~your a horrible person~ ~I know it keeps me awake at night~ Stiles Stilinski
~tHaNK yOu, YoU aRe RiGhT~ Billie Eilish
~how does it feel to be the worst at Fortnite?~ ~how does it feel to lie~ Paige Bueckers + Kk Arnold
~I died Dead~ Taylor Swift
~Stupid things have good out comes all the time~ JJ Maybank
Melody stood in front of her open closet, towel still wrapped around her after a quick shower, hair dripping down her back as she stared at her clothes like they were written in a language she had never learned.
“Dress cute,” Lexie had said.
Melody had no idea what “cute” meant in WNBA teammate terms.
Did they mean casual cute?
Going-out cute?
Social-media cute?
She pulled out a simple black tank top, held it up to herself, and frowned. Too plain.
She swapped it for a cropped long-sleeve in soft blue. Too formal.
Next came a fitted white tee. Too boring.
She groaned dramatically and flopped back on her bed, towel knot digging into her shoulder. Her sketchbook on the nightstand caught her eye, her mind flicking back to the drawing she’d done of Caitlin the night before.
No. No, no, no. She was not getting cute for Caitlin.
She was going for team bonding. Team. Not Caitlin.
She sat up again and forced herself to focus.
After twenty minutes of indecision, Melody settled on something that felt like her: a fitted sage-green top, high-waisted jeans, and a thin silver chain Azzi gave her two birthdays ago. Cute, but not like she was trying too hard.
In the bathroom, she dried her hair, letting it fall naturally around her shoulders — a little wavy, a little messy, in a way she hoped looked effortless instead of stressed.
She applied a touch of mascara, a little gloss, then leaned close to the mirror.
“You’re just going out with teammates,” she told her reflection firmly. “You’re not trying to impress anyone.”
Her reflection didn’t look convinced.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her attention away.
Lexie: Leaving in 20! You ready, rookie? 👀🍹💅
Melody smiled at the screen, thumbs typing back:
Ready enough 😅
As she grabbed her bag, she glanced again at the closed sketchbook on her nightstand — the page where Caitlin’s face was half-finished, half-shadowed, too carefully drawn for someone who claimed she didn’t care what her captain thought.
Melody shook her head, flicked off the light, and headed out the door.
Tonight, she wasn’t thinking about practice. Or pressure. Or Caitlin Clark.
At least… she was going to try.
Melody spotted the bar from half a block away — warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk, music thumping just enough to vibrate through the glass, and a crowd of people clustered around the entrance laughing too loudly for a weekday.
Her stomach did one nervous flip.
This was fine.
Totally fine.
Just teammates. Just bonding. Just—
“MELODY!”
Lexie’s voice cut through the noise as she waved wildly from a booth near the front window. Aliyah, Kelsey, Aari, and a couple of the bench players were already squeezed in, drinks in hand, the table cluttered with appetizers.
Melody stepped inside and was immediately swallowed by the warmth, the chatter, the buzz of something alive and late-night chaotic.
Lexie slid out of the booth to greet her, eyes sweeping her outfit. “Okayyy, rookie. You did dress cute.”
Melody rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks warm. “Told you I’d try.”
“Come on,” Lexie said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her closer. “Sit next to me before Kelsey steals you.”
Kelsey raised her glass. “You snooze, you lose, Lex!”
As Melody slipped into the booth, the team erupted into the usual teasing and introductions, shoving a menu into her hand, insisting she had to try the strawberry margarita, and arguing loudly about who was paying for the first round.
It was chaotic. But it was warm. Comfortable.
Exactly what she needed.
She was halfway through laughing at a story Aari was telling when the door to the bar opened again — and a small wave of silence rolled through their booth.
Melody didn’t have to turn to know why.
But she did anyway.
Caitlin walked in with Sophie and Makayla, all three in casual clothes, hair still damp from post-practice showers, looking effortlessly confident in the way veterans always did.
Of course she came. Of course.
Caitlin’s gaze moved over the bar, scanning — bored, casual — until it landed on their booth.
Until it landed on Melody.
Her eyes lingered for half a second too long, surprise flickering across her face like she hadn’t expected the rookie to actually show up.
Then something softer — almost approval — crossed her expression.
Caitlin lifted her chin in a small acknowledgement.
Melody’s pulse jumped.
Lexie nudged her under the table. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Melody lied, grabbing her drink a little too quickly. “Just—”
“Just your favorite drill sergeant walking in?” Lexie whispered with a smirk.
“Lexie,” Melody hissed, almost choking on her margarita.
Across the bar, Caitlin was still watching her. But not in that sharp, critical way she did at practice.
This look was… curious. Quiet. Almost like Caitlin was seeing her in a way she hadn’t before.
This night was about relaxing. About team bonding. About forgetting how much Caitlin Clark got under her skin.
But with Caitlin suddenly walking toward the booth…
Yeah. Relaxing was no longer on the menu.
Caitlin didn’t come straight over — of course she didn’t. That would’ve been too obvious, too readable, too human for the Caitlin Clark Melody knew.
No, she slid into the booth across the bar with Sophie and Makayla, acting like she was fully focused on their conversation. Laughing at something Sophie said. Nudging Makayla when the server brought over drinks. Leaning back like she owned the place.
But her eyes?
They kept drifting. Again. And again. And again.
Every time Melody glanced up — for just a second, just to check — she caught Caitlin looking.
Then pretending she wasn’t.
The first time, Caitlin looked away so fast she knocked her shoulder into Sophie, who snorted, “Smooth, Clark.”
The second time, Caitlin hid her face in her glass like she was suddenly fascinated by the ice cubes.
The third time, Caitlin didn’t look away fast enough.
Melody froze mid-sip.
Caitlin did too.
It was a small moment. Just a few seconds. But it hit harder than any yelling in practice ever had.
Caitlin’s expression wasn’t sharp or intense now. It was… something else. Something that made Melody’s stomach flutter and her chest feel too tight, like she wasn’t getting enough air.
Then Sophie snapped her fingers in front of Caitlin. “Hey. Earth to superstar. You with us?”
Caitlin blinked and tore her gaze away. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.”
Lexie patted her knee. “Relax, rookie. Nobody’s telling her anything.”
Melody tried to take a steady breath.
But it didn’t help that every time she dared glance Caitlin’s way…
Caitlin was already looking. Already tracking her across the room. Already pretending, terribly, that she wasn’t.
And every time their eyes met, that tight, warm, fizzy feeling in Melody’s chest got a little harder to ignore.
The music shifted — louder now, bass vibrating through the floor, people weaving toward the open space near the bar where a crowd had started dancing. Lexie perked up immediately.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, slamming her drink down. “Melody, come on.”
Melody blinked. “What—? No, I don’t dance.”
“You do tonight,” Lexie insisted, already grabbing her wrist. “Team bonding, remember?”
Before Melody could protest, she was pulled out of the booth, weaving through the crowd until they reached the center of the dance floor. The lights were low, neon purples and pinks flashing lazily over everyone’s faces.
Melody felt awkward at first — she shifted her weight, moved stiffly, trying not to look like a baby giraffe on hardwood.
Lexie laughed. “You’re thinking too hard! Just move!”
Melody rolled her eyes but tried again, letting the music guide her. It took a moment, but eventually her shoulders loosened, her hips swayed, her pulse syncing with the beat. Lexie whooped and spun away into the crowd.
Melody was finally starting to enjoy herself when she felt it —
Eyes on her.
Again.
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
But she did anyway.
Across the crowded dance floor, Caitlin stood near the bar, half in shadow, drink forgotten in her hand. She was watching Melody — openly now, no attempt at pretending otherwise. Her gaze moved from Melody’s hands to her hips to her smile, lingering like she wasn’t even aware she was staring.
Melody’s breath caught.
Lexie reappeared beside her, following her line of sight. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “She’s not even hiding it.”
Melody’s heartbeat kicked in her chest. “Lexie—”
“Hey, I’m not doing anything,” Lexie said, hands raised. “But you might want to… y’know… stop staring back unless you want her to spontaneously combust.”
Melody tore her gaze away, cheeks burning.
But the damage was done. Caitlin had seen her. Really seen her.
A moment later, someone nudged Melody from behind. Kelsey and Aari squeezed through the crowd, laughing, hands raised.
“Rookie!” Kelsey said. “Get in here!”
They pulled her deeper into the dancing bodies, and Melody let herself get swept up — spinning, laughing, letting the music take her.
But every time she turned…
Caitlin was a little closer.
First at the edge of the floor. Then a few steps in. Then just behind a couple dancing in front of Melody, watching her again, eyes softer than Melody had ever seen outside that sketch she’d drawn.
Caitlin wasn’t dancing.
But she was absolutely orbiting her.
Melody’s pulse raced.
The room felt warmer. The music felt louder. And Caitlin’s gaze?
It felt like electricity running down her spine.
Right as the song dipped into a slower, smoother beat, Caitlin finally stepped onto the floor — not straight toward Melody, but close enough that Melody could feel the shift in the air.
Caitlin kept a few feet of space between them… but her eyes never left Melody’s.
They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak. They didn’t even stand together.
But it was the closest they’d ever been without a ball between them.
And for the first time all night…
Melody didn’t want to run away from it.
The night wound down slowly — the kind of slow where everything felt warm and fuzzy and a little blurry around the edges. The bar crowd thinned, teammates peeled off in pairs, and Melody found herself outside under the cool air with Lexie beside her, waiting for their Uber.
Melody hugged her arms around herself, still buzzing from the dancing, from the drinks, from the way Caitlin kept orbiting her all night like she didn’t know how not to.
Lexie nudged her. “You looked like you were having fun.”
“I was,” Melody admitted quietly.
At that exact moment, Caitlin stepped out of the bar too, laughing at something Sophie said. Her eyes lifted — immediately landing on Melody across the sidewalk. That same flicker of something crossed her face, but she didn’t come over. Just watched.
Melody quickly looked away.
Their Uber pulled up.
The moment the door closed behind them and the city lights started streaking past the windows, Melody exhaled all the breath she’d been holding in her chest.
Lexie glanced over. “Okay. Spill. You’re staring into the void like you’re about to confess to murder.”
“It’s nothing,” Melody muttered.
Lexie arched an eyebrow. “Girl.”
Melody groaned and sank deeper into the seat. “It’s just… Caitlin.”
Lexie smirked. “Ah. I see.”
“No, you don’t,” Melody said, flustered hands flying. “She was— I don’t know— watching me? All night? When she wasn’t pretending she wasn’t watching me? It was like— I can’t even explain it.”
“You don’t have to,” Lexie said, amused. “We all saw.”
Melody hesitated. Chewed her lip. Then finally asked what had been clawing at her brain since she stepped onto that dance floor.
“Does she… like girls?”
Lexie didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”
Melody froze. “Y—yeah?”
“Mhm,” Lexie said casually, scrolling on her phone. “Bi. Has been for years. Not exactly a secret on the team, just not something she broadcasts.”
Melody’s heart did something. Something she did not give it permission to do.
“Oh,” Melody said softly.
Lexie looked up, eyes narrowing like she could read her mind. “Why? That information useful to you?”
“No,” Melody lied immediately.
Lexie snorted. “Terrible liar.”
Melody glared at the window, cheeks burning. “I was just… curious.”
“Uh-huh.”
Melody buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Lexie said smugly.
Melody peeked through her fingers. “So Caitlin… is into girls.”
Lexie nodded. “Yup.”
“And she kept looking at me tonight.”
“Oh, rookie,” Lexie teased, patting her knee. “She’s been looking at you since day one.”
Melody’s heart slammed hard against her ribs.
The car rolled to a stop outside her apartment building.
Lexie gave her one last knowing look. “Get some sleep, Mel. And maybe… think about why you asked.”
Melody stepped out onto the sidewalk, the door shutting behind her.
By the second week, the novelty had worn off. No more “welcome to the team,” no more soft smiles or curious glances from Caitlin. She’d gone full captain mode—sharp, focused, demanding. She held herself differently: shoulders squared, jaw tight, eyes set like she had something to prove.
And Melody soon learned what every Fever player already knew:
When Caitlin was locked in, she didn’t let anyone breathe.
Especially not her.
The first drill of the morning was a defensive rotation series. Coach called for intensity. Caitlin delivered it.
“Melody—faster feet!” she barked, clapping loudly. “You’re half a step late on every switch!”
Melody gritted her teeth. “I’m trying—”
“Don’t try. Fix it.”
Melody inhaled sharply. Okay. So that’s how this week was going to go.
During shooting reps, Melody felt Caitlin behind her, watching every release, every angle of her elbow.
“Your arc’s dipping.”
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not. Do it again.”
Melody reset. Shot. Swish.
Caitlin didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just moved to the next player, ponytail swinging like a challenge.
And for some reason, that annoyed Melody more than yelling would have.
The scrimmage was worse.
Melody got the ball at the wing, drove hard, and put up a contested layup. It rimmed out.
Caitlin blew the whistle she wasn’t even supposed to have. “Stop.”
“You had Aliyah wide open under the rim,” Caitlin said, pointing. “You didn’t even look.”
“I thought I had the lane—”
“You thought wrong. Read the defense, Mel. Don’t let it read you.”
Melody felt heat rise in her face. “Okay, but—”
“No ‘but.’ You’re better than that.” Caitlin stepped even closer. “So play like it.”
The gym felt too loud. Too bright. Too much.
Melody swallowed back frustration and nodded. “Got it.”
Caitlin blew the whistle again. “Run it back.”
They did. And Melody made the pass this time.
Practice ended in a blur of sweat, burning legs, and swallowed pride. Melody stayed behind to shoot extra, partly out of stubbornness, partly because she needed to prove—to herself or Caitlin, she wasn’t sure—that she belonged here.
She had just retrieved her rebound when she heard footsteps behind her.
Caitlin. Of course.
Still in captain mode, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“You handled today well,” Caitlin said. Not praise—just an observation.
Melody let out a small breath. “Really? Because it felt like I got run over.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Caitlin stepped closer, voice quieter now. “I push the players who can take it.”
Melody blinked, caught off guard. “So I’m one of those players?”
“Yeah.” Caitlin’s eyes lingered a second too long. “You are.”
Something unspoken flickered in the air—quick, delicate, gone before Melody could grab onto it.
Then the hard shell snapped back in place. “Tomorrow,” Caitlin said, turning away, “I want you sharper.”
“And I’ll be watching.”
Melody’s heart kicked. Not because of the pressure. Not even because Caitlin’s expectations were high.
But because Caitlin cared—maybe too much.
And Melody wasn’t sure she was ready for what that meant.
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
Melody sat cross-legged on her couch, a half-eaten container of takeout on the coffee table and her hair still damp from a shower she took the second she got home. Her shoulders were tense, and every few seconds she’d ball her hands into frustrated fists.
Across the screen, Azzi and Paige were curled together on their apartment couch, Paige with her arm draped lazily around Azzi, both of them very much in “supportive older sibling/girlfriend” mode.
Melody finally huffed, “I swear to God, I don’t know what Caitlin’s deal is with me.”
Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What happened today?”
“What didn’t happen?” Melody groaned, dragging a palm down her face. “She’s just— she’s… tough. Way tougher on me than anyone else. Every drill she’s on me. Every rep, she’s watching. I mess up a screen angle by an inch and she’s calling it out. I miss one defensive rotation and she’s already pausing practice to tell me how to fix it.”
Paige snorted lightly. “Sounds familiar.”
Azzi elbowed her but gave Melody an empathetic smile. “Mel, that’s exactly how she was with me when we trained last summer. And she didn’t even know me that well.”
“Yeah, but it’s different,” Melody insisted. “It feels like— I don’t know. Like she’s expecting me to be perfect already. Like she’s waiting for me to fail just so she can… pounce.”
Paige leaned forward, chin in her hand. “And how much of that is you being dramatic and tired?”
Melody glared. “Like twenty percent.”
Azzi laughed. “Mel, listen. Caitlin is intense. Everyone knows that. She wants to win, and she wants everyone around her to play at that level. Especially rookies she sees potential in.”
Melody flopped backward onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t feel like potential. I feel like a disappointment she hasn’t given up on yet.”
“Then you don’t know Caitlin,” Paige said. “If she didn’t think you mattered? She wouldn’t waste her breath.”
Melody groaned again — this time into a pillow. “Why can’t she just… say something normal? Like ‘good job’? Or ‘hey rookie, you don’t suck today’? Literally anything?”
Azzi bit her lip to hide a smile. “Maybe that is her version of a compliment.”
Paige nodded. “Oh yeah, Caitlin ‘I-will-die-before-admitting-I-care’ Clark is totally the type.”
Melody peeked over the pillow. “Great. So I’m training under a brick wall with killer three-point range.”
Azzi’s voice softened. “You’re doing fine, Mel. She’s pushing you because you can take it. Because she sees something in you.”
“Even if you don’t see it yet,” Paige added.
Melody let out a long breath — annoyed, tired, but maybe… a little reassured. “Okay. Fine. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Azzi smiled. “You’ve got this.”
Paige grinned. “And if she yells at you again— just picture her tripping over her shoelaces. Helps every time.”
Finally, Melody cracked a smile — small, but real.
And tomorrow? She’d show up again. Even if Caitlin Clark drove her insane.
Especially because she did.
Hours later, after she’d hung up the call with Azzi and Paige and cleaned up the cold takeout she never finished, Melody finally crashed onto her bed. The apartment was quiet — too quiet — the kind that made her replay every little mistake from practice like a loop she couldn’t shut off.
She tried watching something. Didn’t work.
Tried music. Didn’t help.
Eventually, she reached under her pillow and pulled out her sketchbook — the one thing she always brought with her, no matter where she moved. The leather cover was worn at the corners from years of use, the pages packed with old drawings, ideas, doodles from airports, hotels, locker rooms, anywhere she needed to breathe.
She flipped to a blank page, tapping her pencil against the edge, waiting for inspiration.
Her mind — annoyingly — went straight to Caitlin.
Not the shouting, criticizing, hyper-competitive Caitlin.
But the flashes in between:
the way her brows furrowed when she was focused,
the way she pushed her baby hairs behind her ear when they fell forward,
the way she paced when she was frustrated, muttering to herself under her breath.
Before she knew it, Melody’s pencil was already moving.
Soft strokes. Harsh lines. The shape of a jaw. The curve of a mouth that was always a second away from smirking or snarling. Eyes — sharp, intense, almost too alive to draw correctly on the first try. She erased them twice before getting them right.
She didn’t even consciously decide to draw her.
Her hand just… did.
When she pulled back a few minutes later, she stared at the half-finished sketch — Caitlin Clark mid-dribble, hair pulled back, that unmistakable fire in her expression. But Melody had drawn her softer than she ever was in practice — a little tired, a little human, a little… complicated.
“Why am I drawing you?” Melody whispered into the room, annoyed at herself.
She shaded the edge of Caitlin’s cheekbone anyway.
When she was done, she closed the sketchbook quickly, as if someone would walk in and catch her in the act — even though she lived alone.
But the sketch was still there, imprinted in her mind. No matter how much Caitlin annoyed her. No matter how many times she felt like she wasn’t enough.
Something about her stuck.
And Melody hated — absolutely hated — that she wanted to understand that something.
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
Practice the next morning hit Melody like a wall.
The gym was buzzing, sneakers squeaking, passes snapping through the air. The Fever were already stretching when she walked in, and Caitlin barely glanced up from where she was tying her shoes.
“Morning, rookie,” she said — flat, clipped, all business.
Melody swallowed. “Morning.”
Warm-ups were fine. Shooting drills were fine. But scrimmage?
Scrimmage was hell.
Melody ran through a screen a half-second too slow and immediately—
“Melody!” Caitlin barked, slapping her palms against her hips. “You’ve got to anticipate that. Watch the defense. Read ahead. You’re reacting, not thinking.”
Melody bit the inside of her cheek. “Got it.”
Two possessions later, she fumbled a pass — barely — but Caitlin zeroed in like a hawk.
“No. Again. Run it again,” Caitlin demanded to the whole team. “She needs the reps.”
Melody’s face burned. She rebooted the play. Ran harder. Sharper. But still—
“Shoulder lower,” Caitlin snapped. “Get into her space. You’re giving the defender too much room.”
Melody exhaled through her nose. “Okay.”
“You don’t have to say ‘okay.’ Just fix it,” Caitlin said, already sprinting back on defense.
The words stung more than they should have.
Halfway through practice, Coach called for a water break. Melody grabbed her bottle, chest heaving, sweat sticking her hair to her face. She tried to cool her frustration before it showed.
But Caitlin wasn’t done.
She jogged over, still intense, still that unshakeable captain mode. “Melody, listen—”
“I am listening,” Melody said, sharper than intended.
Caitlin blinked, thrown for a half-second. “I’m not trying to ride you.”
Melody raised an eyebrow. “Feels like you are.”
“I’m trying to get you where you should be,” Caitlin said, voice still firm but a little quieter. “You’re good. You could be great. But you can’t coast.”
“I’m not coasting,” Melody shot back.
Their eyes locked — Caitlin’s fierce and challenging, Melody’s tired and defensive.
After a moment, Caitlin blew out a breath, looking away. “Then prove me right.”
She jogged off before Melody could respond.
Melody stood there gripping her bottle, pulse still racing — this time not from drills.
She hated how much Caitlin got under her skin. She hated how much she wanted her approval.
And she hated how, even after everything…
When scrimmage restarted, she ran harder. Sharper. Cleaner.
And Caitlin noticed. Melody caught the tiny nod — the one Caitlin didn’t think anyone saw — when Melody sank a corner three off a perfect read.
It wasn’t praise.
But it wasn’t nothing, either.
After practice, the gym finally fell quiet — just the hum of the lights overhead and the squeak of a stray mop as the staff cleaned.
Melody was packing her things, trying to ignore the soreness in her legs and the buzzing in her brain from yet another round of “Caitlin Clark intense captain mode,” when someone nudged her shoulder.
Lexie Hull stood there, hair in a messy bun, a towel tossed over her shoulder, looking way too energetic for someone who’d just survived the same practice.
“You alive?” Lexie asked, grinning.
“Barely,” Melody muttered, shoving her sneakers into her bag.
Lexie laughed. “Yeah, Caitlin was in full drill-sergeant mode today. Don’t take it personally. She even yelled at me and I’ve known her like… forever.”
Melody huffed. “I’m trying not to take it personally. My ego’s just bruised.”
Lexie slung an arm casually around Melody’s shoulders as they walked toward the locker room. “Well, good news then — we’re going out tonight. A few of us. Drinks, food, maybe karaoke if Kristy has her way.”
Melody blinked. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. You should come,” Lexie said, stopping to look at her properly. “It’ll be good for you to breathe. Get out of your head a little.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” Melody said, suddenly shy. “You guys already have your group.”
“You’re on the team now,” Lexie countered. “Which means you’re in the group. Rookie hazing rule number one: you’re not allowed to sit at home and spiral alone.”
Melody snorted. “That a real rule?”
“It is now.” Lexie raised her brows. “So? You coming?”
Melody hesitated — part of her wanted to crawl into bed and stay there. But another part… the part that had been drawing Caitlin in her sketchbook last night… needed a distraction.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “Okay. I’ll come.”
Lexie grinned. “Perfect. I’ll text you the details. And dress cute — we’re definitely taking pictures.”
As Lexie jogged off to catch up with Aliyah, Melody let herself smile for the first time since practice started.
Maybe tonight would help her relax. Maybe she’d actually enjoy herself.
And maybe — though she wouldn’t admit it — she wondered if Caitlin would be there too.
Melody Fudd — the often overshadowed but fiercely talented twin sister of Azzi Fudd — heard her name called as the second draft pick, right after her sister’s girlfriend, Paige Bueckers. It was surreal. For years, Melody had been known as Azzi’s twin, the quieter one, the steadier one, the reliable shooter who didn’t chase the spotlight the way her sister naturally did. But tonight, the spotlight found her anyway.
Azzi had decided to stay one more year in college, using her redshirt to sharpen her game and settle unfinished business. Melody respected it—Azzi thrived on pressure, on perfecting every step. But Melody? She was ready. Ready for something bigger. Ready to step out of the long shadow she’d grown up in. Ready to prove she wasn’t just “the other Fudd twin.”
And now she was.
She could barely hear the crowd over her own heartbeat as she walked across that stage, the Fever logo bright behind her. Indiana. It sounded new. It sounded right. A fresh chapter that belonged to her and her alone.
Being part of the Indiana Fever meant possibility. A new home. A fresh team. A clean slate. And—with leaders like Caitlin Clark and a locker room full of hungry young talent—Melody felt it in her bones: this was where she was meant to be.
Azzi had squeezed her hand earlier that night, whispering, “Go shine, Mel. It’s your turn.”
And for the first time, Melody believed it.
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
Melody wasn’t nervous until she was actually walking down the hallway of the Fever practice facility, her new team-issued duffel slipping off her shoulder with every step. She’d met coaches, staff, PR—easy. She’d done interviews—normal. But meeting Caitlin Clark?
That was different.
Not because Melody was intimidated. No—she’d played against Caitlin in AAU, watched her torch entire defenses in college, studied her game like scripture. But meeting her as a teammate was something else entirely. The captain. The franchise player. The face of the Fever.
Melody paused at the doorway to the gym, steadying her breath before pushing it open. The sound of a basketball echoing against hardwood greeted her.
Caitlin was alone on the court, sinking threes like she was breathing—smooth, effortless, wrist flick perfect every time. Her ponytail swung with each step, sweat glistening along her jaw. She didn’t miss. Not even once.
Melody swallowed.
Okay. So this is real.
Caitlin finally noticed her, catching the rebound and tucking the ball under her arm. She gave Melody a half-smile—small, curious, assessing.
“You must be Melody Fudd,” Caitlin said, walking toward her.
Melody nodded. “And you must be… the person every defender in the league has nightmares about.”
Caitlin laughed under her breath, brow lifting. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Melody stepped deeper into the gym, dropping her bag. “I watched your Iowa film. Kind of impossible not to.”
“Yeah? I watched your draft tape,” Caitlin replied. “You’ve got a smooth release. Quick, too. You’ll fit in here.”
Melody blinked, surprised by the warmth in her voice. Caitlin Clark wasn’t just being polite—she meant it.
“Thanks,” Melody said, feeling heat creep into her cheeks. “I’m excited to be here. Really excited.”
Caitlin tossed her a ball. Melody caught it cleanly.
“Show me that shot,” Caitlin said, backing up with a grin. “I want to see what the number-two pick can do.”
It wasn’t flirty—yet—but there was something in Caitlin’s eyes. Interest. Respect. A spark that Melody couldn’t quite name.
Melody stepped to the arc, exhaled, and let it fly.
Swish.
Caitlin’s smile widened. “Yeah,” she said softly. “You’re gonna make this team dangerous.”
And for the first time since draft night, Melody felt it again—that electric certainty that she was exactly where she needed to be.
Melody didn’t have long to soak in her first shot. A few teammates drifted into the gym—Aliyah, Lexie, Aari—chattering, stretching, waking up. The energy shifted from quiet focus to game-day buzz.
“Rookie!” Lexie grinned, tossing her a high-five. “You ready to get yelled at like the rest of us?”
Melody snorted. “Born ready.”
Caitlin shot her a look—amused, impressed—and Melody felt it all the way down to her ribs.
Once practice officially started, the intensity ramped up fast. Coach Stephanie didn’t waste a second; she was all whistles and sharp instructions. Melody fell into drills instantly, muscle memory guiding her.
But every time she looked up, she swore she caught Caitlin watching her.
Not in a judgmental way. Not sizing her up like a competitor.
Something closer to curiosity.
Something softer.
Melody blew through agility ladders, feet tapping in a blur. When she finished, she glanced over to see Caitlin standing nearby, water bottle in hand.
“You move quick,” Caitlin said.
Melody smirked. “You surprised?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Keep watching. I’ve got more.”
Caitlin’s eyes flickered—somewhere between teasing and impressed. “Oh, I’m watching.”
Melody pretended she didn’t feel her heart skip.
During shooting drills, they rotated through stations, and Melody found her rhythm immediately. Elbow tucked, release high, follow-through soft. Shot after shot fell clean.
Caitlin jogged over during a break. “Let me see your step-back.”
Melody raised a brow. “Trying to steal my moves already?”
Caitlin grinned. “Trying to make sure my rookie lives up to her draft spot.”
Melody’s step-back was smooth—quicker than Caitlin expected. The ball snapped through the net.
Caitlin blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Paige wasn’t lying.”
Melody paused mid-rebound. “Paige?”
Caitlin nodded. “She told me you were good enough to go before her. She wasn’t wrong.”
Melody froze. Paige had said that? Azzi would’ve laughed. Melody wasn’t sure how to react.
Caitlin nudged her shoulder gently. “Hey. Take the compliment.”
Melody swallowed. “I… yeah. Thank you.”
Coach divided them into two teams. Melody ended up on Caitlin’s team—luck or fate, she didn’t know.
Ten seconds into the scrimmage, Caitlin threw her a no-look pass that Melody almost wasn’t ready for—but she caught it, squared her shoulders, and hit the three.
Caitlin pointed at her, smiling wide. “That’s my rookie!”
Heat shot through Melody’s chest. She tried to shove it down. Tried to focus.
But playing with Caitlin was… easy. Natural. Like they’d been teammates for years.
Caitlin cut, Melody found her. Melody drove, Caitlin read her instinctively. They fed off each other—momentum building, confidence bouncing back and forth.
At one point, after another seamless assist, Caitlin jogged past her, breathless, whispering, “You make this fun.”
Melody didn’t trust her voice enough to answer.
At the end of practice everyone filed out, tired and laughing, but Melody stayed behind to grab her bag. Her shirt clung to her from sweat, her ponytail messed up, her arms sore.
Caitlin reappeared—of course she did—dribbling a ball lazily.
“You did good today,” Caitlin said, sincerity replacing the teasing.
“Just good?” Melody teased back.
Caitlin took a slow step closer. “Really good.”
And then another step.
Close enough that Melody noticed the faint freckles on Caitlin’s nose, the sparkle of sweat along her temples, the way her eyes kept dropping to her lips for just a second before flicking away.
But Caitlin broke the moment first, looking down with a breathy laugh.
“You’re gonna make this season interesting,” she murmured.
Melody couldn’t stop her smile. “You have no idea.”
Caitlin’s cheeks turned a shade pinker, and she backed up a step. “See you tomorrow, rookie.”
The word rookie had never sounded so much like I’ll be thinking about you.
And Melody knew it. She felt it.
Something was starting.
Something slow. Something charged. Something neither of them could ignore.
It was just the long way back to the dorm. A cool-down jog after weights, headphones in, hoodie sleeves shoved halfway up her forearms. She liked the cold in her lungs. Liked the ache in her legs. It was simple. Clean.
And then she heard the whistle.
Turned her head.
And there she was.
Natalia Auriemma.
Ponytail swaying. Jersey clinging to her like the whole field bowed to her movements. She wasn’t even facing Paige, but her voice carried—sharp, commanding, like she’d been born with a clipboard in her hand and a game plan in her bloodstream.
Paige slowed without meaning to.
She told herself she was adjusting her laces.
She told herself she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were traitors.
Natalia barked something to one of her teammates, clapped once, and jogged into position like she hadn’t just electrocuted Paige’s brain with her existence.
It was infuriating.
She didn’t look over. Not once. And that? That drove Paige insane.
Because Natalia had looked back. At the party. In the café.
Paige knew what that meant. She’d lived in the world of sidelong glances and practiced indifference since she was sixteen. You don’t look back unless something’s pulling you. You don’t look back unless you want to.
And yet here she was, being iced out like none of it happened.
Like Paige was just another face on campus.
She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and started walking again, jaw tight, earbuds no longer playing anything she could focus on.
Halfway back to her dorm, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Messages
Nika, Azzi, Ice , Aaliyah, Paige
nika tell me u saw nat in that braid
azzi u paused your jog. that’s wild
ice you’re cooked lmao
Aaliyah she’s the villain and you’re the golden retriever, it’s so romantic
Paige groaned out loud, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth.
She typed back:
paige she didn’t even LOOK at me
nika that’s because she knows what she’s doing
azzi exactly. that’s top-tier game.
Aaliyah she’s playing chess
ice and u brought uno cards
Paige rolled her eyes and tucked her phone away, smile fading a little as she climbed the steps to her dorm. The lobby was warm and smelled like floor cleaner. Her calves ached as she headed for the elevator, sweat cooling on her back.
Upstairs, her room was dark except for the bluish glow of her laptop. She collapsed onto the bed and kicked off her sneakers, then stared up at the ceiling like it had answers.
She didn’t know what this was turning into.
It was supposed to be a dare. A joke. Something to pass the time. Mess with the coach’s daughter. Make her fall.
But Natalia Auriemma didn’t fall.
She stood.
Tall, in her own 5'3" kind of way.
And Paige?
She was the one tripping.
She pulled her phone out again and opened Instagram.
Natalia had posted nothing.
But Mila had tagged her in a blurry sideline shot—Natalia mid-pass, eyes locked on something out of frame, expression sharp and unreadable.
Paige zoomed in before she could stop herself.
It wasn’t fair, how good she looked in motion. Like fire wearing cleats.
Paige stared for a moment longer than she should’ve, then tapped out a comment and deleted it before she hit send.
She was already in deeper than she meant to be.
And the worst part?
She didn’t want to climb back out.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
@paigebueckers
●○
○●
Liked by azzi35, nika.muhl and 50k others
paigebueckers game day 😝
View All 413 Comments
@azzi35: carry us, blonde assassin 🔥
@nika.muhl posting thirst traps before tip-off is CRAZY 😭
@icebaby21 save some buckets for the rest of us maybe??? just a thought???
@livvyrose caption gave middle school energy but make it elite 😌
@mila.reyes wonder who's watching 👀
@tia.nguyen the smugness in that emoji is personal
@bricarter saw this and immediately pulled my hamstring
@lena.morales tall energy, small caption. Respect.
@natty10 Bold of you to assume anyone’s impressed 😇
↳@paigebueckers bold of you to be here so fast 👀
↳@natty10 I was bored. not blind.
↳@paigebueckers you sure you’re not just obsessed?
↳@natty10 obsessed with silence. Try it sometime.
@nika.muhl the way she folded you like warm laundry in public LMAO
@azzi35 i’m literally screaming
@icebaby21 get a gym 😭😭😭
@mila.reyes somebody’s gonna kiss after tip-off
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Natty10 replying to your post!
Natty10
“Game day 😝”?
Bold caption. Deeply moving. Very poetic.
Paigebueckers
you’re just mad I’m versatile
can drop 20 and an emoji in the same breath 😌
Natty10
Not mad. Just concerned for the integrity of the 😝 emoji.
It didn’t ask to be used like that.
Paigebueckers
you looked at it though 😏
which means you looked at me
Natty10
Delusional.
I was just checking on the mental well-being of my competition.
Paigebueckers
oh, so you do think we’re competing 👀
Natty10
I think you’re playing a game I already won.
Paigebueckers
careful.
talk like that and I might start thinking you actually like me
Natty10
God forbid.
Paigebueckers
so you don’t like me?
Natty10
Go focus on your little jump shots, Bueckers.
Paigebueckers
you so looked at that pic longer than you meant to.
It's hard for me to open up, I'll admit it
You've got some shit to say, and I'm here to listen
˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
So, baby, tell me where your love lies
Waste the day and spend the night
- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ IN WHICH the captain falls for the rookie ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
Or
- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ IN WHICH Caitlin has always been all about the game—strategy, discipline, and keeping her emotions in check. But then Melody joins the Indiana Fever, a rookie full of fire, heart, and fearless energy that refuses to be ignored. At first, Caitlin sees only a player she has to push and shape, but slowly, between early practices, team dinners, and quiet moments after games, Melody chips away at her walls. Caitlin doesn’t notice it at first, but she’s falling—hard—and realizing that some victories aren’t won on the court. ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌
𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁!
Intro | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen |
Bri was juggling a soccer ball in the middle of the dorm room, her posture impossibly relaxed. Her foot tapped the ball upward with casual rhythm, left knee, right, left again, never once letting it touch the ground. The muffled thud-thud-thud of rubber against carpet gave the space a steady heartbeat.
Tia was curled up diagonally across Natalia’s bed like it belonged to her, one hand scrolling her phone, the other wrist-deep in a bag of spicy chips that had already stained her fingertips red. She hadn’t stopped eating since she walked in. Her tongue clicked every now and then, and her occasional gasps of fake shock at whatever TikTok she was watching kept cutting through the low music playing from Mila’s speaker on the desk.
Lena sat cross-legged on the floor by the foot of the bed, a psych textbook cracked open in her lap. The page had been the same for at least fifteen minutes. Every now and then she’d flip it, just to keep up appearances, but her eyes kept drifting to the center of the room. To Natalia.
And Mila—Mila had claimed the edge of Natalia’s desk like she lived there. Sparkling water in hand, soft gold hoops catching the lamplight. She was the only one not saying much, but the way her head tilted and her brows kept twitching told Natalia she was clocking every detail.
Natalia herself was at the desk, laptop glowing in front of her, cursor blinking on an empty document. She hadn’t typed a single word. Her back was straight, posture tense, hands folded over her lap like they might give away the way her brain was buzzing.
The room smelled like lavender spray, warm electronics, and the aggressively chili-dusted chips Tia kept offering but no one else wanted.
“So, like, what’s the deal with that blonde girl?” Tia asked suddenly, voice lazy but loaded.
She didn’t look up from her phone. She didn’t need to.
Natalia didn’t answer at first. She let out a low, involuntary groan and leaned back in her chair, covering her face with both hands like she could physically block the question from reaching her.
“God. I don’t even know,” she said finally. Her voice came out tired, like she was already exhausted by the topic and herself. “She doesn’t know when to quit.”
“Classic basketball behavior,” Lena said without looking up.
Natalia dropped her hands and ran them through her hair, dragging her fingers down the back of her neck to force herself to breathe. “Exactly. They all walk around like they’ve already won something. Like the rest of us are just supposed to applaud and fall in line.”
“She is cute, though,” Bri muttered, balancing the ball on her foot and catching it with a smirk. “Like… that’s undeniable.”
“No one’s denying that,” Mila added smoothly, tapping the edge of her can. “She just gives off trouble, but like, really hot trouble energy.”
Natalia glared. “She gives off annoying energy.”
“Oh my God, you’re blushing,” Tia said suddenly, sitting up on her elbows. Her grin stretched slow and smug. “Wait—no—she’s blushing.”
“No, I’m not,” Natalia snapped, too fast.
“She is,” Lena said with a knowing smile, finally looking up from her book. “Confirmed.”
Natalia stood up, sharp and defensive, like the air had gone too hot too fast. She crossed the room and grabbed the ball from Bri mid-kick. “Can we not turn my life into an after-school special?”
Bri held up her hands like she was surrendering. “You’re the one making it spicy.”
“But we live for your drama,” Tia added, scooting higher onto the bed. “And this one’s good. Enemies to—”
“Don’t say lovers.”
Tia grinned wider. “...mildly intrigued teammates?”
“Don’t say anything.”
Mila raised an eyebrow. “You know, she did follow you into the kitchen at the party”
“She follows me everywhere,” Natalia muttered, dropping the ball onto her bed like it had betrayed her. She sank down beside it, dragging a throw pillow into her lap. “It’s like she doesn’t understand boundaries. I tell her off, twice, and she just smirks. Like she thinks I’m playing hard to get.”
Tia leaned over. “Aren’t you?”
Natalia launched the pillow at her. It hit her square in the face, and Tia cackled.
Lena’s voice softened. “Seriously though. If it’s making you uncomfortable—like really—just say the word.”
“It’s not like that,” Natalia said quickly, too quickly. “She’s not—creepy or pushy or anything. It’s not that.”
She exhaled hard. Pressed her palms to her thighs. “She’s just… persistent.”
“Persistent,” Mila echoed. “That’s a choice.”
“Distracting,” Natalia added under her breath.
“Uh huh,” Tia said, popping another chip into her mouth.
“She’s just…” Natalia paused, brows furrowed. “Tall. And cocky. And annoying.”
“You said ‘annoying’ twice,” Mila noted.
“Because she is.”
The room quieted. The heater kicked on in the corner. The music changed. A text buzzed on someone’s phone.
And then—
“You looked back,” Bri said, her voice light but devastating.
Natalia’s heart skipped.
She turned toward her, sharp and startled. “What?”
“At the party,” Bri repeated, nonchalantly. “When you walked away from her. You looked back.”
“I didn’t,” Natalia said. But her voice cracked just slightly.
“You did,” Mila said without flinching. “I saw you.”
Natalia froze. Her eyes dropped to her lap. She rubbed her thumb over the seam of the pillow like it could distract her from the heat rushing to her face.
It hadn’t meant anything.
It hadn’t.
“I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t following me,” she said quietly. “That’s it.”
The girls didn’t press her.
But the air shifted.
And deep down, behind the hard lines of control she kept so carefully drawn, Natalia knew the truth.
She had looked back.
They all saw it.
And worse?
So had Paige Bueckers.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
They headed out just after five, the air sharp with the kind of cold that didn’t quite bite, but warned you it would. The girls pulled on their warm-up jackets and joggers, hoods up, music low as they cut across campus toward the field.
Natalia walked a little ahead, cleats slung over her shoulder, earbuds in—but not playing anything. She didn’t need hype music. She needed quiet. She needed control.
Behind her, the others chatted like nothing was bothering them. Tia was retelling some story that involved a failed keg stand, two traffic cones, and Lena yelling at a frat guy in Spanish. Natalia caught every other word, but didn’t join in.
Her stomach twisted—still.
You looked back.
She hated how true it was. Hated that she had done it. Hated that Paige knew it. That it probably made her feel smug. Victorious.
Like this was a game and Natalia had just made the first wrong move.
The field lights flickered on in the distance, casting long shadows across the turf as they approached. A few other players were already stretching by the benches, music pumping through a small speaker someone had brought. Cleats clicked against pavement and then turf.
As soon as Natalia stepped onto the field, her body switched gears.
Captain mode. Focus.
She dropped her bag, pulled off her hoodie, and started stretching, eyes scanning the rest of the squad. Bri jogged toward the far goal. Mila was adjusting her shin guards. Tia and Lena were already juggling again, laughing like they hadn’t just dragged Natalia through a full character arc in the dorm an hour earlier.
Coach blew the whistle and practice officially started.
Warm-ups turned into drills. Drills into sprints. Sprints into tactical rotations. Natalia called plays with short, clipped commands—sharp but clear. She didn’t miss passes. She didn’t drift. She didn’t flinch when cleats came too close. She led.
But her movements were tighter than usual. Angled. Like she was trying too hard to prove something.
“Reyes, push left!” she barked. “Lena, drop!” She clapped twice, eyes narrowing as the midfield fell into position.
By the time water break came around, her chest burned. Not from exertion. From effort. From overthinking.
“You okay?” Mila asked, passing her a bottle.
“Fine,” Natalia said, eyes still on the field. “We need to clean up the right side. They’re stacking too hard when we press.”
Mila gave her a look. “We’re not scrimmaging. It’s just drills.”
Natalia didn’t answer. She took a long drink and wiped her face with the bottom of her sleeve.
The team regrouped, and they kept moving—fast-paced, no room for error. No room for distractions. And yet—
Her mind betrayed her.
Just for a second, during a break in play, Natalia glanced up toward the hill by the gym.
A blur of movement. A tall frame. Light hair pulled into a high ponytail. Basketball hoodie.
Paige Bueckers.
Jogging past with headphones in. Not even looking at her.
Natalia’s jaw tensed. She turned back to the field.
She’s not watching you.
She doesn’t care.
And even if she did—it doesn’t matter.
This was her world. Her team. Her control.
She wasn't going to lose it over a girl with long legs, pretty eyes, and the emotional subtlety of a fire alarm.
The second Paige laced up, slid on her practice jersey, and stepped onto the court, everything else went quiet. Classes, drama, pressure, headlines—they didn’t matter here. Here, it was just the ball, the floor, and her body doing what it was built to do.
But today?
Today felt different.
Her passes were just a little too hard. Her shots arced just a little too wide. Her head was half a second late to switch on defense.
“Bueckers!” Coach called out, blowing the whistle. “Dial in. You’re floating.”
Paige blinked hard and nodded, breath misting in the cold gym air. “Got it.”
But she didn’t.
Not really.
Because no matter how hard she tried to lock in, her brain kept short-circuiting back to the kitchen from the night before. To the way Natalia had looked under that party lighting—sharp jaw, loose hair, that quiet, infuriating calm like she’d already figured Paige out and didn’t think much of what she saw.
It had gotten under her skin. Bad.
She dribbled back to the top of the key and ran the play again—harder this time, faster, forcing her focus. Her shoes squeaked against the waxed floor, echoing off the rafters, but it didn’t settle her the way it usually did.
Azzi set a screen, and Paige drove left. Finished the layup clean.
Better.
But even as she landed, even as the ball kissed glass and dropped through the net, the back of her mind stayed crowded.
With that voice. With those eyes. With the way Natalia had said, "I didn’t come here for company," and then looked like she almost meant it.
She grabbed a water bottle from the bench, swiping sweat from her brow.
“Okay, who’s she thinking about?” Nika said loudly, coming up beside her. “You’ve got the ‘I got curved but I liked it’ face.”
“I don’t have that face,” Paige muttered.
“You do. Right now.”
Paige glared at her.
Nika grinned. “You text her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t chase girls who act like they don’t want me.”
“Except you are.”
Paige took another drink and didn’t answer. She hated how obvious she was being.
Because it wasn’t about the chase. Not really.
It was about the fact that Natalia Auriemma had told her no and somehow it hadn’t felt like rejection. It had felt like a challenge.
And Paige loved challenges.
“Bring it in!” Coach yelled. “Let’s go, top of the key!”
Paige tossed her water bottle back down and jogged into the huddle.
She was the best. She knew that. She didn’t get rattled.
But when the ball hit her palms again and the play started—
She still saw brown eyes in the corner of her vision.
And for the first time in a long time…
She wondered if she was already in over her head.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Practice ran late.
Her calves ached. Her hair was still damp at the ends, tied in a high knot. She’d thrown on a hoodie and leggings without thinking, earbuds in but no music playing, just the soft white noise of the walk helping her unwind.
It was gray out. Cold. The kind of early fall afternoon that tasted like burnt leaves and too many deadlines.
She didn’t plan to stop anywhere.
But the coffee shop by the library had its doors propped open, and the smell—sweet, bitter, warm—wrapped around her like a hand on the shoulder.
Her fingers were freezing.
She ducked inside.
It was quiet—low music playing from behind the counter, only a few students at tables, half-asleep in front of laptops. Paige rubbed at her temple and stepped into line, only half-present.
And then she saw her.
Natalia.
Standing near the window, arms folded, waiting on a drink. Hair pulled into a braid today. Dark crewneck, leggings, one foot bouncing absently in a way that made Paige’s breath catch.
No party lighting. No loud music. Just her, in the soft gray afternoon light. And somehow, she still managed to look like a warning sign wrapped in perfection.
Paige turned just slightly. Not enough to be obvious.
But Natalia looked up anyway.
And saw her.
A beat passed.
No smile. No scowl. Just that unreadable, cool expression Paige hated and wanted to kiss off her face.
Then Natalia looked back at the counter like it didn’t matter.
Like Paige didn’t matter.
“Anything else?” the barista asked behind her.
Paige blinked. Realized she hadn’t even ordered.
“Uh, oat milk latte,” she said, distracted.
She stepped aside, and when her drink was called a minute later, she didn’t hesitate.
She crossed the café and stopped just close enough for Natalia to hear her without raising her voice.
“You’re following me now?” Paige asked, deadpan.
Natalia didn’t even blink. “This is the most popular café on campus.”
“Still feels personal.”
Natalia turned to face her, one brow raised, coffee cup tucked neatly into her hands like it was a shield. “Paranoia’s a side effect of ego. You should get that checked.”
Paige smirked. “You memorizing quotes for next time you walk away from me?”
“I’m just prepared,” Natalia said coolly. “You never know when you’ll run into someone who can’t take a hint.”
That landed. But Paige didn’t flinch.
She took a sip of her drink, then tilted her head. “Careful. You keep talking like that, people might think you’re flirting.”
Natalia stepped past her like she was done.
But this time—Paige turned with her. Walked with her. Matched her stride on the way out the door.
Natalia gave her a side glance. “You’re not good at quitting.”
“And you’re not good at pretending you don’t like attention.”
Natalia laughed—just once, dry and low in her throat. “I don’t like yours.”
Paige grinned. “You keep saying that. And yet…”
They reached the sidewalk. The wind picked up, tossing leaves across the pavement. Natalia stopped just outside the door and turned to her fully.
“You want a headline, Bueckers?” she said softly. “Here it is: I’m not impressed.”
And then she walked away. Again.
But this time, she looked back.
Just once.
And Paige smiled like she’d won something.
Because she had.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
The coffee was already cooling in her hand by the time she turned the corner toward her dorm.
She didn’t remember most of the walk.
Just that the wind had picked up, and her hoodie wasn’t cutting it. Just that the leaves kept skipping past her sneakers in little bursts like they were laughing. Just that her brain was loud in a way practice hadn’t fixed.
She replayed it.
Paranoia’s a side effect of ego. I’m not impressed.
And the way Natalia said her name. “Bueckers,” like it was a challenge. Like she already had her pinned to the wall and didn’t care.
It should’ve pissed Paige off.
It should’ve made her roll her eyes, laugh it off, text Nika something petty about how Natalia “definitely has a superiority complex and probably organizes her playlists by GPA.”
But none of that happened.
She just… walked.
Past the arts building, past the glass steps where the theater kids always gathered. Past the quad, where the trees were already half-bare. Past the soccer field, empty now but still humming with yesterday’s cleats and commands.
She took another sip of her latte and winced.
Too cold. Too sweet.
She wanted something bitter. Something she could sink her teeth into.
You’re not good at quitting.
Natalia had looked back. For a second. And it shouldn’t have meant anything—but it did.
Because Paige knew looks. Knew when someone was curious. When someone was flinching. When someone wanted to run, but wasn’t quite sure where.
She knew the difference between indifference and self-preservation.
And Natalia?
She was trying too hard.
Paige stopped outside her dorm building. Swiped her student ID. Climbed the stairs two at a time because the elevator took too long.
Her room was quiet. Warm. A half-dried towel still hung on the back of the door from her post-practice shower. Her bed wasn’t made.
She set the coffee down, fell back onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling.
This wasn’t supposed to be complicated.
It was just a dare. Just a game. Just a girl with a last name that came with warning labels.
But Natalia didn’t move like a warning.
She moved like a riddle.
And Paige—god help her—had always liked puzzles.
Her phone buzzed.
Nika.
n: u alive or did the tiny terror finally end you
Paige smiled a little. Typed back one word:
p: she looked back.
And then turned her phone off.
Because for the first time in a while, her mind wasn’t on basketball.
It was on a girl who said no like she meant it. And might’ve meant yes without realizing it.
Even though she could feel Paige’s stare burning into the space between her shoulder blades like a second spine. Even though her pulse hadn’t settled since the second she turned around and found those blue eyes in the kitchen doorway, half-drunk and stupidly sure of themselves.
Natalia didn’t look back.
She pushed through a crowd of dancers, elbowed past someone trying to hand her a vodka cranberry, and didn’t stop until she reached the hallway again—colder, darker, quieter.
It helped. A little.
Not enough.
Her jaw clenched. Her hands were tight at her sides, every muscle still buzzing from the three-minute interaction that somehow made her feel like she’d run suicides uphill. She didn’t like that Paige got to her. That she said things that weren’t even clever, weren’t even interesting, and still left Natalia unsteady.
Are you flirting with me, or just really bad at small talk?
God. That had been a moment. A slip.
Too much eye contact. Too close. Too long.
Natalia shook it off, dragging her fingers through her hair. Her heart was still racing, and she hated that. Hated that Paige had even followed her in there, let alone stood there looking like a question Natalia didn’t want to answer.
Because the truth was?
It would’ve been easy—so easy—to lean in. To give in. To say yes, to whatever it was Paige was offering with that mouth and those hands and that laugh that sounded like it had gotten away with murder.
But Natalia didn’t do easy.
She didn’t do messy. Not with girls who played on her dad’s team. Not with girls who didn’t know how to shut up. Not with girls who made her feel things she didn’t have time for.
She turned the corner, spotted Mila near the back door, and made her way over like she hadn’t just been in the middle of something she couldn’t name.
“You disappeared,” Mila said, sipping from her cup. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Natalia said, a little too fast.
Mila studied her face. “You sure?”
“Yup.”
A pause. Then, “Was that Bueckers I saw following you into the kitchen?”
Natalia didn’t answer.
Didn’t deny it.
Didn’t need to.
Mila made a face. “She really doesn’t give up, huh?”
Natalia shrugged, arms folded over her chest now, grounding herself. “She’s not used to hearing no.”
“Most people aren’t,” Mila said. “But she’s taking it… weirdly well.”
Natalia looked away. Bit the inside of her cheek.
She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit that this—whatever this was—felt different. Not just annoying. Not just some tall, hot distraction with a mouth full of confidence.
There was something else.
And Natalia didn’t like not knowing what it was.
She didn’t like the way Paige looked at her like she was something to solve. She didn’t like the way it made her skin feel too tight, too warm, too aware.
So she stuffed it down.
Wrapped it in ice. Buried it.
“It’s nothing,” Natalia said, half to Mila, half to herself. “She’s just bored.”
Mila didn’t press.
And Natalia didn’t explain.
Because if she said it out loud, it might start to feel real.
And she wasn’t sure she could survive that.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Instagram!
@Natty10
Liked by bricarterrr, tiaontap and 970 others
Natty10 had to remind the room 💅🏽✨ good curls, better company ✨
Tagged lenamoral.es
View Comments
@milarey10 we were the moment. actually every moment. 🔥
@tiaontap wait why do we look famous here ?? tf
@bricarterrrcaption should’ve been “don’t talk to us unless you’re 5'7 and emotionally available” 💋
@lenamoral.es delete this before my situationship sees it 😭
@azfudd11 okay queen of lighting + angles????
@paigebueckers1 you post this and expect people to act normal??? wild. ↳ @tiaontap: girl don’t start 💅🏽 ↳ @Natty10: 😶
@uconnsoccerupdates the captain said step aside.
@itsjustmila we need a print of this. no fr.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
By the time she got to her first class the next morning, Natalia had two things: a lukewarm coffee and a headache she refused to admit was from anything but dehydration.
The lecture hall was half full when she slid into her usual seat—second row, left side, close enough to pay attention, far enough not to be noticed. She set her bag down quietly, tucked her hoodie sleeves over her palms, and opened her laptop with mechanical precision.
Routine was good. Safe. Grounding.
Which would’ve worked perfectly—if her brain hadn’t been on a one-track loop of last night.
The kitchen.
The stare.
The way Paige’s voice dropped when she said, “I didn’t come in here for ice.”
Natalia shook her head, like that would actually shake Paige Bueckers out of her system.
“Morning,” a voice said from the next seat over. Tia, chewing gum and sliding her sunglasses up into her curls like the hangover didn’t even register.
“You look like death,” Natalia muttered.
“I feel like a goddess,” Tia replied, stretching out like a cat in her chair. “Anyway, you left early.”
Natalia raised a brow. “It was one.”
“That’s early for you.”
“I had practice.”
“Mhm,” Tia said, too knowingly. “And nothing to do with a certain basketball player in a white tank top making bedroom eyes across the party?”
Natalia’s jaw twitched. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Tia grinned. “Cool. I’ll pretend you’re not lying.”
The professor walked in and started loading the slide deck. Natalia straightened, forced her focus to the front, took a deep breath. Just take notes. Just exist.
But even as the screen lit up with bullet points about macroeconomic trends, she found her mind drifting.
Because Paige had followed her.
Had stood there in that kitchen like she knew Natalia was something worth chasing.
Like she wasn’t afraid to lose.
And that—that should’ve made Natalia roll her eyes and walk faster.
But it hadn’t.
It had made her stop. Talk. Look back.
She didn’t like that.
She didn’t like her.
But even now, with lecture notes open and her fingers moving automatically, she could still hear that voice.
Still feel those eyes on her.
Natalia’s stomach twisted.
She hated distractions.
And Paige Bueckers was becoming a dangerous one.
Paige tossed a grape in the air, caught it without breaking stride, and leaned back in her chair like the insult hadn’t been replaying on a loop in her brain since yesterday.
Nika blinked. “Because you are.”
“I’m not,” Paige argued, mouth full. “I read them. I just ignore them.”
“She told you to watch it, and your response was flirting.”
“That wasn’t flirting,” Paige scoffed, then paused. “Okay, it was a little flirting.”
Azzi raised a brow from across the table. “She say anything else?”
Paige hesitated, rolling the empty Gatorade bottle between her palms. “She said ‘have a good one, superstar.’”
Aubrey snorted. “That’s not flirting. That’s her verbally pushing you off a cliff.”
Paige shoved her lightly. “Shut up. You weren’t there. There was… a tone.”
“A tone,” Nika repeated. “God, you’re so far gone.”
“I’m not,” Paige said, but it didn’t come out convincing. Not even a little.
Because the truth was—yeah, okay, she might’ve watched Natalia walk away with just a little too much attention. Might’ve clocked the sway of her braid, the curve of her calf muscle, the way her hoodie sleeves were pushed up like she wasn’t trying to look cool—she just was.
And maybe Paige had waited around near the rec fields this morning. Just in case Natalia showed up. Just to see if there’d be another run-in. Another round.
But she hadn’t shown. Not near Paige, anyway.
Just ghosts and rumors and the burn of a girl who didn’t look impressed when most people would’ve melted.
“She’s so short,” Paige muttered now, almost to herself.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Nika asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just—she’s, like, 5’3. And terrifying.”
“Powerful things come in small packages,” Azzi said, sipping her smoothie.
Paige looked down at her food, suddenly quiet.
She didn’t want to admit that Natalia had gotten under her skin. That one barely-there look had stuck with her more than most full-on flirtations ever did. That being ignored by her felt more like a challenge than any defender she’d crossed up on court.
“So what now?” Nika asked, casually, like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a dining hall full of students pretending not to watch the drama unfold.
“I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “Play it cool.”
“You? Cool?” Aubrey snorted again. “You literally just called her terrifying because she’s short.”
“She is terrifying,” Paige muttered again, pushing her tray away.
But later—when they walked out of the dining hall and the breeze hit just right and Paige thought she saw that familiar braid across the quad—her heart sped up anyway.
Because apparently, there was something worse than Natalia Auriemma ignoring her.
Natalia Auriemma not being there at all.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
The house was already packed by the time they got there—music pulsing through the walls, windows fogged, red cups in every hand. The kind of college party where you couldn’t hear yourself think but that was half the point. No pressure. Just chaos. Just bodies and heat and something stronger than beer in someone’s lemonade jug.
Paige didn’t love these parties. But sometimes, they were good distractions. Good for showing face. Good for keeping the team loose.
Nika was the first one through the door, already tossing hellos, ducking under someone’s arm to swipe a beer. Azzi stayed close behind, eyes scanning the room like it was just another court. Aubrey had disappeared into the crowd in under ten seconds.
Paige followed slow, hands in her pockets, hood up.
She was halfway toward the kitchen when she heard it.
A voice that struck sharp, even through the music.
A laugh that she recognized immediately.
Natalia Auriemma.
She turned instinctively—and there she was.
Back against the hallway wall in a dark green crop top and black jeans, boots scuffed like she’d kicked her way into the party. Her hair was down tonight, waves loose and wild around her shoulders, and her expression was a careful, practiced kind of bored.
She wasn’t alone, of course. Mila and Lena flanked her, cups in hand, already in the middle of some story that had Natalia smirking around the rim of her drink.
She looked good. Too good.
Like trouble you forgot was trouble until it was already too late.
Paige almost backed off—almost—but she’d never been one to retreat.
Instead, she shifted her weight, grabbed a fresh drink from the counter, and made her way into the living room, just close enough for Natalia to see her if she looked up.
And she did.
Their eyes met across the crowd—Paige standing loose by the stereo, Natalia still leaned like gravity didn’t apply to her—and for a second, no one else existed.
No teammates. No dare. No last names or bloodlines.
Just the beat of the music between them and something sharp and electric under Paige’s skin.
Natalia looked away first.
Not because she was flustered.
Because she wanted Paige to wonder if she was.
“Wow,” Nika said, suddenly appearing at Paige’s shoulder with a beer and a grin. “That was subtle.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Paige said, sipping her drink.
Nika nodded. “Exactly the problem.”
Across the room, Natalia whispered something to Lena, barely tilting her head in Paige’s direction.
And Paige smiled.
This was going to be fun.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
The music shifted—bass thicker now, the kind you feel in your chest before your ears catch up. Someone had turned off the main lights, and now the living room pulsed in amber and blue from the string lights hanging across the ceiling. Everything shimmered. Everyone looked better than they were.
And Paige still couldn’t stop glancing back at her.
Natalia hadn’t moved. She was still in the same spot, still holding court with her friends, still pretending she didn’t see Paige every damn time Paige looked over.
Except she was seeing her. Paige knew it.
Because every time Paige laughed too loud, or leaned a little too far toward Nika, or ran a hand through her hair like she wasn’t aware of her own angles—Natalia's eyes flicked back over. Just for a second. Like a dare. Like a warning.
And it was driving Paige insane.
“Go talk to her,” Nika said, slumped next to her on the couch, drink in hand. “This tension is making me physically unwell.”
“I’m not walking across a party to get ignored twice,” Paige muttered.
“Then stop looking like you’re in love with her from across the room.”
“I’m not in love with her.”
Nika raised a brow. “You sure?”
Paige didn’t answer. Just sipped her drink, too long, too fast. The liquor burned its way down like punishment.
Then Natalia moved.
Not toward her. Of course not. But through the crowd, weaving past a group of frat guys with that same sharp grace she carried on the field. Paige’s gaze tracked her automatically—she couldn’t help it—and then Natalia was disappearing into the kitchen.
Paige stood up without thinking.
Nika gave her a look. “So you’re just gonna accidentally wander into the kitchen now?”
“I’m getting ice,” Paige said.
“For your drink?”
“No. For my face,” she snapped, then shoved her cup into Nika’s hands and followed the path Natalia had taken.
The kitchen was a little quieter, the music muffled behind closed doors. Natalia stood by the fridge, back turned, flipping through the options like she actually cared about mixers.
Paige leaned in the doorway, heart thudding annoyingly hard in her chest.
“Running low on sarcastic comebacks, or just needed a refill?” she asked.
Natalia didn’t flinch. Just closed the fridge and turned slowly, one brow raised like she’d known Paige would follow.
“Ice is in the freezer,” she said flatly.
Paige let a slow grin curl across her lips. “I didn’t come in here for ice.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Natalia said, stepping around her to toss her drink into the sink, “because I didn’t come here for company.”
She brushed past Paige again—barely—but Paige caught the scent of her. Clean. Warm. Something like citrus and something like trouble.
Paige turned to follow. “You always this charming at parties, or am I just lucky?”
Natalia stopped.
Turned.
For a second, she looked Paige up and down like she was trying to figure out where the game ended and the player began.
“Are you flirting with me,” she said, voice low, unimpressed, “or just really bad at small talk?”
“I don’t do small talk,” Paige said.
Natalia tilted her head. “That obvious.”
They stared at each other, close now. Close enough that Paige could see the darker flecks in Natalia’s brown eyes. Close enough that something flickered—quick and almost invisible—in Natalia’s expression.
Then she stepped back.
“You should get back to your team,” Natalia said. “You’re a lot more fun when I’m not around.”
And with that, she walked away.
Paige stood in the kitchen doorway for a beat too long, pulse loud in her ears.
The thing about being the coach’s daughter is that everyone thinks they know who you are before you even open your mouth.
She’s intense. She’s cold. She’s off-limits.
Natalia had stopped trying to correct the narrative years ago. Let them think what they wanted. It kept people at arm’s length, and that was exactly where she liked them—out of reach and out of her way.
She liked quiet.
She liked precision.
She liked control.
And she definitely didn’t like basketball players with loud laughs and too-big reputations and the kind of blue eyes that looked through you like they were doing you a favor just by noticing you.
So when she turned the corner near the vending machines outside the athletic center and nearly ran smack into Paige Bueckers—all limbs and cockiness and six feet of “you’ve heard of me”—Natalia didn’t flinch.
She didn’t look up, either. Not immediately.
“Watch it,” she said coolly, the words flat and sharp, already sidestepping.
But Paige didn’t move.
She stood there like she owned the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, a lazy smirk curling at her lips. She looked like the kind of girl who’d never been told no and wouldn’t believe you even if you said it.
“Didn’t peg you for the vending machine type,” Paige said, tilting her head like she was just so amused by Natalia’s existence.
Natalia looked up then.
All the way up.
She hated that Paige towered over her—six feet tall, broad-shouldered, smug. She made Natalia feel like a civilian in her own building.
Natalia narrowed her eyes and gave her the slowest, most unimpressed once-over she could manage. “Didn’t peg you for the can’t-read-social-cues type.”
The smile flickered.
Barely—but it was there. A tiny crack in the performance. Paige shifted slightly, like she wasn’t used to being met with steel instead of giggles.
Good.
Natalia turned back to the vending machine, punched in her code without breaking eye contact, and let the bottle clatter down like punctuation. She grabbed it, popped the cap, and took a sip before brushing past Paige again.
She didn’t slow down. Didn’t break stride. Just threw the words over her shoulder like they didn’t matter.
“Have a good one, superstar.”
And she didn’t look back.
Because she didn’t need to.
She already knew Paige was still standing there—stuck between intrigue and irritation.
And that was exactly where Natalia liked her.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Practice was a blur of heat and motion—sun baking down on the field, the air thick with late-season humidity and the sharp tang of freshly cut grass. The sound of cleats slamming into turf echoed like percussion, loud and fast and relentless. Coaches barked instructions from the sidelines. Whistles sliced through the chaos. Cones blurred at the edges of Natalia’s vision as she darted between them, sharp turns, tighter cuts, footwork automatic and lethal.
Sweat trickled down her back, soaking the collar of her practice tee. Her thighs burned from sprints, her calves screamed from constant stops and starts, but she didn’t let up. Didn’t miss a pass. Didn’t hesitate.
She couldn’t.
She didn’t allow herself to.
Because Natalia Auriemma was captain for a reason. Because perfection wasn’t a goal—it was the bare minimum. Anything less, and people talked. Said she got it from her last name. Said she was handed the armband. Said she only made starting lineups because of who her father was.
So she pushed harder.
She didn’t waste time. Didn’t soften. She led because that’s what was expected of her.
And she hated when people expected anything else.
“You good?” Mila asked, jogging up beside her during a water break, wiping her forehead with the hem of her shirt, cheeks flushed and hair curling from sweat.
Natalia didn’t answer right away. She took a long drink from her water bottle, throat burning. Her eyes tracked the midfielders across the field automatically.
“Morales is drifting left too early,” she said instead, voice sharp, professional. “Tell her to hold center until the pivot opens.”
Mila gave her a look. “That’s not what I asked.”
Natalia finally looked at her.
She gave a tight shrug. “I’m fine.”
But Mila wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been biting since we got here.”
Natalia let the words hang in the air, heavy as the sun overhead. She took another swig of water. Retied her braid, tugging it tight enough to sting at the scalp.
Because she wasn’t biting.
She was just... distracted.
Not because of her, obviously.
Not because of a vending machine hallway run-in with six feet of attitude and those stupid cocky eyes and a voice that wouldn’t get out of her head no matter how many drills she ran.
Natalia’s jaw clenched. She shook her arms out, rolled her neck until it cracked.
She didn’t have time for distractions. Especially not ones that looked like walking temptation and talked like they could get away with anything.
She pulled her shin guards tighter, refocused her gaze on the field, and narrowed her thoughts to the only thing that mattered: the game.
And the next girl who didn’t sprint all the way through a drill?
She was going to tear them apart.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
It was already dark when Natalia headed toward the gym. The field lights were still on behind her, casting long shadows over the grass, but the sky above had already slipped into that inky blue that meant the day was gone.
Her car was still in the shop. Transmission or something else she didn’t care enough to remember. Her dad had offered to drive her home after his practice wrapped, and she could’ve said no. Should’ve, maybe. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to walk. But something tugged at her.
Maybe it was routine. Or maybe it was something quieter.
She found her way through the back hallway of the athletic center, the one that always smelled faintly like rubber soles and wintergreen muscle balm. When she pushed the gym doors open, the air inside hit her like memory: warm, worn, and echoing with the squeak of sneakers on polished wood.
The lights were bright and a little too harsh. But the place still felt familiar. Safe, even.
She climbed the bleachers automatically, earbuds in, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She didn’t sit in the front rows. She never did. She liked being able to look down on it all. Observe without being seen.
She pulled out a protein bar, unwrapped it slowly. Her legs ached from the final scrimmage. Her back was tight. She stretched one leg out along the bench, toe rolling in her sneaker. The motion was lazy. Disinterested.
She didn’t mean to watch the team.
Didn’t mean to notice who was running the offense.
Didn’t mean to recognize that unmistakable stride, all sharp turns and clean cuts.
But then her eyes caught on her.
Paige.
High ponytail. Shoulders dusted with sweat. Tank top clinging between her shoulder blades. Every movement efficient, powerful. Like she was dancing with the ball and daring anyone to interrupt.
Natalia’s jaw tensed.
Paige looked unbothered. Focused. In control. The way great athletes are when they forget they’re being watched.
It made Natalia’s stomach twist.
Annoying.
She looked down at her protein bar and took a too-large bite. Chewed too slowly.
She wasn’t watching.
She wasn’t interested.
It was just muscle memory, she told herself. Just the way her brain always clocked the sharpest threat in the room. The girl with the most gravity. The one everyone else moved around like planets and pull.
That’s all Paige Bueckers was.
A challenge. A dare she hadn’t agreed to.
Natalia glanced back down at the court, just once, just to be sure. Paige was laughing at something one of her teammates said, head thrown back, hands on her hips, all that arrogant brightness wrapped in sweat and steel.
Natalia’s fingers curled into her hoodie sleeve.
She wasn’t going to lose to her.
She didn’t lose.
Especially not to girls who made her look twice.
Paige was sitting at the lunch table with some of her teammates, absently twirling the straw in her smoothie, the conversation circling lazily around practice drills and how much they all hated suicides. Nika was ranting about her shoulder again, Azzi kept texting under the table, and Aubrey was mid-eye-roll about Coach’s latest motivational speech when Paige’s eyes drifted—just for a second.
The doors swung open, and a ripple moved through the room.
There she was.
Natalia Auriemma.
Shorter than Paige expected every time she saw her, but somehow still intimidating. Dark hair pulled into a tight braid, expression unreadable, stride confident. She didn’t walk so much as command the space, flanked by her teammates like a starting lineup of bad decisions. They weren’t in uniform, but you could still tell—soccer girls moved like they knew something everyone else didn’t.
Paige’s eyes flicked back to her table, quick and casual. But Nika caught it.
“Don’t even think about it,” Nika said, not even looking up from her apple slices.
“Think about what?” Paige asked, leaning back, playing it cool.
Nika raised a brow. “The look you just gave her. I saw that little ‘oh she’s hot’ blink. Don't do it.”
Azzi looked up. “Who?”
“Natalia,” Nika and Paige said at the same time, and Paige winced.
“Coach’s daughter Natalia?” Azzi blinked. “That’s who you were looking at?”
Paige shrugged, grinning now. “Didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to look.”
“You’re not,” Aubrey said, deadpan. “She’s like… a career-ending decision in cleats.”
“She’s not that bad,” Paige argued, already reaching for the straw again.
“She made that freshman from cross country cry in the parking lot just for calling her ‘Geno’s kid,’” Nika said. “She doesn’t flirt. She annihilates.”
“Okay, but… she’s hot,” Paige muttered.
“That,” Nika said, sitting up now with a smirk, “sounds like confidence.”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “So?”
“So,” Nika said, “if you’re so sure of yourself, I dare you to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Make her fall for you.”
The table went silent. Even Azzi looked up from her phone.
“You’re not serious,” Paige said, though her grin was already betraying her.
Nika leaned in, voice low. “Dead serious. You’re Mister Big Shot. Everyone loves Paige Bueckers. Let’s see if the Ice Queen does too.”
Paige glanced back toward the other side of the room. Natalia was laughing at something Brielle Carter said, head tilted, teeth flashing—just for a moment. Then the mask snapped back into place like it had never slipped.
Off-limits, Paige reminded herself.
Dangerous.
She took a sip of her smoothie and smirked.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Later at practice, they were running through drills and plays, sweat already clinging to their backs under the gym lights. Coach was pacing with that familiar scowl, whistle bouncing against his chest, barking out adjustments with no room for softness—not even for his star player.
Not even for his daughter.
Paige hadn’t seen Natalia yet, but the dare hung over her like a second jersey. Every time she missed a pass or felt someone watching, she caught herself glancing toward the doors. Stupid. She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just a joke. But her head wasn’t in the game, and Nika knew it.
“Focus,” Nika muttered, hip-checking her lightly during a water break. “You’re playing like your brain’s somewhere else. Or someone.”
“Relax.” Paige rolled her eyes, grabbing a towel. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not slick, Bueckers,” Nika said with a grin, already jogging back toward the court. “She’s probably not even watching.”
She was.
Natalia had shown up twenty minutes into practice, like she always did when her dad’s team was running late drills. She didn’t come close—she never did—but she sat on the top row of the bleachers with her earbuds in and a protein bar in her hand, pretending not to look up.
But she did.
Every time Paige hit a clean three-pointer or shouted a play with command, Natalia’s gaze flicked down, cool and unreadable. She watched like she was studying a pattern, like she was trying to find the space between performance and truth.
Paige caught it once—right after a drive and kick to Azzi that ended in a clean swish. She looked up instinctively and found Natalia’s eyes already there. Calm. Curious. Then she looked away.
Just like that.
Like Paige was a commercial break.
“Again!” Coach shouted, and they reset.
But Paige’s chest burned—not from the drills, but from the look. Or maybe the lack of one.
Because now the game had started.
And Paige wasn’t sure if she was still the one in control.
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
The locker room was humid with sweat, steam, and the overlapping sounds of showers turning on, sneakers hitting the tile, and music playing low from someone’s speaker. Paige peeled off her jersey with a grunt, dropping it into the laundry bin and letting her body sag onto the bench like the weight of the practice had finally hit her all at once.
“Well,” Nika said, flopping down beside her, “you survived your first day of flirting from forty feet away. Proud of you.”
“That wasn’t flirting,” Paige muttered, wiping her face with a towel.
“You’re right,” Nika said, cracking open a Gatorade. “That was failure. You didn’t even wave. You blinked at her like you had a cornea spasm.”
Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
Because… maybe Nika wasn’t wrong.
Natalia had barely reacted. Barely looked at her. And somehow, that had Paige spiraling more than if she’d laughed in her face.
“She was watching, though,” Azzi offered from across the locker room, tying her hair into a bun. “I saw her during shooting drills. She didn’t even blink when Coach yelled.”
“She never blinks,” Aaliyah added, passing by with a towel slung over her shoulder. “It’s unsettling.”
“She blinked at me,” Paige said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
“I mean—I think,” she added, quickly. “She looked. For a second.”
“You are so gone already,” Nika said, and everyone cracked up.
Paige sank lower on the bench. “Shut up.”
“Look,” Nika said, lowering her voice and tossing her now-empty bottle into the trash. “You’ve got two options. Keep letting her stare you into submission from the bleachers… or actually talk to her.”
“That would involve knowing where she is when Coach isn’t around,” Paige said.
Azzi raised a brow. “You know she eats lunch outside the rec fields, right? Same spot every day. With that scary girl with the tattoos.”
“Brielle,” Nika supplied.
“Yeah. Her. You could ‘accidentally’ run into her.”
Paige snorted. “That’s subtle.”
“Or,” Nika said, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder, “you could keep pretending this is a dare and not the beginning of your own downfall.”
Paige stayed quiet as the others filtered out, letting the noise fade and the moment stretch. Her skin still buzzed from practice, from that too-short glance across the gym. And she hated that she cared. That someone so closed-off, so off-limits, could already have this kind of pull.
She hated it.
And maybe she loved it.
She stood, slung her duffel bag over one shoulder, and caught her reflection in the locker mirror—flushed cheeks, messy braid, a spark of something dangerous in her eyes.
Unwritten ones, the kind you don’t say out loud because they’re bone-deep. Things every athlete just knows.
Don’t gloat after a win. Don’t half-ass conditioning. Don’t sleep with the coach’s daughter.
Especially if your coach is the one who helped build you. Who gave you your shot. Who vouched for you when you were seventeen and reckless and too good for your own good.
Especially if his daughter is Natalia Auriemma.
Paige had heard the stories before she ever saw her in person—stories whispered between players like folklore. About the girl with the cleats that never touched the bench. The one who turned college offers into trophies. The one who broke hearts like ankles and left them bleeding behind locker room doors.
So when Nika Mühl leaned across the cafeteria table with a mischievous glint in her eye and said, “I dare you to make Natalia Auriemma fall in love with you,” Paige didn’t blink.
She smirked.
Said, “Easy.”
It was supposed to be harmless. Something to pass the time between drills and away games. A joke. A challenge. A reason to flirt with danger without actually risking anything.
But then Natalia turned around on the practice field—sun in her hair, sweat glinting on her skin like war paint—and looked at Paige like she could see straight through the smirk.
And Paige felt it.
That slow, dangerous pull of someone who doesn’t fall for games. Someone who would rather break you than bend.
Natalia was ice in the veins and fire in the blood. She didn’t flirt—she tested. She didn’t laugh—she smirked like she knew something Paige didn’t. And Paige hated it. Hated how quickly she wanted more.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just locker room banter and smug glances across the gym. It was late-night texts that weren’t supposed to mean anything. It was eyes that lingered too long during warm-ups. It was Natalia showing up at one of Paige’s games with her hood up and arms crossed, like she didn’t care—like she really cared.
And Paige? Paige forgot the rules.
Forgot the dare.
Forgot that Natalia was off-limits, untouchable, the one person she could never have without consequences.
Because now Paige Bueckers—the golden girl of UConn basketball, the girl who never loses—was falling. Fast. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t know how to win.
Because Natalia didn’t come with instructions. She came with warning signs.
-ˋˏ [Featuring] ˎˊ
Lena Morales – Chandler Kinney
Tia Nguyen – Malia Pyles
Brielle “Bri” Carter – Zaria
Camila “Mila” Reyes – Bailee Madison
2022-2023 Uconn team as themselves
Pretty when you say my name like that
Feel your lips trace down my neck
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Pretty when you looking up like that
Pray but heaven won't let you back
You're good on your knees
-ˋˏ [In Which a blonde got dared to make the coaches daughter fall in love with her.] ˎˊ
Or
-ˋˏ [In which Paige Bueckers was never supposed to fall for Natalia Auriemma— her coach’s daughter, the girl who showed up to practices with headphones on, cleats still muddy, and eyes that looked through people like she was always ten steps ahead. It was meant to be a joke. A dare. Flirt with the coach’s daughter. Make her blush. See if the icy soccer girl even could fall for a basketball star. But Natalia didn’t blush. She bit back. She challenged Paige in ways no one else ever had—never impressed, never fazed, always two seconds from walking away. And maybe that’s what did it. Now Paige is staying late after practice for a chance to run into her, catching herself scanning the bleachers mid-game, hearing Natalia’s voice in her head like a taunt she wants to obey. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But now Paige can’t stop picturing what it would feel like to have Natalia say her name like a prayer..] ˎˊ
𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁!
Intro | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen |
ellievsbear
theartofmadeline
origamiaround