OneShots
Mini Star In The Making - Mom Paige x Mom oc
Game Day Hair and Tiny Sneakers - Mom Paige x Mom oc
You Can't Guard This - Paige x Bartender
Sugar Daddy - Paige x Reader
Bigger Problems Paige x Reader
The Great Baby Name Debate - Paige x Reader
Take It Seriously, Bueckers - Paige x Reader
She's Taking it Seriously? - Paige x Reader
Kamorea In Your Head Next Time - Paige x Reader
Rodeo and Rebounds - Paige x Reader
Based on Songs 🎶
We Were Never Just A Phase - Paige x oc
Sweetener - Paige x Reader
Breakfast in Bed - Paige x Reader
Pools (stripped) - Paige x Reader
content: filth 👅 (w decent plot - cmon, we know how this goes by now) jealous!p, slight public sex & exhibitionism(?), fingering (r!receiving), packing (🌚), strap (r!receiving), oral (p!receiving), lap dances, spitting, actual warning for men
wc: 8.0k
synopsis: Paige knew what she was signing up for when she asked you, a revered dancer for Dallas’s most prolific strip club, to be her girlfriend, but sometimes she just can’t help getting jealous. Especially when someone thinks they can touch what’s not theirs.
notes: yes the title is from the kali uchis song. if there's any of my fics i recommend listening to the titular song for, this is def one!!! based on this req from 🫦 anon, hoping i did this justice for you and thank you sm for sending this in 🙏 i fear this might be the last fic for a minute - im not dying but i do have to lock in on classes 👎 not proofread but as always though i hope y'all enjoy 🫶
You and Paige weren’t a very…conventional couple by any means. You shouldn’t work well together, but you do.
You’re a stripper – although you prefer the term exotic dancer now, mostly since you’d put an end to some of the services you used to offer – for one of Dallas’s most high profile clubs, Divinity. A corny name that served an even hornier clientele of Dallas’s richest playboys, sleazes, and their countless athletes. You weren’t complaining, though. It’s putting you through college, you’re well on your way to paying off your mom’s house, and you were fortunate enough to have understanding employers who were aware of the ramifications of their business. When you told them that you’d prefer not to perform lap dances or other private shows out of respect for your relationship, they’d readily agreed, a fact you were more than appreciative of.
Paige is one of Dallas’s up-and-coming stars, a bright-eyed, attractive, alluring athlete with the world at her disposal. She was shockingly grounded despite that, humble where you would have expected an arrogant jerk. For all intents and purposes, she wasn’t anything you were preparing yourself for, but you don’t think you’d ever be so thankful to be so surprised.
The two of you have been together for nearly a year, having met during a preseason match during her rookie season. While she was diving for a loose ball near the courtside seats, she ended up at your feet and spilled your drink onto the court. Paige was incredibly apologetic, hardly registering the fact she’d been awarded free throws for the foul, more focused on wiping the water off of your Dunks. After standing and staring at your face for a solid few seconds, as if wondering how you were real and in front of her, she offered to buy you a drink, but the refs were growing impatient and she was out of time.
That didn’t stop her from tracking you down after the game, though. Nor did it stop her from shaking your hand with an enraptured, charismatic little smile, asking for your name and when you’d be free like you’d already accepted her date offer. When you teased her for that, her smile just grew before she pointed out, “Well, you waited for me to come find you. Figured you were at least a little interested.”
In fairness, she was correct. You were interested, not because she was Paige Bueckers or some beginning of a superstar athlete, but because of her humility and how she sank to her knees in front of a sold out arena to dab the water off of your shoes with the hem of her jersey. That meant something to you. So you go out, enjoy the drinks and the company, and you see her again. Then again after that.
Before you could let your relationship grow out of hand, you knew you had to sit her down and explain your profession. You were really into her, but you could see how it could be a dealbreaker for a lot of people, especially since Paige was a public figure. She took it a lot better than you’d been expecting, which led to a lengthy conversation about everything under the sun. She asked if you enjoyed doing it – you did, you were just a dancer at heart and you would be the first to admit that dancing has helped you come out of your shell.
In turn, you asked her if being with you would make things difficult for her. She was reasonably confused, then almost offended at the idea, before ensuring you that her private life was just that – private. Obviously, being the celebrity athlete she is, it would be near impossible to promise that the two of you could keep things that lowkey, but she was honest and told you upfront that she was falling for you and promised that if push came to shove, the two of you would work through it.
That was the heart of the conversation. Paige asked you to be her girlfriend a week later. It was after a private, rooftop dinner and movie in the fading sunlight of the Dallas summer. You’d said yes, of course, because you were falling hard for her, too. The officiality of your relationship sparked a new conversation regarding boundaries. You agreed on keeping your relationship private, mostly for your benefit – Paige had explained that she could handle the heat on her end, but recognized she had some…hardcore fans, and didn’t want them showing up to your workplace and harassing you.
You told her you’d talk to your employers about dancing only and discontinuing the private shows that people would pay for. It was for both yours and Paige’s peace of mind – you didn’t feel comfortable being so close to other people and performing intimate acts, even if it was your job. It wasn’t necessary and that was a boundary you were willing to enforce because you liked Paige, saw a future with her, and wanted to ensure there was no miscommunication about anything in your relationship. Paige, to her credit, had seemed guilty, making sure to repeatedly emphasize that you didn’t need to change your life or endanger your job for her. You just rolled your eyes, kissed her, and reminded her that you care a whole lot more about her than whether or not old, sleazy men get their rocks off. She’d probably never admit it, but she was relieved that you took that boundary so seriously.
Paige wasn’t known to be an incredibly jealous person. Communication, despite how uncomfortable it could be, was the very foundation of your relationship. The two of you were so secure with one another and any of her jealousy could be derived from a deep-rooted possessiveness.
It’s not the uncomfortable kind where she controls your every move or makes decisions for you – you’d had an ex or two who were like that and you were not keen on repeating that. It was more of a mutual agreement – you were hers, she was yours, and honestly, she was probably developing a bit of a complex about it; you’d perform for a crowd full of people who’d give anything to be with you, but it was her you’d go home to every night. In essence, she just didn’t like it when people got a little too close to what wasn’t theirs.
You and Paige weren’t a conventional couple. But you were a healthy one. You communicated, you had a whole lot of love for each other, and you worked. Despite that, you can’t always control how you feel, and sometimes, Paige just can’t help being jealous.
It was a Friday night at the club and it was already packed wall to wall with patrons, mostly your regulars, but there were also some new faces – investors, foreign athletes, various rookies for the hometown teams. It was a typical show-out, so you weren’t expecting much of it, not until one of your coworkers walks into the dressing room while you’re applying a thin layer of gloss to your lips.
“Never in a million years will you guess who just walked in,” Asha, better known by her stage name Vixen, states in lieu of a greeting. You glance at her through the mirror, your brows raising slightly. She’s dressed to the nines, her make-up gorgeous, and she smoothes out her hair while she waits for your answer.
“Hello, Asha,” you deadpan. “Yes, I’ve had a good day, thanks for asking.”
“Girl!” Asha kisses her teeth while she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re so high maintenance.”
You allow yourself a ghost of a grin, capping your gloss and spinning in your chair to face her. “Okay, who? Was it another rapper? Athletes? Married man?”
“Depends on your definition of rapper; yes, they’re all athletes; and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two people in there who are married, but they’re not men,” Asha responds.
You hum. “Well, who are we to yuck their yum?”
Asha huffs, annoyed at the fact that you’re not really reacting, before finally saying, “It’s the Wings, girl. As in the WNBA team. As in First Team All-Studs. I’m either walking out of here tonight with hundreds in my purse or a wife. Shit, maybe Arike’s looking for a third.”
At that, you can’t help but laugh. That morning, before you and Paige went your separate ways – you to the gym and Paige to practice, she’d told you that they’d be out on the town tonight to celebrate some of their rookies, although you thought that would include the bar and some drinks, not a strip club. Knowing Paige, bringing her team to your club wouldn’t have been her first choice, so you figure someone else on her team had the bright idea. You weren’t upset, mostly amused since Paige tends to react to the club in the same way she does while walking through the lingerie section in Victoria’s Secret store – with a lot of dramatic horror like she’s not allowed to look at anyone that’s not you.
You like to joke you have her pretty house-trained, but you find it more endearing than anything else, and you trust your girlfriend.
“I’m sure Arike is very happy in her current relationship,” you say apologetically, knowing first hand that she is. You’d been to their place for dinner many times and Arike practically worships the ground Lala walks on.
“Let me dream,” Asha bemoans. Then, a sly grin appears on her face, and she slides a little closer to you, almost conspiratorially. “You plottin’ on any of them? I think I saw Paige Bueckers out there.”
You smile knowingly, trying not to laugh at Asha’s ignorance – a testament to how quiet you’d kept your relationship. “She’s fine,” you agree, trying to not look too helplessly in love. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll want a private show.”
Her grin widens, but you’re both out of time – one of the stage managers knocks on the door to announce your call time. Asha wishes you luck while you strap on your heels, making your way backstage. The manager guides you to your spot and you take a deep breath in preparation, adjusting the thin, teasing bikini cover over your body. It hides the matching set you’re wearing – an alluring, dark red with glittering rhinestones. You have half a mind to steal it and take it back home with you, but knowing Paige, she’d probably object and buy you a different set entirely for your eyes only.
On cue, you walk out in time with the music, a slow, sultry R&B song, and you make eye contact with the people crowding the stage. The lights, while usually dimmer, have been brightened slightly in preparation for your set. You make your way to the front of the stage, where you’re amused to see your girlfriend and her team waiting. Paige’s eyes brighten at the sight of you, drinking you in, drawing her lip between her teeth almost absentmindedly.
Deciding to tease her a little, you spin on your heel, your back to her as you pull your cover down inch by devastating inch. Your motions are deliberate, revealing miles upon miles of smooth skin, the lingerie covering your body, the lights catching the rhinestones perfectly. You’re practically glowing. With the cover in your hand, you crouch, making eye contact with Paige, and you smile cunningly at her while you wrap the cover around the back of her neck, pulling her in.
The crowd’s cheering, but you hardly register them as Paige’s hands find your skin. You brush your lips across her ear, knowing you don’t have much time, and you murmur, “What’s the girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you’re at the club?”
Paige slips a crisp hundred dollar bill into your bralette, her hands lingering longer than necessary, but you don’t mind. Her eyes are glued to your chest for a beat, but when they meet your gaze, her pupils are blown wide with desire and a thinly veiled mischief. “Sin now, beg for forgiveness later, right?” she murmurs over the bass of the music. “I’ll make it up to her.”
Your smirk widens and you release her, intending to actually start your set now. You don’t miss how Paige’s teammates jostle her in excitement. Arike was the only one who knew the truth and she just grins knowingly, shaking her head.
You always lock in when you dance, so your set goes by smoothly and ends before you know it. With a smile, you make one last lap around the stage, interacting with the club-goers and winking at the Wings team. If you blew a kiss to them, then that’s no one’s business but your own, but you make your way off the stage and towards your dressing room to change.
Asha’s up next after you, so she congratulates you on a good set before she’s off to do hers. You’re just barely slipping out of your heels when there’s a knock at the door. Thinking it’s a stage manager, you call for them to come in, but you’re surprised when Neil, one of the club managers, walks in. He’s a new face, hired mostly just to fill the vacancy. You don’t know him well – you usually answer to Nicole, but she’s out for the week on a trip.
“Hey, Neil,” you greet, sliding your cover back on to ward off the room’s chill.
“Hello,” he says stiffly. “I’ve got a gentleman in Private Room C. He’s requesting you.”
“I don’t do private dances anymore,” you say, your tone not apologetic. “I think Jess is available.”
Neil sighs. “You know…” he says, trailing off, and you already know he’s about to say something out of pocket. “This is a business. You’re employed here. At a strip club. This is your job. If you were working at McDonald’s, your boss wouldn’t really like it if you refused to make the burger, right?”
You barely resist an eye roll, retorting, “I don’t actually think that’s the same.”
He clears his throat. “Either way, I wasn’t asking. An investor in the private room wants a show from you, so you will do it. You’re the only one here who thinks they’re above the business and refuses to do private shows. Pull your weight or you can find a different club to dance at.”
You raise your brows, meeting his gaze, and smiling in disbelief. “You’re serious?” you ask, laughing uncomfortably. “You can’t fire me. I’ve been here for years.”
“This is Dallas,” he says noncommittally. “We can find someone to replace you. Someone who actually wants to work. Take your pick.”
You stare at him, shaking your head in contemplation. You didn’t want to do the show – it went against the clear boundary you’d set in your relationship early on, one that has been strictly adhered to for the year and some change you and Paige have been dating. But you didn’t want to jeopardize your job, either. Given that Divinity caters to Dallas’s most wealthy, there’s strict rules the patrons have to adhere to to even step foot in the club. It pays extremely well, but this is also the safest you’ll ever be.
Maybe you’ll get the chance to see Paige before you have to go to the room – just to quickly explain. She’d understand. You knew she would, and that you would make it up to her tenfold. But this feels strangely like betraying her and it leaves a sick feeling in your gut.
“One minute,” you say finally. Neil’s eyes narrow. “One minute is all he gets. You know I don’t do private dances.”
“Five minutes,” Neil bargains. “He’s paying a lot.”
“One minute,” you reiterate.
“Fine,” he huffs.
You strap your heels back on, trying to control your features. You walk out with Neil following directly behind you. Knowing you won’t be able to detour to find Paige, you slow your steps, scanning the crowd for her. Finally, you spot her at a table in the back, nursing a drink and talking to Arike, clearly not interested in the show anymore. You’re praying for her to look up and meet your gaze before it’s too late – and she does, her expression lighting up at the sight of you before her eyes narrow, knowing where you’re headed. Hoping that she gets the message, you gesture meaningfully to Neil, and she nods, but she looks no less pissed.
Feeling a little more relieved, you try for a smile, pulling back the curtain in the private room and entering. Thankfully, the man sitting on the couch at least looks polite, so you hope that this minute will go by quickly. He attempts to make small talk, commenting on how good your set was as you slide your cover off again, but your heart isn’t in it. Your training goes out of the window and so does every pre-rehearsed line you’ve ever had to use in the past.
You spin, listening for the beat in from the music overhead, but you’re too lost in your thoughts, unable to commit to it fully. Thankfully, you don’t have to for too long because the curtain rips open again.
“Sorry,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic as she steps in between you and the investor, who looks shocked. “She’s spoken for. Scheduling conflict.”
Without waiting for a response from you or the man, she reaches for your cover, wrapping it around your shoulders and ushering you out of the room with her hand on the small of your back. All you feel is a deep relief, letting her lead you to the glass elevators that lead to the private lounges and the managerial offices. The private lounges were usually set aside for reservations, something more elite than the VIP sections, but they’re empty tonight, as are the managerial offices.
The club has a few floors with the managerial offices at the very top. They stick out over the rest of the club almost like a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass walls, allowing for people to stare out at the stage and the seating area, but it’s usually too dim for the patrons to see up. It’s particularly effective for keeping an eye on everything and searching for unruly guests. Up here, it’s like a one way glass – fully private. You can see out but no one can see in.
“I didn’t want to do it,” you rush out as the doors close behind you. You watch the stage disappear as the elevator takes you both up.
Paige’s arm curls fully around your waist, pulling you into her. “I know, baby,” she says, but her voice is still tight. Pissed. Not at you, but at something.
You hardly hear her words. “Neil made me,” you explain, making sure she understands how seriously you see that boundary. You know she knows, but right now, you’re a little anxious, and you want it to be obvious. “He threatened to fire me.”
“I’ll deal with him,” she promises, her voice still dark as she presses her lips to your temple, your forehead. You have no doubt in your mind that she would, but the reassurance makes your heartbeat calm. The elevators open with a sharp ding! Paige leads you out and towards the managerial offices, her hand heavily over your waist, burning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning into her, the cool silk of her fitted, white dress shirt cold against your heated skin. “I was just a little pissed. But I’m good now.” She hums, trailing her fingers down your sides in a way that almost makes you forget. Your body burns for a different reason now. Swallowing thickly, you admit, “Just wanna be close to you.”
You can almost feel Paige’s smile as she dips her head down, her breath hitting your ear. “Do you?” she murmurs, her voice low, sharp, like she’s daring for someone to try to take you away from her. She leads you towards the glass wall, pressing you against it gently, her chest to your back. Your breath hitches, your eyes scanning the floor below you – dozens of people lost in their own world, in the dancer controlling the stage, too unaware of the fact that if they looked up, they’d see Paige Bueckers holding her girlfriend against the glass.
It’s almost thrilling. The fact you can see all of these people, but they can’t see you. You know they can’t see you, even if it looks like they can.
Paige’s hands trail to your shoulders, reaching for your thin, lacy cover, pulling it off with an agonizing slowness. Her lips follow the path, dancing across your shoulders with a gentle laziness, like she has all the time in the world to pick you apart. Her kisses burn, stoking a flame in your belly that’s been ready to ignite since she slipped the bill into your bralette earlier. She calms the heat with her tongue, licking your skin and groaning at the flavor like she can’t get enough of it.
Finally, your cover is off, and she throws it somewhere to the side without a care in the world. Her hands find your hips, squeezing possessively, and a moan slips from your lips when she presses lingering, wet kisses to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder. You shudder when her fingers trail down, slipping under the waistband of your lingerie, but she doesn’t touch you – she just hovers. Something about the reminder that despite it all, despite the many different facets of your life that she doesn’t control, that she refuses to control, your pleasure is the one thing she takes the most pride in. She has all the time in the world to figure out how she wants to touch you, how she wants to work you up.
“Just want me to take care of you, don’t you?” she hums against your skin. You nod immediately, feeling the flush settle on your skin, something in your brain floating away because you know you’re safe here. You can relax and let Paige handle it all. She kisses your skin once more before finally, she presses her hips into you, and your breath stutters. You can feel the outline of the strap in her pants, every maddening inch of the silicone. It makes you shudder with want, your arousal already leaking out and soaking your lingerie – you can feel it.
Something smart returns to you and you laugh a little, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up fully. Slowly, she grinds the strap against you, her breath coming a little heavier due to the dual stimulation. “Optimist, are you?”
Paige bites the lobe of your ear, her smile turning a little dark as she pulls you tighter against her. “JJ wanted to go out,” she murmurs in your ear, slipping her hand fully under the waistband of your lingerie. “Some club called Divinity, she said. Figured my girl would want a little break. Just me and her, a private room. She works so hard, you know?” Her fingers find your wetness like it’s second nature and she groans in delight when she discovers just how slick, how ready you are. “Oh, baby,” she coos, her voice dripping in sin and concern. “All this for me?”
“Nobody else,” you affirm, and she rewards you with a deep kiss to your jaw, a firmer swipe against your clit. It makes your hips buck before she steadies you. “P, please, need it so bad.”
“I know,” she says. Her fingers are everything and nothing, reaching down to your entrance, gathering the arousal pooled there, and using it to rub maddening circles against you. The stimulation is simultaneously overwhelming and not enough, especially coupled with the realization that anyone could look up and see Paige Bueckers ruining you against a window.
Her hips are insistent against yours, controlled in how they give you the slightest bit of friction before pulling away. You’re aware she’s holding you up fully by this point, so you give into it, reaching up with your right hand to thread your fingers through her hair, dragging her back down to your neck.
She doesn’t hesitate, her tongue licking from the base of your throat to your pulse point, smiling when she feels the relentless pounding of your heart against her lips. You can’t find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when her fingers are circling your sensitive clit like her pleasure depends on whether or not you’re feeling good.
“All those people down there…” Paige whispers, her teeth scraping against your skin, the heat of her grin branding her name into your skin. “They don’t know what I have up here. That the woman they throw their salary at comes home to me. That I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Touch you like this.”
“Fuck, Paige,” you whimper, feeling boneless when her fingers speed up ever so slightly, your body trembling and buzzing under her ministrations. She presses her lips against your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle there, not letting up until a dark spot blooms under her touch. She kisses it gently, tongue swiping over the mark, almost as though she’s rewarding you for being good, for taking it. Her pride unravels you and your breathing comes in quick bursts, feeling ready to fall apart.
“You want my fingers, mama?” she coos, shaking her head in displeasure when you nod.
She doesn’t have to say anything – you correct yourself immediately when the fingers on your clit slow. Your fingers tighten in her hair for stability as you babble, “Want them, P, please. Want you to make me feel good. Please–” You cut yourself off with a moan when her fingers resume their speed and press a little firmer into you.
“That’s it,” Paige soothes, her lips kissing your heated skin gently, her soft words a gentle contrast from the intensity of her fingers. It’s nearly shocking, the dual sensations muddling your brain. “Lean against the window for me.”
You do as she says, letting her guide you to her liking, your palms pressed flat against the glass. Your forehead presses against the window, the sweat beading at your hairline smudging the surface, and Paige enters your personal space immediately. She tangles her fingers into the waistband of your lingerie and pulls them down your thighs with a devastating slowness, groaning to herself when a strand of your slick sticks to the fabric and breaks when the stretch is too much. The lingerie pools at your knees and Paige presses her hips flush against your ass, grinding against you until you’re pushing back in search of friction.
You don’t have the time to beg. She reads the sheer need in your expression immediately, her arms wrapping around your waist, knees pushing your legs apart. Your breath fogs against the glass, and if you look close enough, you can just barely see your reflection staring back at you – hair messy, lips red from your teeth, the shine of your neck from Paige’s efforts. You can see the sharp outline of her smile, too, like the idea of claiming you in front of everyone in this club is exciting.
She wasn’t usually jealous. You were hers, she was yours, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But possessive? She wanted to show everyone who you were with, who gets to take the skimpy lingerie off of you after long nights. She wants everyone to be well aware of the fact that while they’re the ones fantasizing, she’s the one who gets to hold, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.
Her mouth finds your neck while the opening notes of Kali Uchis’s Territorial reverberates through the club below. You can feel the bass coursing through your veins, the tinkling strings raising goosebumps on your flesh. Every sensation nearly fades to background noise when Paige’s fingers settle on your clit again, dragging through your folds to coat them in your slick, and her middle finger probes your entrance before sliding in with ease.
The motion punches dual moans from the both of you, yours in pleasure, hers in a near disbelief. No matter how many times she gets you off, the feeling of your cunt sucking up her fingers is one that gets her right every time. You clench, already feeling her brush against the spot that makes electricity course down your spine, moaning wantonly when she curls just right.
With her free hand, she cups your chest, thumb brushing against a nipple covered by the thin lace of your top. You gasp at the feeling, your forehead dropping onto the glass, fingers twisting around nothing, and the hand kneading your breast redirects to lift your chin. “Watch them,” Paige orders, her voice rough, wrecked. “Let them see who’s fucking you.”
“Fuck,” you mutter, heat coiling in your belly at her words. You try to focus, you really do, but your vision blurs when Paige slides in her ring finger, her pace increasing in speed and intensity. If keeping your eyes on the club below you wasn’t hard enough, then it becomes near impossible when Paige’s slow grind against your ass starts up again, her soft sighs and choked moans like music to your ears as she chases a high you have to strain to see.
Her reflection in the glass is the perfect image of someone who’s ruined. Her hair is a mess from how you tangled your fingers in the strands, her brows pinched together in pleasure when the base of the strap brushes against her clit just right. It’s hot – really, really fucking hot, watching and listening to Paige lose her mind rutting against you while her fingers work you up to a quickly approaching high.
The flames lick at your skin, sweat slicking every inch of your body, your breath fogging the glass in front of you. The knowledge that you’re wholly hers combined with the feeling of her fingers scissoring in and out of you, knowing which buttons to push as if you were an extension of her, makes you keen, your hips unsure of whether or not they should buck into her or grind down in time with her fingers. You settle on both, gyrating and chasing your high, but you all but whine when her hand abandons your chin to press against your sensitive clit.
It’s overwhelming – Paige’s fingers curling inside you, pushing in and out relentlessly, her opposite hand rubbing delicious circles against your needy clit, the strap against your ass, your nipples brushing against the cool glass, and the breathless sound of your girlfriend’s moans as she gets off behind you is enough to push you closer and closer to the peak. With a broken gasp, you cry out, “Fuck, P, close,” and she nods against the sweat-slick skin of your neck.
Her hips slam into yours with a little more intensity, pushing you into the glass, both of her hands increasing their pace and pressure in tandem. “I know, mama,” she rasps, leaving marks on your skin, the indents of her teeth left in their wake. Paige sounds destroyed, like she’s moments away from unraveling completely. All that does is push you to the edge. “Give it to me, baby. Gonna make me so proud, aren’t you? My perfect girl.”
You come with a breathless shudder, unable to force the words through your windpipe, and Paige sags against you, her lips jerking messily while her fingers slowly work you through the lingering shockwaves of your orgasm. The cool glass is like a balm against your skin, the sensation so needed while your skin burns and sizzles from the electricity. Paige is panting heavily into your ear – it reminds you that she’d gotten off, too, just from grinding against you. That makes the heat coiling in your belly return tenfold.
You push yourself off of the glass window, hardly thinking about the smudges on the surface, and Paige steadies your hips when your legs tremble. You turn in her embrace, smiling when she wraps you up, pressing your back against the glass now. She kisses your lips – deep, lingering, tongue probing for an entrance that you grant immediately. With her left hand, she pulls your lingerie off completely, tossing the bottoms to the side haphazardly, and she lifts you into her arms with ease. Your legs wrap around her waist, arms around her neck, as she begins mouthing down your chest.
“Nicole’s gonna be so pissed when she gets back from her trip and realizes someone got defiled against her glass window,” you mutter in between heaving breaths.
Paige smirks against your skin, dragging your bra down with her teeth, encircling a nipple with her lips, causing you to gasp. “Defiled is crazy work,” she mumbles. “I prefer worship.”
“You’re annoying,” you say, your body betraying your words when you arch into her mouth.
She squeezes your ass, walking the two of you backwards until her knees hit an armchair and she sinks down, pulling you onto her lap. The front of her pants are wet – you can’t tell if it’s yours, or hers, or a mixture of both, but it just makes you hungry when you pull her up to kiss you again. “You’re spoiled,” she retorts, fingers reaching up for the clasps of your bra. You let her pull it off you completely, smiling to yourself when she stares at you like you’re one of the ancient wonders of the world. “And so, so fucking fine. Jesus.”
You laugh against her lips, your fingers working on unbuckling her belt. She lifts her hips to help you pull her pants and boxers down in one quick motion and you quirk a brow at the sight of the slick between her thighs. You swipe a finger through the wetness accumulated on her legs, sucking it into your mouth with an indulgent moan. That makes the smug smile on her face disappear, and she grips your thighs tightly like she’d lose her mind if you weren’t on her strap immediately. “Can’t believe you came untouched,” you tease, your fingers dancing across the silicone gently. Paige tenses like she could feel it.
“You could touch me right now and fix that,” she offers, voice a little choked, her hips bucking up in invitation. You can’t help the way your mouth waters, knowing that Paige would have you right in minutes.
Instead of giving her what she wants, you stand up, your heels still giving you a slight height advantage over her as she manspreads in the armchair. She pouts, looking disappointed at your departure, but you lean over her and begin unbuttoning her shirt. With your breasts so close to her face, she looks determinedly less upset, although you have to swat her hand away when she tries to touch you.
“Rule one of lap dances,” you murmur, voice silky smooth, “is that you can’t touch the performers.”
“Shit,” she breathes, eyes widening in realization. “You’re killin’ me, mama.”
With her shirt fully unbuttoned, you slide it off her shoulders, leaving her in a dark sports bra. You grin at her wickedly, pulling her shirt over your arms as you coo, “I know.” Her jaw falls open in lust and disbelief at the sight of you – messy, fucked out, and wearing nothing but your heels and her shirt, which is multiple sizes too big on you. You don’t button it, but the message is the same. Paige always liked seeing you in her clothes, and now? You can tell she’s actually going to lose her mind.
She leans back in the armchair, one hand gripping the armrest, the other resting on her thigh, fingers twitching. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen so much unadulterated want on her face. With the Kali Uchis song still playing distantly in the club, you stalk over to her in slow, calculated movements, hips swaying. Paige doesn’t know where to look – your face, your chest, the glistening spot in between your legs. She breathes heavily the closer you get.
You settle both hands on the armrests, leaning over her, not reprimanding her when her lips brush against your chest, seeking out your nipples. You inch closer to her ear, breath fanning against the shell of it as you murmur the lyrics of the song to her. “See, I’m a lover, but I’ll go to war about mine, toe to toe.” Her breath hitches, but you’re gone as quickly as you’d come, turning your back to her.
Your hips move sensually, hypnotically, and you can feel that you have Paige’s undivided attention. Reaching for her left hand, you bring it to your waist, allowing her to lift the back of your shirt so she can get a clear view of your ass. She groans emphatically, her hand falling to squeeze your flesh. It makes your breath catch, too, the feel of her hand swallowing your skin.
You spin around again, the song fading away with the lyrics, “Once I claim my territory, I get territorial,” but you stop in your tracks. Paige’s free hand is wrapped around the strap, stroking absentmindedly as if it were an extension of herself, veins popping and expression gone. You’re throbbing immediately, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto her lap and let her have her way with you, but she takes matters into her own hands.
Paige reaches out for you, spinning you until your back is to her, and she lowers you gently. You sink down slowly. The stretch is delicious, nearly overwhelming as it splits you open, and the both of you moan at the feeling. Both of her hands reach up to cup your breasts as your ass settles flush against her lap, the strap hitting deep inside, and you’re feeling so wound up you could probably fall apart right now with her breathing unevenly in your ear, fingers tweaking your nipples, and her hands kneading your breasts.
Her manspread widens, her hips bucking up to drag the strap in and out of you. You grip the armrest with both hands, using it to lift yourself up and down, head throwing back in a drawn out moan when Paige emphasizes a thrust with a pinch. The slight sting of pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, devastating feeling in your core, and you melt when Paige licks a stripe up your neck again, sucking bruises into the skin of your shoulder.
Her right hand drops, leaving her left to brush against your nipples, traveling down your front to brush through your folds. You gasp at the feeling, whimpering when she coats her fingers in your slick and starts circling your clit again. She curses under her breath. You can’t tell for sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of wetness waiting for her or if it’s because she glanced down, watching your cunt suck the strap right in. Regardless of the reasons, her hips are canting up against yours, timing your thrusts together.
It doesn’t take long before moans are tumbling from your lips quicker now. Her fingers speed up, rubbing against your oversensitive clit with precision and pressure, the hand that was fondling your breasts dropping down to your hip to help you ride her, your legs giving out from the pleasure and the exertion. She’s rambling nonsense in your ear, more sound than words, but you’re able to make out, “You feel so good, mama, taking me so well. So fucking perfect for me. Want you to come for me, please, baby – give it to me–”
The sound of her breathless moans in your ear, the pressure of her fingers on your clit, her hand bruising your hips – it’s enough to send you over the edge. With hardly a warning, you spill all over her lap, your slick soaking the strap, the armchair beneath you, and she brings you down from your high with incoherent words and slowing her thrusts and fingers.
Energy gone, you’re more than ready to curl up with her in this armchair, but her hips shift – discreetly, like she’s still searching for her release and trying to play it off like she’s just trying to get comfortable. It makes you feel guilty immediately. She makes a soft noise of protest as you hoist yourself off her lap, your legs wobbling, and she shoots forward to steady you, a look of confusion on her face. The confusion melts into desire when you sink to your knees before her, fingers reaching to unbuckle the harness, but she pauses you with a hand to your wrists.
“You don’t gotta–” she tries, but you cut her off with a firm, “Paige Madison,” and she shuts up immediately, leaning back in the armchair. You haphazardly discard the strap to the side, curling your arms around her thighs. Before you press your lips to her dripping cunt, she grabs your loose hair, holding it in a ponytail with her hand. You kiss her clit in thanks, smiling when her hips jolt and she sighs softly.
You brush the flat of your tongue across her slit in one smooth motion, moaning at the taste and at the feeling of her grip tightening in your hair, dragging you closer to her. Listening to her wordless command and knowing that she probably doesn’t need much to come, you drink her up like you’re parched, sucking her clit in your mouth and suctioning with your lips. Paige grunts, her hips bucking up, and you don’t stop her, letting her chase her high against your mouth.
You alternate between kitten licks against her clit and long, flat strokes of your tongue against her cunt. It’s not often that you get to see her like this – fucked out and ruined, pliant and soft beneath you, dripping messily onto the surface below, but it never fails to activate a part of your brain that wants to watch her come over and over again.
Wanting to see her fall apart beneath you, you double down on your efforts, your tongue sliding messily through her folds and sucking at her clit until she cries out. You tighten your grip just as she tightens her grip on your hair, pulling you even closer into her – and if this is the last thing you see before you drown, her soaked cunt and the watery, pleading expression on her face, then you think you’d die a happy woman.
“Fuck, mama, ‘m so close,” she rambles, her hips moving against you with a fervor, chest heaving. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”
You hum against her, and she whines, moans falling from her lips until she chokes on the last one. Her thighs tense around you, caging you in as she comes, a long, drawn out groan reverberating through the room while you work her through the aftershocks. You lick once more, twice, until she releases your hair and pushes you away, too sensitive after two orgasms.
Paige doesn’t let you get too far. She pulls you back onto her lap, arms wrapping around your waist while you wipe her slick off of your cheeks, sucking the taste off of your fingers. She catches your wrist on the last one, sucking your thumb into her mouth and humming emphatically at your combined tastes. You smile coyly at her, thinking about nothing more than getting her home tonight and making her writhe. You sit motionlessly in her lap while she cleans off all of your fingers.
“You want more?” you ask teasingly, not really meaning it, but raising your brows when she nods quickly, her eyes blown wide. The heat is already licking at you as you grip her jaw with one hand, leaning over her face, and her mouth opens obediently. You let a string of saliva fall from your mouth directly onto her tongue and she swallows immediately with a low groan of pleasure.
You don’t get to say much else before she’s pulling you back in, your lips crashing together messily, her tongue swiping across your lips in search of more. It draws a ragged moan from you, one that she monopolizes on instantly. It’s like she’s trying to swallow you alive, to memorize the way you taste when her slick is on your tongue. It makes your brain spin pleasantly before she pulls away, a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes, but it softens when she sees the blissed out smile on your face.
“You okay?” she murmurs, squeezing your hips, and just like that, the heat of the moment fades – for now.
“I should be asking you that,” you joke. “Could have sworn you blacked out for a moment.”
“Shit, I might have,” she agrees, drawing a breathless giggle from you. You lean your head on your chest, listening to the vibration of her voice against you as she asks. “For real. You’re okay?”
You don’t have to ask for clarity to know she’s referring to before, to Neil. “I’m okay,” you promise, more glad than anything that Paige came in when she did. “Nicole’s gonna be pissed, though. Not even about the window.”
Paige hums, the sound almost noncommittal, but you’ve been with her long enough to know she’s being dead serious about a situation. If the moment were any lighter, she’d probably make a joke about you snitching – but you might be the one thing in the world she doesn’t play about. “I’ll handle him,” she swears, her tone hard enough that it makes you shift on her lap. She doesn’t even notice, which amuses you, but she continues speaking, her voice thoughtful. “I know you like working here. Dancing. It’s safe for you. But don’t let that make you feel like…you don’t have other options, you know? As long as I’m around, you don’t have to worry. Don’t let Neil – or anyone else – threaten to take this place away from you. Your safety and happiness are important to me.”
You soften, her words hitting home. Paige doesn’t pressure you to say anything – she never does, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin. “Thank you,” you say eventually, and she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, like that’s something she needs to be thanked for. Paige would move mountains for you – you knew that. “I appreciate that. And for you looking out for me.”
Paige presses a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against your skin, and she murmurs, “You’re my girl. I’ll always look out for you. Especially when you dance like that.”
You roll your eyes as she laughs, but you’re inexplicably happy. You kiss her again, softly requesting, “Take me home?” and Paige doesn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit, even though her clothes are a mess, her mascara is flaking, and she looks like she’s been put through a woodchipper. Your girlfriend might be a little territorial, but the one thing you know about her is that she’s always going to make sure you’re taken care of.
(When you wake up in the morning to Paige’s smug grin, you check the work group chat at her insistence, where Nicole is informing everyone about Neil’s termination.
“Neil got fired,” you say flatly.
“Oh, wow,” Paige says innocently, but her beaming grin breaks through her feigned nonchalance. “That’s really unfortunate.”
You huff in amusement, turning off your phone and setting it on the nightstand. You swing a leg over her waist to straddle her and she wastes no time before resting her hands on your hips, sinking into the pillows beneath her, a chain glimmering in the morning sunlight, her smile far too satisfied. “You’re insane,” you murmur, like it bothers you. It doesn’t.
“Mmm,” she hums, pulling you down to her level to kiss you. “Think you like it.”
All you can do is grin, because you do. You really, really do like it.)
A/N: In light of Tash and Izzy’s recent behavior (they’ve both been annoying me a little), the new ideal couple will be AT and DB. Alsoooo, the next part will be posted after the Sparks game! It’s already written (mainly bc it was originally part of chapter five, but I got new ideas), but it still needs to be edited. Anywho, I hope you love it!!! xx Elle
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Azzi woke up early the next morning – not on purpose, but she couldn’t sleep for more than ninety straight minutes, and at 4:07, she was up for good. She’d never been able to function when she knew people were angry with her, and this situation with Paige was no different.
During their session yesterday, Paige looked completely checked out and uninterested. She couldn’t believe that her expression morphed into something sad after she left.
She kept replaying what DiJonai had texted her.
She looked like someone kicked her puppy.
Paige was sad, and it was all her fault.
She’d been ignoring the hateful things that people from their church said about gay people since she realized that she was a lesbian, and that she was made that way. So the things Jacob, Silas, Harrison, Teagan, and Chrissy had been saying didn’t phase her – she just sat at the table and let her mind drift.
But Paige probably thought she felt the same. And Azzi couldn’t even blame her. Jake was her boyfriend and Chrissy and Teagan were supposed to be her best friends. Anybody would assume that they held similar views, even though Azzi was just waiting for graduation, so she could hopefully never have to speak to any of them again.
Anyway, Paige had a more than valid reason to be upset with her. She thought that Azzi hated who she was, that she looked down on her family, and that she though Paige was broken.
So, Azzi was awake trying to do anything that could make it a little better for the blonde. And while she knew that coming out to Paige would help her see that Azzi didn’t hate her, she definitely wasn’t ready for that yet.
Which brought her to where she was now.
Azzi had been raised to be the perfect little southern housewife, which meant she was an amazing baker. It also helped that baking was one of her favorite stress relievers.
After she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep, Azzi rolled out of bed, stepped into her house shoes, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.
As neglectful as Azzi’s parents were, the obscene amounts of money her dad made while having his hate speech tour meant that they had a gourmet kitchen – it was her favorite part of the house.
Her body moved on auto pilot, and by six am, there were four different flavors of muffins on her kitchen counters. She’d started with cinnamon muffins with a caramel apple filling and vanilla glaze. They had been her favorite comfort food since she learned how to cook for herself. But then, she got worried that Paige wouldn’t like apples, so she made her tried and true blueberry muffins. After that, she was on a roll – she could’ve made the lemon poppyseed muffins blindfolded with her hands behind her back. Then she finished her bake-a-thon with some classic chocolate chip muffins.
By the time she broke out of her baking haze, there were forty eight muffins in neat rows across her island. Paige was not going to eat all of those muffins by herself.
She packed three of each into a cardboard cupcake box. She saved two cinnamon apple and lemon poppyseed ones for herself and packed the rest to deliver to the front office so teachers could have some once they arrived.
She was quick and methodical as she wiped down her kitchen. It needed to look like no one had ever opened a cabinet, or her mom would check the security cameras and fuss at her.
Once she was finished with everything, Azzi was left with only thirty minutes to get ready.
She rushed to get ready, picking a pastel yellow dress with daisies embroidered onto the lightweight fabric. She found a soft cream-colored cardigan to match, and in her rush out the door, she didn’t have time to find any shoes except for her white converse.
Azzi used a couple of bungee cords from the garage to secure the large boxes on the back of her bicycle and set off for school.
She coupldn’t help but feel a little nauseous during her ride. What if Paige didn’t forgive her? What if she never wanted to speak to her again? What if she couldn’t change the blonde’s mind and show her who she really is.
God, please just tell me what to say.
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Paige got to school before anyone else. Well, Coach was always there are six am, but he didn’t count – no one was really sure if he ever went home during the season.
Anywho, she drove her truck to school, for the first time ever(!!), and because of the time, finding a parking spot in the athlete lot was simple.
Paige didn’t love lifting, but she couldn’t deny the way her brain went empty when she was solely focused on counting reps. It didn’t hurt that she liked the way she looked when she bulked up.
In between her sets, she thought about everything that she’d heard at lunch the day before.
Maybe she was being too hard on Azzi. It wasn’t like she said anything – it didn’t even look like she was paying attention to what they were saying. But still, she was friends with them. She was dating one of them.
Paige could never date a homophobic person. Well, obviously she couldn’t because she’d only be dating another girl. But…she could never date a racist person. That was also obvious though, because she had never liked anyone who wasn’t Black. Either way, Paige would never date someone who discriminated against other people.
You don’t date people with different core beliefs than you. So that meant that since Azzi’s best friends and her boyfriend were homophobic, she was too.
Coming to that realization flooded Paige’s frame with more anger.
She can’t believe she ever though Azzi was different. If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, obviously, it was a fucking duck. But Paige just had to assume she was a fucking goose or some shit.
She upped the weight of the dumbbells and cranked out another set of rows. She finished her workout with three sets of pull ups. The way her arms shook helped her work out the rest of her rage, and she’d made up her mind.
She would still attend the tutoring sessions – Azzi was the only person who had made her feel smart in a year – but she wasn’t going out of her way to be kind and welcoming like she had before. Azzi didn’t deserve that.
Paige padding into the locker room, letting the hot water be a balm for her tired muscles as she washed the sweat from her skin.
After wringing the water from her hair and pulling her black sweatsuit back on, Paige walked back to the football locker room to get her backpack and stuff.
She sighed as she started her trek down the hallway – she really didn’t wanna be at school today.
The sound of wet suctioning made her head snap up in disgust.
She was met with the annoying sight of Jacob Gibson licking into some girl’s mouth. And based on the pin straight, red hair, he wasn’t making out with Azzi.
Before she could stop herself, her brain clouded with anger for her tutor. She swallowed down her frustration and painted on the smuggest smirk she could muster.
“I thought adultery was a sin.”
She reveled in the way his entire body tightened like a coil. He ripped away from the girl, and they both turned to look at the tall blonde with wide eyes.
Paige wasn’t shocked to see that the girl he was kissing was none other than Azzi’s best friend, Chrissy Montgomery.
“It’s only adultery if you’re married,” Jacob spat, like that made it any better.
Blue eyes narrowed as she looked at the pathetic people in front of her. “Is that supposed to make it better?”
“Well it’s better than being a homosexual, Paige. I don’t think you have any room to be criticizing us.” The ginger sneered.
She couldn’t believe they thought they were better than her because they were sneaking around Azzi’s back. “I’m not hurting anybody with loving who I love. But how would your girlfriend feel if she knew what you were doing, Gibson?”
“Like she’d believe a faggot like you. She’d never trust a sinner over her best friend and her boyfriend.” Jake ranted.
“God can forgive us. We’re not going to be living in sin like this forever. Jake is going to break up with Azzi soon. But you?” Chrissy’s face was red with fury and disgust. “You’ll never be forgiven by the Lord. If I were you, I would repent instead of focusing on us.”
Paige rolled her eyes, choosing to say one more thing, then walk away from them instead of wasting her breath on bullshit. “See, I know God loves me how I am. And I know He has a bigger problem with you all spewing hate and doing something that you know is gonna hurt someone else.”
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Paige had been thinking about the interaction with Jacob and Chrissy all day. It didn’t surprise her that they were bad enough people to cheat on their partners. What did surprise her is how much she cared about it.
And she didn’t care because of what they were doing. Not really. She cared because of who it would affect. And as annoyed as she was with Azzi, she couldn’t deny that the girl didn’t deserve that.
At lunch, she saw the brunette sitting in between Chrissy and Jacob, and it took everything in her to keep walking.
Instead, she put her head down and booked it to her friends. She tossed her tray onto the table and plopped into her seat.
“Uh, you good, P?” Jackie asked in the quiet tone she always used.
The blonde didn’t answer, choosing to just squeeze the packet of mayo on the dry bread the cafeteria had provided. The table fell silent as Paige ignoring her friend.
“Excuse me, Blondie. You don’t hear Jackie talking to you?” Nai questioned, calling her out, the way she always did. “What’s up with you? You’ve been off the last couple days.”
Paige sighed lowly. She couldn’t ignore her mother – she’d make it a big deal. “On Sunday night, my dad found out that Azzi was tutoring me.”
“Wait, what?” Jackie interjected.
DiJonai waved her off, eyes still locked on Paige. “I told you over the weekend, but you wanted to fall asleep instead of listening to me. Continue P.”
“Well my dad thinks that Azzi’s like her parents and stuff, and I was trying to tell her that she wasn’t. And I was gonna invite her to dinner this weekend, so that he can see that she’s not like that. But then yesterday I heard everybody at her lunch table saying a bunch of homophobic shit, and it pissed me off.”
DeWanna sat up straighter. “Seriously? What did Azzi say?”
Paige sighed, running her hands down her face. “She didn’t say anything. They were saying all this homophobic shit, and she just sat there. She didn’t even defend us. Like they were talking about y’all not having dads, and they said things about my dad, and she just stared at her lunch.” She was getting angry all over again.
The table fell silent – it wasn’t often that their golden retriever of a friend ever expressed her frustration like this. And while a couple of them had something to say, no one knew how to approach it without setting her off.
“Are you sure Azzi feels the same way, Paige?” DB questioned. When she was met with a cold glare from the blonde, she rushed to continue. “I’m just saying because in class, Azzi has told me how cute Alyssa and I are. And I don’t think she would just say that just because.”
“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter. How are you gonna defend her when she didn’t even defend us to her friends?” Paige’s brows her high on her forehead. She couldn’t believe they were sticking up for Azz like this.
Until Alyssa, the always wise one, added her two cents. “I want you to think about how that would’ve been received, P. Like yeah, she could’ve said something, but it was her against five other people.”
“Yeah,” Nai added. “Think about how her parents would react if they knew she was sticking up for gay people. You saw what they made your mom do when you came out, and she wasn’t even supporting you. Azzi would probably be cut off!”
Paige thought about the points they were making. Azzi really was one of the nicest, most liked people at Hays es County High, and there was a reason for that. She didn’t discriminate against anyone, like ever. And her parents would probably do more than cut her off if they found out she was an ally. And Azzi was also –
“Do you think it might help to just…” Jackie’s low voice trailed off. “Talk to her about it?”
The blonde sighed deeply because she was right. She would do it today after practice. She wouldn’t make her wait like she did the day before. She was going to simply as Azzi and let her respond.
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Azzi was nervous again. She wasn’t sure what kind of energy Paige was going to come in with that afternoon. She actually wasn’t sure if the blonde would make any appearance at all.
So instead of the perfectly organized and color-coded display she normally put together, all that was on the table were two copies of The Crucible and the box with the muffins in them. She thought about writing an apology card, but she didn’t think she would react well if Paige threw it away in front of her.
Once 5:45 rolled around, Azzi sighed and started packing up. Paige was livid yesterday – she didn’t know why she thought today would be any different.
Her head was down as she walked toward the library doors. She just couldn’t believe she blew it. She knew Paige would never return her feelings, but she was hoping that they could at least be friends. But she ruined it with her inability to stand up to her “friends,” and now Paige was going to fail and she’d probably hate her forever. God, she couldn’t believe she was so we –
The “oof” came out of her mouth before she could control it. The box she’d tucked against her side had tumbled to the floor, and she was thankful she had half a mind to tape the box shut that morning, because the culinary masterpieces were safe inside.
Strong hands held tightly to her hips, keeping the tall brunette upright. They were nice hands – large, veiny, and still gripping her firmly.
Wait, hands?
Azzi looked up, mouth parted a bit in shock. “You – you’re here,” she cringed inwardly at the way her voice cracked a bit.
Paige’s head tilted to the side a bit. “Of course I’m here.”
“Well, its 5:45, so I didn’t think you were coming.” She replied, breaking eye contact. She picked up the muffin box and stepped back, putting a little distance between the two of them.
Paige sighed, “I have to come to tutoring, Azzi. It’s mandatory. But even if it wasn’t, the sessions are helping, so I’d be here anyway.”
“Oh.”
The older girl moved around her tutor, heading to the back of the library for their table. “You coming?”
Azzi just stood by the door for a few more seconds. She didn’t understand why Paige was being so nice and talkative when Azzi knew she was still upset with her. But she wasn’t going to sit there and question why she was back to her normal self.
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Paige could see the confusion painted on Azzi’s face, and for a second, she felt a little bad. It was obvious that she’d expected Paige to be as rude and dismissive as she was yesterday, or even not show up at all.
She’d spent the rest of the day thinking about what her friends had said about Azzi not really having a choice, so she decided to do some research before making up her mind.
She stopped walking abruptly and turned around – Azzi was still by the door.
“On second thought, you’re already packed up, so how bout we skip tutoring today?” She asked, signature smirk across her lips. The way Azzi’s shoulders dropped and her lips tugged down in defeat almost broke Paige’s smolder. “Maybe we can go to Bianca’s for dinner?”
Instead of an answer, Azzi walked up and practically shoved the box into Paige’s abdomen. “I made these for you.” She said, staring at the white cardboard. Her voice was low, like she was scared to speak, and Paige’s heart clenched a little. “There’s cinnamon apple, lemon poppyseed, blueberry, and chocolate chip. I wasn’t sure what you would like. I did try to ask DiJonai though, but she seemed even more angry with me than you. So I – ”
“Breathe, Azzi.” Paige interjected, cutting off her rambling.”
Brown eyes snapped up to meet blue, and both girls froze.
“How about we eat these in my truck, hmm?” She started. “It started raining a little bit ago, and there’s no use in you getting soaked on your way home.”
Azzi’s eyes widened even further. “Um, well, I don’t think my father would approve of me getting in a car with someone he doesn’t know.”
“Well, I’m not gonna tell your dad,” She started, playful smirk returning. “Are you?”
The girl’s mouth opened, then slowly closed. “Um, I guess I don’t have to. But I thought you were upset with me.”
Paige held up the box with a wide grin. “You made me my favorite muffins, and besides, I owe you an explanation about yesterday.”
The blonde shifted the box to one hand and held the other out.
“What do you say, princess?”
Azzi’s eyes darted from the outstretched hand to those beautiful blue orbs, and back.
She didn't hesitate for long. Her smaller hand fit perfectly into Paige's, and the blonde felt her stomach flip at the contact. She didn't let herself think too hard about why that was, or how soft Azzi's skin was, or the way those brown eyes had gone wide and uncertain.
Instead, Paige just squeezed gently and tugged her forward with easy confidence, pulling them through the library doors and toward the heavy doors. The cool rain hit them immediately, but Paige didn't let go.
She couldn't have if she'd tried.
They walked toward the truck through the downpour, her hand still wrapped around Azzi's smaller one, and all Paige could think about was how she'd spent the whole day wrestling with herself, trying to figure out if Azzi deserved a second chance.
And standing here, rain soaking into her hair, Azzi's hand warm in hers, Paige had her answer.
islanders in paradise chapter three: I've already found my person ୨ৎ
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . synopsis: paige and azzi have both came to the conclusion that they have found what they were both looking for in a partner.
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . contains: azzi and paige being parents for 24 hours, they also argue like a married couple. nonsexual intimacy (I love), emotional intimacy, paige and azzi go on their first date, azzi being in love with paige's arms, a few heated make outs, dumb drama, funny comments, suggestive language, azzi letting her freakiness show, grinding
wc: 10.5k
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . authors note: just a little recap this is the third week of the islanders being in the villa. please, leave a comment or go to my inbox to tell me your thoughts. Sorry about the wait, it took me forever to find the motivation to write this chapter also @hoes4pazzi styled paige and azzi 🙂↔️ and I like half assed edited this so I’ll go back and read over it again tomorrow!
Azzi woke up earlier before any of the other islanders. she walked out of the bedroom and made her way down to the kitchen and started to grab all of the ingredients she needed to prepare Paige’s breakfast.
The rays of the Monday morning sunlight reflected onto Azzi’s face. She took her time preparing Paige’s food, wanting it to look aesthetically pleasing. Once she was done she grabbed the plate and the vanilla iced coffee she had made for Paige and headed up to the room.
When Azzi walked through the bedroom door most of the islander were already out of bed—except Paige. The blonde girl had the white covers over her head, blocking the sunlight from her face as she slept. Azzi could hear a faint sound of snoring coming from underneath the covers while she walked closer to the bed.
“Honey, you gotta get up,” Azzi said softly. Her voice went unheard from the sound asleep girl.
Azzi rolled her eyes and placed the plate and the drink on their side table. She grabbed at the covers and pulled them off of Paige. “No-, don't do that,” Paige whined. Her lip was scrunched up upset that the light was now hitting her face.
“Paige, you have to get up. I made you breakfast.”
Paige slowly started opening her eyes at Azzi’s words. “Breakfast?” she asked, moving her head off of the pillow to sit up.
The brunette nodded her head. “Yes, remember I told you yesterday I would make you breakfast.” Azzi handed Paige her plate of food as she talked. She sat at the edge of the bed, watching Paige take a bite into the pancakes.
Azzi’s eyes searched Paige’s face, “do you like it?” she asked, biting her lip hard as she waited for a response.
“What’s your ring size again?” Paige asked after she swallowed her food.
Azzi tilted her head to the side. “Why do you want to know my ring size?”
Paige grinned. “Because I need to wife you up. This shit is bomb,” she said with a moan. Paige cleared the whole plate of food and then started to work on her coffee.
Azzi let out a small giggle and shook her head. She waited patiently as Paige finished her coffee. Azzi was caught completely off guard when the blonde tried leaning in. She put her hand out to stop Paige.
“Don’t get me wrong I really wanna kiss you but you still haven’t brushed your teeth.”
The blondes back straightened up at the beginning of Azzi’s sentence. “Oh, you really wanna kiss me, huh?” Paige teased and wiggled her brows playfully. She quickly got out of bed and ran to the bathroom to do her oral hygiene routine.
Azzi laughed at how Paige ran back to her a few minutes later and launched herself at her. “Damn-,” she grunted when her back made contact with the bed. Paige pressed kisses all over Azzi’s face and eventually connected their lips after a few kisses.
The kiss was soft and light. Paige had pulled away before she got lost in the kiss and decided to deepen it. “Thank you so much for the breakfast. I loved it and no one has ever done that for me before.” she mumbled, pressing another kiss on the corner of Azzi’s mouth.
“You’re welcome.”
—
The day dragged by slowly. Azzi and Paige were in the kitchen away from the beaming sun. “I can’t believe you like that shit,” Paige groaned and shook her head.
“Cottage cheese is good for you Paige. You know, eating healthy stuff is not gonna kill you,” Azzi mumbled.
Paige’s nose scrunched. “No, I actually think this could kill me.”
Azzi rolled her eyes. “Just take a bite, I promise it’s good.” She said, holding up the spoon filled with cottage cheese up to Paige’s mouth.
The blonde’s lips rolled out. Despite her comments she opened her mouth and allowed Azzi to feed her. The second the cheese hit her taste buds she took the spoon out and leaned over to the sink.
Paige spit the stuff out of her mouth and made a dramatic gagging sound. The brunette rolled her eyes watching the whole thing go down. “You're so dramatic,” Azzi grumbled.
Paige rinsed her mouth out with water. When she was done, she finally looked up at Azzi who had the spoon—that was just in her mouth—now in hers. She blushed instantly at the sight.
Her blue eyes watched the way Azzi’s lips had wrapped around the spoon. Paige’s breath hitched when their eyes met. Get a grip Bueckers, Paige thought to herself.
Their moment was ruined when Makayla screamed from across the yard. “I got a texttt,” she squealed.
“What does it say?” An islander who was sitting on a beanbag shouted.
Makayla looked down at her phone. “Islanders, it's time to test your connections with your partners for this challenge. Today, you guys will be parents for 24 hours and the couple who does the best will earn themselves a date away from the villa 🤰🏝️.” She read off.
“Wait, so are we gonna get those robot babies? Like the ones who have a computer inside of them and grades how we take care of them.” Paige asked when she and Azzi finally made it over to Makayla.
“That’s what it seems like,” Makayla mumbled.
Azzi let out a groan. “Fuck, this is like my worst fear,” she pouted. The thought of being a mother made her want to puke. Don’t get her wrong, babies are cute but the thought of going through motherhood just irked something inside of her.
Paige turned her head over to Azzi. “Why do you say that?” She asked.
The brunette shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve always had this weird fear of having and taking care of a baby.”
“Welp, I guess today is the day you get over your fear. But on the bright side you have me to help you.” Paige smirked.
Azzi gave Paige the biggest fake smile ever. “I’m so excited.” The sarcastic tone in her voice made Paige pinch her side softly.
Just when Paige was about to ask a question, Kenzie showed up with her clipboard in her hands. “Alright everyone, go find the person you are coupled up with and stand there. It's time to pass out the babies.”
Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist. Her chin was on the top of the brunette’s head as she waited for it to be their turn. “Here you go,” Kenzie said, giving the two girls two realistic baby robots.
The brunette’s eyebrows frowned. “Wait, we have to take care of two of them?” she said as she held both of the babies in her arms.
The blonde gasped loudly. “Why do you sound disappointed? Azzi these are our kids. Don't say that around them." Paige reached out to take one of the babies from Azzi’s arms. She covered its ear with her free hand acting as if the baby could hear what they were talking about.
Azzi let out a sigh. “Really?” she groaned out. She cradled the other baby that was still in her arms making its head rest against her chest.
Paige nodded her head. “Yes, really. Now come on, we gotta go get the supplies to take care of our children.” She said, Paige didn't give Azzi time to say anything back; she just led the way and walked over to the other production workers.
An hour later, Paige and Azzi found themselves sitting under a cabana. Paige had on a baby carrier that held Ava—the name Paige insisted on naming the baby when she realized it was a girl. Azzi sat beside her holding their other baby girl and feeding her with a bottle.
“You know, you are really taking this whole parenting thing very seriously,” Azzi said. Her eyes dropped down watching as Paige patted Ava’s back.
Paige turned her head over to Azzi. “What if I'm taking it seriously because I want us to win that date.” She rasped out and grinned hard at her own words.
Azzi rolled her eyes. She ignored the way her cheeks burned at Paige’s words and how she felt a fuzzy feeling in her chest. “You're so damn cheesy,” she groaned. Azzi hates to admit it but the sight of Paige taking care of a fake baby is really doing something to her.
“Don’t curse around our children ma.” Paige snapped for the tenth time in a five-minute span.
“They can’t even hear us.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “I don’t need my children growing up and using that language. The moms will talk Azzi, and I don’t want to be one of those parents they talk shit about every day.”
Azzi blinked. “Paige, this is literally a challenge. What are you talking about?” A full blown pout was on Azzi’s face.
Before Paige could answer Azzi, Ava stared crying—loudly. The blonde sat up and started patting Ava's back again. "Shh, honey. Calm down, you don't need to do all of that," she said softly.
Paige used her free hand to grab a bottle out of the backpack beside her. Ava immediately shut up when Paige put the bottle in her mouth. Azzi just watched the whole scene in front of her.
"You would be a good mom," Azzi mumbled out.
The blonde blushed at Azzi's words. She smirked at Azzi and gave her a playful wink. "Oh, but I'm the cheesy one," Paige teased.
"Paige," Azzi whined. "I was trying to be nice," she huffed out. Her eyes widened when Carl—the other baby they were taking care of—started crying.
"Fuck-," Azzi cursed underneath her breath. She ignored Paige snapping at her about her language as she tried looking for another bottle.
The brunette started panicking when Carl didn't stop crying when she put the bottle in his mouth. "Paige, he won't shut up," she whined, not knowing what else to do.
"have you changed his diaper yet?"
Azzi froze at Paige's question. fuck, she thought. How could she forget about that? She turned over to look at and rolled her eyes up at the blonde.
"Oh no. You got that, I'm not doing it," Paige laughed. Azzi didn't even have to bribe her or say anything.
Azzi groaned in defeat. "Just say that you don't like me," she mumbled out. It took everything in her to not laugh at how she sounded.
Paige rolled her eyes. "Don't even try to pull that card," she said as she patted Ava's back to burp her.
The brunette held Carl with one of her arms while her other hand dug through the backpack beside Paige. "Fuck-, did we run out of diapers?" she asked the blonde beside her who was watching her.
"Probably. These babies shit like crazy." Paige grumbled.
"Oh but you can curse but I can't?"
Paige tilted her head to the side and kissed her teeth. "We can argue later. Carl is still crying."
Azzi hated to admit that Paige was right. She laid out a blanket on the couch beside Paige. Azzi carefully placed Carl down on the blanket. "Watch him for a second," she told Paige.
She ran over to the booth that was in the middle of the grassy field. Azzi grabbed a couple of diapers and whips and ran back over to Paige. She quickly changed Carl's diaper and threw away the older diaper and used whips.
Paige just watched her with a loving smile. "What?" Azzi said with her eyebrow arched. Paige had been staring at her this whole time and she had no idea why she was.
"Nothing, you just look so beautiful right now." Paige said. She held her arm for Azzi to snuggle into her side which she did.
Azzi dug her head into Paige's neck. "You look so silly with that baby sling on," she whispered with a small laugh.
Paige's mouth dropped a little. "Whatever," she grunted. Paige leaned the side of her head onto Azzi's making their temples touch. "I low-key think we are doing good at this whole parenting thing," she added. Her eyes watched as the other islanders scrambled around and the sound of different babies crying.
The brunette laughed and leaned further into Paige. "Yeah, you're right." she mumbled.
"So…can I get a kiss now?" Paige asked. She just remembered that she didn't get a kiss earlier today.
Azzi rolled her eyes and grabbed the side of Paige's face with her free hand. "I guess," she mumbled before she interlocked their lips together. Paige groaned into the kiss and tilted her head to the side to deepen it.
Before Paige could run her tongue over Azzi's bottom lip, one of their babies started crying—again. Paige groaned and pulled away from Azzi's plumped lips. "Can't believe I just got cock blocked by my own child." She said, making Azzi laugh.
Later that night, Azzi and Paige stood beside each other in the bathroom. They both had on baby slings wrapped around their bodies. When they walked into the bedroom they both put Ava and Carl in the baby bassinet beside their bed and went to sleep.
During the night, Paige and Azzi both took turns getting up with the babies. Azzi almost wanted to cry when the blinds raised up and a faint 'good morning islanders' echoed throughout the room.
Even though they were taking turns, the babies kept crying every hour, along with every other couple's babies. Azzi had to put extra concealer under her eyes as she got ready. Ava was beside her feet in a bassinet. She was honestly being so quiet that azzi forgot she was there for a second.
A big smile stretched across her face when Paige walked into the room with breakfast. Azzi pressed a kiss onto Paige's check and happily took the plate of food. "Thank you so much honey."
Azzi ate the avocado toast quickly so she could get back to her makeup. Paige sat in the empty chair beside her, watching her in awe as she ran her hand up and down Ava's back.
The brunette ended up wearing a burnt red almost orange color strapless bralette. There was a bow tied just above her sternum. the strings of the bow hung low and stopped in the middle of her stomach. The material of the bralette was a lace that matched with her prominent tan lines. Instead of a skirt, which she usually ops for, she wore cutoff jeans that were short enough to just tease the swell of her ass. For accessories, Azzi wore pure gold rings, one on her left hand which connected, by a thin line of gold string, to a thin gold bracelet on her wrist.
Azzi replaced her belly button piercing to a dangling one. Three amber gems dangled from her lower belly button and stopped just an inch and a half below it. Her curls were styled into a loose bun. A few curls framed her face. Azzi wore her face somewhat bare today. The only thing she had on was concealer, mascara, and a little bit of lip gloss.
Finally, she paired the outfit with gold kitten heels. The straps of the heels wrapped around her ankle and topped just above it. Azzi got up from the chair and did a small spin for Paige. "Do you like it?" She asked, running her hands down the fabric of her shorts and lower.
Azzi finally looked up to look at Paige's face when she didn't get a response. Paige's mouth was dropped to the floor and her eyes were locked on Azzi's navel piercing. "You look divine." She eventually said when she was able to move her jaw to talk.
The brunette laughed at Paige's word choice. "That's a new word. I'm honestly surprised that you know it." she teased.
"I've been so bored recently I had to beg Kenzie to give me something to do. And she gave me a damn dictionary and said that 'I need to read it' whatever that means." Paige complained with an eye roll.
Azzi laughed and moved to wrap her arms around Paige's neck. "You're so cute," she said, giving Paige a big smile. Her eyes trailed down to get a good look of Paige's outfit up close.
Paige was wearing Timberland shoes and faded blue barrel jeans with her grey Calvin Klein boxers intentionally peeking out above the waistline. On top was a collared white shirt paired with a black tie that wrapped around her neckline and under the collar snugly, going just past the midpoint of her chest. But this time, surprising Azzi, her hair was down in waves and slightly smudged mascara shadowed her eyes.
The blonde's heart doubled in size at how Azzi's dimples popped out at her outfit choice. Just when Paige was about to lean in to close the gap between them a crying sound was heard. "I actually can't wait until this challenge is over. Our children keep cock blocking us," Paige grumbled underneath her breath.
Azzi let out a small laugh. She pressed a small kiss onto Paige's cheek and bent down to pick up carl who was still in the bassinet. They walked side by side out of the dressing room and down to soul ties.
For the next hour, they chatted about random things. Azzi mostly talked about the food she missed outside of the villa and how she wished she had a book right now. Paige mainly talked about how she missed playing basketball and how she wished that there was a basketball hoop right here in the villa.
Paige had jumped up in the air from excitement when her phone went off. She grabbed it and smiled big. "Guys! I got a textt!" she shouted. Her voice echoed across the field making the other islander run over to them.
"Read what it says," Azzi said. She was peaking over the blonde's shoulder, trying to read the message but the sunlight was making it hard to understand.
"Islanders, It's time to see which couple won the date. Please meet Ariana by the firepit." Paige read.
Everyone walked over to the firepit with their babies. Azzi was holding Ava while Paige was holding Carl. Everyone waited patiently for Ariana to make her way over to them.
Azzi's mouth dropped when Ariana started walking over to them. She let out a small whistle as the host made it closer to them. "You look gorgeous," Azzi complemented when she got closer to the pit.
Ariana grinned. "Thank you Azzi. You look beautiful. I love how that color looks on you." she complemented back.
The brunette waved her face acting as if her face was extremely hot. Paige watched the whole interaction with one of her eyebrows arched. "Again, should I be worried?" she mumbled out whispering it into Azzi's ear.
Azzi just grinned at Paige but didn't say anything. "Okay islanders, it's time to see which couple won the challenge." Ariana announced to the group.
There was a long and dramatic pause. Azzi bit her lip as she waited for the host to open her mouth again. Her free hand was interlocked with Paige's and her knee bounced rapidly.
"Azzi and Paige, you guys have won the challenge." Ariana finally said.
The couples around the two girls clapped. Paige and Azzi both had a big smile on their faces at the announcement. "Please, come join me up here," Ariana added.
Azzi and Paige stood up with their children and walked over to the spot Ariana wanted them to be in. "Your jetski is waiting for you at the dock." Both the girls turned their heads to the dock at Ariana's words. Paige was bouncing on the heels of her feet while Azzi had one of her arms wrapped around Paige's arm.
"Wait-, do we have to take the robot babies?" Azzi asked.
Ariana just laughed and shook her head. "Nope. You can hand the babies over." The host extended her arms out and took the two babies.
Azzi and Paige walked hand and hand to the dock. "Do you wanna drive?" Azzi asked when the jet ski was now in front of them. "Wait-, do you even know how to drive one of these things?" She added.
Paige shrugged her shoulders. "Nah-, I don't but it can't be that hard."
The brunette's heart fell to her stomach at Paige's words. "I'm actually terrified right now," she explained. Azzi watched as Paige hopped onto the jetski and patted the seat behind her with her hand.
"I promise everything will be fine. Just don't let go of me."
Just before Azzi was about to take a seat behind Paige, a realization hit her. "Wait, Paige. We need to put on a life jacket," she said. Azzi walked over to where the life jackets were.
Azzi grabbed the pink one and put it on. She walked over to Paige with a purple jacket in her hands and offered it to Paige. "Bro-, I don't need that shit." Paige complained.
The brunette rolled her eyes. "Paige, put it on. Please," she dragged out. Paige didn't give in until Azzi had rolled her bottom lip out and looked at her with pleading eyes.
Finally after a few minutes, they got situated onto the jetski. Azzi arms were wrapped around Paige's waist tightly as Paige drove them across the ocean. "Paige! Slow down," Azzi shouted when the blonde ramped up the speed.
Paige laughed. "This is so much fun," she shouted.
Azzi rested her forehead against the back of Paige's shoulder. "At least you are having fun," she grumbled. Azzi closed her eyes and didn't open them until they came to a stop.
She opened her eyes when Paige tapped on her leg. Azzi let out a small gasp when she saw it: it was another island that had rose petals leading to what had looked like a picnic by the water.
Paige took Azzi's hand and led her over to the white blanket that was spread out. The blonde moved the brown basket that had their food inside so she and Azzi could sit close together.
Inside the basket were two wine glasses along with a bottle of red wine. For their food it was two sandwiches along with some pineapple. They both ate in silence, listening to the waves crashing along the shore.
After they were done eating, Azzi's legs found their way into Paige's lap. She played with the blonde's blonde hair while Paige ran her hand up and down her thigh. "What makes you happy?" Azzi asked out of nowhere. Her brown eyes were locked on Paige's side profile as she waited for an answer.
Paige let out a small hum as she thought about the question. "I would say coaching. I loved playing basketball; my whole dream was to play in the WNBA. When I faced that bad injury and had to step back from something that I loved so much, It really took a toll on me. It took me a while to accept the fact that I wasn't gonna be able to play for the league and in general; it broke me. But, I found coaching and I love it so much. I love teaching my players and I love how even though I'm not actually playing the game I'm still coaching."
Azzi smiled at the way she could see Paige's mood lighten up as she kept talking. She scratched lightly at Paige's scalp and let out a small laugh at how Paige leaned into the touch.
"What makes you happy?" Paige asked.
"I would say helping others. I get a little rush of joy even if I'm helping someone with something little. It makes me happy when I see how happy they get when I help them."
Paige nodded her head in agreement. "What's one of your favorite memories?" she asked. The space around them was comfortable the faint smell of salt water and the sound of the waves were really peaceful.
The brunette let out a small giggle before she started talking. "One of my favorite memories is of me getting my dog when I was about fifteen. I remember I had to bribe my parents for months for me to get a dog. They ended up surprising me with one on my birthday and I started bawling my eyes out." there was a weird feeling in her throat as she spoke. Azzi didn't realize how much she had missed Stewie until now.
"Awe, that's so cute." Paige jumped in her spot a little when an idea formed in her head. "maybe Blue and Stewie can meet whenever we leave the villa." she said excitedly.
Azzi smiled so hard that both of the dimples on her face showed up. "I would love that." She said, leaning her body more onto Paige's.
"Alright, next question. What are your fears?" Azzi asked.
Paige looked up at the sky, admiring the light pink and blue colors as she thought to herself. "I would say ending up alone. That is one of my biggest fears." She turned her head to look at Azzi. "What is one of your biggest fears?" She asked.
"I was gonna say being pregnant, which is one of them. But my worst fear is never finding real love. I want to be with someone who loves me for me. Someone who I can wake up in the morning with and not stress about how I look because I would know that they wouldn't care about what I looked like. They would just be happy to be in my presence and with me. And I was honestly having a hard time finding that considering I went on a dating show," Azzi said, letting out a small and forced laugh.
When Azzi turned her head she was met with Paige's eyes. The blonde's eyes were now dark and her bottom lip was in between her teeth. "That was also one of my reasons for auditioning for this show," Paige said.
Azzi smiled. "Do you think you have found someone you like and are really passionate about?" Her voice was soft as she talked. Azzi's heart felt like it was beating out of her chest from Paige going silent.
Paige's eyes moved from Azzi's eyes to her plumped lips and back up to her eyes. "Yeah, I have." Her voice was filled with confidence.
Azzi's eyes sparkled at Paige's words. She was smiling so hard that her face was starting to hurt. "I think I found someone too," she agreed. Her voice was so light that paige could barely hear her.
The blonde's eyebrow arched. "You think?" She questioned. She tiled her head to the side a bit as her face inched closer to Azzi's
The brunette rolled her eyes. "I know," she corrected. "Now, shut up and kiss me already," she snapped. She was done with the little waiting game that was happening at the moment.
Paige laughed. She launched her head forward, leaving no space between them as she connected their lips. Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige's neck. She tugged Paige towards her, allowing her back to hit the blanket and for paige to hover over her.
Azzi wrapped her legs around Paige's waist, pulling the blonde even closer to where both of their fronts were touching. She let out a small moan when Paige's tongue swiped over her bottom lip asking for entrance.
She opened her mouth, allowing Paige's tongue to explore every inch of her mouth. Azzi's nails dug into Paige's back as the kiss continued to deepen.
When Paige pulled away, a string of spit allowed her lips that were connected to Azzi's lips. The blondes blue eyes looked up at Azzi's sore and swollen lips and then she looked back up Azzi's eyes.
She didn't even have to ask for another kiss; Azzi just tug her downward and interlocked their lips again. This kiss was more slow but still passionate.
Azzi pulled away with a laugh at how breathless paige was. She moved one of her hands to tuck a strand of hair that was in Paige's face behind her ear.
"So…are you still questioning on if you found someone?" Paige asked when she was finally able to catch her breath.
Azzi let out a groan. She rested her head more back onto the blanket as a sign of defeat. "You just ruined the moment," she mumbled.
Paige's eyes widened at her words. "Wait-, I'm sorry I was just kidding. Can I get another kis-"
The brunette cut her off. "No, because you ruined the moment." Her arms were now crossed over her chest. A pout formed on her lips and her eyes were narrowed as she stared at Paige.
"Bro-," Paige couldn't even finish her sentence again because Azzi interrupted her again.
"Don't call me 'bro.'" She snapped.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Princess, can I please get another kiss?" Paige begged.
Azzi bit her lip and eventually rolled her eyes. "I guess," she mumbled before she tugged Paige back down to her face.
—
COMMENTS UNDER EPISODE NINE OF ISLANDERS IN PARADISE:
Ilovecats: Paige getting mad at Azzi for cussing around their children while she did the same is actually so funny💀. 2m likes
pazzistan: I'm so happy that Paige and Azzi won the date. 800k likes
paigelover: no because can we talk about Azzi's outfit for this episode. My mouth dropped at the fit because of how gorgeous she looked🤭. 3m likes
↪️pazzistand replied to paigelover: my mouth watered I swear. 500k likes
random32: Kenzie giving paige a dictionary is so damn funny 700k likes
paigelover: i wished they showed us that interaction. I just know Paige was mad about receiving the dictionary. 500k likes
azziandpaige4life: did anyone else see the way Paige was looking at azzi when she showed off her outfit to her 2m likes
↪️unknown replied to azziandpaige4life: she's so down bad and it's literally so cute 300k likes
ilovepasta: awee paige and azzi making plans outside the villa is so adorable🥹 I don't think you guys understand how much I'm rooting for them. 5m likes
↪️azziissohot replied to ilovepasta: honestly, I think the producers should just give them the money alr. 4m likes
—
Azzi woke up in the morning to something pressing down on her stomach. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms above her chest. Azzi moved the comforter off of her body revealing a passed out Paige who was sleeping on her stomach.
She ran her fingers through Paige's messy blonde hair. Azzi stopped her hand when Paige started moving in her sleep. The blonde eventually lifted up her head and her tired eyes met Azzi's.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Azzi asked. She moved the loose pieces of hair out of Paige's face as she talked.
Paige nodded her head slowly. There was a small line of droll that ran from the side of her lip down to her chin. Azzi moved her hand and used her thumb to whip it away.
"I slept so good," Paige eventually said. Her voice was raspy. She moved off of Azzi and got up from the bed. She stretched her arms above her head and let out a groan that she couldn't control.
She smirked at how Azzi's face turned a faint pink color at the noise. "Do you want your usual for breakfast?" She asked.
Azzi nodded her head. "Yes please," she said and got out of bed as well. The two had parted ways after they got done with their morning routines.
The brunette found herself doing her makeup in the dressing room. Her curly hair was clipped back and out of her face as she set her makeup. Azzi touched up on her winged eyeliner and lip liner before she rammed through her closet to look for a bikini.
She ended up settling on a deep purple triangle bikini top. The straps of the top wrapped around her neck and pushed the curve of her boobs up. The bottoms were the same color and the straps rested directly on her hip bones.
Azzi styled her hair in the same bun she did yesterday with a few strands framing her face. She sat in her seat in front of her vanity mirror as she waited for Paige. Azzi's face lit up when Paige came into the room. Paige was wearing a bikini top similar to Azzi's but hers was a lighter purple. And same color trunks of course.
Paige had a plate and a cup in her hand that was filled halfway with orange juice. "I love your outfit," Azzi said once Paige got closer to her.
She watched as the blonde's cheeks turned a bright red color. "Thank you," Paige rasped out. She placed a small kiss onto Azzi's cheek and another one on the girl's lips.
Once Azzi was done with her breakfast, her and Paige walked down to the open gym. Azzi sat beside Paige watching as the blonde did pull ups. her eyes were focused on how Paige's arms flexed with every pull-up. The sunlight made Paige's arms look even more heavenly.
Azzi wanted nothing more than to feel up on Paige's arms. Her palms flexed a little, acting like she could already imagine how they would feel in her hands. Her thoughts started to become too overpowering she finally just gave in and got up from her seat.
She walked over to Paige who was now standing off to the side beside the machine. Her head was tilted away from Azzi looking off into the distance at the ocean while she drank from her water bottle.
The brunette reached out and grabbed at Paige's bicep. She bit her bottom lip until it stung. Her thumb ran over some of the small beads of sweat on Paige's tan skin and her eyes glistened with admiration.
Paige jerked her head to Azzi's direction. "Like what you see?" Paige said with a huge smirk on her face.
At first Azzi didn't respond; she just kept feeling up on Paige's muscle. "I love what I see. I had to get up from my seat and get a better view up close. And also get a feel." Azzi responded after a minute.
The blonde's nose scrunched as she leaned more towards where Azzi was standing. Paige's smirk deepened when she saw Azzi's body stiffen up when she leaned into whisper into the girl's ear.
"Keep it in your pants, Fudd." She teased before she pulled away.
Azzi let out a groan and pushed at Paige's shoulder. "That doesn't even make sense. I'm just touching your arm, nothing more." She pouted.
Paige just laughed and gave her a knowing look. "Be serious. You looked like you were about to jump my bones. The look that was in your eyes told a different story." She said, her tongue ran over her bottom lip. Paige's eyes didn't miss the way Azzi's eyes tracked the motion.
Before Azzi could defend herself, another voice joined in. "yeah, Az. You looked like you were about to devour Paige." Alex chimed in. Azzi turned her head to the direction of Alex's voice.
"I don't need your input," she snapped.
Paige laughed. she reached out to wrap her arms around Azzi's waist. "It's okay mama. Don't get upset. Shit, I mean, I would do it too if I were you."
Azzi rolled her eyes and moved out of Paige's grasp. 'You're so full of yourself," she grumbled. Azzi walked over to the pool with her arms crossed over her chest with a huge pout on her face. She ignored how she could hear Paige's steps from behind her, following her like a lost puppy.
She ignored Paige's comments as she sat in one of the lounge chairs by the pool. Azzi ignored Paige's presence a bit until she said: "I like when you look at me like that." That is what made Azzi turn her head over to where Paige was sitting which was right beside her.
"Like what?" Azzi said softly.
Paige shook her head a little. "Like I'm the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. or not really me, mainly just my arms." She flexed her arms a bit making Azzi's cheeks turn a dark cinnamon color.
"That's not true." Azzi mumbled underneath her breath. "It's not just your arms."
The blonde laughed and just launched herself at Azzi with no warning. "You like me," she sang softly. The side of her face was resting just above Azzi's heartbeat. The smile on Paige's face was sappy.
Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige's waist. "Of course I like you. I wouldn't be coupled up with you if I didn't."
—
COMMENTS UNDER EPISODE TEN OF ISLANDERS IN PARADISE:
@loveazandp: Azzi is so real for staring at paige's arms like that. 5m likes
@azziismygf: does anyone know if paige and azzi are closed off? 500k likes
@ilovecats replied to @azziismygf: no I don't think they are. 2k likes
@azziismygf: oh, that's weird. 200 likes
@ilovecats replied to @azziismygf: to me, it's honestly not. I feel like the feelings they have towards each other are real. But they have only known each other for three weeks. maybe they are taking it slow? (in a way) 300k likes
@paigesarms: paige and azzi give such golden retriever and black cat energy. 3m likes
@random replied to @paigesarms: I WAS JUST THINKING THIS!! 1k likes
@iloveanimals: I need to find a women who looks at me the way paige and azzi look at each other. 4m likes
@azziissopretty replied to @iloveanimals: REAL!!!! 200k likes
—
"Who's your favorite artist?" Paige asked. She was sitting with Azzi's legs in her lap. Her hand ran up and down Azzi's legs.
"I would say Olivia Dean is my favorite artist right now." Azzi said as she relaxed more into the cushion, she was resting her back on.
"that's a good one. What's your favorite song by her?"
Azzi let out a small 'hum' as she thought to herself. so easy to fall in love or a couple minutes. I had those two songs on repeat before I got to the villa." She was startled a bit when paige sat up straighter in her seat out of excitement.
"I love those songs too!" Paige agreed.
The brunette turned her head over to Paige and leaned it onto the blonde's chest. "Who's your favorite artist?" she asked. Azzi had closed her eyes for a second, taking in the calm atmosphere around them and how good Paige smelled.
"Drake." Paige said instantly without a thought.
Azzi rolled her eyes. "Well honestly that makes sense." she mumbled.
Paige's eyebrow arched at that. "What is that supposed to mean?" She asked. One of her hands was now resting on Azzi's waist.
"Nothing, It's just I can see you liking his music. That's all." Azzi explained. She sat up and got off of the coach they were sitting on.
She dusted off the dirt that she could feel on her skin. When she turned her body around, so her front was now facing Paige's, she was met with a bright red Paige. "You, okay?" Azzi asked. She was honestly worried because of how red Paige's face was at the moment.
Paige cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine." she was everything but fine at the moment. Her breath was caught in her throat from Azzi's ass being all up in her face.
Azzi just raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. "let's go put some sunscreen on your face. I think the sun is making your face really red," she explained.
this has nothing to do with the sun, Paige thought. But either way she still allowed Azzi to drag her to the dressing room to apply a layer of sunscreen onto her face.
Well, shit. Maybe it was the sun a little bit, she thought when she instantly felt pain from Azzi touching her face. Paige let out a hiss and her jaw clenched together.
Azzi removed her hand from Paige's face like it was burned. "Are you okay honey?" She asked. She felt horrible that she accidently hurt Paige.
Paige just nodded her head. This time it didn't hurt as bad when Azzi went back to applying the liquid. Once Azzi was done, she placed a small kiss onto the side of Paige's neck.
"Let's go find something to put on your sunburn to make it better." Azzi said. She grabbed onto Paige's hand and led her to the kitchen.
"A kiss from you would make it better," Paige said. When Azzi turned around, she had a smug look on her face. Right when the two stepped into the kitchen, Mark had pulled Azzi aside to do one of her confessionals for the day.
"Sorry for interrupting," he mumbled as he and Azzi walked to the confessional room.
"You know, Paige was right. You do have really good timing. At least this timing. At least this time we weren't cuddling or worse." Azzi said with a shrug.
Azzi sat on the couch in front of the camera mark already set up. She waited patiently. She ran her hands up and down her thighs, watching mark get his stuff situated.
She cleared her throat when she got the go-ahead signal to start talking. "I find it cute when Paige is checking me out and freezes when she gets caught. Sometimes I act like I don't know what's going on but I do. And I know for a fact her face wasn't just red from being sun burnt." Azzi smirked as if she was proud of herself.
"Good job, do you want a prize from figuring that out?" Marks voice was filled with boredom and sarcasm.
Azzi pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. "Whatever," she mumbled underneath her breath.
After her confessional, she went out to find Paige. Azzi saw that she had moved from the kitchen to the gym area and was talking to Alex. When she made it over to them, she made herself comfortable in Paige's lap.
"Well hello to you too," Alex said. She had a grin on her face while her arms were wrapped around Jessica.
Azzi got herself situated in Paige's lap before she responded back. "Hi. Are you gonna tease me about yesterday again?" She asked, referring to when she got made fun of for checking Paige out.
Alex just laughed but before she could say anything Jessica grabbed her attention. Thank God, Azzi thought. She turned her head over to Paige and gave her a smile.
"Did you rub the aloe Vera on your face? I don't want your sunburn to get worse."
Paige grinned. "Yes mama, I did. Don't worry." She said, Paige wrapped her arms tighter around Azzi's body like she was gonna vanish any second.
Azzi nodded her head in approval. Her body jumped in Paige's lap when an alarm sound came from Paige's phone beside them. She reached over to grab it to view the message on the screen.
"Guys, I got a texxtt," azzi yelled.
She waited until the other islanders made their way over to the gym area to read out the text. "Islanders, I hope you guys are ready to get wet because you guys are about to learn more about your other islanders in the villa. Please, make your way over to Ariana who is already waiting for you." She read.
Her eyes looked up and she instantly met with Ariana's who was across from them and around the corner beside the villa. Azzi grabbed onto Paige's hand as they all walked together to greet the host.
"Hello, islanders," Ariana said with a big smile.
A collection of 'hi's came from the islanders. Everyone surrounded Ariana and a pool with a water slide. Behind the pool was an open bar that had already made drinks and a stack of cards.
"For this challenge, I will be splitting you guys up into two groups. One group will stand side by side in a line while an islander from the other group slides down this slide," Ariana took her eyes off of the group of girls to point at the slide behind her. "Into the pool," she added on.
"After you make it into the pool, you will go to the mini bar and grab a drink and a card. On the card it has a random fact about one of the islanders that are standing in the line. You will read out the fact and throw the drink onto the islander you believe the fact is about. There is going to be a line of removable tape at the bottom of the card that reveals which islander the fact was about which you will reveal after you have already made your decision."
Everyone nodded their heads in understanding Ariana's instructions. "Now, you couples are going to split up into two groups, so you guys are in the same team." Right after Ariana said that Paige along with other islanders made their way over to Ariana.
Now, Paige and Azzi were facing each other. Paige's hands were interlocked behind her back as she rocked on her heels. She watched as Jessica made her way up the stairs before sliding down the slide. She bit her lip anxiously as Jessica stood in front of her with a card and drink in her hand.
"This islander islander tells the truth but not the whole truth during any circumstance." Jessica read. After she read it, she instantly walked over to Elaine who was to the far right.
"Sorry," Jessica mumbled out before she threw the drink at her.
Elaine let out a gasp at how cold the drink was. Her body shivered a bit as Jessica removed the tape to reveal which islander the statement was about. "I was right," she said with a smile.
The next person to slide down the slide was Azzi. Paige licked her lips at the water that was dripping down her body which made her skin glisten. Azzi walked up and down in front of the line of girls with a card in her hand and a drink.
"This islander's love language is to annoy the person they like." Azzi read. When she looked up from the card she met Paige's eyes. She smirked and threw the drink onto Paige's body without hesitation.
"Damn, bro-. Did you have to throw it on my face?" Paige complained. Her hand ran down her face to whip it.
"Sorry, honey. It was the wind that did that. I was aiming for your stomach," she lied. Azzi wasn't even surprised when she pulled back the tape. "I knew I was right," she mumbled before she made her way back to her group.
The challenge went on for another ten minutes before the team's switched places. Azzi would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. She didn't know if Paige was just gonna throw a drink at her just to get back at her or not.
Everyone watched as Abby made her way down the slide and walked over to the bar. The second she made her way to the group standing in a line Azzi knew something was off. Her eyes narrowed at the girl as a smirk appeared on Abby's face.
"This islander has a past of taking other people's partners while they are in a relationship." She read. Abby smirked and walked down the line of people and stopped when she was now standing in front of Azzi. She didn't even say anything; she just threw the drink onto Azzi with a grin.
Azzi ran her hand down her face to whip away the liquid. Some of her curly hair stuck to the sides of her face and goosebumps appeared on her arms. She licked her lips and looked at Abby with an unfazed expression.
"Damn, you really thought you did something there." Azzi said with a shrug.
A few of the islanders—including Paige laughed while Abby groaned. "You're still mad about what happened in the past?" Azzi asked, referring to when Abby and Paige had that conversation about their 'relationship'.
Azzi had to hold back her laugh when Abby didn't answer her; she just walked away. The brunette rolled her eyes and looked at Paige who was already looking at her.
She forced out a smile and waved Paige off. Azzi mouthed, 'it's fine,' before she brought her attention back to the person who was sliding down the slide now.
After the challenge, Azzi and Paige made their way over to soul ties. They both laid beside each other on their stomachs and stared off into the view in front of them. "What was that whole interaction between you and Abby about?" Paige asked.
Azzi shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I think she has like one-sided beef with me." She asked before she took a long sip of her tea that was in the mug she was holding.
"That shit is actually so annoying. You didn't even do anything to her."
"I think she's mad because we are coupled up and have a good connection." Azzi said and took another sip of her tea. She silently offered her mug to Paige which she took into her hands and took a sip as well.
Paige's face scrunched when the warm liquid hit her taste buds. "What the hell is that?" she asked after she swallowed the tea. It took everything in her to not spit it out of her mouth.
"It's supposed to be good for your immune system and digestion. I think that was on the packet as well." Azzi informed. She took the warm mug from Paige's hands and drank it like it actually tasted good.
The blonde's eyebrows scrunched while she tilted her head to the side. "Are you gonna be this much of a healthy freak outside of the villa too?" Paige asked. Curiosity filled her voice.
Azzi raised a brow at her. "Is it going to be a problem if I am?"
Paige laughed and shook her head. "No, as long as you don't try to make me eat that nasty feet feeling thing." she explained poorly.
"Do you mean cottage cheese?"
"Yes! That's stuff. I wanted to throw up when you made me eat it." Paige's face was still scrunched in disgust as if she could still taste it in her mouth.
Azzi rolled her eyes. "Being healthy is not gonna kill you." she mumbled.
Paige made a small 'tsk' with her mouth. "That shit might actually kill me." Her voice had a serious tone to it. Azzi laughed softly at how Paige was reacting. She hated how she couldn't hold her laugh in and just before she knew it, Paige was on top of her.
Paige pressed kisses all over Azzi's face. She pouted when Azzi tilted her head to the side so she couldn't kiss her lips. "Denying me a kiss is actually insane." She groaned.
The brunette rolled her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Paige's neck and pulled her downwards to connect their lips. Azzi kept the kiss short. When she pulled away, she bit at Paige's bottom lip and tugged on it before she fully pulled away. She let out a small giggle when Paige tried chasing after her lips for more.
"You're such a tease," Paige pouted. She shoved her face into the side of Azzi's neck and pressed small kisses onto her skin. Azzi giggled and pulled Paige forward.
—
COMMENTS UNDER EPISODE ELEVEN OF ISLANDERS IN PARADISE:
@hoes4pazzi: Thank you, computa. You did well. 8B likes
@azzigf: bro can someone boo Abby off of my island? I’m so sick of her. 5M likes
@random: ABBY GET OUT OF MY VILLA FRFR 6B likes
—
"Okay, say that if you could be any animal; what animal would you be?" Paige asked. She was rocked back and forth on her heels as she waited for Azzi to finish whatever the hell she was making.
Azzi froze at Paige's question. "What?" she asked, not even knowing what to even say.
"Just answer the question."
The brunette rolled her eyes. "I would probably be a cat," she said before she went back to cutting the avocado up. Azzi stopped after a second when an unknown wave of silence fell between them. A pair of eyes stared into the side of her face for so long that she couldn't ignore them anymore.
She turned her head over her shoulder to look at Paige. "Why are you lookin' at me like that?" Azzi asked.
Paige just blinked. "A cat really? You would want to be a cat?" The blonde's voice was filled with judgment.
Azzi took a piece of the avocado and ate it before she responded. "I mean, I don't see why it's so crazy for wanting to be one. Have you never heard that saying that goes 'you are what you eat' or some shit like that."
It took Paige a full thirty seconds to understand what Azzi was referring to. her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly. Paige's cheeks turned a cherry color.
"You know what? yeah, I agree now that you said that." She tried to make her voice seem calm and collective, but it wasn't going so well with the way it cracked at the end.
The brunette let out a small laugh. "You're so cute," she mumbled. Azzi grabbed a piece of the avocado and held it up to Paige's lips. Her face heated up when Paige opened up her mouth and allowed her fingers in to eat the avocado.
"Freaks," Alex said.
A faint laugh came from another person's mouth causing Azzi to take her fingers out of Paige's mouth and to look in the direction the voices came from.
Azzi crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "I swear you are always ruining the moment," she complained. Azzi looked over at Jessica who was standing beside Alex. "Can you please distract your girl so I can flirt and be freaky with mine?" She pleaded.
That sentence got Paige's attention. "Oh? I'm your girl?" She was actually shocked that Azzi said that. their relationship has been confusing honestly but then again; she didn't want to rush into anything.
"Nah-, your Abby's. Yes, you are my girl"
Paige's heart dropped to her ass at the mention of Abby's name. "You got jokes today huh," she grinned while she looped her arms around Azzi's waist.
Azzi let out a laugh. "Sorry, I just wanted to see the look on your face when I said that. And it was really funny. I could tell you got scared for a second." She giggled.
The blonde rolled her eyes. She pressed a small kiss onto Azzi's cheek and then pulled away. "You're my girl too," she purred with a smug look on her face.
The brunette bit her lip and just as she was about to open her mouth to say something Alex had beat her to it. "You guys are really cute. But like, can you please get out of the kitchen? I'm trying to eat my bagel in peace, and I don't want to see this," she motioned her hand out and waved at them.
Azzi rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she grumbled and grabbed Paige's hand so they could go somewhere where they wouldn't be interrupted—the speakeasy.
When they made it upstairs to the room Azzi locked the door behind them. Paige raised an eyebrow at that, "um, should I be worried?" she asked as she sat down on the leather couch.
Azzi shook her head as she walked over to Paige. She swayed her hips a bit and when she got closer to the blonde she straddled her lap. Her arms wrapped around Paige's waist. She didn't say anything; she just admired the beauty of Paige's face with her bottom lip in between her teeth.
Paige's hands went down to her hips. Her thumbs caressed Azzi's soft skin a little and her throat tightened. She cleared her throat, "soo…beautiful day isn't it."
The brunette rolled her eyes. "Just shut up and kiss me."
And Paige did just that. She launched herself forward interlocking their lips together. Paige leaned further back onto the sofa and took Azzi along with her. She moved her legs further with a part, digging her nails into the brunette's skin as the kiss deepened.
Azzi hummed into Paige's mouth. She moved her hips downward, searching for any type of pressure to help the annoying pain that was in between her legs. A small moan left her mouth that Paige happily swallowed.
She pulled away for a brief second to catch her breath. A wide smirk fell on her lips at how she watched Paige try to chase after her lips— like she always does when they kiss.
"God, you don't know what you are doing to me," Azzi groaned. The sight in front of her made her head spin and Paige wasn't even doing anything.
"I could say the same thing," Paige mumbled before she leaned back in for another kiss.
Without not being able to control herself, Azzi grinded her hips again onto Paige lap. Paige swallowed the whimper that had left Azzi's lips hungrily. She encouraged Azzi to keep grinding by helping her move her hips.
Azzi pulled away to press light kisses down the side of Paige's neck. Her hips didn't stop moving if anything they moved faster chasing after the way her clit was getting some kinda pressure—finally.
The tension between her and Paige was started to become too much for her to handle and the fact that she couldn't go anywhere to relief it pissed her off.
Her body went into a complete stop when a groan left Paige's lips. The sound hung in the room, echoing faintly. "Fuck-, you make such beautiful sounds." Azzi whimpered.
Out of nowhere, Paige reached out and took off Azzi's mic necklace. She turned off the mic by pressing a button on the back of it and she did the same for hers. "Fuck mama-, you gotta get up for a second. I need to go cover that camera over there," she mumbled nodding her head in the direction the camera was sitting.
Azzi let out a small groan in annoyance. "I know, I'm sorry. I just don't want them to have footage of us you know..." she trailed off.
"But what if they get mad?"
"I don't care. I'll take the blame for it, I swear," she said, looking into Azzi's eyes. When Azzi nodded her head in understanding she helped her off of her lap.
Paige got up and grabbed the throw blanket that was on the end of the soft. She didn't even try to hide herself from the camera; she just walked right in front of it and they the blanket onto it.
A small laugh fell out of Azzi's mouth from how Paige had an extra prep in her step on her way back to the couch. This time though, Paige laid flat on her back with her head propped up on a pillow. Once she got situated, she tapped on her stomach encouraging Azzi to straddle it.
Azzi bit her lip and followed Paige's instructions. Her knees were planted on each side of Paige's waist. She arched her back and leaned forward to where both of their fronts where touching.
She held onto the side of Paige's face, caressing it. The tips of her fingers trailed down to the blonde's swollen and red lips. She used the tip of one of her finger to to trace over Paige's lips that had her lip combo on it.
"I think you should start wearing lip gloss. It looks really good on you," Azzi teased.
Paige tilted her head to the side while a confused look formed on her face. "What do you mean?"
"My lip combo is all over your face and neck," she explained.
"ohh," Paige dragged out. Both of the girl's just stared at each other for a second. "Well, I think we should use our time wisely before anyone realizes that out mics are off and a camera is covered."
Azzi smirked. "Yeah, you're right," she mumbled before she leaned forward again.
After fifteen minutes, Paige found herself outside of the speakeasy door. Her hand was up by her lips trying to whip off Azzi's lip gloss while Azzi was still in the room trying to get herself together.
Paige groaned when nothing was coming off of her mouth and onto her palm. She quickly made her way to the dressing room and looked through Azzi's makeup bag. She looked in front of the mirror that was in front of her, rubbing her skin until it was a red color to wash away the evidence of what she and Azzi have been doing.
Her heart dropped to her stomach when the dressing room door opened and closed. She let out a sigh in relief when she saw who it was—Alex.
"Wassup Paige, where have you bee—" Alex words went to a stop when she saw Paige's face. Her eyes skimmed over the blonde's chin and the red skin around her mouth. "Oh shit."
"Bro-, don't just stand there. Help me. I don't want the whole production team and everyone else to know that me and Azzi were making out for like twenty minutes straight.
Alex let out a groan before she complied. "I guess," she mumbled before she walked over to grab another makeup whip.
"Holy fuck Paige. It's bad," Alex said when she saw her neck.
"I know. Now, help me please," she pleaded again.
—
COMMENTS UNDER EPISODE TWELVE OF ISLANDERS IN PARADISE:
@pazzilover: wait am I trippin' or is the skin around Paige's lips stained? 4B likes
↪️@iloveazzi'sarms replied to @pazzilover: I clocked that too!! and Azzi's lip liner is a little messed up 2B likes
↪️@paigesbiggestfan replied to @iloveazzi'sarms : ouu shit👀 2M likes
↪️@ilovedogs replied to @paigesbiggestfan: they were kisssingggg 🙂↔️ 5M likes
@random: did anyone else hear a faint moaning sound for a bit before it cut off? 4B likes
↪️@ilovecats replied to @random: YES I HEARD IT TOO!! 300k likes
↪️@random replied to @ilovecats: I wonder who it was 🤔 400k likes
↪️@pazzi4ever replied to @random: I think I have an idea on who it was… 5M likes
@azzilover: bro Azzi is so funny💀 the cat joke and the Abby one 3M likes
↪️@ilovepaige replied to @azzilover: she had me giggling and the way you could tell Paige's heart dropped at the Abby joke😭 500k likes
@ilovemovies: DAMN i thought the sexual tension between paige and azzi would calm down after a bit but…if anything it's getting worse 5B likes
↪️@azzilovespaige replied to @ilovemovies: I really hope we can pick who's gonna go to the hideaway this seasonnn. I already know which couple I'm picking if we get to🤭 (pazzi) 6B likes
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . authors note: again, sorry about the long wait. also I did add in an anons request on what they wanted to see in the third chapter. and to the other people who also shared their ideas with me I promise I didn’t forget them! They will happen in the next chapter! :) don’t forget to tell me your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed reading <3
word count. 6.0K. warnings. nothing really. links. main masterlist. wicked games masterlist. a/n. new fic we up 😋😋 it’s probably gonna be controversial af but here we are anyways. you may hate micah, you may like her but at the end of the day that’s bbg
MICAH IS DOING HER BEST. She keeps repeating that to herself like a mantra, like if she thinks it hard enough, it'll settle and become true. She's doing her best at not distracting Jackie while she cooks, which is a massive test of her willpower considering she's notoriously bad at keeping her hands to herself whenever Jackie is trying to navigate a hot stove. She's doing her best to ignore the stubborn, dull twinge in her left ankle that's been humming under her skin for the last few weeks, a small ache she refuses to acknowledge because admitting to stiffness means admitting to vulnerability, and she simply doesn't have the room for that right now. She's doing her best to get used to the Florida humidity, which feels like walking through warm soup compared to Vegas's dry heat—her skin always a little damp, her curls always a little frizzy, her clothes always sticking to her back. Most of all, though, Micah is doing her absolute best to positive about the upcoming winter and Unrivaled season. Optimism has never been her strong suit; she's always been the type to brace for impact, to prepare for the worst so she can't be blindsided. But she's trying. That's the whole point. She really does love Florida; she loves the way the Miami sun doesn't just shine but seems to sink directly into the pores in her skin, a different kind of burn than the Nevada desert but no less fierce. She loves the ocean, the sprawling blue horizon, and she genuinely loves the Unrivaled league. She loved everything about its inaugural run—the breathless pacing of the 3x3 court, the loud energy of the crowd, the sisterhood of a league run entirely by the women who play in it. She's excited to play with Cam Brink again, excited to see Rickea every day, excited to watch Dom Malonga grow into the monster she knows she'll become. She's excited. She's trying. She's doing her best.
But it comes with a cost, like most things do.
Being teammates with Paige Bueckers is quite a cost.
Micah exhales slowly, letting the thought dissolve as she sits on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, palms pressed against the cool marble. Jackie stands at the stove, stirring her sauce, the scent of sautéed garlic, crushed red pepper, and sweet butter heavy in the air, rising in a fragrant cloud of steam. Micah watches her fondly, eyes wandering. Jackie's wearing one of her Aces shirts, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with a bandana. She looks relaxed, at home, like she belongs here in this Miami apartment even though they've only been in the city for a day. Micah tries not to distract her. She really does. She keeps her hands against the countertop, keeps her mouth shut, keeps her body still, even though she'd much prefer to hop down and wrap her arms around Jackie's waist.
Jackie glances over her shoulder. "Taste this," she says, blowing on the wooden spoon gently before reaching across the small gap between them. She cups her left hand beneath the spoon to catch any stray sauce, her gaze locked onto Micah's. "Tell me if it needs more salt."
Micah leans forward, parting her lips to let Jackie slide the spoon into her mouth. The flavor of the sauce is rich, bright with lemon zest and a creeping, pleasant heat from the pepper flakes. It's, predictably, perfect.
"Mm," Micah hums, her shoulders dropping as she lets the taste marinate on her tongue. "No. Don't touch it. If you add anything else, you're gonna ruin it, and then I'm gonna starve."
"Always so dramatic," Jackie laughs, shaking her head as she turns back to the stove to turn the burner down to a low simmer. She tosses the pasta with a deft flick of her wrist. "And you wouldn't starve. You'd just DoorDash something and then complain about the delivery time."
"That is a terrible lie," Micah says, though she knows it's the absolute truth."
Micah has never been a good cook. Cooking requires patience, a willingness to let things simmer and develop without hovering over them, and Micah's brain has never exactly functioned at that speed. In college, her culinary exploits had been limited to microwaveable Mac and Cheese, frozen pizzas, and whatever Werth was serving between her grueling practice schedules. When she got drafted to the Aces and moved to Vegas, she had survived almost entirely on a rotating cycle of takeout, post-game dinners, and pre-packaged Caesar salads she bought in bulk from Whole Foods. She had been perfectly content with her plastic containers and delivery apps until she started dating Jackie. Jackie, who cooks like she's auditioning to be on Master Chef, who always has some new recipe she wants to try, who always says, "Sit down, Mic, I got it," whenever Micah even thinks about helping.
Micah watches her now, feeling a warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with the stove nor the Miami heat. She's doing her best to hold onto that warmth, to let it be her crutch, to let it drown out the anxiety that's been buzzing beneath her skin since she landed in Florida. She's doing her best to be present, to be grateful, to be excited.
She's doing her best.
Even if the thought of seeing Paige tomorrow—being teammates again for real—makes her nearly queasy. Even if she has no idea how it's going to go. Even if she hasn't spoken to Paige in over a year and a half, not even when their paths crossed at All-Star earlier this year or when the Aces were matched up against the Wings. The last time they spoke was practically a lifetime ago, during the blur of her rookie All-Star weekend in Phoenix back in July of 2024. Micah stills remembers the way Paige had cornered her, equally as hurt as she was angry, demanding her what was going on, why she wasn't answering her texts. Micah remembers the way her stomach twisted, remembers the way her throat tightened, remembers the way she scoffed and said Paige was stupid if she didn't know why Micah wasn't talking to her—which she still stands on, to be fair. She remembers being mean, genuinely mean, something she's good at when she wants to be. She remembers standing there in that brightly lit hotel hallway and telling Paige that she had absolutely no intention of ever entertaining her again. She remembers Paige's face falling, remembers the glassiness of her blue eyes. And she remembers sleeping with Jackie for the first time that night, which had felt like a clean break, like a line drawn in the sand, a decision she wasn't going back on.
So, yeah. Micah doesn't really know how tomorrow is going to go with her and Paige in the same vicinity again.
"Micah," Jackie's voice breaks through the static of her thoughts. "Hey, Mic?"
Micah blinks, her fingers twitching against the smooth counter where she's still sitting. She looks over, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."
Jackie sighs, letting the hot pan of rigatoni down on a trivet in the center of the small glass dining table. She walks over to the counter, stepping directly into the space between Micah's knees. She reaches up, her warm palms cupping Micah's jaw, her thumbs tracing the tense, rigid line of her cheekbones. Jackie's touch is always like this—gentle and unhurried, devoid of any sharp electric currents.
"About tomorrow?" Jackie guesses.
Micah's jaw tightens under Jackie's fingers. She forces a shrug, mumbling, "A little."
Jackie slides her hands down to Micah's shoulders, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze. "It's gonna be awkward. I'm not about to lie to you and say the first time talking to your ex-best friend in two years isn't gonna be. But you both are professionals. More than that, you're both hoopers. Just focus on the game. You know how to do that."
She pulls back slightly, tilting Micah's chin up so their eyes are forced to meet. "You don't have to be her best friend again. You don't even really have to like her. Just go in, do your job, and be cordial. Nothing can be changed about the roster now. Better to just keep it clean.
"Cordial," Micah repeats, the word tasting like dry ash in her mouth. "Yeah."
That had been her plan, too. But it's easier said than done. It's easier to pretend she's fine than to actually be fine. It's easier to act like Paige is just another random teammate than to face the reality of everything that happened between them.
Jackie taps at her hip. "C'mon, though, let's eat. I thought you were starving."
"I am," Micah reassures, sliding off the counter.
Later, when the plates are cleared and the kitchen is dark, they retreat back to Jackie's bedroom. The apartment is still in a state of chaos, much like Micah's own place down the hall. They've only been in Miami for twenty-four hours, and the space is cluttered with the physical evidence of lives temporarily uprooted. Heavy black suitcases sit half-zipped on the floor, their contents spilling out in colorful piles of athletic gear and casual clothes; cardboard boxes of sneakers are stacked unevenly against the baseboards, and an army of hangers still clad in dry-cleaning plastic lay draped over the back of a chair.
It's messy, but beneath the sheets of the king-sized bed, it feels like a cozy sanctuary.
They watch a movie, the glow of the screen flickering across the white walls. Micah leans into Jackie's side, letting herself relax. When it's done and the TV is turned off, they settle into something else between tangled sheets. Hands warm on hips, mouths soft on necks.
Afterward, Micah is swollen and flushed and as satisfied as she can be, her cheek pressed against the center of Jackie's chest, her arm draped loosely over Jackie's waist. The hum of Jackie's white noise mixes with the steady thump-thump of her heart beneath Micah's ear. Micah squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling the clean, familiar scent of Jackie's skin.
This is good. This is her being her best. This is what a stable, adult love feels like. It's safe and quiet and doesn't break you open, doesn't leave you bleeding on a hotel room floor.
Micah remembers that, burns it into the gyri of her brain, hoping it's enough.
THE MORNING ARRIVES with a heavy, golden slant of Florida sunlight cutting through the cracks of the bedroom blinds, painting long, dusty lines across the white duvet. Micah is exhausted. It's a deep, bone-weary fatigue that has very little to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the mental marathon she ran in her sleep. She wants to stay under the covers forever, pressed against Jackie's warmth, pretending the outside world doesn't exist.
They end up kissing lazily, slow morning presses of mouths that taste like sleep and comfort. They linger like that for a while, neither of them bothering to talk, just breathing into each other, Jackie's hand smoothing over Micah's hip in absent circles. It's easy to stay there. It's easy to pretend like today isn't happening. But eventually, Jackie sighs and says, "We should get up," and Micah hums a reluctant agreement, rolling out of bed only because Jackie does.
The drive to the facility is mostly quiet, but for the R&B station that's on low volume. Jackie drives, occasionally sipping her iced coffee. Micah keeps her forehead pressed against the cool passenger-side window, watching the palm trees blur past against a sky so bright it makes her head ache. She's still tired, still foggy, still wishing she could crawl back into bed and forget the entire concept of preseason.
But, as soon as they arrive, the energy is like a splashing, cold wave. Loud voices, laughter, people walking every which way, the thrum of music from one of the locker room. All the Unrivaled teams share the same building, which means everyone is here, everyone is loud, everyone is excited, and Micah feels like she's walking into a carnival she didn't mentally prepare for.
She does well enough in keeping up. She daps up players she hasn't seen in a few months, hugs girls she's missed, smiles at coaches, nods at staff. She tries to pretend she's not thinking about two things simultaneously: getting back into bed, and the impending doom of seeing Paige Bueckers. She hasn't spotted her yet—thank God—but the possibility hangs over her like the humidity, thick and unavoidable. Every time she turns a corner, she half-expects Paige to be there, loud and bright and impossible to ignore.
But the first thing she has to do isn't practice. It's medical checks and jersey fittings, which is a blessing because it means she can hide behind logistics for a little while. Rickea is with her, equally tired, equally uninterested in being awake. They sit across from each other on exam tables while a trainer checks them, then walk together to the equipment room to get fitted for their Breeze jerseys.
The room is lined with rolling racks of fresh, crisp Breeze gear—deep purple and white jersey sets with lines of hot pink, as well as heavy-duty fleece hoodies, slick warmup pants, all bearing their names and numbers. Micah watches as Rickea pulls her white jersey over her head, adjusting the shoulders in front of the full-length mirror. She looks at her reflection, then shifts her weight, her shoulders slumping as she lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh.
"I'm tired as hell," Rickea mutters, her voice low and raspy. She reaches for a pair of shorts on the rack, shaking her head. "And I already know Paige's loud ass gon' drive me nuts."
Micah snorts under her breath. "You and me both."
It's true—Paige is loud. Always has been. Loud in the way that fills a room, loud in the way that makes people turn their heads, loud in the way that used to make Micah laugh until her stomach hurt. She's surprised she hasn't heard her yet, actually. Paige's voice usually carries like a damn megaphone. The fact that Micah has yet to hear even a single "broooo" echoing down the hall is almost unsettling.
"She's probably with media doing some promo," Rickea says, pulling her jersey off and dropping down into a chair. "They love puttin' her in front of a camera."
"Yeah," Micah murmurs, turning back to the mirror to adjust her own jersey, her eyes locking onto her own tense reflection. "Probably."
They don't have to wonder much longer, though. As soon as they're done with their fittings, they opt to finally head to the Breeze locker room. The walk is short and Rickea opens the door, going in first, and—
There she is, in the flesh.
Paige is sitting on the bench in the center of the locker room, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she wraps a strip of white athletic tape around her thumb. She's already wearing the white practice jersey over a black short-sleeve undershirt, her name and number—the familiar, mocking Bueckers and 5—sitting crisp on the fabric. Seeing her in those colors, officially Micah's teammate again, is bizarre, an overload. It's one thing to know it's happening; it's something entirely different to have the physical evidence sitting right in front of her.
For a fraction of a second, Paige's eyes flick up. They're the same piercing blue Micah has memorized a thousand times over. But the warmth that used to live in them is entirely gone, replaced by coolness, by ice, finally looking like the color they are.
"Hey," Paige says. Her voice is flat, devoid of its usual sing-song cadence. It's a strictly professional greeting, the kind of tone you use with a league executive or a stranger at a press junket.
"Hey," Micah echoes, her voice Paige's note for note, cool and perfectly level.
They don't exchange a single word more. They don't smile. They don't do the half-hug or the easy daps that are second nature to women who share a locker room. It's almost painful, a disciplined cordiality.
Almost immediately, the stark contrast of Paige's behavior with the rest of the room makes the tension ten times worse. The moment Cam Brink walks through the door, Paige's entire energy shifts. She's up on her feet, her face breaking into that wide, goofy, gums-showing grin, her voice instantly rising to its familiar, gratingly loud pitch as she teases Cam. She's chipper, she's annoying, she's throwing a mini basketball at Dom Malonga's head to get her attention and then laughing when the younger girl rolls her eyes. She is, in every way, the Paige Bueckers the public knows and loves.
But she doesn't give Micah a single drop of that light. Not a tease, not a glance, not even a casual piece of trash-talk. That's okay because Micah doesn't care to even be on the receiving end of it, and it's not as if she doesn't do the exact same. She talks with Kea and focuses on pulling her hair up, paying the blonde no mind. Though, she is acutely aware that the other girls—especially Cam, who's known them both for years—are probably catching on to the heavy, cold front settling over their side of the room. Micah doesn't much care. There is no world where they can just jump into pretending to be best friends again. That's not how this works. Not after the way they've both handled everything.
Not long later, it's the Breeze's practice slot. Their small team—all six of them, which still feels bizarrely tiny even though Micah's played 3x3 before—start making their way toward one of the courts. Cam and Dom walk ahead, and might as well be the twin towers. Kate and Paige are behind them, laughing over something. Rickea falls into step beside Micah.
As they turn the corner, Kea nudges Micah's arm with her elbow. "I thought y'all were close," she says lowly, curious.
Micah doesn't look ahead of her where Paige's blonde ponytail is bouncing. She keeps her eyes trained on the floor, her shoulders dropping a shrug. "Haven't been in a while."
Rickea hums, a soft, nonjudgemental sound, and shrugs back. She doesn't push; she never does. That's one of the reasons Micah likes her—she's observant but not intrusive, curious but not nosy. She sees things, but doesn't pry unless necessary.
Micah wishes she could shrug off her own thoughts as easily.
And, okay, while Micah and Paige haven't been close off the court in nearly two years, it turns out they have no trouble getting back into a flow on the court. Micah doesn't know why she expected anything different. She still knows all the little habits embroidered within Paige's game, and Paige knows all of hers. That becomes very clear as soon as drills are over and they shift into a pick-up scrimmage.
It's instantaneous, a reaction that neither of them can control, an invisible string snapped taut between them—thin, familiar, annoyingly strong. A string with a Husky logo stamped right on it, tethering them together the way it has since UConn, since they were kids who didn't know anything except basketball and each other. Without looking, Paige skips a wrap-around pass through the seam of the zone, putting the ball exactly two inches in front of Micah's chest. Micah catches it in stride, rises, and fires a transition three in one fluid motion. Swish. On the next possession, when Micah drives left, drawing two defenders to the block, she doesn't even look back toward the perimeter; instead, she lofts a blind, over-the-shoulder drop pass into the empty space. Paige is already there, stepping into the pocket, catching and finishing the layup before the defense can even rotate.
Noelle Quinn, their coach, makes them pause after a few more strides down the court. "Good job," she makes a note to nod to Micah and Paige, a genuine smile on her face. "Y'all huskies make a good team."
Cam laughs, too, wiping sweat off her forehead. "It's kinda disgusting, actually. Get a room," she jokes.
Paige snorts and Micah forces a laugh out. It sounds normal enough, but inside she feels almost sick—like nostalgia is a hand around her throat, squeezing. Because it is disgusting, in a way. It's disgusting how easy everything used to be. How natural, and fun, and uncomplicated. How much she used to rely on Paige without even realizing she was doing it. How much she used to love playing with her.
It's not as if she necessarily wants things to go back to how they used to be—Micah knows she deserves better than that, and maybe Paige does, too, since it clearly wasn't what she wanted. Besides, Micah was the one who walked away, was the one who slammed the door shut and locked it. But nostalgia is a bitch. It creeps in anyway, whispering reminders she doesn't want, tugging at memories she prefers to keep buried.
The moment practice is over, Paige turns her back. It's without hesitation, lacking any lingering glance or acknowledgement of the chemistry that just lit up the court. She walks straight to the opposite baseline, grabs a towel, wipes at her face, and doesn't look at Micah once.
Micah's chest tightens, her ribs digging. She tells herself it's just the workout, just the heat, just the humidity, just the ankle. (She knows it's not.)
She leaves the court quickly, sweat dripping down her spine, her pulse still fast. She heads straight for the recovery room, knowing it's probably the safest place right now. It's better this way, she tells herself. Paige planned to get an extra lift in—Micah overhead her telling Kate earlier—so she won't run into her again. That's good. That's fine. That's what she wants.
Except she also knows she can't keep avoiding run-ins forever. They're teammates now. They're going to be together constantly. They're going to share locker rooms and courts and flights and meals. They're going to be in each other's orbit whether they like it or not.
Micah pushes the door to the recovery room open, the cool air washing over her skin. She sits on the edge of a treatment table, rolls her ankle gently, feels the familiar twinge. She exhales, long and slow.
Like she said, this was the cost. There always is one.
THE LATE AFTERNOON sun is a thick, golden syrup pouring over the concrete pool deck, baking the clay tiles until the air above them shimmers with a lazy, liquid heat. It's just past four in the afternoon on the second day of practice, and the world has slowed down to a crawl. Micah is stretched out on a plush, sand-colored lounge chair, her body slowly sinking into the canvas. A thick, paper-back novel is resting on her lap, its pages completely unread, its spine still stiff because she hasn't actually opened it since they walked down from their apartments. She had fully intended to read—she's been trying to get back into the habit of keeping her mind occupied with something other than basketball or the looming shadow of her own thoughts—but the reality of her surroundings has proven to be a much more demanding distraction.
Specifically, the woman lying on the chaise lounge next to her.
Micah tilts her head to the side, letting her sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose just enough to peek over the dark, polarized rims. Jackie is lying on her back, her face angled up toward the sky, her eyes closed under the shade of a black silk bandana tied neatly around her hairline. The contrast is almost unfair. Jackie is wearing a bright, fire-engine red bikini that sits like a flame against her smooth, dark skin, her shoulders and collarbones catching the high sun in a way that makes her look less like a human and more like a sculpture. From this angle, Micah has a perfectly clear, unobstructed view of Jackie's biceps—firm and defined even in complete relaxation—and the neat, symmetrical lines of her abs.
Dating a fellow professional athlete has many perks, but Micah is currently of the opinion that watching Jackie sunbathe in Miami is easily at the top of the list. It is a very good afternoon.
"You're staring," Jackie says, her voice low. She doesn't open her eyes, but a slow, smug smile pulls at the corner of her lips, her chest rising with a long, contented breath.
"I'm not staring," Micah lies instantly, though she doesn't bother to look away or adjust her sunglasses. She reaches out, her fingers lightly tracing the soft, warm skin of Jackie's inner forearm where it rests on the arm of the lounge chair. "I'm appreciating. There's a difference. It's called being supportive."
Jackie lets out a quiet, amused huff, finally tilting her head toward Micah. She slides her sunglasses down her nose, her dark eyes sparkling with a warm, lazy affection that makes Micah's chest feel suddenly very full.
"Supportive, huh?" Jackie asks, her fingers curling upward to link with Micah's, their palms pressing together in the small gap between the metal frames of their chairs. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because it looked a lot like you were tryna burn a hole through my stomach with your eyes."
"I was just thinking about how lucky I am," Micah says. It starts out as suggestive, an innuendo, but then it ends soft and she realizes she actually just means it.
It's nice—this. Being here. Being with someone who makes everything feel simple. Being with someone who doesn't make her heart race in a way that feels like danger, but rather in a way that makes her smile. Jackie is everything she should ever want—calm and steady and loving and smart and many et ceteras.
"Mm," Jackie hums, her thumb stroking the back of Micah's hand. "Guess you're sweet when you're tired. Maybe I should make sure you run extra sprints every day if it gets me this kinda treatment."
"Shut up," Micah groans, pushing Jackie away, but she's grinning as she does so, enjoying the smile she gets back, enjoying the sun overhead and the glittering blue of the untouched pool.
See? A great afternoon.
Until, decidedly, it is not.
She should have seen it coming. She really, truly should have. When fifty professional basketball players are crammed into the same high-end apartment complex, sharing the same amenities, the courtyard pool isn't exactly a private oasis. It was guaranteed that some of the girls would eventually wander down here to kill the late afternoon heat. Micah hears the heavy glass doors of the lobby click open, and she turns her head. There's only one person in the entire fifty-plus-player field she's actively, desperately hoping would stay upstairs in her apartment.
And, lo and behold, there she is.
Paige's laugh carries across the concrete, bright and familiar, and Micah mentally curses. She's not alone, of course. Azura Stevens is beside her, Rickea, too, and Aaliyah's trailing behind them with a towel over her shoulder.
"Oh, hey!" Lili calls, spotting Micah and Jackie immediately. She makes a beeline straight for them, waving like she hasn't seen Micah in years instead of literally five hours ago.
Don't get Micah wrong—Aaliyah is her absolute best friend, her ride-or-die, the person she would trust with her life. But right now, as she watches Paige walk with her, Micah wishes Lili had decided to go literally anywhere else by the pool. The far side. The hot tub. The damn parking lot. Anywhere that didn't involve dragging Paige directly into Micah's line of sight.
Still, Micah forces her facial muscles to cooperate, pasting a tight, polite, completely synthetic smile onto her face as the four of them approach. She raises a hand, offering a stiff, casual wave that she hopes looks a lot more relaxed than she feels.
Aaliyah drops into the lounge chair next to her, dropping her beach tote onto the concrete with a heavy sigh. Beside Micah, Jackie sits up, sliding her legs off her own chair. She stands, stepping forward to dap up Azura, the two of them exchanging a quick, easy laugh, before Jackie turns her attention to Paige.
"What's up, Bueckers?" she says, her voice friendly.
"Not much, Jack," Paige replies, smiling.
They share a quick, casual bro-hug. As long as Micah's known them both, they've been good at that—at being friendly with everyone, at making people feel welcome.
But as Paige leans in, her shoulder pressing briefly against Jackie's, her blue eyes flick directly behind Jackie and lock onto Micah. It's a split second of eye contact, but it feels like a physical shock. Paige's gaze doesn't just stop at Micah's face; it drags slowly, deliberately down, tracing the line of Micah's throat before sliding over the exposed skin of her chest, then her stomach, then where her pelvis meets her bikini bottoms. It's barely lingering, not anything anyone else would notice.
But Micah notices. Micah feels it like a spark under her skin.
A hot, angry flush rushes through her blood, and she instantly reaches for her sunglasses, shoving them back onto her face like they're a shield.
Annoying. It's annoying. Everything about Paige is annoying. The way she looks at her. The way she doesn't look at her. The way she exists. And Paige looks—there is no other word for it—astonishingly gay today, which is even more annoying.
Micah is only human. She herself is a gay woman with eyes, and she is, to her own immense self-loathing, still frustratingly, chemically attracted to the blonde—a problem she thought she'd buried under eighteen months of silence and a very stable relationship. Paige's hair is pulled up into a messy, golden bun at the nape of her neck, a backwards baseball cap clamped down over her forehead. She's wearing a loose, oversized white t-shirt that is thin enough to clearly show the stark, black lines of her Nike sports bra underneath, paired with a pair of dark, baggy swim trunks that sit low on her hips.
Micah honestly doesn't know what's worse: the fact that Paige opted for the gayer, athletic swim attire, or if it would have been easier to handle if she had just worn a normal bikini. Both options are disastrous for Micah's heart rate. Both options make her wish she'd just stayed inside.
Thankfully, Paige doesn't linger. Whether she senses the sudden, freezing drop in Micah's temperature or she's just being respectful of Jackie's presence, she steps back almost immediately, breaking the tension before it can completely suffocate them.
"Lili, catch!" Paige yells, her voice instantly bouncing back up to its loud, childish volume as she whips a mini underinflated football out of her bag.
Within seconds, the quiet, golden peace of the pool deck is entirely shattered. Paige and Aaliyah start tossing the football back and forth across the concrete, their laughter loud and echoing off the stucco walls of the apartment building. Paige might as well be a golden retriever—grinning, running backward, making dramatic, diving catches, and ultimately launching herself chest-first into the deep end of the pool with a massive splash that sends a wave of chlorinated water washing over the edge of the deck.
She surfaces, shaking her head like a wet dog, her blonde hair plastering to her forehead as she yells at Aaliyah to get in.
Micah flips the paperback open, turning to a random page somewhere in the middle of chapter four, and stares resolutely at the black print until the letters blur into a solid, meaningless grey wall. She does her absolute best to look thoroughly, deeply engaged in the narrative, turning a page after what she hopes is a convincing amount of time, even through her brain hasn't processed a single syllable. It's too busy being hyper-aware of Paige splashing around in the pool.
Beside her, the hum of Jackie's voice rises and falls as she chats with Rickea and Azura, the conversation drifting lazily over the ambient sounds of splashing water and distant traffic. Micah doesn't pay much attention to the specifics of what they're saying, using their banter as a sort of audio shield to keep her own racing thoughts at bay, until the words "Christmas plans" cut through the static. It's Azura's voice, light and curious, asking if anyone has actual plans or if everyone is just going to collapse in their respective off-season apartments.
Micah doesn't look up, but she can see movement in her peripheral vision—Paige and Lili walking back over, towels slung over their shoulders, water dripping down Paige's arms, which are fuller than Micah has ever seen them. Her stomach tightens; she keeps her eyes glued to the book.
"Oh, yeah. Mic and I are going to my family's in Indy," Jackie answers easily.
Micah nods, because that's true. She is going to Indiana with Jackie for Christmas. And she is relieved she doesn't have to spend the holiday with her mom and her new step-father—a man who, in the short year he has been in their lives, has already proven to be just another carbon copy of Micah's father. Another loud, emotionally vacant, deeply disappointing man who her mother somehow convinced was different. She really knows how to pick 'em. So, yes, Micah is happy to go somewhere else. Happy to spend Christmas with Jackie's family, who are normal and kind and not emotionally exhausting.
"Shit, spending Christmas together? Y'all are fuckin' serious, damn," Rickea says, letting out a little whistle. She stretches her long legs out, her foot extending just enough to nudge Micah's shin with the toe of her slide. "You're really locked in, huh?"
Micah barely even registers the nudge to her leg, because her attention has just narrowed down to the freezing shift in the air three feet to her left. She knows Paige just heard that. She isn't looking directly at her—she doesn't dare—but she doesn't need to. She can feel the exact second the bright, goofy golden retriever energy drains out of Paige's posture, replaced by a sudden, rigid stillness. There's a sharp, telltale clench in her jaw, a small, white knot of muscle jumping beneath sun-pinked skin of her cheek as she pulls her towel tighter around her shoulders.
"What's next, a ring?" Azura jokes, leaning back in her chair.
Micah takes a sip from her water bottle at the exact wrong moment. The word ring hits her ears just as she swallows, and her trachea completely locks up.
She chokes. It's a violent, undignified reaction, the cold water splashing up into her nose and sliding down the wrong pipe. She erupts into a harsh, hacking cough, her chest heaving as she bends double, her face instantly flushing a bright, hot crimson. The paperback book slides off her lap, landing facedown in a small puddle of pool water on the concrete.
The entire circle goes quiet for a second before erupting into a fit of giggles. Even Jackie laughs, reaching over to press a warm, reassuring hand between Micah's shoulder blades, giving her a few firm, rhythmic pats to help her clear her throat.
"Clearly not yet," Jackie jokes, her voice dripping with easy, affectionate amusement as she rubs Micah's back.
"Sorry," Micah wheezes, her voice raspy and thin as she finally manages to catch her breath. She wipes her damp mouth with the back of her hand, her ears burning with a mix of physical embarrassment and sheer, suffocating panic. She keeps her eyes glued to the wet concrete, refusing to look up and see what kind of expression is currently sitting on Paige's face. "Just... went down the wrong way. I'm fine."
She reaches down, picking up her damp book and closing it with a quiet, decisive snap. The paper is already starting to wrinkle at the edges, absorbing the pool water, and Micah feels a sudden, overwhelming urge to be anywhere else but here.
She thinks she's done with the pool for the day.
She's trying her best. God, she's trying her best.
It's just proving to be more difficult than she thought.
Paige Bueckers x stripper!oc
Warnings: themes of cheating, mentions of death/angst, descriptions of violence and other possibly disturbing things, slight violence warning, intimidating behaviour, mentions of substance abuse, sexual themes, mentions of sex work (PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE READING)
Wordcount: 13.3K
A/C: she's baaackkkkkkkk (a lot of tension and storyline building in this one but the next one's gonna be crazy i promise) I RECOMMEND READING CHAPTER 3 BEFORE IF YOU CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED
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2029, LOS ANGELES, CA
The blue eyes of Paige Bueckers rise high on a billboard ten feet tall, embellished with yellow and purple and palm trees. They shine with a demand, watching over the passing cars like God from above. No matter where you’re at, her eyes seem to follow your every breath, digging themselves underneath layers upon layers of your skin. Paige lowers the car window, resting her elbow where the warm breeze of June tingles. The weight of being watched crawls up her spine and she shifts in the leather seat where her thighs begin to stick. Carefully she tilts her head upwards, staring into herself. For a split-second the billboard stares back, knowing each private sin of her mind. As if it was all laid out on the front lawn. She holds her breath, rolling the window back up - her dad would be so mad for letting the AC escape.
The roads wind and curve above the coastline, cliffs smoothed by centuries of waves rising steeply from the ocean. The sun sets orange and pink warming Paige’s shoulder even through the windows. The same sun that warmed people for centuries before her existence. Paige had read somewhere that there was a time when the sun setting caused dread - there was no guarantee that tomorrow morning it would rise again. The golden hue might as well be the last rays of light the Earth will be blessed with. Now people know better, that by God’s design the sun will return and it will keep doing so till the end of time, centuries and decades after Paige and LA and basketball.
Paige’s hand tightens around the steering wheel as she trails the car in front, pushing up the sunglasses threatening to slide off. Every sunset reminded her of that ancient fear, a similar one buried deep in her spine. Each day came with the same threat and temptation, the looming dread of something awful about to happen, something that Paige hadn’t felt since Dallas - the sense of losing control.
“Where are we going Paige?”
A girl huffs on the passenger seat, nearly forgotten. She crosses her legs, and then again. She had always been impatient. Hesitating, Paige takes off the sunglasses, blinking until her eyes adjust to the golden light above the Pacific ocean.
“Don’t you worry your pretty lil heart out,” she hums with the car engine. Before the girl beside her can protest, Paige’s hand lands gently on the smooth, soft thigh. She’s so warm it only makes Paige’s palm more clammy. But the girl doesn’t mind. She leans her head on the seat with a satisfied smile, staring into the horizon.
“I’ll never get tired of these sunsets.”
Her voice settles somewhere in Paige’s heart. It smooths over the sharp edges of her thoughts. No fear could compare to the melody of her words. Even when she can’t relate to the girl speaking them.
Summers in LA are made of the stuff of dreams and movies that Paige grew up watching. Shade of the palm trees and the salt water in the air curling the blonde strands by her neck. Sunsets over the west coast. Paige could imagine a life built on the thrill of this, a legacy as the saviour of the Sparks and sandy feet and squeals of children. She could almost feel it at her fingertips, all she had dreamed of. Paige was so close to it - if it wasn’t for the sudden snowfall that changed everything. When did it ever snow in California? The sour taste of Amarelle cherries keeps tingling on Paige’s lips, no matter how many fruits she bit into.
Suddenly the girl’s hand lands on the back of Paige’s neck, grazing over the thin hairs falling out of her bun. Her thoughts are quickly disrupted as she makes a turn, hoping the girl would dig her nails in just a little bit. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t come. The strokes remain gentle and sweet, as always.
“I love you,” Paige murmurs, choosing to enjoy the touch though it’s not quite right. No matter the distractions, this is the life she chose. And there’s power and control in that, in choosing something. Even if it didn’t fulfill you completely, because at the end of the day, what would? Paige is grown now. She could build a decently happy life just like this - and that is fine.
“I love you too,” the girl replies, moving with the car as it jolts with the breaks, parked by the coast with no others to surround it. No media, no people, no distractions. God knows it’s what Paige needs.
The couple walk along the water, the warmth of the sun already fading. Waves crash into the sharp cliffs in a neverending cycle. They both huff with the labor of walking on the pale, shifty sand, the wind covering their footprints behind them. The girl leans her cool arm closer to Paige, the wind much colder than either could have expected.
“You’re not gonna offer me your flannel?” The girl seems to joke. Paige knows better. She can hear in the tone that she will mope about it later.
“We’re almost there,” Paige sighs. Before the girl can protest she nods forward where the beach narrows, a white canopy of draped fabric decorated with an array of flowers in tones of yellow and orange. A table set for two and a heater in the corner.
“See?”
“Oh,” the girl sighs, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to take it in. She loosens her grip, nearly tripping over her feet.
Paige’s mouth twists into an arrogant grin. She might struggle with other parts of a relationship but this she is good at. She knows it. That speechless face beside her only made it better.
“Woah,” the girl lets out, letting the blonde lead her to the table as she scans the sight.
“When did you have time?” She asks when Paige pulls out her chair, covering her bare shoulders with a light blanket. The fabric blows in the howling wind with her long hair, the vanilla of her perfume intruding Paige’s nose.
“Baby, I always got time for my girl,” the blond sits down, the candles quickly going out with the breeze.
“But why?” The girl chuckles, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. There’s something in her shoulders, an unease? Or perhaps the cold.
“I need a reason to spoil you now?”
The girl hesitates, looking at the spread on the table. A charcuterie board, fresh bread, a range of fruit with the most expensive wine she had ever seen. Her chest tightens, eyes gazing over it as her brain scrambles for a reason.
“Are either of us gonna drink that?” She asks, tilting the bottle to view the label better. Chateau Palmer, 2017.
“Thought we’d be adults for once.”
The girl laughs, putting it down carefully. “You’re pushing 30, P.”
“Don’t remind me,” Paige groans. “Still feel 17.” Reaching over she opens the bottle for the pair, careful not to get any on her brand new shorts. It’s a struggle, but her companion doesn’t offer any help. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she knows better. Paige Bueckers doesn’t need it from anybody.
“I always do until I’m around an actual 17-year-old and I realise, like, wow I’m definitely not 17,” the girl says, letting Paige fill her glass. A slow smirk plays on her lips.
“I woulda had such a crush on you at 17.”
“God no, I was so nerdy,” the girl complains, covering her embarrassment by the blanket blowing all around her.
“I’m into that.” It’s not really true. Paige was always reaching out of her league even back then.
“No you’re not,” the girl says. They don’t argue, it’s the truth. She looks out into the horizon, where the turquoise waves flip onto themselves repeatedly, white foam disappearing into the sand stretching out as far as eyes can carry. A slight concern weighs her brows down when she looks at Paige again.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
Shuttering at the taste of the wine, Paige sets down her glass. She doesn’t think much of the frown on the girl’s face, she looked disappointed half the time. Paige had learned to block it out.
“You moved all the way out here just for me. I owe it to you.”
The girl sits up, abruptly dropping all softness of her features. The gentle frown from before hardens, fine lines carving into her forehead. The ones that always knew trouble. “Owe it to me?”
Paige is stunned, not entirely sure where she went wrong as usual. She knew better not to ask either, better to try to fix it. “Well, yeah. Not in a bad way, I just had to do something for you, you know.”
The girl’s nostrils flare like always with the disappointment Paige brought her. There always seemed to be a little, but at times it grew unbearable for reasons the blonde never quite understood. The girl’s tolerance had been particularly low recently. Paige had told herself reasons why: moving, missing her parents, Paige barely home. She had never bothered to ask though.
“Babe-”
The girl stands from her seat, setting the blanket on the chair carelessly. Paige’s eyes follow as it slides onto the ground, rolling in white sand. As the silence stretches, she gets the nagging feeling that there’s something she should be saying, but she’s unsure. Not like she was good with words anyway. So instead she lets the sounds of the tides take over, but it doesn’t satisfy the girl.
“So you don’t actually wanna be here? It’s just ‘cause you owe me?”
It takes everything for Paige not to roll her eyes, tired of this game they had been playing since coming to LA. No matter what Paige did, it was somehow wrong, or not enough, or too much. She squeezes her eyes shut, deep breaths attempting to replace her desire to simply blow up.
A fig rolls over the plate when the girl sets down her fork, clinking against the silverware.
“Grace,” Paige sighs, reaching for the girl’s hand, the rings on her fingers catching the final light of the day.
“It’s just,” Grace starts, hesitating for a moment. Squeezing her hand encouragingly, Paige begs for more. It felt as if no matter what, they would never truly understand each other. Paige had come to terms with it years ago, but Grace still struggled with the hurt of the past.
“I’ve told you countless times I don’t need all this,” she waves around at the table. The pride Paige felt just moments ago is suddenly disappearing, sinking deep into the waves. “These grand gestures. I just want you.”
Paige stutters. “I thought you’d like it. It’s just something special.”
For some reason it seems to be the completely wrong thing to say. Grace’s hand is pulled back on impulse, leaving Paige’s fingers clammy and tingling.
“But I don’t want special! I want normal. I want you to be home when I get off work and cook me dinner, I wanna take a bath with you, I want you to be there when I wake up and when I go to bed and I want you to sit down and help with the wedding planning,” she speeds up, each word coming more rushed than the one before.
Paige’s jaw tightens, eyes threatening to water. All the work, the discipline, the reflection, pointless in a matter of seconds. The sensation tightens around her throat, suffocating her. It seemed nothing would be enough for Grace. Not because she was ungrateful, but because she knew the blonde too well. She saw through her - that their love didn’t stem from the irreversible, life-altering passion Grace longed for. It never had.
“I’m sorry,” Paige is quick to submit, letting the frustration roll over. It’s easier to accept you’re the bad guy than blow this up again.
She runs a clammy hand over her face, eyes aching suddenly. She could be better - needs to be. Grace is the choice she made years ago, when she crawled to her and begged to get her back, when she got down on one knee. That choice can not be shaken by just one kiss. Right?
“Are you?” Grace hisses, crossing her arms. Paige stops herself from spitting the same poison, though the words linger at the tip of her tongue - the ones that could break Grace apart.
“I really am. Baby, please believe me. The move has just been so overwhelming and the new team and everything. I’m sorry. Ion want you feeling alone.”
No amount of words will change the truth Grace knows. With the realisation she turns, taking long strides toward the car.
Paige swallows, accepting something she already knew. She looks at the table, and the tropical flowers set in a vase, the filled glasses and empty plates. The wind bites at her ankles as the sky darkens. She tugs at the golden crucifix by her heart. The sun has set.
The car ride is anything but comfortable, Paige too tense to even turn on music. She lets the car engine lull them into a restless silence. They’re shielded from passing faces drenched in laughter and muffled joy only present in the optimism of early summer. At a red light Paige follows the pedestrians crossing the street, blinking the watering of her eyes rapidly away. Grace curls herself further on the passenger side, as far from her fiance as she’s able. It was moments like these Paige wonders why she ever said yes to the proposal. It was clear their house was built on a flimsy, cheap foundation. Paige was determined to make it work, to change, but was she?
“So do you wanna have a movie night then, or…?” The voice is careful, barely audible over the traffic. Honking, fast breaks, the bass of some 90s song playing too loud.
“No,” Grace answers. Life would be so much easier if they could just fight and scream and fuck and it would be dealt with.
“Oh,” Paige nods slowly, pressing her back into the leather to distract herself from the trembling of her voice. “Gotcha.”
A sigh, filled with the years of dedication and work they had both put into this fills the car, Grace’s head tipping forward into her hands.
“Maybe tomorrow, my mood’s just ruined now,” she murmurs into her palms.
“I can’t tomorrow, I got practice,” Paige answers, hand tapping the steering wheel nervously. “And the day after I got that Calvin Klein event.”
Grace rolls her eyes in frustration, causing Paige’s jaw to tighten as she waits for the bomb threatening to go off. The timer seemed to close in on 0:00 with every word she spoke.
She waits for it, yet it doesn’t come. With careful courage, she opens her mouth.
“Grace,” she starts, biting her cheek. “I’m really trying to be good to you. And I don’t think I’m doin’ a bad job.”
The corners of Grace’s lips turn into a frown as she listens to the sincerity of Paige’s words, playing with the ring on her finger. She doesn’t have an answer.
“I’m really trying, okay?” Paige’s eyes flicker from the road to her fidgeting fiance.
“I know,” a small voice answers, turning her head away just as a warm tear rolls down her cheek. “I know you are.”
She remains quiet, spotting a pair of teenagers head over heels for each other talking on the curb, kissing between every sentence.
“It’s just, not enough sometimes.”
Paige hates the silence that follows, causing the words to echo in the confined space. She shifts in the leather seat, biting her teeth together to keep the thoughts in - those of Lana, and the shouting matches she preferred a million times over to the sad, hurt tone of Grace’s voice whenever she cries.
-
Lana stands there like a prop, countless hands of strangers landing all over her body to adjust every detail. Flash. Fingers dig into the band of her skirt, smoothing over the fabric. Flash. She stares into the mirror with a blank expression. Blinking her eyes, she adjusts to the flashing light.
“Too much flash,” the photographer groans, waving his hands around and causing havoc on the set.
“You’re perfect,” a man coos into her ear, tilting Lana’s head by her chin. Words she had heard from strangers’ mouths a million times before, but not like this. The man’s earring dangles with the shifting of his head, a dreadful decision caused by some sort of quarter life crisis. Martin? Marcus? Matt? Lana couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Can we try a different lip?”
At once fingers crowd Lana’s bored face. Brushes swipe, lipglosses are layered on, whispered conversations pick at her pale complexion. Lana knew better than anyone that at her best she was a mere ornament to other people’s desires. That hadn’t changed since Dallas. She just did it with more grace now as a favor for her husband.
“Let’s accentuate those beautiful eyes a little more,” the photographer hums, eyes scanning her from head to toe. She gives him the tilt of her lips she always did, the one men begged for. But the man, in his late thirties, already greying by the look of his well kept beard, merely looks away. Something pushes at her ribs, digging into them. Her feet shift with the weight of annoyed restlessness.
With an empty face Lana fixates on the flimsy table lined with food that was already cold when it arrived, the chicken lacking any flavor to it. She manages to ignore the tens of touches all over, tugging her clothes, brushing through her hair, making her perfect. She was promised a quick gig, but this was anything but.
“Don’t we look nice,” Marc’s chipper voice causes the hands to come to a halt, the people pulling back with polite nods for their creative director. He doesn’t get the same warmth from his wife.
“I’ve been here for hours,” Lana whispers angrily as he approaches, not softened by the man she loves. Her brows stay low on her face, fixed even when he leans down for the usual kiss on the cheek.
“Maybe I’m just not right for this shot.”
The sly amusement on the man’s face tips Lana’s frustration off. She bites her teeth together with a familiar annoyance of not being taken seriously by the men in her life. But then again, what woman was?
“That can’t be true Alisa,” Marc walks over to the photographer, skimming through the pictures on the screen. Lana doesn’t care to peek at them. “See, these are good.”
“Okay, so can I go home then?”
Marc chuckles, waving the crew off. “Why so grumpy?”
Wordlessly, Lana walks off the set, heels clacking with each determined step to get away. Before she can slam the dressing room door shut, Marc’s hand stops it and slides in, closing the door behind them softly.
“Baby, you can’t throw a tantrum in front of my employees,” he hisses quietly. The top digs into the back of Lana’s neck, sharp edge cutting her porcelain skin.
“You keep talking to me like that I’ll do worse,” Lana spits, kicking her heels off and shredding layers of clothing without any care for them, letting them scatter around the carpeted floor. All the way until she’s in matching nude underwear,
“What’s wrong with you?” Marc asks gently. It’s not meant the way Lana takes it, leaning over the vanity and rubbing her face clean of the layers of makeup packed on her skin. Under it all her own skin comes through, pale and reddened by irritation.
“I didn’t even want this gig,” Lana complains, makeup wipes turning black and beige as they pile onto the table. “I had a day off.”
“I thought you liked doing this stuff, honey.”
“I thought getting married meant I don’t need to work again. Like you promised.”
Marc sighs, placing a hand on her bare hip when she reaches her. Lana abruptly slaps it off without a single glance at his direction. There was a thunderstorm inside her, had been all week. Marc didn’t know what to do with it, all he wanted was to see his wife happy. Little did he know just letting her win made her even more irritable. She craved a good fight.
“I know,” Marc sighs. “I’m sorry baby, the model cancelled last minute. I just didn’t know what to do.”
“I have a million things to do at home after this. And now I’m just a placeholder for some other girl.”
“That’s not how it works," Marc whispers, eyes fixed on the reflection of his wife, bare-faced and beautiful.
“- And I just needed today off. And everyone was annoying me on purpose, they kept changing my hair and the clothes and the makeup.”
Marc crosses his arms. There are people struggling, starving, and here is his spoiled little wife complaining about the dream life of thousands of women. It would be hard for anyone to take it seriously. “You’re right. Sounds exhausting.”
Lana turns finally, eyes locked on Marc suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Not at all,” Marc answers, though the amusement on his face says the opposite.
“You’re the most annoying man I ever met,” Lana huffs, pushing Marc off as she walks past to wrap a robe around her half naked body.
“How about I make it up to you? I got that event tomorrow, should be nice,” he coos, walking over and untying the robe she just tightened, letting it fall open and brushing his strong, sure hand against Lana’s abdomen. “You can wear that black dress I got you.”
His hands drift to Lana’s backside, squeezing affectionately. Men could be so stupid, Lana could feel herself being handled and it only made her angrier. As she’s about to completely flip, a sudden knock interrupts the pair.
“Coming!” Lana pushes Marc off, the robe barely hanging on her shoulders.
“It’s just me baby, open up,” a deep, familiar voice carries through.
Sliding the door open Lana finds a bald headed man, leaning against the doorframe with a bouquet of pink roses. The suit pants he’s wearing sit a little too tight and could use some ironing. Yet Lana couldn’t be happier at the sight.
“How’s my little bird?”
The hardness, the frustration and the pit in her stomach suddenly dissolve, an elated smile taking over as she squeals with excitement, jumping into his arms.
“Johnny,” Lana breathes, tightening her grip on his shirt. She melts into him, like she did all those years ago, basking in the scent of his cheap cologne and the smell of home. Flashes of the past, of glitter and poles and snorted lines play in Lana’s mind. Somewhere behind her Marc sighs repeatedly, his usual patience not stretching to the man embracing his half-naked wife. Still, Lana holds on just a little longer to the one piece of Dallas she has left.
Marc clears his throat causing the two to slowly let go. Lana’s expression softens, letting her gaze land on her old friend, with a few fine lines now decorating his small forehead.
Johnny grins with ease, swinging his head towards Marc. “You got your beautiful wife working on a day like this?”
“Johnny,” Marc smiles politely, offering his hand. He shifts uncomfortably when Johnny grabs it with a loud slam.
“Put some clothes on. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Johnny demands, smacking his lips with a gum in his mouth, skimming through the rack of clothing for the photoshoot. Marc still rubs his hand, the sting vibrating up his arm.
“Johnny, sorry,” the man hesitates, nostrils flaring. “We got plans.”
With a pointed look, Lana’s eyes narrow, her mouth tightens into a straight line. All while Johnny plays oblivious to this, his hands flopping open eyeshadow pallets lined on the vanity. Her brown eyes flare, flames flicker in them like a warning - startling enough to make any man fold.
Marc’s jaw tightens for a second, only softening with effort. “She gotta be home by 9. We got a big day tomorrow.”
“Yes boss,” Johnny turns with a smirk, leaning his hand against the vanity. “Put your clothes on Alisa.”
With no hesitation Lana drops the robe on the floor and begins to undo her bra. It’s not like Johnny hadn’t seen her naked before - in fact he had seen more than most. He had seen the rock bottom and the withdrawls. There was no reason to play shy. He knew the girl from before she ever stepped on a stage. Lana had revealed more of her soul to him than to most people.
“Hey, whoa,” Marc’s brows rise in horror, quickly wrapping the robe around her bare, pale chest. “Let me and Johnny leave first. We’re leaving.”
Practically dragged out of the door, Johnny’s attempts at hiding his amusement are feeble. He pushes sunglasses over his deep-set eyes, biting his tongue.
“I’ll wait outside in the car princess,” he waves and they’re both gone.
Throwing on the first dress she can, Lana hops on one leg to put heels on. Lazily she runs her fingers through the curls, not lingering over the vanity to cover her red skin. She doesn’t mind with goodbyes or smiles, leaving the set too quick for anyone to spot her. Parked by the street she easily spots Johnny in a navy blue convertible, arm resting on the side and a cloud of cigarette smoke clouding him. When Lana approaches, he reaches over to open the passenger side door, patting the seat beside him.
“Daddy’s strict huh?” He laughs before inhaling deeply.
“Daddy’s jealous,” Lana points out, taking the cigarette from his hand and puffing it twice before passing it back. Some passing people make disgusted faces, as if they don’t have vapes in their hands. Typical Americans.
“Didn’t you quit?”
“Post shoot cigarettes don’t count. I’m perfectly good otherwise.”
Johnny huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re a real angel.”
He checks the mirror before merging into the crowded lanes by countless storefronts. Stubbornly the buildings give way, the air cooling and the roads widening with the drive.
“He good to you?” Johnny says over the sound of traffic and the hum of air. Lana pulls down her sunglasses as the golden rays of the sun inch below the coastline, blinding her.
“Yes,” Lana simply says, looking out into the sparkling waves in the distance. More than any man she had ever known, really. She exhales. “He wants to have a baby.”
Johnny wipes his mouth, throwing the cigarette bud somewhere onto the road carelessly. “Uh oh.”
“Yes. Uh oh,” she admits, pushing sunglasses down to her eyes. She grabs a bottle of water from the expensive leather purse sitting on her lap, digging through it restlessly.
“You gonna do it?”
Finally, Lana pulls out a packet of pills, shaking them in the air. “No. Not yet.”
Johnny snorts, seagulls screech, the sun scorches their skin. The girl swallows the pill, her lifeline, her secret. “And what would that baby do all night while you’re out drinking or too lazy to cook or clean?”
The words ring cruelly in her ear, causing her head to snap. Echoes of Paige’s voice still at the forefront of her mind wrap its claws around her neck. An irrational frustration grows with the howling wind as she eyes Johnny.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She spits out, the sunglasses hiding her ice cold gaze.
“Ion mean it like that” Johnny yells over the breeze, one hand on the wheel. He’s seen worse from her. “You’re strong. About the strongest lady I know. But I just can’t see you enjoying it.”
She swallows, dry lips turning into a pout. She could do it, she could be a good mother, to raise someone better than her. It’s just that she didn’t want to. Maybe that’s what Paige meant too. Not about what she is able to do, but about what’s best for her. Though she had never really understood what was best for Lana.
The car comes to a halt at a red light. Lana tries to ignore the boys in a yellow Ferrari beside them, eyeing her hungrily when the nagging feeling of being watched in a completely different way swoops deep in her stomach. Slowly lifting her gaze, she’s met with the ocean blue eyes of Paige Bueckers, ten feet tall above her on a billboard. Of course.
Lana sinks in her seat, pushing the glasses deeper onto her head. Like it might hide her from her line of view. Her eyes stay fixed on her lap. It’s not enough, Johnny’s already chuckling.
“You two got a weird way of finding each other,” He nods towards the picture. Lana’s shoulders nearly lift into a shrug but give up halfway, as if it doesn’t affect her enough to finish. The red light remains like a warning, leaving the two trapped under the shadow of the billboard.
Lana looks back to the shore, but the blue waves only remind her of the stare coming from above.
“You seen her?”
The question lands too clean. It digs into her very bones. She shifts on the seat. Lying to Johnny was not something she could easily do. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the horizon. At last the light turns green, and the tires carry them far from Paige’s demanding face. The only image she had seen of the blonde in weeks. Lana’s stomach churns. Dallas Paige would’ve been knocking on her door an eternity ago. The radio silence since their kiss made her uneasy.
“Does Marc know?”
“Know what?” She asks calmly.
He keeps pressing. “About Paige?”
“What is there to know? She was a client I had.”
Johnny steps on the gas, running a large hand over his bald head.
“But you’ve seen her here?”
“No,” she blurts out, taking off her sunglasses, struggling to adjust to the light. His eyes flicker over curiously. “I mean yes. Yes. A little bit.” Her words come out clumsy, the accent suddenly thick and heavy again. She stutters out a breath, blinking rapidly. “I went to a game.”
Johnny’s mouth twists into a smile, an amused chuckle escaping him. “Goddamn that girl was head over heels for you.”
Lana’s nails dig into her palms. She crosses her legs restlessly, waving a hand as if the breeze wasn’t blowing her with cool, coastal air.
Johnny’s blue eyes travel to the girl, the one he had built up from rock bottom. A sort of pain flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Instead he reaches over and pets Lana’s hair, just once, making a wish for her.
The pink roses sit in the backseat, petals flying off as the car accelerates. The silence of the drive bothers neither of them, though Lana can’t seem to get comfortable. As they park the sounds of LA only become a distant hum, the cliffs cocooning them into a nest of golden white sand. Lana kicks off her heels, letting her feet sink into the warmth with each step, Johnny trailing behind with the flowers in his hand.
The water bites her ankles as she lets the waves wash over them and the golden anklet there. Shivers climb up her legs all the way to her spine, forcing her eyes shut to rid her mind of the intrusive thoughts of Paige’s mouth.
“God she’d love it here,” Johnny murmurs from somewhere behind. This is how they did it, year after year. Without looking each other in the face.
“She always wanted to go to the coast,” Lana answers, her voice getting buried in the sound of the waves breaking against glistening rocks. “She felt trapped in Dallas. Always.”
“We should’ve just left.” Johnny's voice softens in an unfamiliar way. Lana swallows, feeling a knot form at the base of her throat that made it hard to breathe. The salt sticks to her tongue, brown eyes blinking rapidly to stop them from watering.
“Can’t change it now Johnny,” she says blankly. Somewhere in the far distance a child’s laugh echoes along the Pacific. Her mind flashes with imagery of the good times - it felt like yesterday yet entire lifetimes had happened. She would have never known at the time that it was Dallas she ached for years later.
“Guess not,” he sighs, handing over the flowers. “She’s somewhere else now.”
“She’s nowhere,” Lana mutters, letting her finger brush over the soft, delicate petals. “She’s dead.”
LA begins to dim, the sun giving out its last signs of life as it sparkles over the coast. A tear rolls down her cheek, falling directly on a single rose. The petal is so gentle it folds from the weight.
“Remember that one birthday she had to work?”
Sniffling, her mouth twists into a smile. “When the security guys couldn’t get those creeps to leave but she dragged them out by their ears?”
“She was so mad at me for making her work,” Johnny chuckles, looking at the ground. “Lexi had spirit.”
The last rays sparkle the brightest. Lana opens her mouth to speak, and closes it again.
“She was the sun,” she finally gets out, the words trembling.
She throws the flowers into the waves, watching them float into the nothing that Lexi had become. She could just remember the feeling of endless possibilities that had disappeared with the realities of adulthood. Lana waits for the familiar pull that only seemed to exist in Dallas, the one that lurked in dark corners and followed her every move, trying to reach for the way Paige used to feel. It’s only fragments, a voice in the hallway, the sound of her groan. It’s all there is.
“You ever think of going back?”
She stares into the horizon, sinking deeper in the sand with each wave washing away.
“To Dallas?”
She exhales with purpose, letting the wind mess up her hair.
“It doesn’t exist anymore Johnny - Whatever you miss- we miss. There’s no Lonestar, or Lexi, or anyone. There’s nothing to go back to.”
The roses ride wave after wave, the bunch slowly breaking apart and each flower going their own direction, some orbiting each other deeper into the ocean. Eventually, they all disappear into the tides all on their own.
-
Lana’s jewelled fingers wrap around the stem of a cocktail glass as the tattooed bartender slides it forward. Her eyes linger on his, the blue of his gaze stirring something within her. She’s used to playing these games, letting the flimsy strap fall off her shoulder while batting her lashes.
“Let me look for my card,” she hums an octave higher than normal, feeling his stare fix on her cleavage. Clumsily, Lana digs through her purse.
“Don’t worry sweet thing,” he says, the southern accent reminding her of the clients she used to serve. “I got it.”
She feigns shock, giggling just to please the man. This used to get her as high as the coke. The starved eyes, needy hands on waists, words drenched in lust.
“Thanks,” she winks, quickly making her way out the second she gets away with it. The rooftop bar is filled with people on a hot, June evening. Their chatter carries all the way down to the street, the music being swallowed by loud laughs and gossip. With every step Lana takes more heads turn. She lets the fabric hike up her thighs, putting bounce in her walk. Angry wives tug at the sleeves of their ogling husbands yet Lana feels nothing.
“How much was it?” Johnny asks, looking at the exaggeratedly large fruity drink in her hands, lounging in the shade of a paper umbrella.
“It’s on the house,” Lana grins, wrapping her lips around the straw.
“God you still got it,” he sighs, eyeing her. Not in the hungry way other men did. More in a way that he saw the best and the worst and still loved her. “All these men would kill for you. The women want to be you.”
“Stop Johnny,” she shakes her head, waving him off with her hand. The movements come clumsy from the countless drinks already in her system.
“Marc is the luckiest man in the world,” he shakes his head, finishing his whiskey. He hadn’t even crossed Lana’s mind.
“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Lana blurts out, devoid of any emotion as she sucks on the pink straw.
Johnny chuckles, drunk, clumsy and loud. “You don’t need to bullshit with me.”
“Who says I’m bullshitting?” Lana asks innocently, lifting her brows.
A sudden tap on her shoulder forces her attention elsewhere. A buff man already grey and certainly rich grins down at her, cleaning his throat. She stares through him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, preparing herself for a cheesy line she had heard countless times. Somehow this made men want her more.
“I don’t usually do this,” a lie, certainly. “but you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
His compliment almost tickles the parts Lana’s itching for. She tilts her head, leaning forward to accentuate the dress barely covering her chest. His eyes drop inches below, widening with his imagination. So predictable, so boring.
“Is that it?” The words come off blunt, slightly amused. Yet, she pushes further, her heel pressing into the man’s calf in an attempt to chase something. It never comes.
“Baby, let me take you out,” the man stutters, words like a plea.
Lana tilts her head again, as if to ponder it over. The hopeful face of a man past his prime nearly makes her feel bad. Nearly. Usually she’d make them work a little harder, but right now her mind feels like a tunnel. “Sorry,” she sighs, leaning back and pushing her left hand forward. “I’m married.”
He doesn’t back down, puffing his chest like it might make her swoon. “Of course you are. But I work in private equity, sweetie.”
Her attention peaks, suddenly inching closer with a rise of her eyebrows. The arrogance washing over his face shows he sees it well.
“I could show you so much-”
His words become nothing with the laugh that cuts through them. A swish of blonde long hair and suddenly Lana’s mind is gone, squeezing the bench tightly. Her eyes hunt the crowd towards the direction of the sound, heart galloping against her ribcage. She sees it, the blonde pony swishing in the air, the broad shoulders. Her stomach drops, the feeling she’s chased all this time arriving quicker than expected. Brushing the man’s hand off her, she cranes her neck, reaching for a better view..
She thinks she sees her, a bright red drink in her hand. She’s nearly getting up from the seat when the feeling evaporates. The spark in her abdomen turns into an empty void. She bats her eyes rapidly, her drunken mind taking long to process the reality that it’s just someone else. The man is still talking, slurring and tripping over words.
“So whatchu say?”
Lana’s chest heaves. With effort and reluctant eyes, she snaps her gaze back to the guy, suddenly incredibly bothered by his existence.
“I say bye bye,” Lana snaps. The startled man furrows his brows, shocked by her sudden coldness. She doesn’t seem to notice, carelessly spinning back on her seat to her companion and the emptied cocktail glass. She checks the phone lying on the table, skimming through the notifications from her husband.
“You’re still cold,” Johnny smirks. The flimsy table tilts with Lana’s elbow hitting it carelessly.
“I’m not cold. I’m slavic.” She stares at the black screen. Maybe if she thinks hard enough it will happen.
“You okay?” Johnny asks, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the screen.
Feeling caught, Lana’s cheeks flush pink. She sits back up, shoving her phone into the purse filled with lipgloss and perfume.
“I need a drink.”
“You’re in a bad mood,” Johnny points a finger towards her. “You need a bag.”
“Oh shut up Johnny,” she scrunches her nose in disgust. “You know we stopped that.”
“I know,” he sighs, watching the remains of his empty glass swirl around before tipping it desperately into his mouth. “I didn’t pay for all that rehab for nothing.”
Lana’s lips flip onto a pout, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Hey,” Johnny reaches over, tapping her hand. “This used to be your favourite part. All these eyes on you, all these guys.”
Lana rolls her eyes. “The guys are boring now.”
Johnny leans back observing, unsure whether to keep his mouth shut. He begins to speak but quickly shakes it off, only irritating her more.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
Lana shifts forward, tapping the table impatiently.
“I don’t wanna offend you,” he shrugs, leaning his elbows on the rattling table.
“Please, like you could offend me,” she rolls her eyes.
Johnny kisses his teeth, leaning back to give her some space.
“It’s not the guys, it’s you. Somebody ruined it for you.”
For a second she feels lost, like they’re two people having separate conversations. But then it clicks, and the alcohol in her breath is making her nauseous. She glances over her shoulder, pretending to look for something, slender fingers playing with the thin stem of the glass.
When she turns back her eyes glisten. She purses her glossed lips, clearing her throat to delay the moment.
“She was always so strange,” her voice is barely audible, smaller than was typical for her. Like saying it out loud would make it true. She tilts her head, refusing to meet Johnny’s sympathetic eyes.
“Whatever, who cares,” Lana mumbles with frustration. “It’s done. It’s been done. But definitely now it’s done, over for good. She stopped looking for me.”
Johnny doesn’t seem at all shocked by this drunken revelation. “That’s getting under your skin?”
“No,” Lana’s words come quick, defensive. “It’s just weird.”
For once the silence that follows feels uneasy, between them. With a loaded sigh, she climbs down from her seat.
“We need more drinks.”
-
The room spins. Or seems to at least. Lana’s entire world feels like a cruise ship stuck in a storm, swaying from side to side. The echoing sound of her heels causes a headache. Her bra digs into her armpit. The nude satin dress, too tight around her ribs, the sheer fabric making her appear nearly nude. Usually she would love an outfit like this. But she feels bloated, and the satin clings to her sweaty skin.
She’s swallowed by dread when she sees the room, high ceilings and white walls, stylish people lingering in small groups by tall tables without a single seat. Lana could already feel her knees growing weak, the lack of sleep deepening the grey under her eyes.
“I should’ve worn that skirt,” Lana whispers leaning into her husband, stumbling like a baby deer over her legs. Like a magnet, she pulls in gazes from around the room. Hopeful smiles surround her, people eager to make small talk or to just catch her eye. She doesn’t bother returning them.
“No, the dress is way better,” Marc hisses, yanking her arm to pull her along. He had been in a mood all day. Jealousy didn’t suit him in the slightest. Still, there he was - jaw tight and snapping at every word coming from his wife’s mouth. He runs his hand over Lana’s waist, fixing the tight fabric. It would be sweet if Lana wasn’t so on edge.
“Champagne?”
The drink still fizzles when Marc thanks the waiter, handing one of the glasses to Lana. The taste in her mouth turns sour as the sharply sweet smell makes its way into her nose. Carelessly she pushes it against the grey cotton of his shirt, nearly spilling it over.
“You drink it.”
He pushes it back, slightly harshly.
“If you don’t want it then at least hold it and pretend you’re fine,” he whispers, waving quietly to someone behind her. “See, I told you they got oysters.”
“I’m going to vomit if I have to put an oyster in my mouth.”
“Shh,” he hushes. Something he only did when angry at his misbehaving wife.
Lana can feel the looks burning into her back, men with wives ogling after her as usual. It didn’t matter she looked a mess - no mascara and a smudged red lip on her frowning mouth, frizzy hair from the hot shower this morning. She knew it was beauty like this that made men weak in the knees. It felt achievable even to lesser men. This way she was just at their fingertips, just how she liked it. Marc didn’t mind this, he knew who he married. Yet today his hand wraps around her just a little tighter, claiming her as his the moment they step in the room.
“Where are you going?” Marc questions the second Lana pulls him towards the tall wall at the back, lined with mirrors.
“I need to fix my lip,” she yawns, pushing his hand off. He’s quick to return, digging his fingers harshly into her side.
“It looks fine.”
“I need to fix my lip,” Lana repeats, rolling her eyes.
He trails behind, frustrated eyes keeping a close watch. She doesn’t care, letting the sound of her heels attract even more attention as it bounces off the blank walls. Leaning over with her mouth parted, she dabs the lipstick carefully on.
“Are you done?” Marc huffs impatiently.
“Marc!”
In the reflection a man approaches them, pulling Marc into an awkward hug. She doesn’t bother to turn around, not even for the compliment.
“Lana, don’t you look stunning,” he grins, opening his arms wide for her. The girl brushes fingers through her frizzy locks. Just managing to raise her hand, she waves it lazily.
“Hey,” she spits, knowing it was pushing Marc’s buttons. Her eyes remain on the reflection staring back.
Slightly flustered, Marc pulls the man into a conversation. Something about the stock market. Nothing she would ever care about. Lana smooths over the fabric of the dress, deciding that she was right - she should have worn the skirt.
Lifting her gaze from the nude pumps her stomach drops. The floor disappears from beneath her legs and for an instance she’s freefalling through space, all the way to the deepest pits of hell. With wide eyes, she stumbles, catching herself by the grace of the cocktail table beside her.
The mirror reflects a beaming, champagne sipping and wide shouldered Paige, clad in a matching linen set. She waves her hands around, explaining something animatedly. The group surrounding her leans into every word coming from her lips.
Lana rubs her eyes to rid them of the image, surely just a mirage of the badly slept night. The blonde’s sudden disappearance had caused her to go insane. How embarrassing. She repeatedly blinks, adjusting to the light again. She’s still there, laughing carelessly. Lana’s frozen. Paige seems so unbothered.
At once Paige’s story comes to a clumsy stop. The sentence slows, losing its thread. Her ocean eyes drift towards the mirror to the reflection of a red-lipped girl. Their eyes lock.
The tall room shrinks suffocatingly. It feels more like a prison, a cage too cramped for them both. Lana’s ears go red. The hardness on her face softens. People around Paige lean forward expectantly, waiting for the story to continue. Lana waits too, for a gesture, a smile, a nod.
When an older lady pokes the blonde’s arm, her bright eyes flicker away without lingering. Shaking her head, she laughs off the interruption. With ease Paige picks up the conversation, never looking back. The Paige she knew in Dallas would have never averted her gaze.
She swallows sharply, exhaling through her nose and yanks the glass from Marc’s hands, startling the two men.
“Give me this,” she breathes, downing it all with a few long sips.
“Alisa,” Marc whispers, brows lifting with horror. “Not here.”
The brown, tired eyes staring back flare with a warning. A danger Marc knew to avoid or he might truly be in trouble. He lets it go, harshly parading his wife around the room like some sort of prize.
With each boring conversation she sips more champagne. Every how are you and great weather pushes her towards another glass until a welcomed buzz runs through her system. Even then her eyes scan across the room of strangers, looking for one blonde engraved on her brain. Before she realises, she’s taking notes of her every move - who she speaks to, how often she laughs, the way she’s becoming the gravity of the room. Everybody wants a piece of Paige Bueckers.
Lana’s on her fifth glass when thick heels clank against the hardwood floors. A tall, devastatingly beautiful woman causes everyone’s heads to turn.
“Oh gosh, I’m so so sorry,” her voice echoes across the gallery. She hurries past everyone, past Lana too, into the arms of the blonde.
“I’m so late.”
Paige’s cheeks flush, gaze flickering to Lana for the first time since the mirror. It only lasts for a fleeting second. When she turns back there’s a grin on her lips. She’s wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her in for a peck. Nothing like the one Lana and Paige shared just weeks ago. Still, envy sits heavy in her abdomen. Not because of Paige. But because of how easy it looked. That was never enough for Lana.
She reaches for another glass when Marc’s hand grips her wrist. She doesn’t need to look to know he’s disappointed. She lets it go, eyes fixed on the stranger. She’s all limbs, blending in with the group of people without effort. She knows exactly when to laugh, when to be quiet, how to put Paige on a higher pedestal.
Lana jumps at the sudden yank on her arm. Marc blinks at her demandingly.
“Are you okay?”
Staring back she waits a beat too long to answer. “Yes, fine.” The words come sharp, bothered. Not unusual for a woman like her. Her eyes flicker to the couple 10 feet away and the firm hand that brushes along the woman’s spine. Suspicious but unbothered Marc turns back. Spotting another coworker he drags his tipsy wife after him. 7 feet away. Paige still doesn’t look.
“Oh, Alisa,” an older man Lana can’t seem to remember the name of smirks, leaning forward for a hug. She grimaces, feeling herself cocooning into her shell. Ever so aware of the blonde’s whereabouts she feels her stomach flip.
“You look more beautiful every time,” he winks, nodding her over. With a determined gleam and a slight buzz Lana’s frown flips into a smile. Being ignored like this would not continue, not for long.
“Oh stop it,” Lana waves, giggling loud enough for the sound to bubble in the air. It’s what they always fell for. Paige would recognise that sound in a heartbeat. Yet her eyes remain fixed forward. So stubborn.
“I’ll keep telling ya, if you ever get tired of Marc you know where I’ll be.”
Lana’s eyes drift to the wife, unpleased and groaning at the remark. She brushes it off easy, she never cared much whether men were taken or not. She wraps her arms tight around the guy, desperate for the burn of Paige’s gaze. It’s not there.
“Oh, I’ll remember that,” she murmurs into his ear, pushing further on purpose.
A sudden screech causes half the room to snap their heads towards the sound. Lana too jumps back.
“Marc,” Antonio screams. The tall androgynous man in a linen blouse and painted nails waves them over. Lana freezes. Her eyes lock on the broad back where Paige stands, pretending not to notice. The cage shrinks even further. She doesn’t move.
Lana can’t help it when she’s being pulled over, a firm grip on her wrist forcing her movements. Only when the group of people make space for the couple does she feel the weight of Paige’s vicinity. She stands opposite. 4 feet away. This close Lana can see the tight line of her lips. It’s too close.
It’s a big scene, the flamboyant man getting under Lana’s skin. He jumps excitedly, hugging them both. Yet Lana can’t help but keep her eyes on the blonde, pushing for a glance back. She just needs to be noticed. Paige’s eyes remain stubbornly on the ground, as if there’s nothing more interesting than her brand new shoelaces.
“Alisa, you look fabulous. It’s giving messy french girl,” Antonio grins, running his hand over her hair. The empty void in Lana’s stomach deepens. She needed to find a way, something that would cause a reaction.
“Messy?” She teases, letting her voice rumble with mischief and seduction. “No no, never messy.” The group laughs, even the girl beside Paige. This sets something off, a tingling in Lana’s spine.
“I’m not even French,” she rolls her eyes. Giggles erupt everywhere yet Paige is stuck on the floor and her shiny leather shoes.
“Silly Americans, you think this is a French accent?” They all howl. Marc’s hand rubs Lana’s back. This is the woman she married, the funny center of attention who could charm anyone.
“Guys, everyone. This is Marc and his gorgeous, Ukrainian wife, Alisa,” Antonio introduces the pair, flailing his hands around them. “Marc is one of the creative directors for Calvin Klein.”
Lana’s still trying to find her footing when hands are being thrown her way for shaking. She offers smiles too politely, even accidentally introducing herself to someone twice.
“Marc, nice to meet you.”
Her ears perk up. Over her shoulder she catches a glimpse of her husband’s hand sliding into Paige’s. The rings on her fingers, the hauntingly familiar golden chain tugged into her shirt, a sweet smile. Irritatingly sweet.
“Paige,” she answers. For a second she fears Marc will remember her from that one night out. But even when his eyes narrow with focus, he shrugs it off. Elated, Lana’s posture straightens. With her shoulders pushed back and a well played confidence she reaches for the blonde’s hand just as unbothered. Paige seems to shrink in response, exasperatedly gulping air.
“I’m Alisa.”
Lana’s voice is smooth, the sound rising higher than naturally. Her acrylics scratch along the blonde’s palm which Paige offers before her mind can catch up. The blonde hairs on her arms rise. The warmth of her fingers spreads all the way to Lana’s toes causing the room to tilt. She grips just a little too hard.
“Yeah, uh, Paige,” the words are hushed, as if they’re sharing a secret, whispering into each other’s ears. The blonde’s face flushes pink, something familiar sparking between them. Flashes of Dallas, glitter and snow take over her mind. For a second Paige isn’t there at all. She’s back at Lonestar watching Lana under the flashing lights.
It’s Grace’s laughter that pulls her out of the vision. The grounding force someone like Paige needed. Not the thunderstorm standing in front of her. She pulls back her hand too abruptly, fighting to break free from Lana’s spell. But before she can Paige feels her nails on her neck, pulling on the gold chain to tug it out of her shirt. She hates herself for the way it makes her feel.
“Nice cross,” Lana mumbles. She’s tipsy, blinking slowly and her accent more distinct than usual. Her slender fingers brush against the crucifix, heavy eyes flicking back and forth to Paige. It takes all her discipline not to join Lana’s game. There were no winners in this one, Paige had learned that years ago.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, forcing the words out with an embarrassing struggle. Lana doesn’t appear half as affected, yet she flexes her fingers before turning, gaze lingering on the blonde. Paige can’t tear herself away. The sight of her like this, the dress making her look near naked. The fabric clings to her body obscenely, causing Paige’s pulse to stutter. Cold sweat trickles down her back as she forces her eyes shut, pushing out the thoughts rummaging her brain.
“Hi, I’m Grace.”
The girl’s voice is so earnest, so curious that guilt nearly snaps Paige in half. She’s leaning forward, eager to know more about this beautiful, funny stranger. When Lana sees her, really sees her, her movements stop mid action.
“Grace,” she hums, feeling out the name and the familiarity of the word. She blinks once, twice, Grace standing there with her hand extended.
It takes a beat too long for Lana to come out of it. When she does, the unease on her face melts into a charming grin.
“Grace, beautiful name,” she coos, enveloping Grace’s hand with two of her own. “Wow, look at that.”
Lana pulls at the girl’s fingers, feeling it before her eyes dare to flicker down. The gold band and the two carat diamond decorating Grace’s hands. Grace blushes, letting Lana study it. The champagne and something familiar bubbles in Paige’s gut. She puts the glass down. The lights seem too harsh, the walls too snow white. Every word becomes a blur as she struggles to catch up with her mind. It was too much.
“Oh thank you,” Grace giggles, wide eyes shimmering. Paige is unsure whether it was the guilt or embarrassment over Grace’s naivety that caused it, but she felt like she might be sick any second.
“We’re taking it slow with the wedding plans,” she adds, still allowing Lana to hold onto her. “Well, I am. This one is barely home.” She elbows her fiance.
The moment Lana’s brows rise and her chestnut eyes lift to the blonde Paige knows it’s neither of those things. Clumsily she leans into her fiance, tugging at her linen shirt for more air.
“I see,” Lana’s gaze drags back, locking on Grace hungrily. She breathes in her features. Green eyes, long lashes, dark brows and a soft smile.
“You’re so beautiful,” Lana says, still holding onto the girl’s hand. “If she’s ever bad to you, you come straight to me.”
Stunned, Paige clears her throat, her composure crumbling even worse the minute she sees it - the goosebumps rising along Grace’s skin. Oh God, she’s right in her trap. She’s too naive to spot the danger. Paige’s stomach drops.
There’s a giggle, a familiar flustered look on Grace’s face. The same one she got whenever Paige touched her. The blonde wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. It only seems to rile Lana on. Of course it does.
Lana leans forward, running soft fingertips up Grace’s arm all the way to her long neck. Shamelessly she brushes her finger behind Grace’s ear, every shiver from the girl only pushing her deeper.
“Pretty,” she sighs, ever so carefully holding the dangling, shimmery earrings between her fingers. The image makes Paige’s stomach stir, the smile on Lana’s lips, Grace’s doting face - the tenderness of the touch.
“I love your lipgloss too, where-”
“Babe, did my package come today?” Paige abruptly asks, though her eyes are not even on her fiance. They remain on Lana when both girls turn to her, a sick satisfaction on Lana’s face.
“What package..?” Grace questions, brows furrowed in deep confusion.
It’s a feeble excuse. Both girls stare at her so intensely Paige has to look away. She’s fixed on the light wood of the floor, tempted by the sight of Lana’s ankle in her peripheral vision. When her gaze lifts she sees the entire, silenced group of people all staring at her.
“Why are you standing all the way over there?” Marc suddenly asks, reaching over for his wife. “Come here.” At last Lana’s gone, feet away from her and most importantly, Grace. Relieved, Paige leans in and kisses the top of her head, the image of Grace’s hands in Lana’s replaying over and over.
“Nevermind babe, it’s fine,” Paige murmurs, hoping the scent of her fiance’s hair might hide the smell of cherries. Still, Lana haunts every moment. The lilt of her voice bubbling in the background of boring conversations, the sight of cherry red lips in her peripheral vision. At first her appearance was only irritating - now it was beginning to drag Paige underwater.
With a tug on her sleeve, Paige resurfaces. Her head snaps impatiently. Slightly startled, Marc’s eyes widen.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt. You just look so familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” He asks carefully. Paige only stares until Grace elbows her for a response.
“Oh, I play basketball for the Sparks,” she awkwardly nods.
“Ohh, for the WNBA?”
“Yep.”
“Alisa watches that sometimes!” Oh.
Across the group Lana’s eyes widen, her smooth exterior cracking just for a moment. “I do not.”
Marc snorts. “I catch you sometimes. I don’t know why you try to hide it.”
Paige nearly trips over her own feet. She knows Lana never cared about basketball - not at all. Not when it extended beyond her. What irritates her most isn’t Lana, but the way she still dug her way into Paige’s life. It made no sense. Years had passed. Entire lifetimes had been lived between then and now. Yet the tight reins Paige had been holding onto were beginning to slip, leaving the skin of her palms raw and bloody.
“Excuse me.”
On the verge of splitting open she rushes off, leaving behind countless confused faces - all but one.
Long legs take long strides to the buffet table, not registering the shrimp and bruschetta laid out for service. She can’t make sense of what’s happening. Everything’s too loud, too sharp, too close, too hot-
“Hungry?”
It’s too much. That voice is somehow the last and only thing she wants to hear. She can’t answer. can’t even turn around, facing forward.
“I’m just looking for a drink. They only got this crap?”
Lana steps beside her, swirling the champagne in her glass around. She sips it, seemingly unaffected compared to the blonde digging fingernails into her palms. The heat radiating off Lana's arm itches against her, even though she’s inches away. It makes Paige dizzy.
“You forgot how to speak?”
Paige exhales loud, forcing air through her nostrils. Whatever control there was had slipped the second Lana stepped in the room.
“Ever think I don’t wanna talk to you?”
Lana lets out a single laugh, pushing her arm snug against Paige. “Now now, no reason to be so rude.”
Paige moves further, every cell of her being fighting against it.
“What do you want?” She whispers, staring straight ahead.
The smug smile on Lana’s lips drops. She turns, leaning into the buffet table.
“You disappeared.” The words aren’t sad or regretful. Just annoyed.
“Been busy,” Paige huffs, piling shrimp onto her plate mindlessly. Realising she hates shrimp, she begins putting it back one by one with an immense fury.
“With your fiance apparently,” Lana says loud enough to make Paige lift her gaze. Her blue eyes land on hers. First warning. Lana knew this well enough.
“Stop. This ain’t some joke,” Paige stutters at the sight of her. It kills her not to clean up the smudged red lipstick by the corner of her mouth.
“Shh,” Lana hushes amused, nodding toward the group. “You need to be a better actor or sweet little Grace is gonna realise this isn’t quite right, hmm?”
Dragging her eyes back to the group, she finds Grace standing a little further from the group, not quite fitting in. She swings back and forth, sipping on champagne until her eyes find Paige’s, lighting up in an instance.
“Don’t talk about Grace,” Paige whispers, smiling stiffly back.
“You’re acting like I forced you to kiss me,” Lana says hurriedly, covering her mouth as Grace closes in on the pair
“Don’t leave me again,” Grace hurries over, clasping her hand on Paige’s. The blonde pulls it back, wiping it on her pants. “Could you get me some shrimp?”
With trembling hands, Paige begins to pile shrimp onto a plate once more, leaving Grace and Lana with their eyes locked. With a smile, Lana stretches her hand forward, bringing it to the back of the girl’s neck. By the time Paige turns back, Grace is more flustered than before, blushing profusely.
“I was gonna say earlier, your hair-” Lana lets her fingers dig through her locks, brushing through all the way to the ends. The girl bats her eyes, glossed lips parted, just as affected as the men in the audience used to be. It made Paige furious, she hates how easily Grace folds for Lana. Worst of all, she understands exactly why.
“Fuck, so stunning,” Lana lets her voice rumble, hoarsely carrying itself to Grace’s ears. She visibly melts, enough to lose all train of thought.
“Th- thank you,” Grace stutters. After lingering Lana finally lets go and grabs her empty glass.
“Nice to meet you both,” she smiles politely. As if nothing ever happened, Lana walks off. Her eyes linger on Paige over her shoulder, until she ends up in the arms of her husband. Grace, far too flustered to notice, begins to giggle.
“Oh my gosh,” she covers her mouth, leaning closer to Paige still staring after someone else. “Was she flirting with me?”
Paige doesn’t answer. She barely hears it, fixed on the view of that nude dress and the way it hugs the curves of Lana’s waist. Grace’s words turn into a distant mumble.
“That is seriously the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Grace says, looking after her. “Right?”
There’s a beat, a moment where Grace’s words fall for deaf ears. It’s all worsened by the ease which Lana seems to operate, making the room bend for her.
Paige nods thoughtlessly, quickly altering it to a shake of the head. “Not my type.”
Grace snorts. “Seriously?”
“Nah,” Paige’s eyes finally break free, glancing at the sweet girl beside her. Fuelled by guilt, she leans down and kisses her cheek.
“But that was pretty hot right?” Grace whispers, wrapping her long arms around Paige’s neck. Her lips tickle against the blonde’s ear, nose brushing against the warm skin there. Misreading Paige’s odd behaviour for lust, she presses flush against her fiance.
“You like watching two beautiful women flirt for you like that?”
Paige’s throat goes dry, a desperate cough coming out. Yet the girl doesn’t budge, breathing into her earlobe. The blonde is far too distracted to feel anything.
“I think I need to go to the bathroom,” Grace winks. The intent doesn’t quite reach Paige, whose eyes follow the way Marc’s hand lingers on Lana’s hip.
“Paige?”
“Yeah?”
“Come with me.”
Before she can stop it from happening, Grace is dragging her through a tall, dim corridor decisively. Only then, bundled underneath flashes of Lana she recognises the meaning a minute too late. Grace is already pulling her into a bathroom, locking the door behind them.
“What are you doing, honey?”
Grace has that look in her eye, the one Paige knows well. The girl gulps for air, chest heaving with the spark Lana ignited. Her hand slides up Paige’s arm, feeling the broad frame, her soft face. She tilts Paige’s face and presses her lips on hers.
Paige stumbles slowly backwards, eyes wide open as she kisses back. Her palms land on the cold ceramic of the sink behind her thighs, clinging onto it. Grace, already humming with every kiss, gets on her tiptoes and opens her mouth further. Conflicted Paige tries to get into it, shutting her eyes at last. But with the darkness comes images of Lana, the ones that haunted her sleep.
“You liked that, huh?” Grace giggles, bumping her nose into Paige’s.
Paige’s exhale shakes as she pries her hands from the ceramic, unsurely wrapping one around her waist. She lets her thumb brush against the fabric of her skirt, unable to shake the pressure in her chest. She felt disgusted in herself. In all of this. In Lana, most of all.
“Paige?”
“Oh,” Paige hums surprised, shutting her eyes tightly like she was supposed to before kissing. “I just like you, baby.”
By the sound of Grace’s whimper it seems to be the correct answer, her mouth attacking Paige’s neck. She lets out a heavy breath, staring at the pitch black tile like a black hole opposite of them. It’s so dark she can almost see their shape reflected from it, but it’s blurry and contorted. Why, why was she thinking about a damn wall or space or anything when there was a girl she loved sucking on her neck?
In a desperate attempt she grabs Grace’s hair and forces her mouth back to hers, slipping her tongue out. It meets Grace’s, warm and wet and pleasant enough. The girl melts into her, pressing her chest into her. Her fingers slip down, reaching Paige’s hand by her skirt and yanking it below the waistband. This makes the blonde lose her rhythm, quickly turning the kiss clumsy, tongues in all the wrong places at all the wrong times.
“Sorry,” Paige pulls back to whisper. Without beating herself up, she slips back in with her mouth wide open. The second her lips close against Grace’s, her teeth sink into the slippery tongue fighting for access into Paige’s mouth.
“Ow,” she jumps.
“Fuck, sorry,” Paige pulls back, nostrils flared with frustration.
“It’s okay,” Grace giggles easily, only glad her tongue isn’t bleeding. “Relax, baby.”
she kisses along her neck, slower this time. Finding her pulsepoint she sucks, hard enough to make Paige’s shoulders tense up even more. She didn’t want to go to a game with a damn hickey, she wasn’t 19 anymore. It drives her crazy, the arousal that’s just at her fingertips but blocked by the repeating visions of Lana touching on Grace, making her laugh, the sway of her hips, her puckered lips, Lana, Lana, Lana, Lana-
“Wait, gimme a sec-” Paige whispers, unable to stop imagining her. It’s like she’s in the room, petting Grace's hair and urging the girl to keep going. Better yet, it’s as if Grace is her - Lana’s perfect tongue licking along Paige’s ear. It’s only then her boxers dampen.
“Wait, babe,” the blonde huffs. Still no stop. At last, Paige pushes Grace off on the verge of blowing up. “Stop.”
Grace stumbles back, eyes burning hopefully and quickly dimming. Paige wipes her mouth, like it might rid her of the disgust she felt for herself and the puddle between her legs.
“I just need a second,” she murmurs, staring at the ground.
“Are you okay?” Grace asks softly, studying her fiance with a pout.
Paige’s vision feels blurry, her heart beats so loud at first she thinks it’s an earthquake. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she mumbles, mind skimming for an excuse. “I just wanna wait till we get home.”
Paige doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to face the excitement withering away from Grace’s face. She doesn’t want Grace to see the horror in her own eyes, the awful realisation that it’s not Grace who she wants right now.
“My tummy hurts,” Paige lies, really putting on the act by furrowing her brows and placing a hand on her stomach. “Ouchies.”
“Aw baby,” Grace immediately coos, stepping closer and rubbing on her stomach too. “I get it, don’t worry.”
“I’m sorry,” Paige sighs, finally daring to meet her eyes. She looks sad. This is exactly what she craved, rendezvous in public bathrooms, passion so strong it couldn’t be contained. Paige couldn’t deliver it.
“Don’t be,” Grace smiles, giving her lips an easy pick. Paige purses her lips back against her.
“I love you,” Paige hums. That part is true. It’s the decision she had made, to love her.
“I love you too,” Grace murmurs, letting go of Paige’s hand. “Wanna get back?”
“You should go first, I need to pee,” Paige says, turning around and beginning to wash her hands for no reason, scrubbing the soap between her fingers.
“Okay, I’ll be with Antonio,” Grace says, smacking Paige’s butt on the way out. When the door closes Paige finally lets out the dizzying breath she’d been holding. Her knuckles turn white as the ceramic as she holds onto it, glaring into the image of herself. For a second she considers shattering it, letting blood ripple all over the white linen on her. She dreams of taking a sharp shard and digging it deep into her muscle, into her bones to rid every part, memory and neuron that Lana had infiltrated.
Outside the door, past the thick brick walls of the long corridor Lana studies the painting opposite her - a blonde angel barely visible for the intense light coming from an unknown source. The longer she stares, the clearer her contorted, painful face appears. The edges blur into a pure white, clear as snow.
She picks at her cuticles, restless hands looking for something to do or itching for a drink. A silent hiss spills from her lips when blood spills, stinging across her finger. Mindlessly, she takes it in her mouth, letting the metallic taste mix with her spit.
Averting her eyes at the sound of a lock, Lana watches the bathroom door open and Paige stumbles out. Their eyes meet immediately, at last locking for a moment that nears satisfactory. Lana lets her hand fall back beside her, watchfully waiting for the blonde to move.
With a decisive sigh, Paige tears her eyes away, desperate to get away. But Lana feels the endless void return the second her blue eyes are out of view, the dread of not being wanted. She knows better, she’s too grown. Watching Paige Bueckers walk away without a word, a look, nothing - it doesn’t sit right.
Paige is already past her when she blurts: “Your fiance is really cute, is that the same girl you were with in Dal-”
With a sharp movement Lana’s back hits the cool brick hard. The smirk on her face falls. There’s a thud, a firm hand on her, a tension teetering on the verge of exploding. Lana wasn’t one to get scared easily. But Paige’s eyes, black and lowered, look angrier than ever gazing down at her. Suddenly she feels small, nothing compared to the blonde before her. There’s no escape. For a moment Lana thinks that she should scream, the sound of her blood rushing booming in her ears.
Paige is furious, clenching her face so hard that her jaw is turning sharp enough to slice through her. Her laboured breathing becomes heavy, nostrils flaring with each exhale. Lana sobers up at once. Paige’s hand presses into Lana’s left hip, causing the girl to jump. Paige had been intense, explosive, jealous, but never dangerous. At least before. She leans down, breathing cool, minty air into Lana’s face. All she can do is bat her eyes and let the brick dig into the arch of her spine.
Cold fingers slowly grab the light fabric of Lana’s dress. Lana is almost about to reach and push the hand away, but Paige’s other hand comes to her wrist as if reading her mind, pinning it against the wall. A room full of people just a few feet away, anyone could walk in at any moment, but Lana can’t say a word, knowing her voice would tremble a little too much. All she can do is look up at the blonde towering over her and wait.
Paige inches downwards, parting her pink lips ever so slightly. The need builds suddenly, the burning in Lana’s throat that can only be put out by the taste of her spit, the one glistening just inches away. Her brows furrow, and mouth falls open. Fear blurs into something heavier, Paige’s fingers digging into her skin painfully.
“You think it’s a joke?” Paige suddenly speaks, her lips just inches away. Lana can only stare down at her mouth, distracted,
“Look at me.” The demanding voice snaps Lana’s eyes upwards, into the darkness emitting from Paige’s. The blonde holds Lana’s dress in a fist, gathering the fabric and letting the hem rise with it, revealing a smooth, silky thigh. It trembles. Lana’s eyes nearly roll back, if it wasn’t for those lips.
“You think that’s a joke? Touching some other woman like that in front of me? Flirting with her, looking at her like that?”
The words don’t process right away, Lana’s mind struggling to keep up with her body. When it hits her, Paige is already inching closer, the sharp tip of her nose pressing against Lana’s. It wasn’t Grace Paige felt jealous over. The realisation makes Lana tremble in her heels.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Paige tilts her head, her fingers grazing Lana’s outer thigh leaving fire at its wake. Lana can feel how she’s losing herself, submitting to this version of Paige she never knew a little too easy. There’s a burn between her legs she can’t stand, bucking herself closer. Just a single touch, one graze would be enough. Her eyes turn watery, tears threatening to spill for the sheer need of Paige’s fingers where she needs them most.
The blonde’s eyes flutter shut, nose grazing Lana’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth as her fingers squeeze her inner thigh. Lightheaded, Lana inhales with effort, stomach flipping with each exhale. A silent whine comes out, beyond her control. She shuts her eyes, wetting the glossed lips with her tongue. Sound of cutlery and distant chatter carry all the way from the gallery. But here, in this hallway, all they can hear is heavy breathing.
“You want this so fucking bad, huh?”
Lana can’t help herself, nodding against Paige’s nose, grazing her lips against the ones just inches away, barely getting a sense of them. She needs it more than anything, more than water, more than she ever had before. The blonde struggles too, savouring the feel of Lana’s milky skin. With each moment she can feel the control slipping, the reins becoming looser. It’s terrifying enough to cause her grip on Lana’s thigh to loosen.
With a stuttering breath she listens to the frustrated sigh coming from the girl, the way she pushes her front flush against Paige. It’s nearly pitiful, the desperation, the act she had put on for tens of people before. Paige had seen her do this for countless men, the way she’d melt into them with such ease it nauseated her.
But for Grace? She showed the soft touches and careful lingers, the ones Paige thought belonged only to her. The ones that made her feel like she was the only person in the room, in the entire world - the once that made her fold as fast as Grace did. Turns out there’s nothing special there, that she can manage it with anyone. Dozens before her, maybe even hundreds.
Fluttering her eyes open, she stares at the woman pressed into the wall, a million thoughts running through her head, none of them enough. Her touch on Lana’s thigh softens and finally halts.
“You don't even care who it is, huh?” Paige mutters bitterly. There’s a beat, a moment when the blonde lets go. Lana opens her eyes, startled by the coldness in the blonde’s words. “You’d let anyone do this to you.”
Blinking rapidly, Lana’s legs still shake when the humiliation settles uneasily in her core. The shame makes her face as red as the lipstick on her lips.
“Wouldn’t you?”
Paige doesn’t want an answer, and she doesn’t wait for it. Before Lana can comprehend, the blonde is gone, and so is her touch from her thigh, and the embarrassment rushing through Lana. A sudden cold, reminiscent of winters in Chicago, covers her thigh, exactly where Paige’s hand left its mark.
Presley was aware to a degree that she was dry and in her bed now, but she still couldn't feel anything other than the impending crash of her high. Her body vibrated deep in her bones, while her brain felt like it was malfunctioning. Every time she grasped onto a thought, it disappeared into what felt like a whirlpool, sinking further away from her.
She was drowning.
Everything happened so quickly, one moment she was on top of the world, the next she was engulfed in water.
In hindsight, Presley should've expected her mother to do shit like this.
not shaking hands pregame but then being mad he didn’t shake yours post game or wtv and all of ur worshippers turning it into “geno hates black women” is actually crazy. he just doesn’t like her bratty ass. point blank period. and i wouldn’t either, she’s one weird ass freak
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 the 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
Just read your wattpad story absolutely love it! And speaking of love did u see Azzi’s fit for not only the unrivaled game but also her Jordan shoot LITERALLY TO DIE FOR
Paige Bueckers x stripper!oc
Warnings: substance abuse, smut, sex work, debates of religion, mentions of war, other things i don't want to mention bc i don't want to spoil (PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE READING)
Wordcount: 12.4K
A/C: sorry this took a while, hopefully the million words make up for it (and the smut) PLEASE SEND IN THOUGHTS AND LIVE REACTIONS LITERALLY MY FAV THING OK BYE HAVE FUN freaks
-
2026 DALLAS, TX
It still shocked Paige how well she had settled in Dallas, Texas. It would be a lie to say she was overcome with excitement when she found out that it would be her home for the foreseeable future. You see, Dallas is more than cowboys and close-minded conservatives. Paige knew that now. She loved it, being at the cross-roads of southern hospitality and rich culture. It suited her - the way her skin tanned golden and the darkness of her roots blurred out to a light brown under the beaming sun.
Just as much she loved the women, the warmth that came only with being raised under such weather. She loved the way they giggled in her quiet presence. It didn’t take more than a subtle nod toward their way to get the blush to rise to their cheeks. It didn’t take them being gay either - some would tell sparkly-eyed tales of their devoted boyfriends waiting at home, how they never felt this way toward a woman before. Paige hated admitting the ego boost this gave her, the idea of getting them in her arms easy like child’s play. Paige, it seems, was born to conquer - not just in basketball.
It seemed however, that someone was trying to conquer her now. An enigma, a cool blur of snow in the scorching Dallas summer. She had never met someone so cold, someone who just looked through her rather than at her. The rush gave Paige a stomach ache, the thought of Lana’s mercurial temper, all the secrets she must hold under the icy front. Paige was so used to the ease she felt with women. Lana was an entirely new thing. A concept more than a person. She can’t have been older than 23, yet she seemed beyond her years. Eternal in a way.
Paige’s phone vibrates against her leg deep in the cotton-lined pocket of her shorts. She still stares somewhere into the distance, beyond the hardwood floor of Arike’s and Lala’s apartment, eyes focused on something no one could see but her.
“Yo, your phone,” JJ shoves Paige’s knee, making her jump. The girl beside her laughs, bringing the beer bottle to her lips. “You good P?”
“Shit, sorry,” Paige murmurs, digging it out, jaw tightening instinctively.
“Is it-”
“- my dad. I’ma just call him tomorrow,” she sighs, throwing the device screen down onto the glass table.
They hear the sound of heels clacking against the pale wood before Lala even turns the corner, emerging from their bedroom shaking her head impatiently.
“How is it that I’m always waiting on her?” She groans about her fiance, crashing onto a chair with a creak of leather. “I’m the one doing a full face.”
“Ay don’t look at me. I’m on schedule,” Paige grins putting her hands up, causing the short-sleeved buttoned shirt to rise up a little, showing her tan lower abdomen. She had spent hours putting her fit together when she heard the plans.
“That’s why you’re my favourite child,” Lala smiles back, causing JJ to clear her throat.
“And you too.”
The phone buzzes again against the glass, the rhythmic vibrations causing the whole table to shake making the sounds much louder. Jaw tightening Paige quickly pushes the device between her thigh and the couch instead, ignoring the looks from her friends.
“So,” Lala starts, swaying her wine glass carefully so as to not spill on her brand new carpet. “Are they gonna think y’all some freaks for going back again?”
Myisha snorts, holding some fruity cocktail in her hands when she returns from the kitchen. “I’m telling you, that one girl gon’ have her day made when she sees me.”
The girls laugh but Paige feels somewhere else, stuck in the empty space between reality and the rushing of her mind. The thought of seeing Lana again made her stomach churn - whether this was good or bad she didn’t know. But she really needed to see her. It had only been days since the lapdance, yet it had brought her more pleasure than any other girls had in years. The mere weight of her on Paige’s lap had been enough.
“Is she forreal?” Lala’s acrylics press on Paige’s arm. When she looks up, she sees the expectant expression on the woman’s face, like she’d been waiting for an answer for a while.
“Oh, uh,” Paige mutters, raising her brows. “Who knows man.”
“You alright?” Lala whispers now soft and low. She had a soft spot for the rookie - well she wasn’t a rookie anymore but to Lala she always would be that lost girl in Dallas crashing on their couch because she didn’t want to be alone in a new city.
Paige shakes her off convincingly enough.
“Y’all gotta hype me up. I look sexy, right?” Myisha spins around, Lala hissing when the bright orange liquid threatens to spill over. It was humiliating seeing Myisha so convinced she had any sort of impact on a stripper who saw hundreds of people weekly - even more so when Paige realised these were her exact thoughts when it came to Lana. It was different in her case though. Lana had actually remembered her.
“Sexy,” JJ grins. Paige merely nods, hiding her laughter behind the bottle of beer.
The impatience built up to a halt, making Paige far too antsy to sit still. When fidgeting didn’t help, she couldn't help herself from standing up and pacing around, pretending to take part in the conversation between her friends. Something about old pets or something. At last, Arike appears in the same exact outfit she had been wearing all day.
“Finally,” Myisha groans, downing the syrupy concoction in a single sip.
“Yeah, uh, babe don’t go in the walk-in,” Arike chuckles. “I gotta fold all those clothes.”
“Fine,” Lala rolls her eyes but kisses her fiance either way. It filled Paige with envy, that sort of unconditional love that took work and dedication. She had found out she wasn’t made for that. Maybe someday.
-
While it may not be fashionable to say, Lana loved her job. She had always loved performing, the pressure of feeling every pair of eyes solely on her. Controlling the crowd came easy as breathing to her: When to let them wait and lean in, and the moments it was time to let them have what they wanted. She loved meeting strangers from even stranger places and getting wrapped up in them knowing they would still be strangers tomorrow - and they would be long gone.
To herself she wasn’t icy at all. It’s funny, back home she never quite fit in with her family - her warmth seemed too much in the cold, crooked house. Yet out here, the heat was so scorching she barely let out any warmth at all. The sun just seemed too bright, drowning her in its light. Only in the night she got to play this part.
Lana had grown to love it, the fact that she walked the streets of Dallas swallowed by the crowds. That when the sun would rise she’d be gone, that the performance ended and she could go home and not be Lana anymore. She could call her mom and tell her tales of the “restaurant” she waited tables for, she could count the cash and buy new shoes and eat Lexi’s cereal. The blonde had become her best friend, yet she didn’t even know her real name. None of them did.
Skipping toward her in thigh high boots, Lexi beams with excitement, wrapping her clammy hands around Lana’s arms.
“They’re back,” she grins giddy as ever, swaying her long hair in the air. Lana’s brows furrow as she looks over her shoulder, the jewels on her silver bodysuit digging into her boobs painfully.
“Who?” She asks, bewildered to think of a single client she’d be so excited to see.
Lexi rolls her eyes, squeezing tighter. “The girls. From the Wings?”
Lana leans against the bar behind her, searching the crowd quietly. The thud of her heart seems to match the bass-heavy music as she wraps her lips around a straw.
“Remember, Myisha?”
Lana groans, though her eyes still search. “You need to stop talking about her. I’m thinking you’re a lesbian.”
Lexi laughs, her blue eyes creasing with joy. They had always been like the moon and the sun, really.
“So what if I am,” she jokes, feeling up Lana’s waist.
“Creep,” Lana teases, pushing her best friend off. As Lexi stumbles back, crashing into some older gentleman, Lana's eyes finally spot something. A certain blonde, almost impossible to find from the crowd with a baseball cap pulled deep into her head.
“Oh hey ladies,” the man grins, but Lana’s long acrylics are already wrapping onto her friend’s wrist, pulling her.
“So sorry, so busy,” Lana pouts sarcastically before disappearing into the crowd.
“What the hell?” Lexi giggles, wiping her nose.
“I’m getting you to that lady, lesbian,” Lana groans, elbowing people to her right and left unashamed, ignoring the hungry looks she can feel peeling the outfit off her.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Lexi clasps her hand with Lana’s. “You coming too?”
“Yes, Dolly stole all the good customers,” Lana complains. The journey across the room seems to be endless, but Lana’s brown eyes are determined. It was busier than it had been for months. Which always meant good money. “She’s not stealing them too.”
Paige feels nothing but relief the moment she’s rid of her vibrating phone, leaving it gladly with the bouncer this time. The excitement seems to swallow her the minute she slips through the red curtain into the dreamland. Even the heavy mass of people moving like a current didn’t bother her.
“Oh wow, it is busy,” Lala says over the noise, running her tattooed hand over her braids.
“Oh man,” Myisha groans, standing on her tiptoes to look over the heads of people. “She’ll never be free in this crowd.”
The same thought rushes through Paige. Yet the mere thought of peeking just a glance is enough to drag her in deeper. The space is humid from the packed people, the air feeling thick as car pollution in Paige’s lungs.
“Bro, you need to chill,” Arike laughs, pushing Myisha and Paige forward to lead them towards a bar. Lala gasps from somewhere behind when the girl on stage flips upside down on the pole, long legs in the air and back arched.
“That’s hot,” Lala elbows Paige, pointing towards the spotted light. “Right?”
She barely looks, nodding her head agreeably. Having to pretend interest drained her, especially when her mind seemed so occupied, and her stomach flipped every moment she saw a short brunette.
“Well hello there,” A high-pitched voice gleams and suddenly tan hands are being wrapped around Myisha, blonde waves swaying in the air. “You only came to see me now?”
The fact that Lexi seemed to not only remember, but care for Myisha’s presence causes brows to rise all around the tight, abstract circle the group has formed. A tactic to sell her services no doubt, but it comes off so genuine Myisha’s eyes soften at the sight.
“Sorry. Been busy winning some games baby.”
Even the shock of what’s occurring in front of her eyes isn’t enough to bring Paige down from her thoughts, heart racing when she looks around only to see a tray that seems to be floating, balanced on a single slender arm over the heads of people, at risk of spilling drinks any moment. The second the carrier stumbles, Paige reaches over and grabs hold of it.
“All these people are starting to piss me off,” Lana grunts, raising grumpy eyes up at the blonde. They widen with recognition, the annoyance quickly melting off. “But you saved me,” she tips her head. The words are sweet but the tone blunt, unreadable.
Paige stares for a beat too long. It’s as if she hadn’t seen Lana in weeks, like she had been starved. It’s only the second Lana begins to smile she realises she’ll be outed to all her friends as the freak who came here on her own just for a stripper.
As if sensing the panic, Lana licks her lips and just like that her eyes don’t seem quite focused on Paige. Like she couldn’t care less about the tall blonde standing before her. Like she probably doesn’t.
“Hi ladies,” she says, bordering on sweet. “We’ll take care of you tonight, would you like that?”
Paige is too busy trying to stand on her two feet that tremble with the sight of Lana, somehow looking better than she could’ve ever hoped for. She can’t take the fact that it’s not just for her, but for everyone else too.
“Yes please,” Lala smiles, pushing along the speechless Paige still holding the heavy tray as they’re being pulled in further into the depths of The Lonestar. Lexi’s arm is still wrapped around Myisha’s when they finally get seated to a wide table lined with a leather couch and some chairs covered with red velvet.
“I’ll take that, thank you,” Lana grabs the tray at last, avoiding eye contact with Paige. Her fingertips brush against the younger girl, but it doesn’t seem to affect Lana the same. She doesn’t seem affected by much. Not the same way the other Dallas girls did.
The weight of the trey still strains her biceps as Paige sits down on the velvet, eyes locked on Lana handing everyone their drinks. Lexi and Myisha seem in a world of their own, the blonde already laid out on her lap. The jewels off Lana’s bodysuit jangle and clink with her movements, finally turning to the blonde.
“There you go gorgeous,” she says coy as ever. Paige’s stomach drops, fingers wrapping around the ice cold glass. The drink smooths the dryness in her throat, but it doesn’t bring down the way her cheeks have turned bright red
The room hisses with a smoke machine and the howling of men in the front row leaned over to watch a tall, black haired girl toss herself over the stage. Lana struts over slowly, sitting herself half naked on Paige’s armrest ever so cool and casual. Her bare thigh grazes against her arm, making Paige’s hairs rise and breath to tremble. She tips the drink down her throat, already reaching for a new one, ignoring the heat radiating off Lana’s body.
“So you had fun last time?” Lana asks, low and hoarse, leaning her elbow on Paige’s shoulder as if she’s nothing but furniture. JJ chuckles, eyes flickering between the stage and her friends.
“The best time,” Arike grins. “Especially this one.” She nods towards Myisha, slipping cash into Lexi’s bra. Paige stays quiet, licking over her liquor drenched lips and staring up at the girl sitting as if on a pedestal.
“Did she behave tho?” Lala lifts a brow, pointing to Arike. Lana’s lips twist into a smile barely visible, a secret for only Paige. She shivers, bothered by how easy it seemed for her to be so affected when Lana didn’t appear bothered by her proximity in the slightest. She needed proof or something. Of what, Paige wasn’t exactly sure. A sign of some sort. A look, a shiver, a real smile - no performance.
“Of course she did,” Lana waves her hand around. “You’re stunning. She better behave always.”
Lala waves the girl off. “Talk about you, lil thing. I walk in some heels but those boots are insane.”
Lana kicks her legs back and forth, the colourful lights making the silver glitter sparkle. Even with the thick platform she was small compared to Paige. She couldn’t believe Lana existed with no one to protect her, fragile almost. The bones of her elbow dig into the muscles of Paige’s shoulders enough to ache as she leans deeper, but Paige doesn’t dare to grimace.
“Oh I’ve worn these for years,” Lana smiles. “It’s the new ones that are hard to walk in. We usually cut the bottoms to give them a little grip,” she flings her legs up to show how worn out they are, nearly knocking Paige’s drink into her lap. Slightly amused, she puts the drink down, forcing her hands into tight fists instead of letting in the urge to touch the pretty bird on her shoulder.
“You would look great in those,” Arike leans into her fiance, kissing her cheek.
“You’re free to borrow them,” Lana jokes, her long hair tickling Paige’s neck. Her nostrils flare, swallowing every syllable that comes out of her mouth thick and accented. God she just hopes the others can’t see how insane she’s going. Unable to help herself, her fingertips graze against Lana’s calf. She doesn’t even seem to notice.
“I have a question,” Lana asks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who is the weakest link here?”
Everybody turns to look at Myisha. Lana laughs. A real genuine laugh. God.
“Okay, take her out of it.”
For a beat they all look at each other before each of them turn to Paige, sitting red-faced and legs spread, leaning her face into her hand.
“Ay yo,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “It be your own family.”
The women all laugh but Lana’s eyes finally drag to the blonde, meeting the blue irises already staring. The floor gives out from underneath her, seeing the dark eyes flicker to her lips for a moment.
“Good to know,” Lana winks. “Let me get another drink for you then.”
Suddenly she’s off, the sting still on Paige’s shoulder aching through her body. With a low whistle Arike laughs and shakes her head.
“I think she got a favourite,” she waves her drink after Lana. Paige blushes earnestly, pulling the hat deeper into her head.
“Shut up.”
“Hey beautiful,” a girl with long limbs and loose curls taps Paige on the shoulder, smiling that warm Texas smile. Oh, this one was from Dallas for sure. Paige recognised it right away. “You want a dance?”
For a second Paige’s eyes drag along her body, taking in the lilac bra and the belly button piercing, but it doesn’t do anything for her. Before she can answer, a loud grunt of shock interrupts the conversation.
“Get your own customer Dolly,” Lana demands, shooing the taller woman away. For a moment they stare at each other, but Lana doesn’t seem inches smaller at all. She stands tall as ever, the icy cold stare telling her off.
“I mean it Dolly. I had her first.”
“Fine,” Dolly rolls her eyes, taking long strides into the crowd looking for her next client, but not without casting a seductive look at Paige over her shoulder.
“Bitch,” Lexi mutters under her breath, before strutting back to Myisha.
“Slut,” Lana rolls her eyes, placing down a whole bottle of vodka and a bunch of shot glasses. Paige can barely speak, let alone breathe. The thought of Lana getting territorial over her making the air around them grow hot.
As if she isn’t flustered enough, Lana flashes Paige a look she doesn’t quite recognise - before flinging herself over and straddling her. With each leg on both sides of Paige, she presses her back flush into the velvet as her pulse peaks. Lana’s perfume drowns her out, hands digging into the armrests. Her friends laugh somewhere in the distance, but it’s just a quiet hum in the background as Lana’s dark eyes stare the blonde down. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this with a crowd.
Like reading her mind, Lana reaches for the bottle.
“You want a shot, gorgeous?”
Wordlessly, Paige nods slowly, batting her eyes stupidly. God she had missed her, genuinely. Isn’t that awful?
Rubbing her glossed lips together, Lana brings the bottle to Paige’s mouth. Without needing direction Paige’s pink lips part, holding eye contact as if it wasn’t killing her inside. Tipping the bottle, ice cold vodka spills in..
“Swallow,” Lana teases, causing Paige to nearly choke as she does. It burns all the way down her stomach. As Lana is reaching back to give up the bottle, Paige’s hand grabs her delicate wrist and forces it back.
“Now you,” she orders, the booze entering her bloodstream already. She’s forgotten about her friends, the dancer on stage, everybody but the miracle on her lap. They might as well have been in that private room again. God, Paige wanted to go back tonight. She wanted to see how Lana looked when the performance was off and when those clothes hit the floor. She wanted to see her at her mercy.
“I need some cash first,” Lana quirks a brow. Eyes still locked Paige digs into her pocket, pulling a hundred out and handing it to her.
Lana laughs, tilting her head again. “You can give it yourself.”
Licking her lips, the blonde brings her hand up and gently as ever inches the bill into Lana’s bra. She shuts her eyes, as if enjoying it, jaw tensing. Paige doesn’t need to know the girl better to see it’s an act. She’s not a man after all. She knew what made a woman tick or get the chills. And it wasn’t an awkward touch to the armpit.
“It’s a lot just to get me drunk,” Lana teases, grabbing hold of Paige’s bicep to balance herself.
“Drink,” Paige hums, lifting the bottle to the girl’s wide open mouth. She pours slowly, dragging out the moment as long as she can, squeezing her own thigh hard to keep herself grounded. It doesn’t work, she can feel herself floating away, eyes dropping to the plump, lips pressing together and swallowing. She can feel her throat growing dry, hungry for a simple taste of them.
“Paige, careful,” Arike says lightheartedly, but there’s a subtle warning in the words.
Lana runs a finger along Paige’s sharp jaw, tilting up her face. “Did you hear your friend? She said careful.”
“I heard,” Paige mutters, drunk off a million things all at once. Suddenly her hat is being pulled off, Lana looking at it in her hands. Feeling exposed, Paige runs her hands over her hair.
“You don’t have lice, no?” Lana asks, causing laughter around the group. Paige laughs too, feeling the tension in her ease.
“No ma’am.”
“Good,” she hums and puts it over her head, it pressing loosely against her brown locks much too big for her head. Awfully abruptly the girl gets up, leaving Paige’s torso burning and her shirt covered in glitter.
“C’mon, we’re not getting paid to sit around,” Lana nods Lexi over. She obeys immediately, leaving Myisha leaning forward. To some rap song the girls begin to dance, pressing their backs together. In a swirl of blonde and brunette their hairs mesh together, gold and silver bodysuits like two parts of a set. There’s no clear line where one girl starts and the other girl ends with the way they dance together - so hypnotising even the men by the stage begin to turn their heads towards the pair.
Paige is folding over too, somehow more than Myisha. She still feels the weight of Lana on her thigh, eyes dragging to her round ass where the acrylics slowly graze at the pale skin. The muscles in her legs tighten by instinct.
“If you want us to kiss it’ll cost some money,” Lexi winks at Myisha who’s already digging through her wallet. Reaching for the cash Lexi flips her head back, wrapping arms around the brunette’s neck. Lana’s face gets serious, eyes dropping low the moment she leans in and presses her glossed lips on Lexi. There’s no feeling in it, she barely even opens her mouth. Still Paige can feel the burn deep in her abdomen, wondering if she tastes like cherries and vanilla - or like the strawberries of her vape. The smile across her lips drops to a look much darker, biting her cheeks leaving dents
“Lana!” A loud yell by a man interrupts the wonderful moment, coming from a slender guy in a suit leaning against the wall by the entrance. Lana’s eyes don’t even bother to turn towards him.
“I’m in the middle of something,” she rolls her eyes, running her hands along Lexi’s waist. Impatiently the man snaps his fingers, signalling for Lana to come over the way you would a dog. He can’t be older than 30. Suddenly Paige’s stomach flips with a nauseating dread, similar to all those times she lost control over the ball and turned the game over.
“Don’t care. Come here.”
With a groan, Lana pulls back and walks slowly just to drag out time. The only way she could protest. Paige stares desperate to catch her eye, to see a glimmer of anything resembling a need for help - but there’s nothing other than annoyance.
“Where were we,” Lexi smiles crookedly, keeping the party going. Paige is elsewhere, staring over her shoulder towards the entrance, watching the heated discussion between the man and Lana until she’s led off by her lower back.The old dread of childhood crawls its way along Paige’s spine, like when she was a child and her dad didn’t come home on time.
Paige’s leg bounces up and down, a restless habit. For a moment she considers leaving, blue eyes low and looking through everything in her line of vision. Time blurs and Lana still isn’t back. The lack of clocks made Paige suspicious. How long has it been? Only five minutes? Or maybe it had been a day since she arrived. It was impossible to tell. Lana’s absence had disrupted all sense of time. It seemed to drag on and on, one rap song melting into another until they all started sounding the same. Drinks keep appearing and Paige drowns them one by one, her heartbeat a deafening drum in her ears.
“Hey, I’ma go look for a bathroom,” she slurs to her friends, all of them preoccupied by Lexi making jokes and pouring drinks. Quietly she slips away, only feeling the alcohol rushing to her head now that she’s standing. Paige’s legs feel weighted down but still she moves across rooms, through curtains and crowds, through time it seems. Each room looks the same, the men like carbon copies of each other. Her chest tightens each moment that passes with no sight of her. Everything saturated with the flashing lights makes Paige’s head spin. It felt like a dream she’s had before, a bad sense gnawing inside.
“Oh hey again,” a voice soft and warm causes Paige to stop. Struggling to focus her eyes on the figure, she feels a gentle hand on her arm. “Where you headed?”
“Uh, nowhere,” Paige murmurs, feeling caught, finally recognising the girl from before trying to pick her up in a lilac set.
“Well, maybe I can help. Or take you to a private room?” She leans in to whisper. She smells like cigarettes and some floral perfume making Paige push her hand off gently. Looking past her shoulder before she can even react, Paige finally sees her. The spinning seems to stop, the room straightening out at last at the sight of Lana guiding an older gentleman towards the exit, hand wrapped in his.
Without a word, Paige pushes past the girl as if she doesn’t exist. Lana leans in, laughing superficially and running her manicured hand along the man’s arm. Paige is pulled towards the wall like gravity, leaning her shoulder against it - she just wants to watch. That’s all.
The man’s face is lined with wrinkles that would soon be carved into his skin, hunched and squeezing Lana’s cheek as if she was a child. She looked so small next to these men, wide-eyed and flushed pink. The sickening feeling tiptoes back into Paige’s throat. There was no one looking out for Lana. She could never make it just on her own with all these men.
“Just one kiss,” the man leans in, puckering his lips. Playing it off Lana turns with a smirk.
“No kiss, remember?”
“C’mon, a goodnight kiss. Just this once.”
Suddenly the man grabs hold of Lana’s face, leaning in to take what he wanted. Before Paige could react, Lana pushes the man off, all amusement dropping from her face now.
“No.”
The man about to argue goes quiet, Paige is already striding towards them with her jaw clenched.
“Dude, you heard her,” she says, wrapping an arm across Lana’s waist. Her words sound more pointed and clear now. Determined to make their point come across. She stares the man down, feeling Lana tremble a little against her.
“Just walk away.”
At last the man slouches with defeat, staring back and forth from Lana to Paige, back to Lana again.
“Bitch,” he mumbles before slipping through the red velvet.
“Asshole,” Lana murmurs. “Didn’t even tip me.”
All the bad Paige had been feeling is suddenly melting away just at the sound of her voice. Her hand remains on Lana’s waist. God it felt good there. When the words finally register, Paige digs through her pocket and slides out a bill towards the girl.
“For what?” Lana asks, looking at it suspiciously.
“You said he didn’t tip.”
Without permission this time, Paige pushes the bill into Lana’s bra, blinking slowly.
“You’re drunk,” Lana says bluntly, still not pushing the hand off.
“I’m a good customer,” Paige grins, as if she hadn’t just spent the last however long spiralling into madness.
“A good customer is a rich customer,” Lana says, wiping her nose to the back of her hand.
Paige snorts, eyes locked on the girl to make sure she wouldn’t disappear.
“How you know I’m rich?”
Lana huffs. “I looked you up Paige Bueckers.”
Paige’s knees nearly give out at the sound of her name, low and heavy on Lana’s lips. She swallows, tightening her grip. Paige needed more of that, more than she’d needed anything in her life.
“You’re famous,” Lana grins.
“I told you I play,” Paige hums, voice weaker than she’d like.
For a moment they stare at one another, eyes flicking back and forth to take everything in. Men walk by, heads turning for Lana but her gaze is locked on something much different.
“You came back,” she blurts out, bringing a hand to Paige’s chest. Whether to keep her at arms length or just to feel her, Paige can’t quite tell.
“It was a good dance,” Paige mumbles, ears burning up. “And my friend wanted to see Lexi again.”
Lana tilts her head. As if she knows Paige better than that.
“That’s all you came back for?”
Paige swallows. Before she can answer Lana takes a step back, hip leaning to the side.
“Lexi’s been talking about your friend a lot.”
“That’s cute,” Paige replies.
Shaking her head, Lana looks to the floor. “No, it’s silly.” She pulls out a baby pink lipgloss from her bra and puts it on perfectly without a mirror. “Do you want your ugly hat back?”
“Yo, it’s not ugly,” Paige laughs.
Lana looks at her pointedly. “It’s ugly. But you’re famous so I guess you have to hide somehow.”
Hooking a finger on the belt hoop of her shorts, Lana drags Paige after her into the familiar tunnel lined with doors. Now that she was with Lana, Paige felt much more grounded to reality. Like she had purpose again. Or maybe she had sobered up.
“Come in,” Lana orders, closing the door behind them, The room is exactly how she remembered, what she had been fantasising of - and with the door closed it seemed the tension building up in Paige barely fit inside the walls.
“Sit down Paige Bueckers.”
Spellbound, Paige leans into the leather couch, legs spread and stomach flipping as she watches Lana turn on some R&B song she could faintly recognise. She stares, head tilted to the side. The girl is folded over a locked drawer in the mirrored sidetable, pulling bills out from her boots and bra. Something about it seemed intimate in a way Paige couldn’t explain - the mundane nature of the act.
“I have your hat,” Lana says, pointing to the chair in the corner where it sits waiting.
“You want me to put it on?”
Lana looks over her shoulder, brows furrowed. A clear no.
“You look better without it,” she states, nearing a compliment. “You want a drink? Or something else?”
Paige knew what she wanted. Something she didn’t get last time. She can’t even remember the last time a girl took over her existence this way - entirely.
“A drink’s good,” Paige murmurs, throat drying at the sight of Lana’s bare legs.
“Just a moment,” Lana mutters, digging through the drawer until she pulls out a small ziplock bag filled with a pale powder. Paige freezes, watching the girl set it down on the table. She shifts on the seat, too slow to look away when Lana’s turning back.
“Do you want some?” She asks.
Shaking her head, Paige looks at the hands on her lap. “No, thanks.”
There’s a beat where neither of them move. Lana huffs.
“You’re judging.”
“No,” Paige lifts her eyes back up. “No, just… Not used to it.”
Lana snorts. “You can’t tell me you’re famous and never see coke.”
She’s right. Paige had seen it plenty of times - more so since she came to the WNBA. But she tries her best to stay out of it. It wasn’t something she had any type of interest in. Her body was the machine she worked with - she had to keep it oiled up. Surely Lana knew better than to destroy hers.
“Do you want me to not do it in front of you?” Lana asks.
“Go ahead,” Paige says, smiling reassuringly. The thought of Lana leaving her sight was much worse.
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
With that, Lana spills some of the powder all over the table, creating thin white lines out of it. Curiosity takes over, Paige’s eyes locked on the methodical way the girl prepares it, rolling up a bill and leaning down. It’s not like in the movies - there’s no big reaction, no throwing her head back in ecstasy. It’s oddly controlled, the way she comes back up with her eyes shut and pressing on her nostrils. Still, it’s the most real reaction she’s seen on Lana’s face since she’s known her.
Just as methodically, Lana cleans it up and shuts the bag deep in the drawer, back turned on Paige as she prepares a drink. Ice, vodka, some sort of soda and a lime. The ice tinkles against the glass as she stirs it, taking a sip before bringing it to Paige.
“Thank you,” Paige hums, a million questions stirring in her head. The cushions of the sofa shift from the weight of Lana tucking herself in the corner, nearly black eyes looking over to Paige.
“Drink,” Lana orders.
Paige looks at her, bringing the glass to her lips before setting it back down on her lap.
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Do what?” Lana asks absentmindedly, brushing her fingers through her tangled hair.
“That.” Paige nods towards the mirrored table. Lana doesn’t even look.
“Oh, right,” she murmurs, fixing her bracelets. “Sometimes.”
Paige blinks her eyes away and finally takes a sip.
“You been doing this for long? Dancing?”
“A while.”
Needy for more, Paige shifts her weight a little closer towards her.
“How long you been in Dallas?” She asks.
Lana shrugs. “A few years.” Another vague answer.
“You ever thought about doing somethin’ else?”
“Ugh,” Lana groans, throwing her head back. “This is so boring. Questions are boring.”
Before getting the chance to say sorry, Lana’s turning up the song and walking towards the pole in the corner of the room. She swings around it, her hair flying after her long and beautiful.
“Don’t you wanna do something else?” Lana asks, landing on the floor on her knees with the pole between her legs. “Don’t you want a dance?”
“Sure,” Paige says suddenly flustered, downing the drink quickly. It’s much stronger than she’s used to. Lana crawls her way towards the couch, bruises already forming on her knees. There’s a look in her eyes Paige can barely steer away from. Tattooed in her brain already. Still the frustration eats away at her - the mystery of who Lana might be behind all this.
“I just wanna know you,” the words come out slurred, the booze giving her audacity beyond the boundaries. Lana slows down, achingly making her way to the blonde, running her hands up from Paige’s ankles towards her knees, and finally thighs.
Inching her way upwards from the floor, Paige leans forward this time. Eager to feel Lana’s front press against hers, for her to cover the shirt in glitter and perfume. The girl smiles, leaning in and breathing heavy and hot into Paige’s ear.
“You don’t pay enough,” Lana whispers, the words lingering on her tongue. A shutter runs through Paige as she tilts her head back to look at her this close. Lana’s mascara is smudged under her eyes, but she doesn’t look tired - maybe from the coke. She smells faintly of cologne, making Paige’s chest tighten. But her plump lips are slightly parted, tongue darting out to lick over the pink gloss. God, Paige just wanted a taste.
“You look up all your customers?” Paige asks, voice hoarse and eyes heavy.
“No,” Lana shakes her head, her voice softening too to a faint whisper. “Just the interesting ones.”
Paige grins. “I’m interesting?”
“Interesting enough,” Lana hums, finally letting Paige pull her into her lap. She straddles the blond, pressing herself flush against her. “Now tell me, what do you want Paige Bueckers?”
The air sizzles and crackles between them, faces only inches apart. Paige’s big hand roams her thighs unashamed as she gathers the courage to say the words. Lana’s nails graze against the back of her neck as she presses in somehow tighter, so little in Paige’s big arms.
“I’m not a first-timer anymore,” Paige murmurs. It takes a while for the meaning to register with Lana. She bats her eyes, nostrils flaring.
“What about your friends?” Lana whispers. Paige isn’t quite sure if she’s teasing or genuinely trying to talk her out of it.
“They’ll be fine. I’ma just tell them I went home.”
Lana still stares, studying every microexpression. Like she’s not quite sure.
“You know I got the money, Lana.”
Something in the girl shifts causing her to get up, pulling Paige with her too.
“So there’s a motel we can get to through the back that we use, you just need to get your things, phone and stuff and wait for me there, got it?”
Lana’s pushing the hat from before on Paige’s head, rushing her out the door. It’s all so fast Paige can barely comprehend - the way she’s handed back her phone, Lana wrapped in a fur coat and a vape between her lips already waiting and dragging her through rooms she’d never seen into an alley and again into a strange building from a side entrance. The alcohol rushing through Paige’s veins makes her nothing but a passive passenger of the situation, like watching it unfold from the sideline. All of it seems so automatic from Lana. Practiced. Paige doesn’t really breathe until they get to the room - dingy and dark and not even close to what she’d actually want to give Lana.
“I have some rules,” Lana states, throwing the fur coat carelessly over a dusty chair in the corner. The coat was probably the most expensive thing she owned, yet she regarded it with such disinterest it almost came off as distaste. “Come here.”
Paige, still stuck by the door, is led again by her belt loops to the bed, sat down by the smaller girl. Lana grabs a creaky, wooden chair from a vanity and brings it over by the bed, opposite to Paige. Sitting on it, she puffs her vape before putting it down on her lap. The smell of strawberries is overtly sweet, but at least it covers the cologne scent coming off her.
“I’m paid in advance, I recommend one hour to be enough for someone with no experience. This is your first time, yes?”
Paige’s eyes are locked on Lana’s chest, threatening to spill over the bodysuit from the way she’s leaning forward. Playfully, Lana brings her fingertip to the blonde’s chin lifting her gaze.
“Focus Paige Bueckers. Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Paige swallows, stomach stirring. There should be guilt, fear even. Paige can’t feel any of it. “It’s my first time.”
“Good,” Lana tuts, dropping her hand. “So no extras for first-timers either.”
“Extras?” Paige asks.
Lana shrugs. “Fetish stuff, no rope or slapping or whatever. No butt stuff.”
Paige’s ears heat up hearing how casually she spoke of such things. Everything about it was as unsexy as it could be, but Paige still felt the dampness in her boxers grow.
“Got it,” Paige murmurs. Lana looks at her for a while.
“We should have a safeword. If either one wants to stop,” she leans back, crossing her legs.
Paige chews on her cheek, trying to get her brain to operate normally. “Cherries?”
Lana smiles. “Cherries.”
The smile drops a little too fast, Lana’s dark eyes studying every inch of Paige. So much it’s making her uneasy.
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
A little offended, Paige huffs. “What makes you think I can’t?”
“I just get a feeling from you,” Lana hums, puffing her vape. The thick smoke fills the air between them, blurring her outline.
“A bad feeling?”
“Not bad,” Lana answers. “I’m not sure.”
Paige hesitates. “I wouldn’t do anything to you.”
“I know that,” Lana replies right away. “It’s not a feeling like that.”
“It can, just be a lot, okay? So if you need to stop, let me know.”
Paige grins. “You sure think highly of yourself.”
Lana winks, an easy grin growing on her face too. “I’m a professional.”
Paige’s gaze drops to her mouth where her lips glisten. Soon she’d know what they taste like, what the weight of them feels against her mouth. It’s embarrassing the things she would do just for that.
“Okay,” Lana stands up. “I shower first. Then you shower after me while I get everything ready.” She doesn’t ask for Paige’s opinion, it’s simply how things are done. How she’s always done them.
“Right,” Paige says, her stare following the girl shredding jewellery all over and finally disappearing into the bathroom. She considers digging her phone out. She’s not drunk enough. The guilt of the sight of the notifications would eat her alive. Instead, she lies down on the bed, feet hanging off the edge and listening to the hum of the shower, imagining the water dripping all over Lana’s body.
She’s done quickly. After all, she’s a professional. Soon she emerges in a baby pink silk robe and bare foot holding a bag full of lotions and perfume. No more smelling like cologne. The relief of it releases the tension Paige has been holding, softening her shoulders at last. Her eyes wander the way the silk clings to her damp skin, tightened around her waist to give her shape. Catching her stares, Lana giggles and grabs Paige’s chin.
“Go shower or I’ll start without you.”
It’s enough to get Paige scrambling, unbuttoning her shirt before even reaching the bathroom. It’s already humid and hot, steam covering the mirror under the harsh, fluorescent light. Paige should be tired, but the adrenaline courses through her like before a big game. All her senses seem heightened. The water feels too hot. The air too thick. The thought of Lana out there getting herself ready just for her making her woozy.
When she comes out Lana is sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone like a friend she might have over laid out on the couch. Except Lana’s barely covered by the robe, the lazy knot letting it fall off her chest showing a pale pink lacy bra. The scent of her perfume overpowers the dingy smell of the carpet. For a second Lana’s completely unguarded, chewing on her bottom lip until she notices Paige standing there, in her shorts and a sports bra, holding her shirt awkwardly.
“Are you done?” Lana asks, putting her phone screen down on the nightstand and sitting up, tightening the rope around her. Paige nods, throwing the shirt over the pile of fur on the chair. There was still some glitter on Lana’s oiled up skin from the bodysuit and the boots that had dug into her calves. Now she was barefoot, white pedicured toes sitting pretty at the foot of the bed. Paige liked this sight much more.
Lana’s brown eyes seem a little more sober as she gets up and takes slow, quiet steps towards Paige on the beige carpet.
“Still sure?” Lana asks quietly, hips swaying as her finger slips into Paige’s belt loop.
“Yes,” Paige answers, feeling the girl yank her closer. The air shifts the moment Lana sits Paige down on the foot of the bed, undoing the messy knot of the robe.
“I have one more rule,” she hums, brushing her hair all to one side.
“What’s that?” Paige asks, goosebumps running down every finger and toe, eyes locked on the dainty hands working on the tie.
“I don’t kiss on the mouth,” Lana says, finally letting the robe fall open revealing a teasing sliver of her abdomen. It’s almost good enough to get Paige to ignore the words.
“Wh- what?” Paige stutters. Her eyes flicker back up to the girl’s face. All she’d been thirsting for tonight was a taste of Lana’s lips. She couldn’t bear the thought of getting everything but the one thing she needed. “I’ll pay extra.”
Lana grins at her desperation, the sense of knowing she was in control with someone who wanted her this bad.
“No kissing,” Lana repeats, bringing a hand to Paige’s hair and undoing the slicked back bun. The blonde locks fall down to her shoulders, wavy from being tied up all day. “Tell me our safeword again.”
Paige’s heart gallops against her ribcage, the mere feel of Lana’s nails against her scalp brushing through her hair making her crazy already.
“Cherries,” she struggles out, closing her legs to cross them for any relief. Lana chuckles, her hands slipping down to her knees and pushing them back open.
Dripping with restraint and control, everything Paige does not have, the silk slips off her body. Her skin is nearly translucent, pale and milky as she climbs in to straddle Paige. The mattress dips with her weight.
The air heats up, enveloping Paige with the fruity smell of her perfume. She can’t help herself, bringing her hands to Lana’s cold thighs.
“I can kiss you other places tho, right?” It almost comes off a plead as her hands rub up and down, muscles tensing with the feel of soft skin.
Lana hums with permission, rolling her hips into the girl underneath. Paige is glad she doesn’t have a dick now, because she knows she’d be completely bricked.
With a sigh of relief Paige’s lips attack Lana’s neck, leaving a trail of spit all the way to her pulse point. She feels the blood rushing underneath her lips, fighting the urge to bite.
“No marks,” Lana says softly, continuing to brush through Paige’s hair.
“Mm,” Paige murmurs, kissing along her jaw, nuzzling her nose into the delicate skin - determined to find the spot for Lana, the one that made her melt. Before she can, Lana yanks on Paige’s hair to kiss her neck instead. Paige feels like putty, listening to the sounds of her wet mouth wandering along her skin, button nose brushing against her ear. The jolts rush straight to the core, Paige’s hand squeezing Lana’s thighs tighter in response.
Eager for more, Paige’s nostrils flare as she runs her hand along Lana’s spine. It’s there where she feels something. A goosebump, just one, and then all of her back at once. It’s enough to give Paige the confidence to pull Lana back by her hair to work on her perfumed skin again.
“Mmm,” Lana moans, controlled and nice - but not real. Something that maybe the men in these rooms accepted. But not Paige. Finally, tilting her head Paige reaches a spot behind Lana’s ear, burying her mouth in the tiny space. Whatever she does seems to work, for the girl sitting over her trembles and lets out a laboured breath.
Paige is pushed back by a hand on her chest until she hits the hard mattress, dragging down Lana with her. The taste of her skin is lovely, but it’s not enough. In the midst of the heat, her lips chase after Lana’s. They hover over, breathing in her air until she moves away, kissing along Paige’s ear. It seemed like a cruel joke, there were no rules with Lana unless it came to the things Paige wanted.
Disappointed, Paige tests her again. A slow drag of her nail up Lana’s spine leaving goosebumps in its trail. A stuttering breath in her ear. She would find all her weak spots eventually. She could feel her own composure slipping - all she wanted was to see where the performance ended and the pleasure began. Paige was determined to find that point.
Lana shifts her weight to the side, a hand running down the middle of Paige’s torso, slipping underneath her shorts. In a panic, Paige reaches down and grabs the wrist, ears burning.
“What’s wrong?” Lana asks, her chest heaving.
Paige hesitates before replying. “I don’t like to be touched.” She drags the hand out, placing it carefully on her stomach.
Lana sits up on top of Paige, leaving the blonde lying flat underneath her.
“At all?”
She can’t look straight in Lana’s eyes, opting out for scanning across the crackling paint of the stained ceiling.
“Down there,” Paige admits, embarrassed.
For a moment Lana stares down, her weight resting on Paige’s thighs, eyes flicking back and forth till her brows tilt to a deep furrow.
“Then what are you paying me for?” She asks, confused.
Paige’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, throat itching uncomfortably. “Uh, I’m more of a giver.”
Lana snorts. “So you pay me money just so you can what? Get me off?”
Heat inches its way from her neck to her cheeks when Paige shrugs. “Well, yeah.”
“You pay me money and get nothing in return?”
Paige sits up, her front itching for the heat of Lana’s skin against hers. She wraps a big hand around Lana’s waist, pulling her in by her back.
“Oh, I get plenty in return,” Paige murmurs, lips wrapping around her collarbone. Another shiver. Lana can’t help her curiosity - it was rare for a customer to actually intrigue her at this point.
“You are very strange,” Lana mutters, not as authoritative as before.
“And you’re really sexy,” Paige admits, tilting her head up to look at her. Under the harsh light that doesn’t blur a single detail, Lana’s cheeks flash pink only for a moment. Paige takes the sign, flipping the girl with a thud onto the creaking bed.
“That’s better,” Paige hums, hovering over her.
“Is it?” Lana grins, the cross on Paige’s neck hanging against her burning chest.
“Mhm,” she replies, kissing the sweet spot behind her ear again. Her slick lips graze against her earlobe, soft and hot. “So, you gonna let me fuck you?”
“Yes,” there’s a strange lilt to Lana’s voice, making it gentler than before. The tension in Paige reaches a boiling point, her patience long overdue with the permission. Her rough hands graze over Lana’s ribcage, feeling each bone like she might never again. The laboured breaths hide something Lana doesn’t want to reveal, the arousal dripping in her core.
It takes all of Paige’s self-control not to be rough and fast but letting the moment linger. She needed her soaked, she needed to know Lana was affected by her. That she wasn’t just a customer. That as much as Paige had been thinking about Lana, the girl had been thinking of her too.
“Spread your legs,” she mumbles, kissing the top of her bra. The girl shifts, the rough cotton of the blanket underneath with her. Paige glances down, watching the pale pink lace barely cover her up. Biting her lip so as to not make a sound, she drags her hand across her stomach down to the thin fabric.
“Oh,” Lana’s eyes shut tight, voice slightly flat. Maybe the men loved to pay for this - a woman getting off on the least amount of effort. However for Paige, this was the opposite of what she wanted. She wanted the real her. She just had to find a weak spot.
Hooking a finger around the band of the panties, she pulls them down slow and deliberate. Pulling back her blue eyes study Lana’s face, finally getting to look at her up close, undisturbed. The slight freckles on her cheeks, her dark brows and the nearly invisible beauty spot by her mouth. The slight gap between her front teeth beneath the prominent cupid’s arc. As if sensing her stare, Lana’s eyes flutter open meeting her gaze.
“That feels good,” Lana hums as Paige’s hands squeeze the insides of her thighs. But her breathing is too steady, there’s no squirming or arching of any kind. Suddenly, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand straight to her core.
Paige’s composure stutters when she feels her, the wet folds and the silky skin.
“Oh God, yes,” Lana moans, shutting her eyes again. “I need your fingers inside.”
“You do?” Paige asks, leaning back to watch her fingertips glisten in the light.
“God, yes please,” she groans. It’s too loud, too much. Paige’s fingers hover over the bud at her core, circling it gently. Another loud moan.
“Shh,” Paige hums, leaning down and kissing her ear in an attempt to soothe her. It doesn’t work, Lana won’t let go of the performance - too focused on every sound, every breath, every twitch being perfect. It’s what most people paid her for.
“Slow down ma,” Paige whispers, licking her lips. “Can I try something?”
Confusion washes over Lana, who looks so gentle and vulnerable suddenly underneath Paige. She runs a hand across Lana’s jaw softly stroking before sitting up and scooting over to the headboard.
“C’mere,” Paige taps the spot between her legs. “Back on me.”
Lana wasn’t used to taking such commands, she wasn’t used to much of any of this. But Paige was a customer - a good one. It was Lana’s job to make her happy no matter what.
Suspiciously, Lana crawls to the spot between Paige’s legs. The skin of Lana’s back burns hot against hers, tanned and glowing from the sun. Paige’s fingers inch along her back to the clasp of her bra, pulling it off her slowly. The AC made it too cold causing Lana’s nipples to harden immediately.
“Just lean on me,” Paige whispers, pulling the girl flush against her. “Try and stay quiet.”
Her hands are wrapping around Lana, grazing against the small, perky peaks on her chest. She circles the nipple, breathing hot air along the back of her neck. Paige’s legs wrap around Lana’s ankles, pulling them wide apart. Just the thought of what a sight she must be right now is making the air too heavy to breathe.
Both of Paige’s hands caress every part she can reach, all but one. With each stroke the girl seems to melt further into her, her cold skin pressing closer. It’s not enough. Paige’s fingers stretch further to her knees, slowly trickling down to the silky skin of her inner thighs. The moment they close in on her core, Lana’s hips buck subconsciously. There.
Trying again, Paige’s fingertips play along the sensitive skin right by her center. A breath that stutters, just a tiny bit, and quickly regains its natural rhythm. Glad Lana can’t see the stupid smile on her face, she lets herself finally where she’s been wanting to go for far too long.
“Mh,” Lana hums, clearing her throat the moment Paige’s fingers dip into her folds. She’s soaked, dripping onto the cheap sheet underneath them. Achingly slow, Paige feels her pussy out, imagining it in her head as wet as it feels. She kisses Lana’s shoulder in an attempt to kill the groan threatening in her throat. The girl in her arms goes stiff in her muscles, fighting the inevitable submission.
“Relax,” Paige murmurs hoarsely. “Don’t gotta show off with me.” Her free hand squeezes Lana’s breast, pinching the nipple between her fingertips.
“Mhm,” Lana nods, too weak to speak as Paige plays with her pussy so slow there’s a tremble in her legs she hasn’t felt in a while. Her long digits gather the wetness, bringing it to her clit and rubbing sloppy circles slowly, speeding up with each second. Lana’s hips buckle again, back beginning to sweat and stick to the girl behind her.
“Oh God,” Paige hisses to herself, breathing in the scent of Lana’s hair as she feels the wetness spread all over. Unable to control herself she rubs from side to side, sloppy and fast causing Lana’s breath to stutter and a small, weak sound to come out of her mouth.
“Does that feel good, ma?” She whispers into her ear, taking the earlobe between her teeth and pulling.
“Yes,” Lana is breathless, chest heaving unevenly. Her hands that have dug into the blanket underneath drag to Paige’s thighs, squeezing the muscles. There had never been a moment where she’d felt so vulnerable with a client before. Where the pleasure threatened to expose the performance. The line of it feels blurry now, a deep throbbing inside her risking for her to lose the one thing she needed to keep - control.
“That’s it,” Paige groans, reaching her other hand down and spreading her wide apart. “I know that pussy gotta be so pretty.”
A whimper involuntarily spills out, nails digging into Paige’s skin enough to leave marks. Her cheek presses tightly into the back of Lana’s head as she glances over, watching the girl’s back arch as she rubs tighter now - more precise and focused. Lana begins to tremble with breathy, high-pitched sounds so sexy Paige thinks she might cum already. She groans into the girl’s ear, eyes falling shut from the feel of her soaked cunt.
“Oh-” Lana cries out, suddenly tensing again. Her legs tremble, threatening to shut. But Paige’s ankles don’t budge, keeping her wide open. The back of Lana’s head tilts against Paige’s shoulder, eyes rolling back into her head. The look of it alone causes Paige to feel herself throbbing. There’s no performance, no bullshit. Paige knew better than anyone when a woman was about to cum. The relief of knowing she’s the one to make this happen for Lana felt like a victory. No one else. Her.
“Oh, sh-” she can’t even finish a sentence, the pressure of Paige’s fingers flicking back and forth bringing her to her peak. Paige doesn’t need to ask and she doesn’t need to say, the arch of her back saying enough when Lana finally spills over the edge, bucking her hips uncontrollably. Paige moans with her as if she’s getting off too, the real sounds of her breaking voice music to her ears.
“Fuck,” Lana huffs, eyes shut tight and clammy body flush against Paige. There’s a proud grin on Paige’s face that she hides, still rubbing her pussy to memorise every inch of it.
“Atta girl,” Paige praises, nuzzling her nose into the bare skin of her back. “Did that feel good?”
“Compliments are extra,” Lana snaps back, her voice a trembling mess. Paige grins, breathing into Lana’s ear. She doesn’t need words to know.
“Ion think my hour is up.”
Glancing at the clock on the wall she’s proven correct, still half an hour until she’d have to give Lana up. The girl doesn’t answer, still trying to recover in her arms.
“Maybe I can ask sum questions. Bet you’re more honest now.”
“I am not, Paige Bueckers,” Lana huffs, shifting weakly.
Grinning, Paige whispers into the girl’s ear.
“Can I eat your pussy then?”
Lana doesn’t answer right away, sitting up and combing her fingers through the lengths of her hair that had become more of a birdsnest.
To push her a little, Paige reaches and scratches Lana’s back. Like a cat she arches into it. Really Paige wanted to taste her, but more than anything she wanted a chance to see her up close. She needed to know her, every inch.
“Or is that extra too?” Paige asks, in her element now that she regained control.
“It’s not,” Lana murmurs, glancing over her shoulder. “You don’t need to ask. Most men just take.”
Licking her lips, Paige watches Lana roll over on the bed, laying down naked under the unforgiving light. Somehow she was still perfect.
“I’m not a man,” Paige reminds her, watching the girl’s body hungrily.
Lana grins. “I like it more when clients don’t ask,” she teases.
“Noted,” Paige huffs and suddenly pins the girl tightly against the bed, it creaking with the shifting weight.
With an open mouth she leaves a trail of spit along Lana’s neck, biting on one of her breasts before latching to the dark pink nipple stark against the pale skin. Lana shudders, quickly losing the act again. Whatever control she had tried to gather melts away as quickly as it built up. A smugness washes over Paige.
Kissing downwards, Lana’s legs open on their own by some instinct. At her hip, Paige bites gently before running her lips down her thigh, past her knee, to her calf and ankle until she drops down on her knees onto the floor, pulling the smaller girl to the edge of the bed with ease. Lana jumps, grabbing the sheet with the sudden movement. The carpet burns against Paige’s skin but she doesn’t care, eye to eye finally with what she wanted the most.
“I was right,” Paige groans, wetness spilling directly into her boxers.
“About what?” Lana asks, letting Paige maneuver her legs over her shoulders.
Paige grins, looking up with eyes as dark as Lana’s. “You got a pretty pussy.”
At last she leans in, licking along to the right of Lana’s slit, then to the left of it. Her legs tremble again, rolling her hips in desperation.
“Chill,” Paige orders, only frustrating the girl more.
“Paige Bueckers,” Lana challenges, lifting her head off to yank on Paige’s hair. Before she can, her wrists are pinned down by her side.
“I said chill,” she says darker now, kissing just an inch to the top of her clit. She’s dripping visibly now, a drop spilling out just to tease Paige. Whatever composure Paige hoped she had is gone. Darting out her tongue, she licks along Lana’s entrance where the wetness is gathering. She gets a quiet gasp in return and Lana’s hands digging into her head.
“Keep the hands off,” Paige murmurs, pushing them away.
“Don’t tell me what to d-”
Lana can’t finish, Paige spreading her lips apart and kissing along her folds, her tongue not wasting any drop. A choked moan makes its way out of Lana’s throat. Paige’s mouth is warm and slick, face getting buried into her cunt. With a struggle Lana forces her eyes open, catching the sight of the blonde between her legs moaning into her pussy like she’s close herself.
Paige’s eyes roll back in ecstasy, noticing the struggling Lana gripping onto the violet sheets beneath her. Paige barely notices the way her own legs tense and grow tired from drowning in Lana’s taste, circling her puffy clit with her tongue.
“Mmh,” Lana whimpers, biting on her lower lip to keep quiet. She’s bright red and shaking, rolling her hips forward. It’s not enough, Lana is squirming so bad suddenly she flips onto her stomach nearly rolling off the bed. Paige dodges her legs last second, too turned on to be amused by Lana’s head hanging off the edge.
The girl whines at the loss of contact, bucking her ass into the air. The sight of her bent over the foot of the bed makes Paige groan out loud. This was better than any dream or fantasy that she had dared to have.
Throat drying Paige leans back in, kneading her ass as she laps her tongue against the soaked folds at her core. With a gasp, Lana grabs hold of the blanket, not bothering to lift her head back onto the bed. Paige is completely buried in her, sucking on her clit while her sharp nose protrudes the tight, pulsing entrance.
Lana’s completely at Paige’s mercy, pushing back against her face. The sounds coming out of her mouth make Paige’s core throb, the knot deep inside her beginning to tighten. It wasn’t common for her to cum like this, just from giving. But something about this girl made it possible, a dizzying wave of ecstasy pulsing through her.
“Say my name,” Paige moans against her cunt. “C’mon, say it.”
Lana fights it - or tries to. It doesn’t get very far, the sound of her name coming out with a broken moan.
“Paige.”
In that moment she wins. She knows it. It feels just like the standing ovation after a game that went overtime. It's what does it, causing the knot to snap in Paige as she caresses Lana’s thighs and dives in deeper. The moans of her climax vibrate into Lana’s core, causing the girl to fall apart too.
-
Usually winning feels better afterwards. This doesn’t feel like the victory she wanted, there’s no closeness or a sense of a wall crumbling down. Not a word exchanged since the moan still echoing in her head. Just a silence until small feet tiptoed to the shower, leaving Paige in bed with a throbbing headache and a nauseating stirring in her stomach, the guilt finally catching up with her now that there’s no distraction but her and her stupid head. The hour of owning Lana wasn’t enough - it could never be.
“You’re quiet,” Lana points out, back turned on Paige as she gets dressed shower-fresh.
“So are you,” Paige answers blankly.
Another beat of silence. Lana pulls a cropped white t-shirt over her head to pair with the tight jeans she’s wearing. It was odd seeing her dressed so casual - a girl you might walk by on a busy street and not note as special.
“I like to shower right away,” Lana explains, turning to Paige. Her eyes study the girl, the sunken expression and the way she fidgets with her zipper.
It’s not an act she likes to repeat. Matter of fact she avoids any sort of thing like this. When the hour was up that’s where it ended. She could go home and stop being Lana. But the confusion in Paige’s blue eyes is so pitiful she can’t help but bend a rule or two. So, the girl crawls back into bed, pressing her leg into Paige’s. She feels the weight of it pressing back.
“This is nice,” Lana blurts out clumsily, reaching over to the silver cross dangling from her neck. “Are you religious?”
Paige clears her throat, turning to the girl beside her. Even with all the smudged makeup and messy hair she still took her breath away, in such a mundane way it broke Paige’s heart.
“Yeah, my faith is really important,” Paige answers, studying the girl. Lana quirks a brow with a smile she tries to hide.
“What?”
“You’re a lesbian. That’s not a sin?” Lana asks, dropping the cold metal.
“Not with the God I believe in,” Paige explains. “A lot of it is just stuff people made up to be assholes.”
Lana snorts, looking away.
“What? You don’t believe?” Paige questions.
“No,” there’s no hesitation, no softening of the blow Paige feels. She couldn’t even imagine that, a world without God.
“In anything?”
Lana shrugs, grabbing the vape from her pocket and puffing. “Not really. I think it’s silly.”
Paige’s jaw tightens. Still she reaches over to puff the vape too. Blowing out thick smoke, she leans back, looking over at the slightly flickering overhead light.
“I feel like life is too much of a blessing for there not to be someone looking out for us.”
“I’m sure it’s easy for someone like you to believe,” Lana tuts her tongue.
“Easy?” Paige sits up, feeling frustration tightening her shoulders. “It’s never been easy.”
They share a look that seems to stretch longer than necessary. Finally Lana looks to the dusty curtains.
“If there is a God he’s not good,” Lana says, like she knows this as sure and steady as the air she breathes.
“Don’t say that,” Paige argues, hating the way the tension spills out with her words. A shrill comparison to the cool, monotone voice.
“There’s so much suffering and war and death. My parents’ home is being bombed by Russia right now, killing kids. There’s no way that a God who lets that happen-” she takes a breath. “Who lets innocent people suffer and still gives so much to some people,” Lana points towards Paige. “A God like that can not be good.”
“That’s not how it works tho, you don’t know what I’ve be-”
The buzz of a phone cuts through the air, silencing both of them. Instinctively, Paige looks towards the table where hers sits far away in another world. But Lana’s already digging hers out of her pocket and rising from the bed.
“Hey,” she answers, all the temper from her previous speech gone. Paige’s chest rises with the frustration rushing through her. How could Lana get it so wrong? She chews on the inside of her cheek, focusing on her breath. Deep down Paige would be lying if she said she never wondered about some of those things herself.
“Okay, I’ll see you. Goodnight.”
Lana hangs up, grabbing her fur coat clumsily, letting Paige’s shirt fall off onto the carpet. A sickening dread fills Paige’s existence watching the girl pack her things. For a moment she had dared to dream they’d stay in this room for the night at least.
“I should get going. You should go home too Paige,” there’s nothing behind the words, no emotion to cling to.
“Right,” Paige mumbles. Sensing the disappointment, Lana turns back to watch the girl leaning back on the bed, rubbing the cross between her fingertips. It’s not just pity entirely when she walks over and brushes her fingers through the blonde lengths.
“I like your hair like this more,” Lana mumbles, letting her touch linger.
Paige meets her gaze, trying not to let it show how badly she’s affected. Sighing, Lana leans down. In a moment somewhere between the alternate universe of The Lonestar, and the real world waiting outside, she presses her lips against Paige’s forehead with a soft smack.
“I’ll see you, okay?” Lana hums, not giving Paige a moment to utter a single word out before she’s slipping out the door, gone like a ghost. Only the burn of her lips proof of last night being reality.
Paige is not sure how long she sits, replaying the moments in her head trying to make sure which parts were performance, genuine, real or a fantasy. It seemed impossible to separate them all. Brain all tangled up she finally gets up to put on her shirt, buttoning each button with tired hands and eyes locked on the phone still lying flat against the maple. She’s almost expecting it to buzz but it doesn’t, nausea gnawing at the back of Paige’s throat. She knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. Reaching for the device, she spots a white tissue folded neatly underneath.
If you ever need a break from being famous
- Lana
The tangled handwriting spells out a phone number. Even if Paige wasn’t sure where the club ended and the real world began, she had at least done something right. It wasn’t just a number, it was access. It was the fear of her disappearing forever gone with a single note. Maybe not a win, but like getting to the free throw line.
-
Paige’s key fumbles in the lock. Somehow she always picked the wrong one first. Finally finding the perfect match she slides it in, giving the slight push the door always needed. She shuts it quietly behind her, glancing into the kitchen. The clock on the oven reads 5:32 am. She can’t remember the last time she was out that long - maybe the time they won a National Championship? There hadn’t been many victories of that caliber to celebrate since.
The apartment is pitch black, perfect temperature to Paige’s liking. She kicks off her shoes, sobering up with each step she takes. The silence is an eerie backdrop to the thumping of her heart as she makes her way deeper. The fatigue of the day was only hitting her now that she was home, drenched in the smell of clean cotton and folded laundry and the cookies neatly piled into a jar. Suddenly starved, Paige grabs one letting the flavours ease the rumbling of her stomach.
With the cookie between her teeth, Paige reaches over to shut the jar when the lid slips from her hands, hitting the floor with a loud slam. Cringing, Paige tiptoes over to grab it.
“Mh, Paige?”
A gentle sound emerges from the couch beyond the kitchen island. Cursing to herself, Paige brings the cookie down from her lips back to the counter. She hears the flick of the light switch by the couch before the hue of the table lamp warms up the darkness.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Paige mutters. Her voice is breaking with each word, strained from the long day.
There’s shifting and long arms stretching before the tired face emerges from behind the back. Grace covers her face as she yawns, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“What time is it?” The girl murmurs, still in her day clothes. Like she had no intent of falling asleep at all.
“Late,” Paige answers, looking everywhere but her. Grace bats her long lashes, chasing the blue eyes. There’s no use.
“I’m sorry for today, I was just really tired from work and I think I’m getting my period,” Grace says.
Paige’s eyes remain on the floor of their living room, throat tightening as the woman gets up.
“I made cookies,” she forces a smile. She can’t hide behind it, her voice has always been her weak spot.
“They’re good,” Paige murmurs, shifting her weight back and forth. One more word and she thinks she might be sick. “Thanks.”
“I used your mom’s recipe,” Grace leans against the armrest.
“I noticed,” Paige mutters, biting her lower lip. She could still smell the club on her. The booze. Lana.
Grace hesitates, like she’s too scared to say the wrong thing.
“I waited for you to come home.”
Paige sighs, rubbing the ache on her forehead away. “I told you not to. You knew I was going out.”
They both let the silence stretch. Grace swallows. “Did you have fun at least?” The words tremble.
“Yeah… yea,” Paige nods her head, still looking to the floor. Carefully with slow steps, Grace walks over in the socks too big on her feet borrowed from Paige, bringing a hand to the blonde’s face.
“I missed you,” Grace hums. “I really did baby.”
She’s close, so close she might easily smell Lana’s perfume or more on the blonde. With panic, Paige backs away, beginning to pull off clothes all over the floor.
“I need to shower,” she murmurs, slipping into the bathroom leaving the wide eyed girl behind.
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