding it out with her, slowing just enough to draw out every last tremor until Azzi collapsed against her, boneless and panting.

Paige welcomed the weight, holding her there as the aftershocks faded. When Azzi finally stilled, Paige withdrew her fingers slowly and pressed a soft kiss to her damp forehead—an almost domestic gesture that neither of them were going to acknowledge.

“Jesus,” Azzi mumbled into her shoulder from her spot on top of Paige, her voice muffled and sated. “That was unreal…”

Paige just smiled, stroking her hair and feeling a deep, primal satisfaction settle over her. “You got one more in you, baby?” she whispered. “I’m a little hungry…” 

Azz grinned, a coy little thing that sent a new pulse pumping between Paige’s legs. “Oh right,” she said, “I brought lunch.” 

She playfully reached for the brown paper bag resting beside them that both of them knew was not what Paige was referring to. Paige smacked her hand away, before reaching up and gripping Azzi’s chin between her long fingers, forcing their eyes to meet. “Take your pants off and get on my face,” she growled, her look giving no room for argument. 

And Azzi? She was always good at taking directions…  

*************

The bus was dark except for the faint blue glow of phone screens and the occasional flash of passing highway lights. Most of the team had settled into that post-game quiet, bodies heavy with exhaustion, heads tipped against windows or shoulders. Azzi sat near the middle of the bus, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled over her head, backpack tucked beneath her feet.

Her phone lit up in her lap. She opened the messages app, smiling at the barrage of texts that came. 

Paige: you were UNREAL tonight

Paige: atlanta didn’t stand a chance

Paige: think you deserve a reward?

Azzi grinned. Paige wasn’t wrong. But instead of thinking about her stat line in the first game of their roadtrip, Azzi was picturing Paige laid back in her bed, smirking to herself. 

She hazarded a glance sideways. Sarah was next to her, earbuds in, half-asleep, eyes closed. Still, Azzi angled her phone a little closer to her body.

Azzi: definitely 

Azzi: what kind of reward are we talking about?

Three dots appeared almost instantly, followed by two more texts.

Paige: the kind you have to wait for

Paige: but i can give you a preview

Azzi swallowed, shifting slightly in her seat as the bus hit a bump. She knew where this was heading and shot off a quick warning. 

Azzi: i’m on the bus

Azzi: sarah is literally right next to me

Paige: sounds risky

Paige: i like risky

Azzi’s phone buzzed again before she could respond. She sucked in a deep breath and immediately tilted her phone away, pulse spiking as the image seared into her brain. 

Paige was wearing Azzi’s Seattle jersey, and nothing else. The fabric was hiked up just enough to to show her taut abs, angled hip bones, and other hand slipping out of the frame, the implication painfully clear. Paige’s expression was all lazy confidence, eyes half-lidded, like she knew exactly what she was doing to Azzi from thousands of miles away.

Azzi had never been particularly possessive, but something about seeing Paige in her jersey, knowing Paige was wearing her number and touching herself, altered something in her brain. 

She shifted, crossing one leg over the other, heart thudding as she typed back carefully, shielding the screen.

Azzi: jesus christ

Azzi: i told you i’m in public

Paige: didn’t say you had to look

Paige: but you did 😌

Azzi pressed her lips together, heat pooling low and a little bit unwelcome in the confined space of the bus.

Azzi: you’re wearing my jersey…

Paige: figured you’d like that

Azzi glanced around. Coach was asleep two rows up. The aisle was quiet. Sarah shifted beside her but didn’t wake.

Azzi: you’re making this very hard for me

Paige: that’s kind of the point

Paige: how long until you get to the hotel?

Azzi checked the time, then the dark stretch of road ahead.

Azzi: probably ten minutes

Paige: i can keep you busy till then

Azzi’s phone buzzed again. Another message. Not a photo this time, but somehow worse if keeping her composure was the goal. 

Paige: think about my lips kissing your neck and my tongue fucking your pussy

Paige: and my hands all over you, playing with those perfect tits before slipping lower…

Azzi exhaled slowly, pressing her forehead briefly to the cool window, willing the bus to move faster.

Paige: we’ll save the rest for when you can lock a door 😉

Azzi choked out a laugh that roused Sarah from her sleep. Ignoring her teammate’s scowl, Azzi tilted the phone away. 

Azzi: you’re so evil

Paige: i’ll make it up to you baby

Paige: text me when you’re alone and we can finish this

Azzi locked her phone and shoved it in her hoodie pocket, body buzzing with anticipation and underwear already soaked, as the bus rolled on through the dark.

When they pulled up at the hotel, Azzi barely registered the looks she got as she peeled off the bus.

After racing up the stairs to the third floor, knowing she didn’t want to waste a minute in the slow, rickety elevator, she shoved her keycard into the slot. It lit up green on the first try, thank God, and she slipped in, kicking the door shut behind her. 

Dropping her bag by the bathroom door, Azzi’s phone was already in her hand, fingers moving on instinct, debating whether to type something reckless or send a teasing picture to drive Paige crazy as payback. 

Neither felt right for the moment. Not with her body still feeling high from the win and humming with anticipation.

Instead, she hit call.

The line only rang once.

“Couldn’t wait?” Paige’s voice came through, low and amused.

Azzi leaned back against the door as she exhaled. “I just want to hear you moaning in my ear again, P.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Fuck, Az,” Paige muttered.

Azzi smiled, slow and satisfied. She closed her eyes, already feeling the excitement thrumming through her veins. 

“What are you doing?” Paige asked.

“I just got to my hotel room,” Azzi said, fingers toying with the hem of her sweatshirt.

“You alone?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Paige replied, instantly slipping into that tone that made Azzi’s stomach flip. Calm but commanding. “Go get on the bed.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room and sunk down on the bed. 

“Now be a good girl and do exactly what I say,” Paige murmured. “Can you do that?” 

Azzi swallowed and nodded even though Paige couldn’t see her. “Mhm.”

“Okay,” Paige said, her voice maddeningly steady for what Azzi knew was about to happen. “Get comfortable. Prop your head up on the pillows.”

Azzi did as she was told, shifting until the hotel mattress dipped beneath her weight, her heart already picking up speed like it knew what was coming next. She stared at the ceiling for half a second before Paige spoke again.

“Close your eyes, baby. Just listen to my voice.”

Azzi’s eyelids fluttered shut. Obedience came easier than she cared to admit. But after an intense game where she had to be locked in and in total control, she was glad to hand herself over. Especially to Paige. 

“Imagine I’m there with you,” Paige continued, her voice low, measured, almost hypnotic. “Wearing nothing but your jersey.” 

Azzi sucked in a deep breath as Paige continued, remembering the photo the blonde sent minutes ago. “Crawling onto the bed… right between your legs where you need me.”

A shiver slid down Azzi’s spine, sharp and undeniable. The image came easily—Paige’s confident smirk, the way the jersey would hang loose, the fabric maybe brushing against her weeping cunt. 

“Now slip your hands in your pants, baby,” Paige instructed. “Slowly. Pretend they’re mine.”

Azzi obeyed, her own touch feeling strangely foreign under Paige’s direction, electrified by the knowledge that it wasn’t really hers anymore. Her palms traced downward, heat following in their wake, and for a second she could almost feel the weight of Paige hovering above her, half memory, half fantasy.

“Are you wet for me yet, baby?” Paige asked, voice thickening just enough to give herself away. “Touch yourself and tell me.” 

Azzi sucked in a deep breath as she did what she was told, sliding her fingers lower.

She laughed softly, breathless, as her fingers easily slid through her slick folds. “God, yes.”

“Good.” Paige didn’t sound surprised. “You’re so desperate for me that I don’t even need to touch you to get you wet,” she laughed. “I love it. I just wish I was there. I’d be on you with my mouth if I could. Taking my time as I ate that perfect pussy. I’d eat you so good that whole hotel would know my name, baby.” 

And fuck if that didn’t make Azzi even wetter. Like, exponentially. 

“Fuck, Paige,” Azzi moaned, heart racing as she screwed her eyes shut like maybe if she wished hard enough she could summon the blonde from two thousand miles away. “I need your mouth.” 

“I wish, Az,” Paige hummed with a breathy chuckle, adding, “I wish I could taste you. I’ve been thinking about you so damn much.”

Azzi grinned, her free hand fisting into the cool sheets. “Yeah?” she choked out. “You been thinking about me while you touch yourself at night?” 

“Course, baby,” Paige sighed, her own voice sounding ragged, some of the composure slipping. “I think about how hot you were riding my fingers. How fucked out you looked when I got done with you in the truck.” 

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, white-knuckling the sheets as Paige stayed in her ear, spewing filthy words that pulled her further under. 

“My fingers are touching you now. Just barely. Teasing that perfect pussy that only gets wet like this for me.”

The casual possession in Paige’s voice was unreal. Azzi’s own fingers followed the suggestion, circling where she already ached, hips lifting off the bed without her permission. “Paige…”

“Shhh,” Paige soothed. “Just feel it. I’m right there, leaning down, kissing your neck.”

Her voice dipped lower, intimate in a way that made Azzi’s chest seize. “I want you to imagine it’s me while your fingers rub your clit, baby.”

Azzi did as she was told, gasping as the contact sent a sharp jolt through her. She could hear Paige’s breathing now—shallow, quick, unmistakably affected—and that alone was almost unfair. She wanted the blonde there, for real. To feel her. Touch her. Taste her.

“Are you touching yourself too?” Azzi asked, voice strained and honest, desperate to know she wasn’t the only one so impacted. 

Paige’s answer came with a broken exhale. “Yeah, baby. I’m so fucking wet.” She didn’t bother pretending otherwise. “I’m imagining it’s you fucking me. You know exactly how I like it. You get me so good.”

That did something dangerous to Azzi’s control.

“Fuck,” she breathed, fingers moving faster now, hips rocking into the bed.

“Don’t stop,” Paige urged, her own breathing uneven. “I want you to fuck yourself, Az. I want to hear you.” A soft moan threaded through her voice, and it did absolutely nothing to stop the filthy thoughts rattling in Azzi’s head. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel while I pound that pussy.”

Azzi spread her legs slightly wider, pulse thrumming in her ears and slipped two fingers deep into her cunt. She worked them in over and over, her pace relentless, trying to match the one Paige so easily set when they were together. 

“Can you feel me?” Paige continued. “Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes,” she moaned. And Azzi could. Or maybe she just wanted it badly enough that it didn’t matter. The imagined sensations piled on top of the real ones until it all blurred together until she was seeing fucking stars.

“Then let me fucking hear you,” Paige demanded, voice laced with challenge. 

Feeling how easily her fingers slipped in and out of her wet cunt, Azzi began to let out deep, guttural moans that she knew Paige would fucking love. They were getting louder with every thrust of her hips, and while she prayed that her teammates were still hanging out downstairs, she was too far gone to actually give a fuck if anyone heard.

“That’s it,” Paige cooed, and if Azzi wasn’t so wrecked she’d absolutely challenge the patronizing tone. “You’re so good for me. Such a good girl all fucked out.” 

“I’m close,” Azzi admitted, the words breaking apart as soon as they left her mouth.

Paige exhaled, slow and pleased. “Me too,” she said, no hesitation now. “Let go for me. Cum with me, Azzi.”

Paige’s voice fractured on Azzi’s name, and that was it.

The sound of Paige on the other end, wrecked and panting, sent Azzi over the edge. Pleasure tore through her, body arching as the release hit hard and fast, leaving her trembling against the sheets.

For a long moment afterward, neither of them spoke. The silence was filled only with breath, heavy, like the distance between them had briefly disappeared.

Azzi finally cracked a lazy smile, staring at the ceiling. “Wow.”

Paige laughed softly, warmth and satisfaction tangled together. “Yeah. Wow.” She let out that soft, adorable chuckle that made Azzi wonder how Paige could be so absolutely endearing seconds after the delicious filth that just spewed from her mouth. “Get some sleep, superstar. You earned it.”

Azzi smiled to herself, eyes drifting shut. “You better deliver a performance like that for real when I get back,” she murmured, feeling so wrecked her mouth had practically disconnected from her brain. “I wanna fuck you while you’re wearing my jersey.”

Even through the phone, she could hear Paige’s breath catch. The sound slid over Azzi like another aftershock, prolonging the pleasure that was still thrumming through her body.  

“Oh, it’s a plan,” Paige said easily. “But only if I get you back in a Big Buckets shirt…” 

Azzi laughed, eyes rolling at the blonde’s playfulness. “I think we can arrange that,” she said, already thinking about how Paige would absolutely not be getting that shirt back. 

Apparently, Paige was on the same wavelength. 

“Either that or I want you in nothing but the green flannel you stole from me the other day…” 

Busted. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Azzi said coyly, feigning innocence that they both knew she didn’t possess. 

It absolutely wasn’t currently in her suitcase. 

“Right. Right. I’m so sure,” Paige chuckled. “Sweet dreams, Azzi.”

The line went quiet, but Paige’s presence lingered long after the call ended, wrapped around Azzi like a promise she had every intention of collecting on.

**********

The second game did not go well, to say the least, and the hotel room felt suffocatingly small.

Azzi shut the door behind her and let her bag drop to the floor, the dull thud echoing in the silence. The quiet pressed in on her immediately. 

She yanked her sweaty warmup shirt over her head and whipped it across the room, watching it hit the wall and slide down to the carpet as a string of muttered curses spilled out of her.

The game clung to her, crawling under her skin, refusing to loosen its grip. Every time she closed her eyes, it replayed itself in brutal detail: the free throws, the misses, the way the noise in the arena swelled just enough to tell her she’d left points on the floor that mattered. 

Dropping a game like that—against Connecticut of all teams—made her stomach twist. Losing a tight one to a top-tier opponent was one thing. Azzi could live with that. But to the last-place team in the league? That stung, pissing her off in a deep, simmering way that had nowhere to go.

All she wanted was to forget it. To crawl into bed and pass out, and wake up in the morning pretending the night had gone differently.

She stalked into the bathroom and turned the shower on without testing the temperature, stepping straight into the scalding spray a minute later like she deserved it. The heat burned against her skin, biting and unforgiving, and she welcomed it. And maybe she was being a bit of a masochist, but she scrubbed hard, almost angrily, like she could scour the frustration away. 

Azzi hoped the sting of the water could dull the sharper ache of the loss, but that wasn’t the case. When she finally stepped out, skin flushed and numb, she pulled on a loose white tee and boxers. Her hair was still damp as she crawled into bed, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. Her jaw stayed clenched, the anger not quite gone, but at least quieter now. Her thoughts on the game whirled, waiting for something, anything really, to take its place. She briefly considered letting her phone entertain her, but the thought of seeing the hot takes on her performance while scrolling through social media was less than appealing. She knew better than to go on the internet when she was already feeling low over a poor performance.

Her phone buzzed. She sighed, digging around the covers beside her until fingers closed around it. 

Paige: you free?

Azzi’s fingers moved automatically, eagerly welcoming Paige’s distraction. 

Azzi: yes

She waited, already anticipating what usually came next. Since she’d left, their nights had followed a familiar rhythm. Flirty texts that escalated quickly. Teasing photos. Paige reminding her of all the ways she’d make Azzi forget her name. Azzi pretending she wasn’t counting down the days until Paige could touch her again for real, pretending touching herself to thoughts of the blonde didn’t make falling asleep alone a little easier.

Her screen lit up again.

Not a photo, this time, but a FaceTime call.

Azzi’s eyebrows knitted together. This was new. But then again, she was in a particularly foul mood after the loss, and maybe Paige knew she’d need more than a photo and some dirty texts to get her mind off it. 

She answered, smiling for the first time since the game when everything came into focus. Paige filled the screen, propped up against pillows, hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep. She was wearing the Storm shirt Azzi had shoved at her weeks ago, after dousing her with coffee. The one Paige never bothered to return, and now, apparently, slept in. That thought certainly did not alter Azzi’s brain chemistry, like at all. Nope. 

“Hey you,” Paige said, voice raspy with sleep.

It made Azzi wonder if she’d watched the game in bed after a long day of work. Her mind drifted to what it’d be like to fall asleep next to Paige, to wake up to that same voice laced with sleep. But those were dangerous thoughts, so she forced out a soft laugh instead. 

“You’re wearing way too many clothes for this conversation.”

Paige smiled warmly. “Oh yeah? What conversation is that?”

“The one where you make me forget that game,” Azzi said, rolling onto her side, phone angled toward her face. “You know. By telling me where you’d be touching me and kissing me, and how you’d be getting me off if you were here.”

Paige swallowed, cheeks flushing just slightly in the dim light. It was subtle, but Azzi caught it.

“Isn’t that why you’re calling?” Azzi added, teasing, but not entirely. There was something different about Paige tonight but she couldn’t get a read on it. 

Paige dipped her head, gaze dropping for a second before she looked back up. “I mean… we can certainly have that conversation,” she chuckled. “But I was actually just calling to see if you needed to… I dunno... Talk?”

Azzi blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected. Not from Paige. Not like this. They’d danced around plenty of things, but this felt different. It clicked, then, what was different. Paige was acting… shy. 

She must’ve gone silent too long, because Paige shifted, something like concern flickering across her face. “Just tell me what you need, Az.”

Azzi exhaled, meeting her gaze through the screen. “I’m guessing you saw those free throws at the end?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah, but I also saw you put up almost thirty  points.” She shrugged gently. “You can’t do it all. And you weren’t the only one who missed shots down the stretch.”

Azzi knew she was right. The logic landed, even if the frustration didn’t dissipate. Still, she didn’t want to dissect it, and she certainly didn’t want to replay the game again. It had already lived in her head rent free for the past few hours and she wanted Paige to get her mind off the game, not the other way around. 

“I don’t really want to rehash it,” Azzi admitted with a sigh. “Distract me with something else. Please.”

“Okay,” Paige exhaled softly. Her hand moved to the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough to make Azzi’s pulse jump, but she stopped when Azzi added, softer this time, “Tell me about your day.”

Paige froze, and the smile that spread across her dimly lit face was brighter than anything Azzi had seen from her yet. 

“You sure?” Paige asked, voice wavering like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah,” Azzi nodded, settling herself back into the covers.

So Paige dropped the shirt back down and nestled deeper into the pillows, and she talked. About work. About her client being annoying and changing the paint color after she’d painted the entire living room. About how she went for a run that morning and got chased two blocks by a dog. About losing her phone for twenty minutes while working in a crawl space while actively using the flashlight on said phone to look for it. Her voice was warm and calm, filling the space between hotel walls and miles of distance with an ease. Azzi listened as Paige drawled on, eyes growing heavy as the knot in her chest slowly loosened.

Eventually, Azzi yawned, rubbing at her eyes. Paige picked up on the cue.

“I’m gonna let you get some sleep, Az,” she said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. 

Azzi nodded, already half there. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For talking...”

Paige hesitated, a beat of hesitation flicking across her face. She opened her month like she was going to say something but then clamped it back shut. 

“What is it?” Azzi prodded, refusing to let the rare moment of vulnerability slip through the cracks. 

“You think…” Paige sucked in a deep breath and then let it out, her shoulders rising and falling in sync. “You think maybe you’d want to hang out when you get back?” She rushed the rest, words tumbling out in what could only be described as word vomit. “Like not just… you know. Something super lowkey…  like maybe… I can cook us dinner. And then we can just hang… or watch something… or whatever.”

Azzi smiled, warmth spreading through her at the sight of Paige, who was usually so confident, tripping over her words. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She paused, then added with a coy smile, “As long as I get to have you for dessert.”

Paige grinned, confident smirk slipping back on her face but masked by the red hue of her cheeks. “You read my mind. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Azzi whispered. “Night, P.” 

“Night, Az. Sleep tight.” 

The screen went dark, and Azzi set the phone on the nightstand, rolling onto her side. Sleep came easier this time, Paige’s voice lingering, displacing the bite of the loss just long enough to carry her there.

[ihrtpaige]

DELICATE. chapter seven

⠀☆ SYNOPSIS. pop sensation spencer mckenzie's life has long been flipped upside down when she finds herself in a mild internet beef with paige bueckers— but it's not like it's her fault. paige started it when she called her music "overrated" (like, who says that? about the daughter of a fellow uconn legend, no less.); she left spencer with no choice but to clap back. what she doesn’t expect is for paige to respond by tweeting an offer to take her on a date as her public "apology", or to run into her in–person at an event a week later, or to end up falling so damn hard. now spencer has to decide, fast: is she ready to let paige in and be in love again, or will she let the demons of her past take this away, too? after all, the whole world is watching.

contains. mostly smut and fluff, the rest is set up for the next part (sorry lol), spencer running los angeles

notes. surprise, bitch. bet you thought you'd seen the last of me (and spencer!). should i have included a gameplay scene to end this? probably. i tried but i just wasn't feeling it, and plus why would i re-traumatize y'all with dallas wings basketball? we move!

taglist. @wosolipa, @syraxsbigfanfr, @jieysiee, @enchantingesme, @faeriehwa, @cowboybueckers, @everyonewatchesuconnwbb, @babe0601, @sillystarv, @avvwritesstufff, @merlinsthebest, @bueckers-citron521 ( tysm for reading ♡ if you'd like to be added comment or send an ask! )

word count. 5.55k

six months ago, if you told spencer that she’d be waking up happy— like, actually happy— she would’ve laughed in your face. or maybe cried. or both.

but here she is.

it’s been two weeks since she flew back from dallas, and things are… good. suspiciously good. the kind of good that makes her want to knock on wood, cross herself, and maybe offer up a living sacrifice just to make sure the universe doesn’t smite for for it.

she keeps thinking that one of these days, it’s all going to come crashing down. something will take a turn for the worse, and she’ll end up back where she started, in that dark, lonely place— but no. spencer just keeps waking up and finding that every day is better than the last.

she’s finally figured out and finalized the new choreography for into you, right in time for her first festival appearance of the summer this saturday. she’s starting writing again without really even meaning to, scribbling lyrics onto napkins and humming melodies into her voice recorder app to save for later. her relationship with paige has leveled up to… whatever the next stage after “casually talking” is.

they still haven’t actually, like, talked about it.

it’s not worth trying to deny anymore: spencer likes paige. a lot. maybe even more than she should, for the relatively short amount of time they’ve known each other. but it feels mutual.

ask anyone else, and they’d say that what they’re doing would already be considered dating. diego says they’re “soooo together— like, it’s giving girlfriends.” leela, on the other hand, is firm in the belief that until they verbally confirm it, then it’s just a situationship.

whatever it is, it’s good. it’s easy. and spencer would like for it to stay that way.

the only teeny, tiny problem is that she still hasn’t told paige about seeing cam.

she knows she should just bring it up, get it over with, move forward. she’s thought about it, but every time she tries to imagine how that conversation would go— the look of confusion that is bound to cross paige’s face, the inevitable series of questions, the follow–up why didn’t you tell me sooner?— she decides that maybe the best way to be honest is to just… not lie.

and not lying is basically the same thing as telling the truth. right?

besides, it’s not like anything happened. she didn’t hug or kiss him. she didn’t even cry. they sat on the couch, drank water, talked, and then he left. in this day and age, in this city, where fucking your ex is practically an essential step in the healing process, falling after expression and release and sending you right back to square one, it’s like he never even came over at all.

and like she said, things with paige are too good to mess up. the way paige looks at her, even from the glitching screen of a facetime call, makes her feel soft and seen in a way fame never has. she can’t risk that over something that doesn’t even matter anymore. so, she keeps it to herself.

it’s fine. totally fine. her conscience is crystal clear.

at least, that’s what spencer tells herself as she unlocks her front gate. she doesn’t stay to watch it slide open from the security monitor. instead, she runs over to the front door, almost tumbling as her socks slide against the smooth hardwood flooring, unlocks and pulls it open.

paige is standing at the end of her driveway, a bouquet in one hand and backpack on her shoulder, the uber spencer had ordered to pick her up from the team hotel disappearing down the street behind her. she seems caught up in taking in the house, neck craned back as she gawks at the sheer size of it, until she sees spencer. her blue eyes go wide, a grin stretching across her face, rivaling the width of her arms as they stretch out, beckoning spencer in for a hug.

spencer’s heart skips a beat. then, she’s sprinting out of the doorway to meet paige, leaping up into her waiting arms, legs wrapping around her waist. the taller girl clutches her close and laughs softly without dropping the flowers.

spencer can feel it— the laughter rumbling throughout paige’s chest, the excited pace of her heart, the warmth radiating from her body. it fills her with delight so great it can’t be contained, bubbling out of spencer in the form of laughter, as well. she nuzzles her face further into paige’s shoulder, breathes in the scent of cologne and clean laundry, and says, “i missed you.”

paige squeezes her once more before setting her back on her feet, hands lingering at spencer’s waist like she isn’t quite ready to let go yet. “missed you, too, mama,” paige says, voice low in a way that shoots straight down spencer’s spine. she’d almost forgotten what she sounded like without a phone between them.

she hands spencer the bouquet almost sheepishly, “these are for you.” she smiles.

the roses are a soft, luminous pink, their petals unfurling in gentle spirals. the outer edges fade paler, almost blush–colored, while the centers deepen into a warmer hue, velvet–rich and smooth. they’re wrapped in translucent paper that crackles faintly between her fingers, tied off with a satin ribbon the color of champagne.

she tilts them slightly. they smell clean and faintly sweet, like something fresh and hopeful.

“this is so sweet, thank you,” spencer’s hand slides down to paige’s, holding it, and she can’t suppress her grin for even a second. “come inside.” she says, tugging the girl toward the house.

she drops paige’s hand to shut and lock the door behind them, and walking in ahead of her to find a vase for the flowers. paige takes a few steps forward, sneakers whispering against the pale stone floors. her head tilts back slightly, eyes tracing the high ceilings, the warm wood panels, the clean lines of architecture.

she leaves paige alone for a moment and returns with the flowers in a tall, glass vase, setting it down next to a framed bay photo of her and her brother. when she steps back, the contrast almost startles her. the arrangement glows against the muted pallet of stone, glass, and pale wood, a sudden, living softness.

there’s something slightly disorienting about paige— all long limbs and casual athleisure, blonde hair pulled into that messy bun spencer has come to love— in the midst of the home’s sharp, curated minimalism. the afternoon light pours through the wall of glass ahead, bathing everything in gold. paige move towards it instinctively, like gravity itself is pulling her there. spencer trails her slowly, eyes never leaving the girl.

paige stops near the sunken area, turning in a slow circle. spencer knows exactly what she’s seeing: the sectional, the sculptural fireplace, the clean lines. the warm wood ceiling trying— valiantly, unsuccessfully— to soften the otherwise stark geometry.

then, she sees the windows, drifting over to them to take in the view of los angeles from the hills.

outside, the pool stretches out in a clean blue line, a lawn of impossibly green and perfectly manicured grass behind it. beyond it, the city sprawls, hazy and sun–washed, buildings stacked on buildings, a view worth millions. it’s still daytime, the light too bright to be romantic, but it’s impressive all the same.

“holy shit,” paige murmurs, a hand on the glass.

spencer leans against the window near her, arms crossingly loosely. “yeah. it looks better at night.”

“i bet,” paige tilts her head, squinting like she’s trying to decipher what buildings are what from miles and miles away. “you can see, like… everything.”

spencer smiles, gaze flicking instinctively around the room. the house is objectively stunning, styled to perfection, maintained by people spencer pays to keep it that way. yet, looking through paige’s eyes, she sees it the way outsiders might: beautiful and impressive, but perhaps a little too pristine, like a place meant to be admired instead of inhabited.

paige doesn’t seem to notice any of that, though. or maybe she does and doesn’t care. she just turns to spencer, grinning widely, saying, “yo, this would be a sick place to throw a party.”

spencer snorts at just how paige the statement is. “didn’t you get enough of that in college?” spencer jokes, recalling the myriad of stories paige has told her about her uconn days during their facetime calls. she knows all about ted’s and paige’s love for spiked shirley temples and weed and all the antics she’d get into with her teammates under the influence of both. party p, she’d called herself.

paige shrugs, unapologetic. “never.”

spencer’s late teens and earlier twenties had been similar, even though she didn’t go to college. yachts and mansions instead of tiny college town bars, stronger drinks and party favors, cameron and taissa right beside her at all times. she never got a fun nickname, either.

but being the newest, youngest, hottest thing in hollywood was fun. staying out clubbing until three in morning, throwing exclusive parties everyone wanted an invite to, fans online sharing the pictures for weeks after… all of that used to be exciting.

“here me out—” paige spreads her arms like she’s sketching it in the air, turning back toward the living room. “good music, lights everywhere, people dancing. get a dj in the corner, bartenders on the patio, the pool lit up. it’d be insane.”

spencer hasn’t thrown a party here in over a year— if it’s not work related, she barely even goes out— but listening to paige talk is unearthing old memories, some reminding her that not everything that happened before last summer was bad. she’d been happy in it, at one point.

spencer clears her throat, shaking the thought loose before it can settle too deeply. “as thrilling as your fantasy of ‘pool full of drunk idiots sounds’… our food’s getting cold. you hungry?”

paige sighs gratefully, “i’m starving.”

paige makes this face while she eats like she’s legitamately angry at how good the food is, her brows furrowed together. spencer thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“look, l.a.’s already changing you and your horrible eating habits,” spencer teases, reaching out to wipe sauce from the corner of paige’s lip with her thumb. she’s perched atop the kitchen island with her own plate on her lap, the porcelain still warm against her thighs.

sitting beside her on a stool, with her plate on the counter, paige shakes her head. “this is so good.”

spencer smiles, “i’ll make sure to tell the chef you think so.”

“chef? i thought you made this,” paige raises an eyebrow at her.

spencer snorts. “definitley not. i had a guy come over before your plane landed,” she explains. “he’s the actual best. super hard to get, too, because everyone loves him.”

paige nods. “so, you just had some dude in your house?” she questions.

her tone is light, obviously just teasing, but spencer still feels something hot spike in her chest. it’s the same feeling she’d get when was a teenager and she knew she did something wrong, like sneak in after missing curfew or hide a bad grade, and her mother would call her downstairs for some mundane reason the next day. even though she knew that, realistically, there was no way her mom could have figured her out, she’d still feel sick with the anxiety of being caught that wouldn’t subside until she got downstairs and saw that she was still in the clear.

though, the relief never lasted long. much like her own now, the family home was covered in security cameras and she went to a pricey private school, where her teachers and counselors were constantly in correspondence with her parents. she couldn’t avoid the consequences of her actions for long.

“in my kitchen, yeah,” spencer replies, keeping her voice even. “cooking for you.”

“nah, still. it’s the principle.”

spencer’s heartrate kicks. she takes a sip of her wine. “he’s fifty, paige.” she deadpans.

“that’s worse,” the blue–eyed girl doubles down. she takes spencer’s plate from her hands, setting it down on the counter with a soft click, so she can slide between her legs, grinning up at her.

“and married. with kids.” spencer adds. her arms instantly move up to paige’s shoulders, looping loosely around her neck.

“when’s that ever stopped anybody?” paige goes on, hands easily finding their way to spencer’s thighs as she leans in close, warm breath fanning against spencer’s neck as she speaks lowly. “pretty as you are? i bet he thinks about it all the time, touching you like this,” she pulls spencer closer so that their bodies meet in a single quick motion, smirking. “probably waiting for you to let him fuck you right here, on this counter.”

then, paige’s lips are pressing to spencer’s throat, kissing along the skin, and spencer shudders, “s–shut up, that’s so gross,” her voice is weak as her head lolls backward, whimpering when she feels paige suck at her pulse.

“s’true,” paige says, kissing up along spencer’s jaw. “so fine, everyone wants to fuck you.”

spencer laughs softly. “oh, that’s rich coming from you.” she slides her hand up the back of paige’s neck, entwines her fingers into her hair and pulls insistently, wrenching paige’s head back so that she can mash their lips together. paige makes a small, involuntary noise before kissing her back.

their tongues entwine messily, lips smacking together. one of paige’s hands comes up to cup spencer’s jaw, just as spencer’s legs tighten around her waist, pulling her in, leaving no space between them. it steals the air from spencer’s lungs, makes her head spin as paige nips at her bottom lip.

“mm, i think i’m ready for dessert,” paige smirks when they part to breathe, but there’s an edge to her tone that tells spencer she means it. actually wants to eat her alive. the way she’s looking at her right now— eyes dark, like a predator to prey— sends a jolt of heat straight to spencer’s core. “you gon’ give it to me, ma?”

after two weeks of getting off to pictures and videos and the sound of paige’s voice from the end of a phone call? it is, frankly, a stupid question. “paige, if you don’t fuck me right now, i will literally kick you out of my house.” spencer replies, short of breath.

paige can’t hold back her laughter at the light–hearted threat. “yeah? you need that?” she asks with the most smug grin on her face.

spencer rolls her eyes. “come on, please,” she begs, making her voice whiny enough that paige won’t be able to resist.

it works. paige connnects their lips again, this time letting her fingers find the waistband of spencer’s shorts, tugging them down. spencer lifts her hips, helping her get them down her legs. her panties come down next, shivering at the cool air hits her skin. paige pulls away from the kiss to look down at spencer’s pussy, a soft groan escapining when she sees how wet she is.

just let that, paige is dropping to crouch down in front of the counter, positioning her face between spencer’s thighs. she loops her arms arms arounds her thighs, leans in, and drags her tongue through spencer’s folds, finally tasting her.

spencer’s body responds immediately, hips rolling forward, head tipping back, a soft moan floating past her parted lips. she watches paige start to lap at her with hooded eyes, the sight of the other blonde working diligently between her thighs mesmerizing in itself.

paige is just too good. she flicks her tongue over spencer’s clit before sucking on it, her mouth hot and wet and so fucking tight around the bundle of nerves, spencer can’t help but let out a high–pitched whine. then, she slips her tongue down into spencer’s entrance, repeatedly thrusting the muscles as far inside as she can manage.

spencer’s eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the feeling, a stream of soft gasps and moans leaving her lips. she can already feel that tightness coiling in the pit of her stomach, way too soon. she’s almost relieved when paige’s mouth detaches from her pussy, the feeling simmering down until all she feels is a dull warmth and pressure, cunt clenching as if protesting the loss of contact.

then, one of paige’s fingers is working its way into her, pushing into the slick heat. “missed this pussy so much, baby,” she tells her, lips glistening with a mixture of saliva and arousal, dripping down her chin. she starts to pump in and out, working against the resistance. “you don’t even know.”

spencer nearly loses her balance, palms sliding against the countertop, a moan ripping from her throat as paige’s fingers plunge into her. thankfully, the strength of paige’s one hand on her hip is enough to keep her in place, fucking into her deeply, not missing a beat. “fuck,” spencer gasps, walls clenching around her. “that’s so— so good. don’t stop, please.”

“yeah? like it when i stretch that tight pussy out?” she adds another finger, sliding the ring in alongside the middle, and curls them both upward.

the words are so vulgar, they make spencer blush. she nods mindlessly, and then paige hits that spot. “right there, oh my god,” one of her hands fly out, grasping onto paige’s shoulder and twisting into the soft cotton of her t–shirt. paige takes the instruction, pressing in hard, massaging that spongy patch of flesh, and spencer just about sobs.

“i know, mama,” paige husks, all the muscles and veins in her arm flexing as angles her wrist, gaze locked on spencer’s face, watching her fall apart with satisfaction. “taking it so good, make it so easy for me.”

she can feel herself pulsing around paige over and over again, almost like she’s sucking her in, desperate for release. she gasps, “oh— i’m close,”

“c’mon, give it to me,” paige encourages her. “know you can do it. been thinking about this all week, baby— let me have it.”

“paige,” spencer whimpers, again and again, incapable of producing thoughts of anything else, nothing but her fingers and her tongue and just her— just paige. “paige, please,” she babbles, not even knowing what she’s asking for.

paige leans back in, runs her tongue over her clit, shaking her head from side to side as she continues fucking her with her fingers, and that’s all it takes. spencer falls apart right there on the counter, body tensing while her pussy spasms violently around paige’s fingers.

for a second it’s like she’s not even in her own body, her vision whiting out and ears ringing. when she comes back down, she’s been reduced to shivers and paige is slowly retracting her fingers, mouth glistening with the evidence of spencer’s orgasm.

paige stands upright and lifts her hand, offering up her slick fingers, cunt pulsing as she watches her fingertips disappear into spencer’s mouth, pink lips wrapping around the digits. paige can’t help but groan, pushing them in deeper.

“good girl,” she coos, tucking a lock of spencer’s hair behind her ear, then cupping her cheek with her hand. “got me so fucking wet.” she murmurs before leaning in and kissing her hungrily.

the admission has spencer shivering, arousal renewed and flaring, and she breaks the kiss off early. “upstairs,” she urges breathily.

they get to the second floor of spencer’s house, stumble into her bedroom, tear each other’s clothes off at record speed, and then they’re in her bed— spencer on paige’s lap, attached at the mouth as they grind their pussies together.

paige has both hands on her hips, holding tight enough to bruise, fingers kneading the flesh of her ass. every time she drags spencer’s hips down, she bucks her own upward, their cunts meeting seamlessly, slick and hot. any sensitivity spencer may have felt has already subsided, melted into white–hot pleasure that shoots throughout her core.

she chases it, rolling her hips down with purpose. paige pulls away from the kiss to let out a soft groan. she looks gorgeous like this; her cheeks are flushed, sweat drips down her face, lips swollen and smudged with spencer’s lip combo. spencer lets her eyes trail down from her collarbones, to her abdomen (which is covered in fresh hickeys), down to where their bodies meet— both of their pussies pink and wet, thin strings of mixed arrival keeping them attached on every upbeat.

spencer can’t stop herself from moving one of her arms from around paige’s neck to reach between them, kneading her breasts and smoothing over her abs, then slipping lower until her fingers find paige’s clit. the pace of paige’s thrusting falters, a curse leaving her mouth as spencer starts to rub her in messy circles.

paige quickly recovers, moving her hips again. “missed you so fucking much, shit,” she says in between pants, the words practically whispered. then, she leans in, dipping her head down to circle her tongue around one of spencer’s nipples before sucking it into her mouth harshly.

“oh, my— fuck.” spencer lets out a keening moan, shoving her face into paige’s shoulder. overwhelmed by the sensation of their swollen clits grinding together and paige tongue swirling around her nipple, she bites into paige’s trapezius muscle, eyes screwing shut. the blonde hisses in pleasure, shuddering against her.

paige is getting close, spencer can tell, but she’s also holding back. her stomach twitches, and she tries to slow the pace of her hips in an attempt to stave off her orgasm and prolong the feeling, pulling off spencer’s breast and gritting her teeth.

spencer herself is teetering at the edge, the heat in her stomach coiling so tight, it could snap at any moment. suddenly, the thing only her mind is getting paige to finish right along with her. she quickens the pace of her fingers on her clit while her tongue trails from paige’s shoulder to her neck. “c’mon, p,” she whispers, sucking just below her ear. she pinches paige’s clit and mewls, “cum with me,” mouthing along paige’s jaw, leaving open–mouthed kisses. “please, i’m almost there. wanna feel you.”

that’s what does it for paige, pushing her over the edge. she moans brokenly as her orgasm hits her, hips jerking on their own accord. it triggers spencer’s, clutching onto paige as she rides it out, her body trembling.

paige falls back, pullin spencer with her, and they lay like that for a while, taking time to steady their breathing, basking in the feeling of being completely sated. paige’s skin is warm and damp with sweat, the sound of her heart beating steadily strangely grounding. like a metronome.

“you’re an asshole,” paige says, finally, her voice raspy, and spencer laughs.

paige rubs one of her hands up and down spencer’s back soothingly, and it isn’t until she stops that spencer glances up to find her dozing off. she lifts her head from paige’s chest, looking out of her bedroom window to see that the sky outside is a deep indigo, the city only just waking up hundreds of feet away.

“paige, wake up.” spencer says, shaking her gently, even though she can feel her own eyelids getting heavy. they only have the rest of tonight and tomorrow to spend together, and then paige is flying back to texas. spencer’s schedule is packed until the end of july. she doesn’t want to waste any time when they probably won’t be seeing each other anytime soon after this.

paige’s blue eyes peel open, her dark eyelashes fanning as she blinks tiredly. a lazy smile spreads across her face when her vision clears and she sees spencer.

spencer’s heart aches in that impossibly fond way again, but cruelly, only one thought surfaces in her brain.

tell her.

it would be so easy to just say it now. i saw my ex, nothing happened. it’d still be late, and paige would still have questions, but at least it’d be out of the way.

spencer takes that thought, puts it into a box, and shoves it into the farthest, darkest corner of her mind. later, she tells herself. right now, this is all she wants. paige’s skin on hers, looking at her like that, like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

instead, she leans in to press a soft kiss to paige’s lips, which the other girl eagerly returns. “we should shower.”

spencer threads their fingers together, leads paige to the bathroom, and they run the water for a good forty minutes. she lets paige lather her skin with bodywash, most of the attention focused on her breasts, kneading and squeezing and teasing her nipples with her thumbs. then, she pushes paige up against the tile walls, drops to her knees, and sinks her tongue into her.

spencer has to be high.

that’s the one logical explanation for what she’s thinking right now. only the influence of hard drugs could have her seriously considering cancelling the reservations she made for them at nobu to instead throw a house party.

it was the first thing that came to mind when she woke up this morning, after staying up all night with paige in her home theatre, snuggled together on one of the cushions. she’d laid there, looking at paige’s restful features while she was still sleeping, and then a lightbulb switched on inside her brain. this would be a sick place to throw a party.

now, standing in front of her bathroom mirror, waiting for her curling iron to heat up after doing her makeup, she’s already mentally sorted through the logistics. pulling something like this together wouldn’t just be possible— it’d be easy. all it would take is a few calls: her house staff, a catering team, someone to handle lighting, a bartender. by time they get back from the game, the place could be transformed. leela and diego would jump at the chance to help, happily handling the guests list and whatever dj owes either of them a favor. paige would love it.

that’s what matters most. paige having fun, enjoying her time here, knowing that spencer would give her anything she asks for just to make her happy.

“whatchu over there thinking about?” paige asks from where she’s perched at the edge of spencer’s bed, hair already up in a bun and dressed to head out, scrolling on her phone while she waits for spencer to finish getting ready. they’ll probably stop by erewhon for breakfast before she has to be at practice.

spencer pauses, considering running the idea by her, but then stops herself— a surprise party would be even better. “nothing,” she replies instead, shrugging. “just you.”

“oh, yeah?”

“mhm. about how you better win today.” she says, and paige snorts. “you know i haven’t rooted for a team that isn’t from l.a. since i moved here, right? i even rep the dodgers when they play my brother. i’m putting a lot of fatih in you.”

“well, keep talking like that and you’ll jinx us.” paige complains, standing from the bed and joining spencer in the bathroom.

she comes to stand behind her, placing her hands on her waist and resting her chin on her shoulder, and spencer scrunches her nose, meeting her eyes in the mirror. spencer relaxes into her touch, letting paige plant a kiss on cheek.

and just like that— the decision is made. there’ll be another time for a nice dinner. nobu can wait.

spencer smiles to herself. tonight is going to be fun.

“i’ll see you later, okay?”

paige doesn’t realize she’s pouting until spencer softly chides her. “don’t be like that. i’m gonna be back for the game. it’s only a few hours.”

paige knows that. in fact, it’s what she’d been looking forward to most about being in los angeles, other than being with spencer intimately— seeing her sitting courtside while she’s on the court, watching paige play, cheering her on. but after they’ve spent the past twelve or so hours practically living in each other’s skin, following two weeks apart in different states, a few hours sounds like a lifetime.

“i’mma miss you, though,” paige says, truthfully, reaching across the center console of spencer’s car to intwine their fingers. they’re parked near the private entrance for players outside of crypto arena, after getting overpriced smoothies for breakfast. the team bus arrived a few minutes ago, her teammates and coaching staff filing out.

that makes spencer laugh softly, the harsh sunlight that’s streaming in through the windshield making the flecks of green in her eyes shimmer like emeralds. “you’re so cute,” she says, tone laden with affection. “but seriously, you’ve got practice and i have— things to do.”

she’s right and paige knows it. she’s just stalling. “a’ight. but don’t be late.” she concedes, finally, with a sigh.

“i promise i won’t,” spencer says sweetly, then leans over the console to press a soft kiss to paige’s lips. “now, get out of my car.”

paige grins the whole way from grabbing her bag out of the backseat to walking from the tunnel to the locker room, because how could she be in anything other than a great mood when her day started like that?

she’s even happy to be doing media right now. standing around to interact with the press has never exactly been fun, and with the wings’ recent string of losses, the whole process has started to feel grating, having to come up with reasonable answers to shady questions on the spot. she’s spent the past ten minutes smiling and cracking jokes with the reporters, standing near the court in her practice jersey.

“paige, switching gears a bit—” a woman in a salmon–colored blouse says, and paige nods. “there’s been a lot of fan interest in your relationship with singer spencer mckenzie. you’ve been interacting a lot lately. is there anything you want to share about that?”

for half a second, paige’s smile freezes.

it’s so small, the reporters probably don’t even notice and hopefully the cameras don’t catch it. but paige’s brain trips over itself, because there is so much she has to say.

she wants to smile, roll her eyes, and say something cheeky like yeah, she’s my girl, isn’t she amazing? because she is. she wants to tell them spencer has a fancy dinner planned for them tonight. she wants to talk about the way even her laugh sounds like music and her late–night shower thought voice memos and how she beautiful she is, through and through.

but then she remembers the morning in dallas, after the bar, when the photos had leaked. how spencer’s hands had shaken when she checked her phone, how she couldn’t look paige in the eye. the fear, the hesitation. paige had told herself she understood, but it’s been sitting somewhere deep and small ever since, waiting to grow teeth.

so, instead, she smiles politely.

“oh,” paige says lightly, almost laughing. “yeah, should’ve figured this was coming.”

a ripple of amused chuckles moves across the small crowd of reporters. paige shifts her weight, easy, casual, slipping into the version of herself was taught to present under cameras— shoulders relaxed, charming smile, unbothered tone. “spencer’s great, super talented,” she says. “we’re good friends.”

the words taste bitter in her mouth, but she keeps speaking. “we’ve just been hanging out when our schedules line up. nothing too interesting.”

the reporter nods, sensing there isn’t anything juicier coming. “so, the dating rumors…?”

paige shakes her head with a soft laugh. “people love to connect dots.”

there’s another beat as the reporters exchange looks and scribble notes down, another chance to say something real, but paige doesn’t take it. “i’m just focused on basketball right now,” she adds smoothly. “tryna help my team turn things around.”

the answer is exactly what it needs to be: perfect, polished, and unassailable.

but as the reporters move on to the next question— returning to the topic of basketball, thank god— paige’s smile just feels a little more placed, like something she’s holding up instead of wearing.

she stands there for a few minutes, politely answering questions, but when it’s over and she’s heading back to the locker room to get changed into her away game jersey, she can’t seem to get past it.

good friends.

saying it felt wrong, like telling a lie, but when paige actually thinks about it, it isn’t untrue. they haven’t even gotten close to defining anything.

but what they have… it doesn’t feel like friendship or just fun a hook–up. when spencer’s voice goes soft and sleepy in paige’s ears, when she kisses her like she means it— it feels like something paige is already in, too deep to untangle.

paige swallows. if spencer wanted something serious… wouldn’t she have said said so by now? paige certainly hasn’t— not out of hesitation, but the same quiet, gnawing fear she’s been trying to avoid thinking about since she landed in california. the fear that if she actually said it— i’m falling for you, i want this, i want you— spencer might freeze up again.

or worse, pull away completely.

[claymoresword]

Take Me Apart

Maddy Perez x Rue Bennett

Summary: Maddy and Rue get caught up in each other's desires while on their way to a birthday dinner.

Pairing: Maddy x Rue

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: non-traditional omegaverse, adult maddy and rue, smut, car sex, blowjobs, breeding kink (in theory), alpha rue bennett, omega maddy perez

Note: hello, this one shot might feel kinda random and maybe no one will even click on this but my brainrot for these two just randomly resurfaced one day when i saw those season 3 bts pics on twitter, ifykyk. anyway, i haven't written smut for awhile so i'm kinda rusty, but hopefully this is enjoyable anyway! ok bye, love y'all

Do support me on ko-fi if you'd like: Tip Jar

“Shit– yeah, this was a bad idea.” Rue mumbles aloud to herself as she barely manages to climb over the fence to Maddy's backyard.

She struggles for a moment before finally mustering the strength to hoist herself over the barrier, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Rue takes a moment to catch her breath, smoothing out her blazer simultaneously. As she kicks the gravel beneath her feet, a wicked idea comes to her.

The alpha soon bends down to grab a handful of gravel off the ground before silently making her way around her girlfriend's property.

Once she spots Maddy's bedroom window, Rue picks out one of the rocks, adjusting it in her other hand. She flings her arm backwards and then forwards, simultaneously letting the piece of gravel fly out of her hand.

The small rock makes contact with the window as planned, and Rue smiles triumphantly, endeavouring to throw another one.

She does exactly that, and then again, until a familiar face finally emerges behind the glass panel.

Maddy’s scowl just barely manages to conceal her amusement as she opens her window.

Rue meets her girlfriend's glare with a grin, and the omega merely rolls her eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Maddy scoffs, yet the alpha's smile doesn't falter, she merely shrugs innocently.

“Come on, we're going to be late.” Is all Rue utters in response, and she watches as Maddy nods, swiftly gesturing with her hand as she speaks. “Front door.”

Rue quickly follows her girlfriend's orders, making her way around to greet Maddy at the front of the house.

-

The alpha can hardly help the way her breath catches in her throat as her girlfriend emerges from her home. She takes in Maddy's long, dark hair as it falls loosely past her shoulders, and the black cocktail dress she's decided to wear tonight that perfectly compliments her figure.

Just the sight alone manages to cause a stirring within Rue’s pants. Embarrassed, she reaches down to discreetly adjust herself before uncomfortably clearing her throat.

Maddy finally turns to her after shutting the front door, and when her eyes settle upon Rue, her expression twists to one of concern. “What?”

Rue stuffs one hand inside her pocket, a forced effort to seem unfazed. As she meets Maddy's stare however, she decides to simply utter her thoughts aloud. “Nothing, you just look really fucking sexy– that's what.”

Maddy, now no longer concerned, rests her handbag on her shoulder as she saunters towards the alpha.

Rue fixates on the way Maddy's hips swayed as she approached, but her attention quickly shifts when she feels the omega's hand run up her chest, feeling the fabric of her blazer before finding the nape of her neck.

“You say that every time.” Maddy remarks, her gaze falls to Rue's lips instinctively, and she observes the way her girlfriend looks at her in a similar way.

“Well, I mean it everytime.” Rue replies, her arm gladly wrapping around the shorter woman’s waist, pulling Maddy closer.

“I know you do.” The omega decides with a smirk, her lips now mere inches away from Rue's.

Rue acknowledges the maddening sensation of Maddy's long fingernails against her neck, and she only lets another heartbeat pass before she chooses to eliminate the gap between them. She captures the omega's lips with her own for a deep, open mouthed kiss.

The way Rue's warm tongue expertly slips into her mouth, pulls a light moan from Maddy. The kiss continues and swiftly escalates; the alpha steps closer, their bodies now flush against each other. Maddy's mouth soon opens wider with a gasp as she feels her girlfriend's hardness pressing up against her thigh.

This nearly causes her knees to buckle– she's suddenly grateful for the way Rue manages to easily support her weight with a firm hand on her lower back.

Maddy allows their tongues to massage each other for a moment longer before she gathers the strength to push the alpha away slightly, with a hand against her chest. “Baby–”

“We'll be late. Kat's probably already waiting.” Maddy attempts reason, but the way Rue is looking at her nearly makes her regret her words.

The taller woman appears like a starved animal, ready to rip her to shreds; and the thought excites Maddy more than she'd like to admit.

“You'll have me later.” She now attempts a counter offer, placing a chaste kiss upon Rue's lips, as though sealing a promise.

As Maddy reaches up to wipe away the residue of lip gloss she left around Rue's mouth, she feels her girlfriend's hold on her loosen ever so slightly, as though only just regaining her bearings, the alpha nods in agreement. “Right– fine, let's go.”

Rue tugs on Maddy’s arm, their fingers intertwined reflexively as they make their way towards the alpha's 1977 Ford F150.

Rue guides her girlfriend towards the passenger side of the truck, only letting go of Maddy's hand to open the car door for her.

“My lady,” Rue says in an exaggerated voice, and she earns a giggle from Maddy, she watches as her girlfriend curtsies in a girlish fashion before responding.

“Why, thank you, my love.” The omega responds in a similarly playful tone before finally climbing into the truck.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Most of the journey to the restaurant was done in silence, and Maddy can't seem to shake the feeling that's been gnawing at her since they left her house.

As she watches Rue drive, her mind turns to the moment they shared earlier; Maddy's lips still tingling with the remnants of her girlfriend's attention.

The desire to not be late to dinner now feels irrelevant as she notices the way Rue's erection is still straining against the fabric of her slacks.

Maddy senses a desperate ache in her core as she imagines being filled by the alpha, taking Rue's cock deep inside of her, right here in the truck.

The idea makes her so horny, she can hardly sit still.

*

As the vehicle halts at a stop light, Maddy doesn't hold back the urge any longer. She extends her arm, boldly palming Rue's cock over her pants.

The alpha's body jolts at the sudden gesture– she glances at Maddy in confusion.

“It'll– fuck–” Rue tries to speak, but the way Maddy is massaging her dick with such dexterity makes it almost impossible for her to think clearly.

“It'll go away eventually–” She manages at last, pushing her foot onto the gas pedal as the light turns green.

Rue struggles to keep her eyes on the road as she feels the omega work at unclasping her belt, before slipping one hand inside of her slacks to grasp the base of her cock.

“I don't want it to go away..” Maddy finally admits, soon reaching over with her other hand to tug on Rue's pants, allowing the alpha's cock to spring free.

Maddy lets out a light groan at the sight, the alpha's shaft stands stiff at attention, so large the tip of it nearly touches her belly button.

Rue always felt so good in her hand, and the way the alpha's cock twitches in response to her touch makes Maddy's cunt clench desperately around nothing.

The omega let's go of Rue's cock for a moment to lick her own palm, once Maddy considers it sufficiently lubricated enough, she grips the other woman's member once more, stroking it at a steady pace.

“Maddy–” Rue utters in a strained voice. She quickly glances down at the way Maddy is pumping her shaft, before turning her head to look at her.

“Hush. eyes on the road.” Maddy orders sternly, and Rue isn't given much opportunity to contest before she notices her girlfriend unbuckling her own seatbelt.

Maddy stops stroking the alpha's length, but Rue is not left wanting for long as the absence of her girlfriend's hand is quickly replaced by her mouth.

A strangled moan slips past the alpha's lips as Maddy begins to suck eagerly on her cock.

Rue focuses her energy on not crashing the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Still, she can hardly help the way her body responds to the omega's efforts.

Maddy moans in response to her girlfriend's noises of pleasure, she continues breathing through her nose as she bobs her head to take more and more of her alpha into her mouth.

Her eyes are now watering, but she does not wish to stop. Instead, Maddy continues to lay her tongue flat against Rue's large shaft, lowering herself until the tip of the alpha cock pushes into her throat.

“God– fuck–” She hears Rue grunt, and this urges Maddy to take her in even deeper.

The car suddenly comes to a stop, and the alpha’s hand falls from the steering wheel to grasp a handful of Maddy's dark hair.

Rue purposefully holds the omega in place, and Maddy takes that as a sign to swallow around her alpha's cock.

This appears to have the intended effect as the alpha groans once more, and her grip loosens, allowing Maddy to pull back slightly. With another strangled grunt, Rue finally finds release in her girlfriend's mouth.

Maddy whimpers in contentment as the alpha's warm seed coats the back of her throat and her tongue. The taste of her girlfriend has always been intoxicating, the omega's eyes flutter shut in an effort to savour it.

Then, Maddy lets the alpha's cock fall out her mouth as she swallows. Lifting her head, her eyes meet Rue's once again.

“My gorgeous girl.. you drive me crazy.” Rue praises as she cups the omega's cheek.

Maddy preens at the alpha's words, she reaches up to clutch Rue’s tie, tugging her closer before crashing their lips together.

They kiss for a while, and they only stop when the omega breaks away with a plea. “Please, fuck me–” Maddy finds herself saying.

She observes the way Rue hesitates at her request, and it is only then that Maddy takes in her surroundings; they have since pulled into the restaurant's parking lot.

The omega holds Rue’s face in both her hands, desperately urging the alpha to keep all attention on her. “That can wait–”

“Please.. I'm so wet for you.” Maddy avows as she guides Rue's hand in between her thighs. She spreads her legs wider, allowing the alpha to feel her soaked panties.

Rue groans at the contact, her hand moves to blindly tug on the hem of Maddy's underwear. “Fuck. take them off.”

Maddy's stomach tightens in anticipation as she swiftly does as her alpha asks. Whilst removing her panties she watches as Rue pulls her slacks further down to her knees, her cock now fully erect once more.

Although, before they can do much else, the alpha is seen busying herself with the glove compartment directly in front of her; she rummages through it for something.

Maddy quickly grows impatient, she is aching to feel Rue inside of her– she needs it so badly she could scream. “What are you looking for?”

“Condoms.” Rue explains, and it only makes the omega sigh.

She reaches over only to slam the glove compartment shut, not allowing Rue a moment to contest it before she maneuvers herself to straddle the alpha.

Her dress rides further up her thighs, and she takes advantage of their proximity, sitting down firmly on her girlfriend's lap.

*

Maddy braces her hands on Rue's shoulders as she begins to grind against the underside of the alpha's cock slowly, holding back another needy whimper that threatens to escape.

“What are you scared of?” Maddy decides to taunt– for the hell of it. “Don't you want to get me pregnant? I think I'd look sexy, my belly all swollen with your baby.”

Rue's hands remain resting on Maddy’s waist as her expression contorts into one of shock.

“Well– Uh–” The alpha attempts to speak but she only manages stuttered noises, and Maddy doesn't suppress her amusement.

“I'm just kidding, Rue.” She renders affectionately, threading her fingers through the alpha's hair as she continues to grind against her hardened shaft.

“I'll take Plan B later– we don't need a condom.” She assures simply, kissing Rue's cheek, and then her neck. All in an effort to persuade.

A shiver of excitement runs through her body as she feels the alpha responding to her touch, Rue's cock pulses against her.

“I want it inside me, please.” Maddy tries once more, and the alpha’s resolve finally shatters.

With a strangled grunt, she reaches in between their bodies to grip her own cock, quickly guiding the tip towards Maddy's entrance.

Rue doesn't allow another moment to pass before fully sheathing herself inside of the other woman, filling her to the hilt.

Maddy let's out a cry at the sudden sensation, and it is swiftly followed by a louder moan. The alpha's cock stretches her out so much it is painful– she can't get enough of the feeling.

“Ride it, baby.” Rue coaxes, and the feeling of her hands squeezing her ass harshly makes Maddy tremble with need once more.

She does as her alpha asks, lifting herself up until only the tip of Rue's shaft is inside of her before letting herself be filled once more.

Maddy does so repeatedly, her breathing grows louder and more ragged with every beat that passes.

“..so beautiful.” Rue praises breathlessly as she watches her girlfriend move against her lap, and Maddy only manages another whine in response. She throws her head back with a loud cry as the alpha's cock touches a particularly sensitive spot within her, again and again.

Rue takes the opportunity to pull down the omega's dress slightly to reveal her chest. As Maddy steadily approaches her release, the alpha leans in to take one of her breasts into her mouth.

Maddy releases a shaky moan at the sensation of her girlfriend keenly licking and sucking on her nipples. Her body swiftly responds to this in kind– the orgasm that washes over her is sudden and violent. It makes the omega tremble uncontrollably, her body falling forward against Rue's as she continues to relish in it.

“Fuck, Rue–” Maddy utters weakly into the crook of the alpha's neck, the feeling of Rue's fingers in her hair helps restore her to herself.

“I've got you, angel.” The alpha coos, and it makes Maddy's heart soar with affection and want.

She leans back slightly to kiss her girlfriend again, and Rue doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, their tongues reunite for a feverish embrace.

Maddy now becomes acutely aware of the hardened length still sheathed inside of her. As she resumes a slow motion with her hips, Rue lets out a low moan, pulling away from the kiss to mutter another curse.

Maddy continues grinding, the alpha's cock manages to hit every delicate part within her, repeatedly. It makes her weak, and already so close to a second orgasm.

She kisses Rue again, but this time it is sloppy and unpracticed, both women are now incoherent and panting heavily.

“I love you.. and your perfect dick– so much.” Maddy mutters, she holds the alpha close by the crook of her neck as she begins to move slightly faster.

"Fuck–” Rue says in response, her voice unsteady and strained. The indication of her nearing climax urges Maddy to continue, she bites the flesh on the alphas neck, deliberately leaving a mark before soothing it with her tongue.

“Maddy– I'm going to cum.” The alpha explains, rushed, as she tries to lift Maddy off her lap.

Her attempt is met with a whine of protest, the omega only holds onto her girlfriend tighter as a result, grinding harder against Rue's cock.

“No– I want to feel it. please. Fill me, alpha.” Maddy begs, punctuating her words by deliberately clenching around the other woman's girth.

That does it.

With another gasp and moan, Rue reaches her peak once again, this time releasing ropes of her thick, warm seed inside of the omega, filling her up just as she asked.

Maddy lets out a noise of contentment, the sight of Rue coming undone beneath her was addicting. She finally feels sated– how she had longed to be filled by her alpha tonight.

Rue is still panting heavily as she runs her fingers through Maddy's hair tenderly, urging her girlfriend to look at her.

A smile soon graces both of their features as their eyes meet. “I love you, so much.” Rue declares, and Maddy leans in to kiss her one more time before responding.

“I love you.”

[juumecca]

── .✦ HOUSE TOUR

pairing paige bueckers x fem!reader

description it’s your best friend adriana’s 24th birthday party in dallas, and of course you’re there by her side to celebrate. historically, when you and adriana party, the both of you go all out, so why would this situation be any different? tonight, you get plastered as usual. adriana’s boyfriend is there with her so you know she’ll get home okay, but she doesn’t trust uber. adriana asks paige to drive you home— she barely drank. paige doesn’t know you well, but being the saint she is, paige agrees to chauffeur you. when the both of you arrive at your house, you’ve sobered up quite a bit and you know exactly what you want.

includes 18+ smut, drunken sex, drinking (obvi), sex with a stranger, breast play, cunnilingus, paige wearing her strap outside, rough sex, dirty talk, paige being a little protective and nurturing, partying, strippers, i wrote paige sucking toes, you’re kinda a brat, teasing, begging, overstim, dacryphilia,

a/n btw i've never been to a big club, so like i hope this isn't too inaccurate i'm from a small town and all we have is bars!! also i apologize for my inconsistent layouts 🙁 just trying to find my style. this is somewhat based on "house tour" by sabrina carpenter. i’m actually like highkey worried this is TOO long

read my last fic

Since you met Adriana in your freshman year of college, the both of you have been attached at the hip. You’ve been together through failed exams, breakups, sleeping through alarms, and the best days ever. The both of you were so close to the point that you could bring one another home for family gatherings around the holidays.

This year there was another holiday you’d be spending together, but it wasn’t the kind you’d be spending with family. 

December 13th is Adriana’s 24th birthday, which is a huge deal already and she swears it’d be even bigger if it were her golden birthday. Adri says her 13th birthday didn’t exactly “count” given that she was thirteen and didn’t know what Casamigos or Kinky shooters were yet. 

This year, she wanted to go up. You didn’t entirely understand why she picked her 24th birthday to do this, but as her best friend you were supportive. Meaning: you helped her decide on a venue, outfit, hairstyle, makeup, the whole nine yards. The both of you had the mindset of “go big or go home.”

After all, you’d never turn down the opportunity to celebrate your best friend. You knew she had a long list of invitees including athletes, musicians, actors— anyone in the public eye that Adriana thought would be fun to party with.

You knew ahead of time that Dallas had a phenomenal clubbing scene and that a venue wouldn’t be hard to find. Ultimately, Adriana decided on Cobalt. You’d never been to this particular club before, but you also weren’t opposed. There was good food, good music, seating, and strippers (your favorite).

Adriana’s party is set to begin at 11:00 P.M. It’s 9:30 and the both of you are pre-gaming at your house while you get ready together. There’s music playing from your Bose speaker atop your dresser and the vibe is right. The playlist alone is transferring confidence to you. You sway along to it though you’re standing still as you beat your face in the bathroom. 

You feel undeniably sexy in a dress that you know is way too short and way too tight by every societal standard you’ve heard whispered in passing, but you can’t say you care because you feel damn good. The dress hugs your body like it was made with you in mind, clinging to every inch of your curves. It catches the light in a way that makes you look like you’re glowing instead of standing underneath your ceiling fan. 

There’s a candle lit that smells that nightlife vomited in your bedroom and the flame flickers faintly. Empty shot glasses are lined up like little trophies near the edge of your desk. There’s a half open bottle next to it accompanied by some cranberry juice. 

You adjust your dress for a third time even if you know it won’t get any longer. You tilt your head, observing your frame at every angle. There’s a buzz you feel that’s not even from the alcohol.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Adri calling your name, asking for your help with curling her hair. Her voice cuts through the base of the music. “Can you come here for a second? Me and this iron are about to fight and I’m going to lose.”

You laugh to yourself and drop your beauty blender on the counter top. You cross the threshold to the bedroom and are instantly released from the stuffiness of the bathroom, still warm with steam from your previous shower.

Adri’s waiting for you with a towel around her shoulders, hair half clipped-up and half falling down her back in long, dark waves. 

The iron hums in her hand and she looks at you with that pitiful look in her eyes, asking for help wordlessly. “I swear, my arms are tired and I’m not even halfway done.”

You chuckle and take the iron from her. You hold your hand up to it just to check the heat. She sits at your vanity. You section through her hair like tradition, and the silky strands nearly slip through your fingers. 

You begin to curl while Adri rambles. “I invited a few WNBA players.”

Humming, you respond. “Who? Anybody but Sophie Cunnigham, hopefully.”

Adri snorts and her reflection in the mirror rolls her eyes, “yeah, duh. A few of the Wings players. I’m really only close with their star rookie, but I thought "the more the merrier,” y’know?”

That sounds exactly like Adriana. She’d always been a socialite and extremely warm and welcoming which made her an excellent sports reporter. That’s part of the reason why she had the connections she did. She was charismatic and could get anyone to talk to her and feel comfortable. Honestly, you kinda think that if she wasn’t as extroverted as she was, the both of you wouldn’t be so close. It was like in college she decided she wanted to be friends with you and then never quit on the idea. 

You’re not shy, but half as bold as Adri is even when sober. She could walk in knowing nobody and leave with a list of phone numbers.

You twist another curl free and let it fall against her shoulder, watching it bounce in the mirror. 

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” she tags on. 

Instantaneously, you kiss your teeth. “Sure.”

Adri catches the tone immediately and raises her eyebrows. Her lips tug into a half-smile and you know she’s about to poke the bear. 

You clamp the iron around another section, the quiet hiss filling the space for a second before you answer. “Who in their right mind goes looking for love in the club? I’m not stupid, Adri.”

“You say that, but every time we go out, someone tries to talk to you, and you just ignore them.” She counters. “You pretend you don’t notice.”

“I don’t pretend.” That’s a lie.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. Adri leans back a little and nudges your hip with her shoulder. “You’re a lost cause.

You laugh under your breath, but that’s not the only thing there. You know there’s truth in what Adriana is saying. The mirror catches your eyes for a split second, and you drop them before Adri can read them. 

You let the curl drop, fingers lightly shaping as it cools. “It’s not that I don't want to meet someone,” you admit, quieter now. “I just don’t think it’s going to happen because some random night decided to be magical.”

Adri’s expression shifts, just a touch—less teasing, more thoughtful. “Sometimes random nights are exactly when things happen.”

You shrug, reaching for the next section of hair. “Or sometimes they’re just… nights.”

There’s a heavy silence between the two of you and you want to pinch yourself. It’s your best friend’s birthday and you’re being a Debby Downer. 

Quickly, you lighten up your tone. “Besides, I just don’t have time for that. You know I’m trying to be the next Naomi Campbell.”

Adri bursts out laughing, the sound bright and immediate, like you flipped a switch. “Oh, please.”

“I’m serious,” you insist, lifting your chin like you’re already walking a runway. “I’ve got a schedule. Castings, fittings, dramatic slow-motion exits from rooms. Romance doesn’t fit into my brand.”

She adjusts slightly on the chair and eyes you up and down in the mirror. “I mean,” she says, dragging out the words, “you already have the legs for it.”

You giggle, nearly dropping the curling iron.

After helping Adri zip up the back of her dress and giving yourself a once over in the mirror, the both of you are ready to leave. You look like someone straight out of a music video and sent to bless reality with fantasy. 

Her boyfriend, Ismael, is the DD for the night and the both of you secluded him to the living room for the entire time that the both of you got ready. He scrolled dutifully through his phone while waiting for the two of you. You can hear the low murmur of the TV through the door, some late-night sports recap that he’s half-watching.

Adriana swings your bedroom door open for her grand entrance.

“We’re done!” She announces, already halfway down the hall. 

She struts over to Ismael and practically launches her at him, arms wrapping around his neck as he laughs and catches her without missing a beat. Her heels lift off of the floor for a second as she clings to him, dress riding up a touch in the process. 

“Miss me?” She asks, slightly too loud. 

“It’s been, like. forty minutes,” he says, grinning anyway. 

You lean against the doorframe, watching them with an amused smile. It's safe to say the alcohol has already started to hit her—she’s all over him, swaying slightly where she stands, forehead pressed to his as she talks animatedly about how “this is going to be the best birthday ever.”

Ismael glances at you over her shoulder, eyes saying help me even though he’s clearly enjoying every second of it.

“You good to drive?” you ask, grabbing your jacket off the hook.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I signed up for this. You have to let a baddie be a baddie.”

Adri finally pulls back just enough to point at you dramatically. "Don't let her fool you. She's the wild one tonight.”

You snort, stepping closer. “In your dreams.”

The three of you head out together, the front door clicking shut behind you as the night wraps around your shoulders. 

You slide into the back, the seat cool against your legs as you shut the door. The bass from whatever Adri queues up immediately fills the car, low and thumping, making the windows vibrate just a little. Ismael pulls away from the curb, headlights cutting through the quiet street as houses blur past in soft, dark shapes.

The car rolls to a stop outside the club, bass already bleeding through the walls and into the sidewalk like a second heartbeat. Neon signage hums overhead, casting everything in pinks and blues that make the night feel unreal, like you’ve stepped into a scene instead of a place.

You glance down at the mini Rolex on your wrist—11:15. fifteen minutes late. at least you’re fashionably late.

Ismael hops out first, jogs around the car, and opens Adri’s door with a little bow that makes her laugh as she takes his hand and steps out. You slide out of the back, heels clicking against the pavement, the cool night air brushing over bare skin and sending a small shiver up your spine.

Your dress has ridden up again during the drive, clinging high on your thighs. You tug at it out of habit, then stop. This time, you let it settle exactly where it wants to be.

Adri immediately finds your side, arm looping through yours like it belongs there, and starts dragging you toward the entrance before you can even take in the crowd. The line is already a mess of glittering outfits, cigarette smoke, and laughter, people leaning into each other under the glow of the marquee.

The bouncers spot her before you’re even close.

“Birthday girl!” one of them calls out, grinning wide. “Happy birthday, Adri.”

She beams, soaking it up, blowing them a kiss like she’s walking a red carpet instead of stepping up to a velvet rope. “Thank you, thank you. Love you guys.”

Their eyes flick to you, quick but curious, and one of them nods in recognition. “Good to see you again.”

Adri squeezes your arm triumphantly as they lift the rope and wave you both through. The door swings open, and a wall of sound and light crashes over you—strobe flashes, bodies moving in sync, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and anticipation.

You and Adri are met by a wall of sound the second you step fully inside—screams of celebration cutting through the music, hands already reaching for her, voices overlapping.

“Happy birthday, Adriana!"

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like she’s overwhelmed, then immediately starts laughing, spinning in place as people swarm her. Hugs come from every direction, kisses to her cheeks, someone shoving a drink into her hand before she can even process what’s happening.

You hang back just half a step, letting the moment belong to her, watching her glow under the flashing lights. The club is a blur of movement. The bass vibrates up through the floor and into your legs.

“This is insane,” Adri yells over her shoulder to you, eyes bright, hair already starting to frizz at the edges from the heat of the crowd. She grabs your wrist and pulls you back into her orbit. “See? Best birthday ever.”

Your eyes settle on the strippers, each one a study in allure. One of them spins low on a polished pole, her back arched, muscles taut as she twists, long curly hair fanning out like a shadowy halo. The sequins on her outfit catch the strobe lights, glittering with every sharp movement.

Another hooks a leg over the pole, flipping upside down effortlessly, toes pointed, abs flexing with precision. Her heels scrape the pole just enough to make the small metallic clink audible over the music. Her neon outfit glows under the UV lights, bright pink against her skin, almost blinding in its intensity.

On the other side, a third dancer moves slower, more fluid, swaying her hips. Her hair is platinum blonde, tumbling down past her shoulders, and she leans back against the pole, head thrown, giving the crowd a smile that’s equal parts tease and command.

The sensuality is hypnotic, and you can’t help but watch a moment longer than you thought you would. 

You clear your throat as Adri pulls you in deeper. Ismael lingers for both of your safety. Adri’s waving at people left and right, accepting hugs, and directing gifts to a table on the north wall of Cobalt.

At this moment, all you can think is: you’re still too sober. 

“Adri— bar!”

She freezes mid-laugh, head tilting toward you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The bar?” She echoes, clearly amused, like the idea of stopping for a second is laughable.

“Yes, the bar!” you insist, tugging gently on her arm. “I need a drink.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes in that exaggerated way that somehow still looks playful. “Fine,” she concedes, looping her arm through yours again.

You and Adri finally shoulder through the crowd toward the bar, elbows brushing strangers, heels clicking against the sticky floor, and just as you think you might finally get a drink, she stops dead in her tracks.

“Oh my God—Paige Bueckers!” Adri gasps, eyes lighting up like a kid who just spotted their favorite celebrity in the wild. She's practically vibrating with excitement, dragging you forward before you can even brace yourself.

“Oh! You have to meet her!” Adri announces, practically dragging you along, tugging you toward Paige with all the subtlety of a fire alarm. You catch a glimpse of Paige, relaxed and smiling, effortlessly aware of the energy around her, and immediately feel your irritation flare.

Paige’s wearing a red and white sweater cut in the style of a muscle tee, showing off her muscles. You feel your mouth dry up at the sight. Her hair is curled lightly and a pair of tan pants rest on her hips. She’s dressed in the perfect mix of masculine and feminine and her cologne wafts in front of your face. She’s tall and rocks confidence like a cloak of armor so easily. 

She’s… sexy.

Adri is too drunk, too excited, to notice your expression. she thrusts your hand toward Paige. “This is my best friend—she’s amazing, you’ll love her!”

You plaster on a polite smile, but Paige catches the tiny edge in your eyes and can’t help but chuckle softly to herself. It's subtle, almost hidden behind a quick glance, but it makes you feel instantly smaller.

Paige leans in to give Adri a side hug, perfectly casual. “Happy birthday, Adri,” she says, her voice smooth, warm, and easy. Then she daps up Ismael with one hand, acknowledging him with that effortless confidence she has.

Paige’s piercing blue eyes never leave yours as their hands meet. You’re caught off guard, but also refuse to back down, so you hold eye contact. Her head is tilted and catches the strobe lights. She looks down at you with a slight smirk, her bottom lip caught between your teeth.

You then hold your hand out and introduce yourself.

She grips your hand firmly, “Paige.”

There’s a flash of amusement in her eye before she tilts her head back to glance at Adri. “Don’t party too hard, Adri.”

Adri freezes mid-laugh, glancing over her shoulder, clearly caught off guard by the tone. “Oh, I know how to pace myself,” she says, grinning, trying to match Paige's cool composure but failing to hide the excitement that’s still bubbling through her.

You stand slightly to the side, hand still in Paige's, watching the subtle interplay.

Finally, you pull your hand away from hers, letting your nails graze Paige’s palm, sending shocks up her spine.

Adri, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering in that small exchange, continues chatting, eyes flicking rapidly between you and Paige. “you know my bestie, though, right?” she says, voice bubbly, oblivious to the undercurrent.

Paige nods, eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen her on an Instagram story or two of yours.” She nods like she’s filing that bit of information away. 

Adri claps her hands together, delighted. “See? I told you! She's cool. Totally cool.”

You shift, still looking Paige over.

“You should buy her a drink!” Adri chimes, nudging Paige.

Your face drops, a mix of disbelief and panic, “no, no, no, she doesn’t need to do that. I can buy for myself.” Your pulse quickens with the feeling of being put on the spot. 

Paige chuckles softly, that smirk tugging at her lips again, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m not opposed to a drink,” she says smoothly, eyes flicking back to yours for just a second longer.

You shake your head. “I’m good, thanks.” Your eyes fall to the ground. Suddenly everything else is more interesting.

Paige nods, letting your denial roll off her shoulders. “It’s your night Adri— live it up!” Her voice is light and playful. She glances briefly at you before squeezing Adri’s shoulder and diving into the crowd. 

You watch her leave as Adri is pulled into the embrace of more people and begin your trek toward the bar alone. 

You’ve had 3 drinks now and you’re feeling it.

The bass thumps through your chest in a steady rhythm that matches the quickening pulse in your veins, your skin prickling with warmth and energy.

Your movements are looser now, less precise—heels clicking a little less sharply, shoulders dropping, a small sway in your hips as you navigate through the crowd.

You and Adri are nearly falling all over one another when the clock strikes midnight and it’s time to sing Happy Birthday and cut the huge cake that she had catered.

It’s a showstopper—three tiers, dripping in glossy chocolate ganache, with glittering candles scattered across the top like tiny stars. The crowd is buzzing, people pressing in for photos, their phones capturing the moment.

Everyone’s gathered around the cake and you just so happen to notice Paige standing directly across from you. Your eyes catch again. She’s standing next to JJ— another Wings player you’d been introduced to.

“Everyone, sing!” Adri shouts over the crowd, voice cracking with excitement. The room erupts, voices overlapping in harmony. You lift your glass, watching as Paige does the same and gives a slight nod.

Adri clutches the knife and digs in, exposing the many layers of the cake. She cuts her own slice and you dip your finger into the icing before swiping it against her nose.

“Hey!” She squeals before getting you back.

By 2:00, the both of you are out of it and long gone. You’re stumbling on air. Everything feels fuzzy and weird. 

Adri and Ismael are clearly busy and have been grinding in the corner for the last half hour. 

You grimace and keep your head turned to avoid looking. 

The club’s started to clear out and the hype is dying down. You’ve taken your last sip and alcohol and the staff is getting ready to clean up. 

You sink into a nearby barstool to collect yourself. The air is warm, sticky, scented with perfume, spilled liquor, and faint chocolate from the cake earlier. You take a deep, unsteady breath.

Your head rests against the counter as your eyes flicker.

Adri stumbles over with Ismael at her side. She’s extremely loud in your ear, though she thinks she’s quiet. “Ismael and I want to go back to his place,” she says to you.

You glance up at her, urging her to continue.

“And well… you don’t want to be around for that. But, I can have Paige drop you off at home. I trust her,” Adri affirms.

You blink at her, half amused, half exasperated, trying to process the rapid-fire logic of your best friend.

“You’re leaving me with her?” You ask, voice a little shaky—not entirely from the drinks.

Adri throws an arm around your shoulders, leaning into you. “Yes! She's perfect. competent. trustworthy. probably will even let you sleep on the way home. Now c’mon, let’s go find her.”

You groan, but a small part of you is oddly curious—and maybe a little apprehensive.

Lugging your weight feels unbearable, but you do it anyway as Adri leads you to Paige, who’s stacking plastic cups to be thrown away.

“Paige! I need you to take Y/N home.” Adri yells, pitching her voice loud enough to cut through the thump of the fading music. She wobbles slightly as she gestures at you, and you stumble on your own feet, letting her steady you with an arm around your shoulders.

Paige glances up, a small look of mild annoyance on her face. She straightens and set the stack of cups aside. Her face holds a small, amused smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as she assesses you—stumbling slightly, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed from the night.

With the way she’s looking, you’re expecting her to say no, but she doesn’t.

She exhales through her nose, a quiet, almost fond sound, and nods once. “Yeah,” she says simply. “I’ve got her.”

You groan softly, leaning against Adri’s side for support, feeling both relieved and apprehensive. Paige chuckles again, that smirk lingering, eyes flicking briefly back to you.

Adri cheers like she just won something, clapping her hands together before throwing her arms around Paige in a sloppy hug. “I knew I liked you,” she declares, planting a dramatic kiss in the air near Paige's cheek before Ismael gently pulls her back.

Paige laughs, steadying herself, then turns back to you. Her voice drops a little, lower than it was before, meant just for you. “You good to walk, or am I carrying you out of here?”

You straighten instinctively, pride kicking in despite the haze. “I can walk,” you say, even if the floor still feels like it’s moving.

She raises a brow, unconvinced but entertained. “Uh-huh. we’ll see.”

You tip toe over random bottles, straws, and discarded wristbands all over the floor. You’re swaying lightly, holding your arms out to help you find your balance.

You step and your heel clips a green glass bottle. It skitters instead of staying put, rolling just enough to steal your balance. Your stomach drops as your foot slips, the world tilting sharply to one side, and a startled sound leaves your throat as you start to go down.

Before you can fully tumble, a hand catches your arm—firm, steady. Paige steps in close, her other hand bracing your back as she pulls you upright. 

Your face burns in embarrassment and you clear your throat. “Sorry.”

You risk a glance up at her. She's smiling—not the smirk from earlier, but something easier, lighter. It takes a little of the sting out of your embarrassment.

“You okay now?” She asks, easing her grip but keeping close enough to catch you if you wobble again.

You straighten, testing your balance. “Yeah.”

“M,” she hums, unconvinced, then offers her arm anyway. “Humor me.”

You hesitate for half a second before looping your fingers around her sleeve. The simple contact feels steadier than the ground beneath your heels.

Paige guides you toward the exit and holds the door open for you. The both of you pause for a second as she digs into her pocket and pulls out a key fob. She hits a button twice and you hear an engine roar to life across the way. 

“That’s me,” she says, jerking her chin toward it.

You squint, trying to focus on the shape of the car through the blur of streetlights and leftover adrenaline. "Of course it is,” you mumble.

Paige keeps a hand at your elbow as you walk, not gripping, just there—steady, grounding. gravel crunches under your shoes. Your balance wobbles once, and she adjusts without making a thing of it, matching your step like it’s second nature.

When you reach the car, she opens the passenger door for you. The interior light flicks on, soft and amber, and you pause, staring at it like it’s a puzzle.

“Go on,” she says gently. “it don’t bite.”

You climb in, a little clumsy, and she closes the door after you with a careful thud. A second later, she’s in the driver’s seat, engine purring instead of roaring now.

You buckle your seatbelt and fall back against the seat, your eyelids suddenly heavy.

Paige notices.

She leans forward, fingers brushing the dial, and twists it the other way. The car hum shifts, air warming as it spills from the vents instead of biting cold. She glances over, just for a second, to make sure you’re okay.

“Don't fall asleep on me yet,” she murmurs, half-teasing, half-gentle.

You nod passively. Your feet ache and you lean down to unbuckle them. You kick them off onto the floor, stretching your feet afterward.

Paige glances over at you and then offers you an unopened water bottle resting in the cup holder. “Drink. You've had a night.”

You glance over at her, and take the bottle. You snatch it from her and slowly twist the cap off as your eyes zero in on her jawline. It catches the streetlights, and most of her makeup has basically disappeared from her face, but she still looks amazing.

Slight ministrations cause her muscles to flex. 

Paige feels it—your attention, the weight of your stare. She clears her throat and adjusts her grip on the wheel, knuckles whitening for a second before she relaxes again.

“You okay over there?” She asks, voice low, almost amused.

You take a slow sip of water, buying yourself time, the corner of your mouth lifting as you nod. “Yeah,” you say, still watching her. “Just enjoying the ride.”

You’re starting to sober up a bit and rub your eyes. You’re no longer slumped in the seat and feel more aware.

You rub your eyes, blinking slowly as the fog from the alcohol begins to lift. The weight slumping your shoulders eases, and you sit up straighter, feeling the car’s seat beneath you in a way you hadn’t noticed before.

You clear your throat, finally breaking the quiet that’s settled over the car. “I heard you were rookie of the year… congratulations,” you say, voice a little soft but sincere, the words feeling heavier than you expect in the stillness.

Paige glances at you from the corner of her eye, a small, almost amused smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks,” she says, voice low, easy, like she’s trying to play it casual—but there’s pride tucked into the single word.

She flicks a glance back to the road for a second, then her eyes meet yours again. “It’s been… a wild first season. but yeah, rookie of the year.” There's a faint laugh, quiet but warm, like she’s still processing it herself.

“No doubt you deserve it though, right?” You blink, hesitating slightly, trying to find the words.  “You seem… responsible,” You don’t know a lot about Paige, but you do mean what you say. 

Paige glances at you, eyes narrowing just a fraction as if she’s analyzing not just your words but your tone, your intent. “Something like that.”

Eventually, the familiar shape of your house comes into view, the streetlight casting long, soft shadows across the driveway. The engine hum quiets as Paige eases the car to a stop, the tires crunching lightly on the gravel.

She glances over at you, that same small smirk lingering, hands still steady on the wheel. “Home sweet home,” she says, voice casual but carrying that subtle amusement that’s threaded through the night.

Paige reaches over, unclipping your seatbelt. “Need a hand getting out?” she asks, her tone light, casual—a careful attentiveness that keeps you from moving too fast or too clumsily.

You take a steadying breath, nodding. “Yes, please.”

Paige rounds the truck and comes over to your side, flinging the door open. 

“Here we go,” she says, voice low, carrying just a hint of that teasing edge you’ve noticed all night. She leans slightly, one hand brushing the roof of the truck for balance as she waits for you to move.

You pause for a fraction of a second, heart still a little fluttery from the night’s lingering buzz. You shift, gripping the edge of the seat for support. Her eyes meet yours, steady and unflinching, as if silently promising she’s got you.

“Come on,” she reaches for her hand. “Watch your step.”

And with that, you carefully swing your legs out, letting her guide you onto solid ground.

The both of you walk up the walkway, her hand on the small of your back. When you reach the door, you tug open your clutch with shaky hands and dig out the key to your front door. 

Paige watches silently, her presence just behind you, steady and patient, giving you the space you need without letting go of the quiet support her hand provides. You slip the key into the lock, twisting it with a soft click.

“Here we go,” you murmur, sliding the door open, and she steps close, letting you move past her first but staying within reach, hand lingering just enough to guide you safely inside.

You throw your clutch onto the table in your mudroom, a soft thud filling the space. You turn back to Paige as she stands just outside of the threshold. She watches you wordlessly, but you know she’s been watching nonetheless. You feel the weight of her gaze, steady and attentive like she’s cataloging each one of your details. 

Your heels dangle at her right side, but she seems to have forgotten about them.

“Paige…” you start softly, your voice breaking the silence, but the sound catches in your throat as her striking blue eyes meet yours. There's curiosity, and a hint of something else.

You take a slow step closer, and she shifts slightly, just enough to mirror you, heels in hand forgotten, letting the moment stretch between you in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you break the silence. “do you want the house tour?” you ask, voice light, teasing—but carrying just enough edge to make her raise an eyebrow.

Paige blinks, just for a fraction, before that smirk returns, slow and knowing. “House tour, huh?” she repeats.

You shrug, playful, leaning against the doorway. “I mean, you’re already standing in it… might as well see the rest, right?”

You back away from the door, letting Paige step in. She sets your heels down on the table with your clutch and lets the door shut behind herself.

Without overthinking it, you reach for Paige's hand, your fingers threading through hers. You tug gently, guiding her through the foyer.

Her steps follow yours, smooth and deliberate, matching your pace as you lead her into the living room. The lights are soft, the familiar warmth of your home wrapping around you both. The quiet is almost dizzying— every brush of skin, every glance exchanged.

Paige lets herself be pulled, hand still in yours, but her posture is relaxed, shoulders down, a smirk tugging at her lips like she’s already amused by your sudden boldness.

“And here we are,” you say softly, letting go of her hand just enough to gesture around the room, though your pulse still hums from the contact. “Welcome to the heart of the operation.”

Her eyes sweep over the living room, lingering on you just as long as they do on the space. “Not bad,” she murmurs, the tone quiet, almost approving, before letting that playful spark peek through. “Do you host a lot?”

You shake your head, “no, I’m picky about the people I have over. I like my space.” 

She smiles, “so I’m special, then?” Paige reaches up, clutching her heart through her sweater. 

You tilt your head, catching the playfulness in her voice. “maybe,” you reply, voice low, teasing just enough to match her energy. “you’ll have to earn your invite next time.”

Moving on, you tug her through different areas of the house. You take her through the kitchen, dining room, laundry room, and office before standing at the bottom of the stairs together. 

“Last stop,” you announce with a grin, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet. You leap up the first few steps easily, then continue bounding upward, letting her follow at her own pace.

Paige laughs softly behind you.

You guide her to your bedroom. Some clothes from earlier linger and you can still smell the candle you lit. You belly flop onto the bed, watching as Paige walks around the room, looking at various pieces of decor. 

You watch her, noting the way her posture relaxes in the space, how she leans slightly to read a framed quote or tilts her head at a piece of art.

When she finishes her slow circuit of the room, you pat the open spot next to where you’re sprawled on the bed.

“Come on,” you murmur, voice soft but inviting. “Plop down. Make yourself comfortable.”

The mattress dips slightly under her weight and you look her over. “Did you enjoy the tour?”

Paige’s eyes dart toward your lips, nodding. “Yeah, you keep a nice place.” She’s distracted by the way your tits nearly spill out of your dress and you look at her with determination and hunger all in one. 

You hum, “ready to go home, then?” You’re only teasing, but you want to know what she’ll say.

She grimaces in denial. “When you invited me in, I was hoping I would get laid. But you know that already.” You crawl to your knees and wrap your arms around her neck, giggling. “Right.”

“And what…?” She trails off, pulling back to look you in the eye. “You want me to put you through this mattress?”

Her hands move to rest on your hips, kneading the skin as she pulls you close.

You nod slyly, your face inching closer and closer to hers. 

Your lips hover near hers, just inches apart, and you can feel the heat of her skin, the slight tremor of anticipation in the way she’s holding you. Her breath brushes against your face, faintly sweet, making your pulse thrum harder.

You tilt your head slightly, daring the moment to go further, but just as your lips are about to meet, she pulls back ever so slightly. The movement is slow, teasing, deliberate—a soft smirk playing on her lips as her eyes glint with mischief.

“Not yet,” she murmurs, voice low and playful, letting the tension hang thick in the air.

Paige takes your hand in her large one and settles it between her legs; directly on her crotch. She forces you to palm her strap, feeling its length and girth through her khakis. It’s at least six inches and thick just how you like it.

“If you want that,” Paige continues. “You’re going to have to earn it. Show me you can take it.”

You nod eagerly and inch even closer to Paige like you have to be buried in her skin. 

Eagerly, she takes your lips into her, hands wrapping around your neck as she pulls you close. 

You gasp softly against her mouth before melting into it and straddling her lap. She tilts her head, angling the kiss deeper, and the air between you is thick with heat and tension, every movement deliberate, consuming.

Her saliva covers your lips as you lean into her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and mint, sweet but subtle and delightful. Her hands grope at your ass, the meat exposed after your dress rose all the way up. It rests at your waist now, perfectly out of the way.

She mutters into the kiss, “couldn’t stop looking at you all night, and then I got to watch you go up the stairs in this tiny ass dress.”

You swallow her moans, breathing heavily as you pull at the hairs at the nape of her neck.

“Been waiting to rip this shit off you,” she finishes. Your tongues swipe against one another and you swear you’re drunk again off of the moment alone.

She drags you down, forcing you to grind on her lap and you cry out as you feel the pressure of her strap brushing against your clit through your thong. 

There’s a wet patch on her pants from where you’ve been grinding. 

You break the kiss just long enough to trail your lips down to the side of Paige’s neck, teeth grazing softly at first before pressing in with more intent. Your lips move against the warm, sensitive skin, sucking and nipping in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

The soft pressure of your mouth, combined with the teasing pull of your lips, leaves a mark—a deep, dark hickey blooming across the pale curve of her neck. Paige lets out a low, involuntary moan, her hands tightening in your hair as your lips move in tandem with the teasing bites of your teeth. “Oh, fuck me.”

“‘M trying,” you giggle.

She captures your lips into another kiss and begins to play with the strings of your underwear, tugging at them. She pulls one back and releases it, letting it snap against your skin. You yelp at the sensation. 

Her hands are relentless, exploring boldly, tugging, kneading, and pulling just enough to keep you on edge.

Paige taps your thigh, signaling you to lighten up a bit so she can pull your panties down your model-esque physique. 

You oblige and she tugs them down, a web of your slick snapping as she pulls them further and further.

“You’re so wet,” she whispers into your ear. “All that for me? I got that pussy pleadin’?”

“You talk too much,” you bite, nearly growling. You didn’t enjoy being teased.

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige grits. She takes your jaw between her fingertips and forces you to look her death in the eye. “You’re gonna take what I give you, understood?”

You swallow your words and refuse to answer. Paige’s nostrils flare, but she takes it to the chin. She reaches down between your legs and her thumb begins to circle your clit at an agonizingly slow pace. 

The pleasure begins to bubble in your stomach, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of knowing you were putty in her hands. You bit your tongue, the only way you could keep your moans inside.

“It’s okay, you don’t gotta say nothing. I already know you want me.” Paige brags.

Swiftly, she flips the both of you over so that you’re pinned below her. You’re caged in by her buff arms and her body weight on your lower half.

Her thumb is still prodding her clit, eyes searching your face for any sign of a reaction. When she doesn’t get one, she stops.

You don’t whine at the loss of stimulation, but you are disappointed.

Paige drops to her knees and yanks you to the edge of the bed so that your legs hang off of it. Then, she hoists your legs onto her shoulder. Paige places slow, wet kisses up your right leg. Each press of her mouth is warm and slick, her tongue occasionally flicking out to taste you, sending shivers crawling up your spine. 

You let out soft, uneven breaths, your fingers tangling in her hair, urging her closer while your knees press together instinctively. 

Your pussy smells sweet from where she is and she forces your legs open with both hands, dragging her kisses up even further. She blows on your clit, the sensation causes you to writhe.

“Such a pretty pussy,” she chimes, smelling your sweet nectar. Paige kisses gingerly just above your clit, letting the warmth settle before her tongue darts out to like under the hood.

You swallow a strangled moan and let out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Paige keeps her tongue steady, swiping against your clit waggishly. She flattens it, dragging it across your sex.

You grip her hair and your toes curl behind her shoulders. You don’t want to break, but you know you will.

Paige pulls away, gathering her saliva in her mouth before spitting it out onto your slit and sucking it back up. She hollows her cheeks, forming a vacuum.

Paige sucks at your clit relentlessly before releasing what is now a mix of her spit and your juices before repeating her process.      

The pleasure is too great and your chest is starting to heave. You push at her head, but there’s not really anywhere you can run. Paige thought ahead when she pulled you to the end of the bed. “Unt-un,” she grits. “Take that shit.”

Your skin prickles with goosebumps and sweating settles in your neck. You begins to rock your hips against Paige’s face and finally moan out, giving in. Your voice is raspy as you cream all over her face, the rope in your stomach finally snapping.

“Fuck!” You cry, shoving her deeper, if even possible. 

Though you’ve already cum, Paige doesn’t stop. She licks tight circles on your button, overstimulating you. All you can do is writhe as your face screws tight and Paige demands another orgasm from you. 

Tears well in your eyes and you start to whimper, another coil in your gut forming. “Yeah,” Paige coaxes. “You got it, pretty, give it to me.” 

You cum again, back arching against the mattress. You’re loud, and so loud you’re pretty sure the neighbors know exactly what’s going on.

Paige finally pulls away, her face coated in your juices and a proud smile on her lips. She kisses behind your knee once more before rising slowly.

You catch your breath and lean back on your elbows, watching as Paige gives you a show.

She peels off her sweater, revealing a white Nike sports bra. The heat in your chest spikes, heart hammering. Her muscles flex just like in the truck, and you really wished in that moment that she’d manhandle you.

Paige watches you, almost like she’s making up what she wants to do.

You sit up all the way once you’ve caught your breath. Feeling boldly, you stick your fingers into her waistband. It’s guarded by a belt, and you glance up at Paige. “Can I have it?”

Paige nods with a heavy smirk. You loosen the brooch of her belt, tugging the end through it. You pull it all the way through the loops on her pants and throw it across the room. Your fingers fumble with the button of the khakis, your knuckles even swiping against the skin of her lower stomach.

Paige’s index and thumb finger rub your jaw while her eyes hold a fond look.

You maintain eye contact while yanking her pants down, letting them pool at her ankles. She steps out of them and Paige’s strap hits her lower stomach. 

It’s purple. “Cute,” you say.

Paige rolls her eyes and pushes you by your shoulder and back down onto the bed.

Paige settles between your legs, catching the hem of your dress and dragging it up your body. It comes off over your head and she tosses it behind you. Skipping your lips, Paige kisses down your chest, swirling a bud between her lips. Her free hand tweaks the neglected nipple.

She continues kissing down, leaving a hickey on your sternum. Each kiss is wet and decisive; she knows her end goal. 

Quickly, Paige grabs your ankles and hikes your legs over her shoulders again. “Thinkin’ I wanna see your pretty face while I’m in this pretty pussy.”

You nod, “take your shot.”

Paige kisses you again, tugging your curls, causing you to moan into her mouth.

Paige slides the tip of the strap between your folds, getting it wet for you. You shiver at the sensation, your cream now cool against your skin. 

She pulls you closer, pressing her body fully against yours, letting the intensity of the kiss speak the words her voice doesn’t. When you least expect it, Paige thrusts in and you moan as she bottoms out. The tip of her strap hits for g-spot easily and she doesn’t even give you time to adjust as she starts moving. 

Paige's hips snap back and forth, barely giving you time to breath. “You feel me right there? In your guts?”

You wail, rocking your hips against Paige’s. A squelching sound reverberated through the room, Paige’s assault on your pussy relentless. “Feels so good, P.” 

Fireworks exploded at each stroke. You’d never felt anything like this before and you’d be lying if you said Paige wasn’t the best you ever had. Your hand rests on Paige’s chest, fingers slipping under her sports bra. You shove it up, exposing her breasts. Her nipples pebble both from arousal and the coolness in the air. 

You knead them in your hands like dough, pinching each nipple. Paige lets out a strangled moan, her hips stuttering,

You throw your head back, “you’re so deep, oh my—”

Paige temporarily slows her strokes as she digs you out, concentrating on actually seeing her in your stomach. Your cries went up in frequency as a tingly sensation formed in your stomach. 

Paige’s abs flexed as she kept her core engaged. You glanced down at where the both of you met. White, sticky cream formed webs where her groin snapped against yours. Your essence slips out of you, dripping onto the mattress. “Aw, baby,” Paige coos. “You’re making a mess all over the bed— all on my dick.”

Your thighs shook violently, each moment becoming messier and wetter. 

You lean up just enough to take Paige’s nipple into your mouth. You sucked all while hearing a shaky breath escape Paige and feeling your own orgasm approaching. 

“You’re digging me out so good,” you cry out, “fuck, Paige!”

Paige reaches down, thumb prodding your clit once more. You clench around her strap, chasing relief. 

“Kiss me,” you demand, pulling Paige into you. You bite down on her lip, forcing her mouth open as you dive into another kiss. Your tongues clash and spit strings hang between the both of you. You suck on her tongue, milking her for all you can.

“Shit,” she grimaces. “I might cum witchu if you keep doing me like this.”

“I’m gonna cum, P, I can’t take anymore.” Your eyes screw shut.

Paige’s thrusts are sloppy and her breathing is uneven as she takes you in. “I-I know, sexy.”

She delivers three final and strong thrusts to your pussy and you cum for the third time of the night. You spill onto the strap some more as Paige helps you ride out her high and tries to cum herself.

You let her, knowing she’s getting off on her own thrusts. You gather her hair into a ponytail and pull as you breath out together, cumming in tandem.

Your body spasms dramatically, convulsing under Paige’s weight. She collapses into your shoulder, but doesn’t entirely for fear of crushing you. 

The room smells like sex and when you look between Paige’s thighs, there’s a noticeable wetness there. You reach down and stick your hand inside her boxers, swiping through her folds. She jumps at the feeling and watches as you take your middle finger into your mouth and suck on it.

Paige groans, “you’re killing me here.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself.

Eventually, Paige does fully collapse on top of you, not yet pulling out.

You catch your breath together, thinking about what actually just took place.

A beat passes before you start feeling like you have to say what’s on your mind. “Is this a one-time thing?”

The question brings Paige back to life momentarily. “Nah, definitely not. You’re mine now.”

© juumecca, all rights reserved. myself or others should not be able to find my works on any other platform unless stated by myself. thank you.

[everyonewatchesuconnwbb]

I don’t even WANT kids and this bitch is making my ovaries explode make it make sense

[vicariouslywritten]

Transport (18+)

After seeing Azzi’s instagram stories, Paige books the first flight to New York to see her gorgeous woman.

Warnings: smut, strap, oral, fluff, worship, Daddy!P Sub!A

WC: 3.2k

CW:MDNI!! Men either

A/n: I apologize for going MIA, life has been lifing. Anyways this is a one shot inspired by NYFW. I’ll have chapter 2 of drive out soon. (Hopefully)

Enjoy!

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The season was over and Paige had been spending her last few days in Dallas making her rounds, and soaking up all the time she had left with her teammates. Currently she has just got back from a day out with Nola.

Now she was just lounging on her couch scrolling instagram when she got the notification that Azzi posted on her story. Paige clicked it without hesitation, what blessed her eyes next was her girl in some of the sexiest clothes she's ever seen her in.

Paige had known that Azzi was on a journey in fashion and finding herself in the clothes that she wore. She had no idea that her girlfriend could get even more stunning. Watching the outfit progression throughout the day made Paige practically drool at her phone. It started off light with the simple black long sleeve and rhinestone studded skirt, complimented by the gold tip nails and rings that made her hands look delicious. Her hair was curled to perfection and lets just say, whoever did her make up needs a raise.

The second look was something straight out of a wet dream, Paige didn’t think Azzi owned a shorter skirt. She also loved when Azzi would show off that belly button piercing because all Paige wanted to do was lick it. Anyways, the jacket and the boots were fire as well and the whole outfit meshed well together. Her hair was in that iconic updo that made her look like the it girl that she was.

The final after party fit was what did it for Paige. The dress or rather skirt and shirt??? Paige doesn’t know but whatever it was, her girl looked delectable. She quickly closed instagram and opened up her american airlines app and booked a redeye to NY. She couldn’t go another day without seeing her girlfriend.

She wanted it to be a surprise so she quickly got the details of the house they were staying at from Mackenzie, then she started to pack. On the way to the airport she kept seeing mentions and instagram pages posting Azzi and telling her to get to NY. She also saw the ones who were saying Azzi was gonna get snatched up or whatever and that only made her drive faster.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were on their way back from dinner and Mackenzie and KK were keeping Azzi distracted. Little did Azzi know, Paige was waiting for her back at the house and she even brought flowers and cottage cheese for the brunette along with an assortment of her girl’s favorite things. She was just finished setting up when she heard the three women walk into the house so she decided to hide.

KK glanced at Mack and then decided it was show time.”Well, I’m beat so I'm gonna crash. Goodnight guys.” KK said while over-selling her yawn.

This earned a side eye from Azzi.

Mack also faked a yawn and excused herself too.

Azzi was left alone, stunned. She said nothing and sadly trudged to her room.

She started to open her door, “Now everyone is so t-“ she stopped in her tracks when she saw the scene in front of her.

”Who did all of this?” She said walking more into the room to investigate the scene before her.

“Hey mama”, Paige said as she emerged from the closet with flowers and a stuffie.

Azzi dropped everything and ran into Paige’s arms. “Baby! What are you doing here?”, she exclaimed while hugging Paige.

Paige dropped everything on the bed and pulled Azzi into a tight embrace. “I had to get here as soon as possible because I saw your outfits and I’ve decided you look too good.” The couple parted so that Paige could check her girlfriend out, Paige stared unashamedly at Azzi for 30 seconds straight.

Azzi started to take off her jewelry, “See something you like, pretty?"Azzi asked with hooded eyes while looking up at the blonde.

Paige licked her lips and grabbed Azzi by the waist, “Everything I see, I love and I can’t wait to have you mama. You look too good tonight and I had to come and show you just how good you look.”

Azzi smiles shyly as she tucks her head into the crook of Paige’s neck and wraps her arms around the taller woman’s neck, kissing the soft spot just under her ear, and letting her tongue replace her lips.

“Oh it's like that baby? I like it when you get soft and needy for me. Actually I love it because nobody else gets to have you like this, I'm forever entranced by you, I don’t wanna ever let go.” Paige began to pepper kisses all over Azzi’s face and neck, causing the younger girl to start giggling.

“Baby as much as I want you right now, you’ll have to wait a lil while, I’m starving.” Paige lifts her head at this, “What did I tell you about not eating mama? I don’t care if you’re out doing something, you need to make sure you eat, always.” Azzi puts on her best pout and bats her lashes, “I’m sorry daddy, we were busy all day. I promise it won’t be a habit.” At this Paige’s expression softens just slightly.

“Better not,” the blonde mutters under her breath. “Go eat so I can please you, sweet girl.” she says while helping Azzi out of her heels. “Okay daddy, can you come with me?” Paige placed her and Azzi’s shoes aside, “Sure mama, let’s go” They both make their way to the kitchen.

Being in New York, there weren't a lot of healthy food options. Thanks to doordash, Azzi was saved. Now both Azzi and Paige stand side by side cooking, at least Azzi was attempting to while Paige couldn’t keep her hands off the brunette. Azzi couldn’t even cook properly without the blonde distracting her. One minute she was cooking and then the next she was hoisted onto the counter with Paige’s tongue down her throat. In hindsight, if she wanted to achieve her goal of eating, she probably shouldn’t have invited her needy girlfriend to the kitchen with her.

They decided Azzi would eat later considering Paige carried the brunette back to her room after Azzi turned off the stove the next time she was kissed breathless.

Once the door closed, Azzi knew she wouldn’t be able to walk correctly tomorrow. Paige didn’t give her an option to make any decisions, the blonde was on her in an instant. Hands pinned, legs spread, lips swollen, Paige consumed her.

Azzi was gently placed on the bed and Paige started to strip her of the expensive outfit she wore, careful not to rip anything. She started with the mini skirt that left little to the imagination and once that was removed, she nearly drooled at the sight of lilac lace panties that barely concealed the bright pink of Azzi’s pretty pussy. The fabric seemed cheap with the way that it barely held the brunette in, as if her pussy swelled 10x due to the foreplay(it definitely did). Paige almost dropped everything right then and devoured her but she didn’t, not yet. She continued stripping the younger girl. Next was the chocolate brown tank she was wearing, revealing a matching lace bra that wasn’t holding much in either. Paige gently exhaled in awe as more bronze skin was revealed.

“You’re actually so beautiful, mama. I could look at you forever”, the blonde said while gently getting off the bed then grabbing Azzi’s bonnet and putting it on her head. The blonde took the opportunity to undress as well, taking her shirt off and pants, leaving her in her sports bra and boxers.

Paige settles herself between Azzi’s legs and just stares at the younger woman in awe, the only thing left between them is their underwear. Paige closes the gap with a soft sigh like she was relieved before leaning down to kiss the shorter woman. The kiss started slow like they were getting reacquainted with one another again, relearning the taste and feel of each other.

Azzi reached up and caressed Paige’s jaw while the blonde’s hands started to roam, kneading the soft and muscular skin of the brunette. Paige broke the kiss then started to leave open mouth kisses along Azzi’s throat and jaw sucking a hickey into the younger woman’s sweet spot, causing her to let out a helpless whimper. Spurred on by the sounds Azzi was making, Paige continued her descent after sucking a few more hickeys into Azzi’s neck.

Paige lifted her head to admire the way that the bra was barely containing the woman beneath her, she reached out and palmed one breast in her hand while leaning down and taking the other nipple into her mouth over the bra. “Mmmmph– baby”, the brunette whimpers out grabbing at the blonde’s neck, trying to keep her in place. The blonde continues her ministrations and then outright rips the bra off the caramel skinned woman while letting out a growl.

Azzi did nothing but gaze up at the blonde in awe, completely surrendering to the woman above her. Azzi loved when Paige got like this, all dominance and rough hands, she wasted no time making sure to take care of her woman.

It wasn’t long before the blonde was back on her, sucking a neglected nipple between her lips and swirling her tongue while she took the other in her hand, teasing her nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

“These sit so fuckin pretty mama, everything about you is just perfect”, The older woman said starting to kiss the brunette all over.

Azzi squirmed as she tried to be a good girl and not beg. Paige then kissed her way down her stomach and licked her piercing. “This shit drives me crazy too” Paige gave it one last lick before making her way down to where the girl below her needed her the most. The blonde licks a stripe up the lace underwear, eager to taste and please.

“I-I c-an’t. P-please Daddy”, Azzi whimpers, becoming slightly impatient. Paige begins to pull the lace down her bronze legs.

“Shh mama, I got you.” Paige kissed and caressed her caramel thighs as she made her way to the Azzi’s heat.

The younger woman was dripping onto the bed and Paige salivated at the sight. “You’re so wet for me, beautiful”, Paige said, sighing at the sight.

Finally, the older woman licked her from her entrance to her clit, before wrapping her lips around it, sucking hard. Azzi let out a scream as she grasped the back of Paige’s head and fisted the sheets.

Paige ate like the only food left on earth was Azzi. She wasted no time plunging her tongue as far as it could go inside her woman’s cunt. Azzi’s hips bucking up, her legs tightening slightly as she let out a whiny moan.

Paige flicked her tongue, hitting the spot Azzi loved just right; dragging a helpless whimper from the woman beneath her. Azzi squirmed as she tried to hold on, already teetering on the edge of release. Paige was relentless in her approach, dislodging her tongue and replacing it with two fingers. She began lapping ferociously at Azzi’s clit.

Azzi choked on a moan when Paige’s fingers curled just right, “D-Daddy im close–.” Paige pulled her mouth away briefly while keeping her fingers at the same pace. “Already mama? I didn't even get to eat you how I wanted.” Paige dove back in now, somehow more relentless than before.

The blonde mercilessly worked her tongue and fingers into the younger girl, Azzi’s hips buck harder and her legs tighten.

“I-I’m g-gonna cum” Paige replaced her fingers with her tongue as she drank Azzi’s release, moaning as the woman in front of her gushed onto her tongue. She lifted from Azzi’s center, kissing up her abdomen.

When Paige reached her face, she kissed the shorter woman, letting her taste herself. Azzi let out a sigh as their lips connected and she wrapped her arms around the taller woman’s neck. Paige pulled away, getting out of the bed.

“Where are you going, baby?” Azzi asked as Paige left the room. She didn’t receive an answer but seconds later, Paige returned with water bottles and a bowl of ice. Azzi’s eyes widened slightly, “w-whats that for?” she stutters out, becoming slightly anxious. Paige placed everything on the nightstand and climbed back over Azzi and caressed her face.

“Don’t worry mama, I got you. Relax for me, I'm gonna make you feel good.” Paige then reached for an ice cube and placed it between her lips as she started trailing her lips from the woman’s neck, down the valley of her breast, and over her abdomen, ending up right over her clit.

Azzi, surprised by the sudden cold, lets out a gasp and her hips jerk. “B-babe I- fuck” her hand shot to Paige’s head. The ice was pressed firmly to her clit and fingers teased at her entrance. Paige pushed into her and was enveloped in warm gummy walls, pulsing with need.

Azzi was already sensitive so the cold sensation sent a jolt of electricity through her body. Another orgasm approached Azzi rapidly, legs twitching with every unrelenting thrust from Paige. Paige zeroed in on Azzi’s clit with a fresh ice cube, Azzi’s hand reached out blindly to the back of Paige’s head wanting to pull her close while simultaneously pushing her away.

“Fuck I-I can’t” Azzi let out a whimper when Paige stroked that spot inside her perfectly, Azzi saw stars. Paige, pussy drunk and relentless in her approach spoke around the ice cube in her mouth, “You can and you will. You're doing so well taking my fingers and being a good girl for me.” she said huskily, voice leaving no room for a rebuttal.

Azzi couldn’t help but nod as another orgasm took over, her back arching high off the bed as she let out a scream. Paige fucked her through the orgasm and when Azzi stopped shaking only then did she pull her fingers out. Paige made her way up Azzi’s body, kissing and whispering praises into caramel skin before reaching Azzi’s face. She started to kiss all over Azzi’s face, making the woman giggle before settling on her lips and leaving a sweet kiss there.

Paige cupped Azzi’s cheek as she pulled back to whisper, “Drink some water mama, im not finished with you yet.” Obediently, Azzi reached for one of the water bottles Paige retrieved earlier while Paige got out of bed and headed to her bag across the room. Azzi watched with quiet hunger while she drank her water. Paige retrieved what she was looking for, the 8 inch purple strap, this was Azzi’s favorite especially when she got submissive like tonight. She watched in awe as Paige removed her boxers and slid the g-spot insert inside herself and strapped in, the sight making Azzi forget she came twice already.

Paige held eye contact as she made her way back to the bed, her gaze hungry. Azzi let out a sound that was a whimper mixed with a nervous laugh.

Paige, concerned, immediately asks, “Are you okay baby? We don't have to do anything more” at this, Azzi frantically shook her head, her sub side coming up as she got on her knees at the end of the bed and bowed her head, surrendering all control.

Paige grabbed the back of her neck, making Azzi look up at her, “You know your safe words right?” Azzi nodded once more, Paiged gripped her neck with a little more force. “Use your words for me” Azzi swallowed and spoke, “Y-yes daddy, I’m okay and I know my words, you can do what you want.” Paige cradled her head and kissed her cheek, “Good girl baby. Now, how about you get Daddy’s cock nice and ready for you?” Paige said while slowly guiding Azzi’s head down.

Azzi nodded as she took the strap into her mouth, humming as she made her way down the length. Paige’s hand made its way into Azzi’s hair, slightly tugging as she fucked her mouth. Paige groaned as Azzi swallowed the dick, gagging as she deepthroated Paige. Paige let her bob her head up and down for a few more strokes before she pulled her off the dick with a wet pop. She then guided Azzi onto her back while she climbed over her and positioned the strap at Azzi’s entrance.

She eased into Azzi at a slow pace, it's been a while since Azzi took this strap. Azzi adjusted as she dragged her nails down Paige’s back the deeper she went. Paige leaned down and whispered praises into her ear while licking her earlobe, “You’re doing s’good for me ma. You feel how deep I am? You’re taking me so well baby.” Azzi couldn’t help but arch and moan out incoherent sentences. Paige picked up her pace, pulling Azzi’s leg over her shoulder to deepen her angle, at this Azzi screamed as she tossed her head back into the pillow.

Paige peered down at her in awe, “Mama you’re so beautiful, you feel me in here?” she said as she placed her hand on Azzi’s lower stomach.

Azzi moaned out, “Y-yes daddy mm-fuck you’re so deep I-” Paige cut her off with a kiss as she quickened her hips, setting a brutal pace. Azzi saw stars as Paige hit her spot just right with a stroke that would leave behind a bruise. “Fuck Daddy right there! Don’t stop, I'm so close” Paige, suddenly overcome with emotion, chokes out, “I will never stop pleasing you baby, you’re everything.” Paige reached a hand up to squeeze at Azzi’s neck.

The choking combined with the praise sent Azzi over the edge for the third time that night. True to her word, Paige wasn’t done. She only slowed her strokes enough to pull out and flip Azzi onto her stomach, making her arch with a hand pressed into her back. Paige thrust back in with one fluid motion, Azzi’s mouth opened in a soundless scream. Her body trembled as she endured the devastating strokes Paige was laying down.

Paige let out a groan at the sensation of Azzi clenching around her and throwing it back, her orgasm rapidly approaching. Paige reached up to wrap her hand around Azzi’s throat, causing the younger woman to arch further. The position allowed for both their g-spots to be stimulated simultaneously.

They came undone together, Azzi’s body trembled as she squirted all over the strap and Paige’s abdomen. Paige came with a guttural moan and shutter stroking Azzi through it until the brunette passed out. Paige then pulled out gently and left to wash the strap and grab a washcloth. She returned moments later and began to clean Azzi and grab a t-shirt and boxers for her woman. Once Azzi was taken care of, Paige returned to the bathroom to clean herself up before returning back into the room and slipping on some boxers.

She got into the bed and pulled Azzi into her chest, Azzi stirred just barely, “Best weekend ever” she whispered before nuzzling her head further into Paige’s neck.

Paige kissed her head and let out a quiet chuckle, they both let sleep consume them with a smile on their faces.

[eclipscee]

I WANT THE FAIRYTALE SERIES

–prostitute!paige bueckers x business mogul!azzi fudd

MAIN MASTERLIST

comment to add yourself to the taglist!

summary: it was a neon-lit night on Hollywood Boulevard, the moon shone over the stars embedded in the pavement, and Merger & Acquisitions specialist, Azzi Fudd, had always been hopeless at finding love. 

it was pretty unlikely that hiring a blonde hooker on the side of the road for a night would get her any closer to what she was looking for.

ao3: link

tags: paige is fucking poor, azzi is fuck off rich, she's also lowkey a player but in the name of securing her bag so we move, verse switch pazzi truther, smut, they go to town on the piano, and in the bed, and in the living room, pretty woman au, jobless!paige experiences employment era, azzi pls be my sugar mummy ik you have that nil money /gen

ACT 1A "Lotus Esprit"

ACT 1B "Never Let Me Go"

INTERMISSION...

ACT 2A "Big Mistake"

ACT 2B "For a Girl Like Me”