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Cosimo Galluzzi
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@peanutjelly67
------------------Masterlist--------------------
Welcome to Masterlist
This is where I'll post my projects. I hope you enjoy reading my work as much as I love writing them.
The war between us ( chapter 17)
AN: I'm gonna be honest, this was rushed, but I hope y'all like it and ignore any grammar mistakes. I'll edit it later.
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Film sessions always make the room feel smaller than it actually is.
The lights were off except for the projector glowing against the wall, throwing blue light across everyone’s faces while Coach Harrison paused clips every thirty seconds to yell about block positioning and transition defense. Notre Dame’s offense kept replaying over and over again—fast tempo, aggressive swings, sharp angles.
Usually I liked film.
Usually it was easy to lose myself in volleyball.
Not today.
Today Paige was sitting beside me.
Coach had told us to sit together without thinking twice about it, and now her knee kept brushing mine under the tiny fold-out chairs every time either of us shifted. It wasn’t even intentional. At least I didn’t think it was. But once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop noticing it.
The room smelled faintly like stale popcorn and sweat from practice earlier. Sarah was half-asleep beside Ice in the back row while KK whispered commentary every five seconds like she was secretly assistant coaching. Caroline sat two seats away from me looking way too entertained by my existence.
Meanwhile I was trying not to think about the fact that Paige’s shoulder was practically touching mine.
The projector flickered over her face every time she leaned forward to write notes. She looked focused, serious, completely locked into volleyball like always. Pen moving quickly. Brows slightly furrowed. Legs spread comfortably under the chair without caring who noticed.
I hated how attractive competence was.
Coach paused another clip. “Azzi,” she said sharply. “What’s wrong with the block here?”
I blinked too late.
My brain had been somewhere else entirely.
“The seam’s open,” I answered quickly. “Middle closed too far inside.”
Coach nodded and kept talking.
Beside me, Paige laughed quietly under her breath.
Not enough for anyone else to hear.
Just enough for me.
I nudged her leg lightly with mine under the table before I could stop myself. Her eyes flicked toward me for half a second, surprised, before she looked back at the screen again.
But her mouth twitched slightly.
And suddenly my chest felt too tight.
It was stupid.
Everything lately felt stupid.
The Tennessee game. The locker room after. Waking up in her bed. The fact that now every time she touched me accidentally, my entire nervous system reacted like it had something to prove.
I still didn’t even know what this thing between us was.
Maybe Paige didn’t either.
That somehow made it worse.
Film dragged on forever after that. Notre Dame clips. Defensive schemes. Serve receive adjustments.
I barely absorbed any of it.
Every movement beside me became distracting instead.
Paige reaching for her water bottle.
Paige stretching her legs out under the chairs.
Paige brushing hands with me accidentally when we both reached for the scouting packet at the same time.
Neither of us pulled away immediately.
That part stuck with me most.
Not the touch.
The hesitation after.
Like neither of us wanted to be the first person to move.
By the time film ended, my brain felt scrambled.
Everyone stood slowly, talking over each other as chairs folded shut. KK immediately started arguing with Coach about offensive tempo while Sarah complained dramatically about tomorrow’s conditioning.
Paige stood beside me, sliding her notebook into her bag.
For one second I thought she might say something.
Instead she just glanced at me briefly before walking toward the exit.
And for some reason that tiny moment disappointed me more than it should’ve.
Caroline noticed immediately.
Of course she did.
“You are down catastrophically bad,” she announced the second we got back to the dorm.
I threw my hoodie at her face.
She caught it easily, grinning.
“You looked like you wanted to kiss her during defensive rotations.”
“I was thinking about volleyball.”
“Sure.”
I ignored her and started digging through my closet for sweatpants, but Caroline suddenly sat upright on my bed like she’d been struck by divine inspiration.
“Oh my god,” she breathed. “We should test her.”
I turned slowly.
“That sentence alone should get you arrested.”
But Caroline was already fully committed to the idea.
Apparently the boys basketball team was throwing a massive party for their home opener that night. Apparently the entire athletic department would be there. And apparently Caroline had decided this was the perfect opportunity to “see how Paige reacts.”
Her words. Not mine.
The plan itself was embarrassingly simple.
Wear something revealing.
Flirt with somebody else.
See if Paige gets jealous.
“That’s manipulative,” I said flatly.
“That’s research.”
“You need psychological help.”
“Maybe,” Caroline admitted. “But I’m still right.”
Unfortunately, she probably was.
Which is how I somehow ended up squeezed into the tiniest black dress I’d ever worn in my life.
It barely counted as clothing. Thin straps. Tight fabric. Short enough that I kept tugging it down every five seconds.
“My ass is literally out,” I complained, staring at myself in the mirror.
Caroline looked proud.
“Exactly.”
The party was already packed when we got there.
Music shook the walls hard enough to feel through the floor while athletes crowded every room holding drinks and shouting over each other. Someone nearly crashed into us the second we walked through the door.
And then Paige looked up.
The reaction was immediate.
Her eyes landed on me from across the room and her entire expression changed for half a second before she covered it. Her gaze moved slowly down my body, then snapped back to my face.
The heat that rushed through me from that alone was deeply embarrassing.
Caroline practically vibrated beside me.
“Oh, she HATES this.”
“Shut up.”
But Paige kept looking.
Not constantly.
Just enough.
Enough that I noticed every time.
Enough that my pulse kept climbing higher.
At first I thought maybe that alone would answer the question.
Then a brunette basketball player walked up beside me near the kitchen.
Tall. Pretty. Flirting immediately.
And instead of shutting it down—
I let her stay.
I laughed when she talked. Leaned closer to hear her over the music. Let her hand brush my arm once.
But the entire time I was watching Paige.
Waiting.
And Paige noticed.
I knew she noticed because her posture changed instantly. Something sharper settling into her expression before she abruptly walked across the room toward another girl near the couch.
Blonde.
Pretty.
Clearly interested.
The jealousy hit me so fast it felt humiliating.
Paige leaned casually against the wall beside her, talking quietly while the girl smiled up at her. The girl touched Paige’s forearm at one point and Paige didn’t move away.
But every few seconds Paige looked back at me.
Every single time.
Like she wanted me to see it.
Like this entire thing had turned into a competition without either of us saying it out loud.
The brunette beside me kept talking and I realized I hadn’t heard a word she’d said in several minutes.
Because Paige was laughing now.
And suddenly I couldn’t tell if this experiment was working or ruining me psychologically.
So I drank.
A little at first.
Then more.
Enough that the room started feeling warmer and softer around the edges.
By the time Sarah was half-asleep on the couch beside Ice, I was definitely drunk.
Not blackout drunk.
Just reckless enough that emotions started slipping through easier.
Across the room Paige was still with the blonde girl, but she wasn’t paying attention to her anymore either.
She was watching me.
Still.
Always.
Like no matter who else was in the room, we kept orbiting back toward each other anyway.
It made my chest ache in ways I didn’t fully understand yet.
Caroline eventually appeared beside me and immediately took the cup out of my hand.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re one bad decision away from confessing your feelings in public.”
I laughed harder than I should’ve at that.
Then immediately regretted it because my head spun slightly.
Sarah was basically unconscious by now, curled into Ice’s shoulder mumbling nonsense about serve receive in her sleep.
Caroline sighed dramatically.
“Okay. We’re leaving.”
The second Paige noticed us gathering our things, she started moving toward us automatically.
Like it wasn’t even a decision.
Her eyes landed on me immediately, concern replacing jealousy so fast it almost physically hurt to look at.
Caroline adjusted Sarah against her shoulder before glancing at Paige.
“Help me get them back?” she asked.
Paige nodded instantly.
And then Paige’s hand settled against my waist to steady me.
Warm.
Careful.
Possessive enough that my stomach flipped.
I leaned into her without thinking.
The music still pounded around us. People shouted from the kitchen. Someone dropped a glass somewhere behind us.
But suddenly all I could focus on was Paige touching me.
And the way she looked at me like she was trying very hard not to do something reckless again.
A war between us ( Chapter 16 )
AN: Im sorry for leaving you guys but im back !!!!!
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I wake up before her
It's the first thing that registers in the quiet morning stillness. My eyes adjust slowly to the soft light filtering through the curtains, and then I realize the second thing: she’s still here, peacefully breathing beside me, a comforting presence that makes the world feel a little softer, a little warmer.
Azzi is half-turned on her stomach, her arm casually draped across my bed as if she owns every inch of this space.
It's surprising because just a season ago, she was the one who carefully built invisible walls between us, distance, tension, an invisible net keeping us apart. Every interaction was measured, every step deliberate, designed to keep us separated.
But now, there’s no pillow fortress guarding her, no gap to maintain a safe distance. Instead, there’s just this
her warmth pressed close, the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the undeniable closeness that fills the room with something soft yet electric. It’s a silent declaration, a vulnerability that speaks louder than words ever could. It’s as if all the barriers have melted away, leaving only this raw, beautiful connection between us.
For a second, I let myself look.
Her hair’s a mess, pushed into her face. Her breathing is slow, even. Calm in a way she never is on the court. No edge. No competition.
It’s disorienting.
Because I know what she looks like when she’s locked in. When she’s trying to beat me. When she’s watching me like I’m something to figure out.
This version of her doesn’t feel like my rival.
This version feels—
I cut the thought off before it finished, and that was frustrating. This whole thing feels like a bad idea.
All of this is a bad idea.
I shift slightly, and her eyes open. Of course they do. She has always been like that, quietly aware even when half-asleep. There is a gentle softness in her gaze, but also a quiet strength, as if she never truly lets her guard down.
We look at each other.
No immediate jokes. No arguments. No pretending.
Just quiet.
“You’re staring,” she says, her voice rough from sleep. “You’re in my bed.” “That didn’t bother you last night.”
It should feel like a win, but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s a quiet tension, something unspoken hanging between us.
I push myself up against the headboard, dragging a hand through my hair. “We should probably—” I gesture vaguely between us. “—figure out what that was.”
She sits up slower, back resting against the wall, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
“That,” she repeats.
“Yeah. That.”
There's a pause, stillness that hangs in the air between us. It’s not awkward or forced, but something more delicate, more deliberate.
It feels like a fragile moment held with care, as if both of us are quietly navigating uncharted territory, aware of the weight and meaning behind every breath. It’s a silence filled with unspoken thoughts,
“I remember it,” she says.
My head snaps toward her. “What?”
“Last night,” she clarifies. “I remember choosing it.”
Something tightens in my chest, a sudden beat I can’t ignore. Because that was the one thing I needed, the assurance my heart had been quietly longing for, the comfort it desperately craved but never quite found until now.
“And?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
She shrugs, but it’s not casual. “And I didn’t hate it.”
I let out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh. “High praise.”
“You didn’t either.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
I don’t answer right away.
Because the point is I don’t do this. I don’t blur lines with teammates. I don’t risk the season over something I can’t control.
And I definitely don’t wake up wanting it again.
“We don’t tell anyone,” I say finally.
There it is. The line. The unspoken rule between us.
Azzi studies me for a moment, her eyes searching. She’s not offended. Not surprised. Just quietly thinking, weighing everything in silence. There’s a depth in her gaze, a calm understanding mixed with something more.
“Okay,” she says.
Too easy. Too fast.
That almost annoys me.
“That’s it?” I ask.
“What do you want me to say?”
I don’t know.
Something more. Something that makes this feel less temporary.
I look away. “Nothing.”
The silence settles again, but it feels different this time, heavier, yet somehow softer. Then, beneath the blanket, she gently nudges my foot with hers, breaking the stillness in the smallest, quietest way.
“Your block last night?” she says casually. “On match point.”
I glance back at her. “Yeah?”
“Perfect timing.”
I huff out a small laugh. “You’re complimenting me now?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Your swing in the fifth was reckless,” I shoot back.
She grins slightly. “It scored.”
“It barely cleared the block.”
“It scored.”
I shake my head, but there’s something lighter in my chest now.
This I understand.
This rhythm.
Competition wrapped in something else.
“Get up,” I say, swinging my legs off the bed. “We have a team breakfast.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------The team is already there when we walk in,
of course. KK spots me first, then her eyes shift to Azzi, and back to me. I swear I see the exact moment it clicks. “Oh my god,” she says—too loud, way too loud.
“Shut up,” I snap immediately, sliding into the seat across from her. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You were about to.”
KK leans forward, eyes sharp. “You look different.”
“I look tired.”
“You look—” she gestures vaguely “—different.”
Azzi sits next to me like this is normal.
Like we didn’t just—
Caroline walks in a second later and drops into the seat beside Azzi. She looks between us once, then twice, and then smirks. Great.
I check my phone to make sure today isn't April Fool's. Just making sure. It isn't
“Good morning,” she says, way too casually.
“Morning,” Azzi replies.
Normal.
Too normal.
KK is still staring at me, her eyes never leaving mine. The silence stretches between us, thick with questions. Finally, she breaks it. “Did something happen?” she asks, voice careful but playful
“No,” I say, too quickly, almost too sharply.
Rookie mistake.
She doesn’t buy it. Instead, a knowing grin spreads across her face. “No? Come on, something happened,” she insists, leaning in a little closer, as if trying to unravel the truth behind my guarded words.
“Nothing happened.”
Across from me, Azzi takes a sip of her drink like she’s not involved in this at all.
Traitor.
Caroline leans back in her chair. “Miami must’ve been educational.”
“It was a biology camp,” I say flatly.
“Mm,” she hums. “I’m sure.”
I kick KK under the table.
Hard.
She winces but doesn’t stop smiling.
“I’m just saying,” she continues, lowering her voice slightly, “you two are acting weird.”
“We’re always weird.”
“Not like this.”
Azzi finally glances at me, just for a brief moment, but it is enough to make my pulse quicken. There is something in her eyes, something unspoken yet powerful, a truth that neither of us wants to admit out loud.
It feels like we are both standing on the edge of something we are afraid to face, pretending it is not there even though it lingers in every breath and every glance.
“Drop it,” I say.
KK raises her hands. “Fine. For now.”
That “for now” feels like a threat.
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Conditioning is worse than usual.
Of course it is.
Coach doesn’t care that we just got back.
Doesn’t care that we have a game against Notre Dame in a few days.
If anything, that makes it worse.
“On the line!” she yells.
We sprint.
Again.
And again.
My lungs burn halfway through.
Legs heavy.
The gym echoes with shoes squeaking, breaths hitching, bodies pushing past limits.
I line up next to Azzi.
“Try to keep up, middle,” she mutters.
I glance at her. “Focus on your own time.”
We take off.
Sprint.
Turn.
Sprint back.
She edges ahead by half a step.
I close it.
Not because I care this time, but because I always care. We finish at the same moment, neither of us willing to slow down first. Coach watches us closely, her gaze sharp and too closely, as if she’s searching for something beneath the surface.
“Better,” she says.
But her eyes linger, like she’s trying to figure something out.
She senses that there is tension between Azzi and me. She just can't prove it.
We reset.
Another round.
This time my shoulder brushes Azzi’s as we line up. Accidental. Not accidental. My heart rate is already high, but it spikes anyway. She glances at me for half a second before looking away, and somehow that tiny moment hits harder than it should
“Still think we shouldn’t tell anyone?” she says under her breath.
I keep my eyes forward. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
No.
“Yes.”
We run again.
Faster.
Harder.
Like we can outrun it.
Whatever this is.
After conditioning, I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath while sweat drips down my neck and onto the floor. My lungs burn.
KK drops beside me dramatically like she just finished a marathon instead of surviving a few suicides.
“Okay,” she says between breaths. “I’m giving you one chance to confess before I start making up details myself.”
I already know where this is going. “No.”
“You slept with her.”
I choke on air so hard I start coughing.
KK immediately bursts out laughing. “OH MY GOD. That reaction just confirmed everything.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, looking around to make sure nobody heard.
She grins like an evil little gremlin. “I knew it. I literally knew it.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Mhm.” She nods seriously for about two seconds before breaking again. “So was it romantic? Awkward? Did you cry after?”
“KK.”
“Did she cry after?”
“KK.”
“Did—”
“No one cried!”
A few heads turn toward us.
KK nearly falls over laughing. “Okay, wow, so defensive.”
I drag a hand down my face. “You are actually the worst person alive.”
“And yet,” she says proudly, throwing an arm around my shoulder, “I’m still your favorite.”
I straighten, glaring at her.
“Say anything,” I warn, “and I will personally make your life miserable.”
She laughs. “You already do that.”
Across the gym, Caroline is talking to Azzi.
Their heads close together.
Caroline says something that makes Azzi roll her eyes.
Azzi glances at me.
And doesn’t look away this time.
Not immediately.
Her expression softens just slightly, like she’s thinking the same thing I am but doesn’t know how to say it out loud. The gym noise fades into the background for a second, and something settles low in my chest—warm, heavy, terrifyingly real. Because this suddenly doesn’t feel like a mistake anymore.
KK follows my gaze.
Then looks back at me slowly.
“Oh,” she says, softer now.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
But there’s no heat in it.
Because for the first time, I’m not trying to deny it.
Not to her.
Not to myself.
We crossed the line.
And we said we’d keep it a secret.
But secrets don’t make things smaller.
They make them louder.
And whatever this is
It’s not quiet anymore.
HIII!! when are you coming back? I always reread ur fics🫶
I am so sorry for the longest wait. My wifi has been down due to the fact I’m planning to move universities but I’m back !!
the war between us ( chapter 15 )
AN: I apologize for the long delay. I'm back now. Hope you like this one.
Paige’s POV
The gym smells like chalk, sweat, and nerves. I’ve been awake since six, muscles tight, heart racing, not from the alarm, but from anticipation. Today is Tennessee, the season opener, and everyone knows what’s at stake.
KK is already bouncing around, setting balls with the precision that makes my teeth grind and my shoulders tense. Sarah and Ice are warming up in the corner, doing the usual pre-game chaos—tosses, dives, half-shouts. Caroline is opposite me, stretching like she’s been born ready. And Azzi… Azzi is pacing along the outside line, tossing the ball from hand to hand, her eyes occasionally flicking to me. I feel it. That same pull I’ve been trying to ignore since Miami.
I try to focus. Middle blockers focus. But every time I glance at her, something twists inside me.
That kiss in Miami, the memory that shouldn’t exist, gnaws at my chest like an itch I can’t scratch.
Coach Harrison blows the whistle. “Warmups. Five minutes. Focus. Tennessee isn’t going to wait for you to wake up.”
We move through passing drills, serve receive, quicks, and outside swings. I call for the block, Azzi moves in sync, our hands brushing over the net. Just a touch, but enough to make my stomach flip. My brain tells me to ignore it, but my body doesn’t care.
The drills are a blur. Every swing Azzi takes, every block I read—there’s a conversation happening in silence. A push and pull. A challenge. A draw. And the closer we get, the tighter the tension coils.
“Middle up!” KK shouts.
I shuffle, read the hitter, close the block. Azzi shifts across from me, eyes sharp, hands ready. The ball comes over, fast. I jump, timing perfect. We stuff the attack. Point.
Azzi lands, glances at me. Not smug. Not teasing. Just… steady. Like she’s measuring my reaction. Like she’s waiting for me to break.
I don’t. Not yet.
Scrimmage. Rally. Jump. Swing. Block. Point. Repeat. The scoreboard flickers in my mind—every rally feels like more than points. It’s a game of wills. Her presence makes my blood thrum like it’s part of the match, like she’s part of me, and I hate that I like it.
Coach blows the whistle. “Five minutes. Then we run rotations.”
I catch my breath, sweat dripping down my back, muscles screaming. Azzi’s eyes find mine again. That look—the one that says she’s daring me, challenging me, testing me—is unbearable. And yet, I can’t look away.
Game time.
The whistle blows, the crowd roars, and Tennessee comes at us fast. Outside hitter spikes, I slide, block, tip. Azzi swoops outside, swinging, digging, diving. Every point is a battle, every touch electric. Our teammates are chaos around us, but when it comes to the net, it’s just her and me, synchronized without realizing it, each of us reading the other like open books.
Set one, set two. We trade points. Tennessee’s big, fast, merciless. Set three, they edge us out. My hands shake slightly when I touch the ball, adrenaline and tension twisting together. Azzi lands a swing that barely clears the block. I don’t glare, I just feel it—a spark, a pull.
Set four, we claw back. I read a quick set, close the block, the ball ricochets off their hitter. Azzi spikes down the line. Point. Set tied.
Set five. Everyone is exhausted. Sweat pouring, lungs burning. Coaches shouting. KK screaming from the sidelines. Sarah diving impossibly. Ice screaming encouragement. Caroline barking strategies. And Azzi… Azzi is beside me, eyes fierce, hands ready.
Ball comes over. I jump. Block. The hitter tips. Azzi reacts instantly, swings, and the ball hits the floor. Point.
Final rally. Heart racing. Knees trembling. I call the block, she adjusts, I time it, she swings. The ball hits their court. The whistle blows. We win.
I collapse to the bench, drenched, shaking. Azzi sits next to me. Our shoulders touch, barely, but enough. My chest pounds.
The team erupts around us—high-fives, hugs, cheers—but for a second, it’s just her and me. Silence. Heat. Tension that finally snaps.
Everyone heads toward the locker room. I glance over my shoulder to see Azzi. She already stripped her jersey, leaving her with a sports bra and shorts.
'Yo, Everyone meet at Teds in 30 minutes,' KK announced freely
One by one, everyone starts to empty the locker room. Leaving me with Azzi Fudd. She looks so damn stressed. Like a million thoughts are going through her head.
She puts on a UConn shirt and joggers. As she heads towards the door, my legs start moving towards her, catching up.
'Are you going to teds'
'No' She says,
I look down to catch a glimpse of her big, pouty lips. It's like they are begging me to feel them.
I lean slightly closer. She leans closer. And with a “fuck it” thought that’s entirely mine, I press my lips to hers.
She responds immediately.
Thank god.
her hand tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, the other on my jaw, trying to keep steady. My brain screams rules, logic, teammates, consequences. My body screams everything else.
I push her roughly against the wall. Both of our tongues are fighting for dominance. Her leg hitches up onto my hip, making our bodies feel closer. I deepen the kiss, and soft moans leave her mouth. I could cum just from hearing those sounds come out of her mouth.
Azzi starts grinding her body, clearly needing some friction.
We pull back slightly, gasping. Her eyes are dark, intent, and I don’t think about tomorrow, or discipline, or Miami. Not now.
“Your room or Mine?” I whisper, voice rough.
Her grin is wicked. “Your room.”
The ride to my dorm was painful. When has 10 minues felt this long.
Azzi's legs were gently closed, and I could feel the warmth radiating between them. I moved my hand to her thighs, tracing slow, deliberate circles
” We're almost there, Az,” I say, trying to ease the tension between us. Tonight could go either way: really good or completely hellish.
As we reach my front door, I fumble to open it as quickly as I can. The moment we step into my room, clothes start flying off in every direction.
I take a moment to really look at the girl in my room. She’s stripped everything except for her matching lace set, and the way it clings to her makes my breath catch. The air between us thickens with anticipation as I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. She slowly strips her lace, tossing them to the floor.
“You look incredible, Azzi,” I say, my voice low.
She meets my gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I reach out, letting my fingers brush along her arm, savoring the electricity that sparks between us. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”
Her eyes flicker with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Me too… just don’t rush, I haven't done this in a while.”
I smile, the tension easing slightly.
I lift her up and carry her toward my bed, her body fitting perfectly against mine. As I drop her down, I spread her legs further apart. Giving me the perfect view of her dripping pussy. All pink and swollen.
I start tracing slow, teasing circles along her thighs. I lean in, giving soft nips and delicate licks, watching her reaction closely. This pussy is addictive
She gasps softly, when i kissed her swollen clit.
her voice was barely a whisper. “That feels… amazing.”
I smile, voice confident. “Just wait, mama. This is only the beginning.”
But then her voice cuts through the tension, sharp and breathless. “Paige, stop teasing me. Just get straight to the point.”
A slow smile curls on my lips, a spark of challenge in my eyes. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I like having control.”
Her breath hitches, frustration mixing with desire.
I lean in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Because you belong to me tonight. And I’m taking my time.” I press down below her ear and mark her up, earning me a deep moan.
I finally give in, trailing fast, teasing licks that make her arch her back against me. My speed intensifies.
She lets out a breathless whisper, “Paige… don’t stop.”
My finger moves toward her entrance, I sink my index finger getting it as far as I can, hitting the spot that makes her shake.
I smile against her skin, my voice low and steady. “I’m just getting started.”
Her fingers dig into the sheets as she murmurs, “Faster....You're not going fast enough.”
I pause for a moment, looking up to meet her eyes. “You have to earn it. ma”
Her gaze hardens, a mix of frustration and longing. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”
I keep my gaze locked on hers, letting the tension build, my movements teasingly slow despite her plea.
Her hips start rocking, trying to get some friction.
“Not so fast, Azzi,” I murmur, my voice firm but teasing. “You think you’re in control? Tonight, I call the shots.”
Her breath hitches, and I see the flicker of defiance in her eyes. “You always do this, make it a game. But sometimes, I just want you to be real with me.”
I pause, my finger still, sensing the vulnerability beneath her words. “I am real. More real than you know.”
She swallows hard, her voice barely audible. “Then stop playing. Show me.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “I will. When the time’s right, just enjoy it.”
The room hums with unspoken promises, the space between us charged with something neither of us can or wants to deny.
I don’t hesitate. My finger moves with purpose now, faster, deeper, matching the rhythm of my tongue as I intensify my touch.
Her hand moves up to my hair, holding with a deathly grip. She moves with the rhythm I set. Chasing her orgasm.
Her body tightens beneath me, every breath coming faster, every shiver more desperate.
Her cunt starts to tighten around my finger.
Her body shakes uncontrollably. I up my pace till the whole bed is shaking. The headboards are banging on the walls. Her moans are getting louder and more intense with each pump of my finger. Her hand moved from my hair to the sheets.
“Azzi,” I murmur, voice low and commanding. “Come for me. Now.”
She did as she was told.
Her hands grip the sheets harder, her breath catching in her throat. I feel her muscles tense, then suddenly release, her body arching into mine in a wave of raw, beautiful surrender.
I fuck her through it, steady and unyielding, letting her come down slowly as the heat between us lingers, the connection deeper than before.
Let's just say that's one of many orgasms that occurred tonight.
Will the next chapter be soon🙏🏼
I’ll be posting tomorrow !!
Hi
Where are you please?😭
Are you posting the new chapter soon?
I’m sorry, I’ve been busy cuz of Eid and I haven’t really have the time to post. I will try to post tomorrow. I’m sorry for this inconvenience. 😇😇
The war between us ( chapter 14 )
A/N This is a filler chapter, but I still hope you guys enjoy it.
Azzi’s POV
Airports are supposed to feel like movement.
People going somewhere.
Coming back from somewhere.
For me it just feels like standing still.
The sliding doors open and cold Connecticut air hits my face. It smells different from Miami. Less salt. More asphalt and winter.
Paige walks a few steps ahead of me, her backpack slung over one shoulder like it weighs nothing.
She hasn’t looked back once since the café.
Not once.
Which is impressive considering we’re apparently the kind of people who kiss each other under streetlights now.
Or Correction.
The kind of person I am when I’m drunk. I tighten my grip on my suitcase handle.
I still hate that I don’t remember it.
Not the details. Not the feeling.
Not the moment where my brain apparently decided kissing Paige Bueckers was a good idea.
Out of everyone on the team—my rival, my teammate, the one who pushes me harder than anyone else—she stands there, a constant challenge. We compete for everything: the best spot, the toughest plays, the respect of our coach and teammates. It’s a rivalry that blurs the line between frustration and admiration, driving me to be better but also wearing me down.
I will never drink again. Not ever if this is the price I pay for every mistake I’ve made.
The airport doors open again.
And suddenly
“FINALLY.”
KK’s voice cuts through the noise like a whistle.
She’s leaning against a pillar with Sarah and Ice beside her.
Caroline’s there too.
Of course she is.
She spots me immediately.
“Look who survived biology camp,” KK says, pushing off the pillar.
Paige rolls her eyes. “It was four days.”
“Four days without you yelling at hitters,” Ice says. “It was peaceful.”
Sarah grins. “Coach almost made me run middle.”
Paige snorts. “You would’ve died.”
Sarah lifts her hands dramatically. “Exactly, I could hardly reach 4 inches above the net.”
The team circles around us in that loose way athletes do—half hug, half tackle.
Caroline slings an arm over my shoulder.
“Miss me?” she says.
“Not really.”
She grins like she knows I’m lying. I do miss her so much.
Her eyes flick briefly between me and Paige. Too quickly to be obvious. But I catch it.
And something in my stomach tightens.
KK is already interrogating Paige.
“Did you learn anything useful?”
“Yes.”
“Like?”
Paige shrugs. “Muscle fiber recovery rates.”
KK stares at her.
“That is the most Paige answer you could’ve given.”
Ice laughs.
Sarah grabs Paige’s backpack. “Coach scheduled practice tonight.”
Paige groans.
“Of course she did.”
The team begins moving toward the exit, their steps steady and sure. I lag back a little, and without any plan or thought, Paige naturally falls into step beside me. Neither of us says a word; we simply drift together, side by side, caught in a quiet rhythm that feels effortless and familiar.
It’s as if time slows just enough for us to move forward gently, connected without needing to speak.
I glance at her.
She’s staring straight ahead. eyes fixed, expression calm. Focused. Controlled. As if that conversation at breakfast never happened. As if she never told me, I kissed her. As if I never asked whether she’d stop me if I did it again. The weight of everything lingers in the silence between us, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.
I look away.
My brain replays the one part that refuses to leave.
Maybe I need to figure out if I can be brave without the alcohol.
Why did I say that?
Why did it feel true?
Why Paige?
Out of everyone.
The gym smells just like always, rubber floor, chalk dust, and the faint, familiar scent of sweat.
It feels like home.
Coach Harrison is already there when we walk in, standing with her arms crossed and a clipboard in hand. She doesn’t even flinch at the sight of us arriving five minutes early, as if she expected nothing less. The quiet confidence in her stance sets the tone, ready to push us through whatever’s next.
“Good,” she says. “You’re here.”
We drop our bags along the wall, the thud of each one echoing softly. Shoes squeak instantly as everyone scatters across the court. Sarah and Ice begin passing warm-ups back and forth, their movements easy and practiced. KK grabs a ball, spinning it between her fingers like she’s been waiting for this moment all week. Paige stretches quietly near the net, focused and calm, readying herself for what’s ahead.
Caroline nudges me with her elbow.
“You look weird.”
“I always look weird.”
“No,” she says casually. “Different weird.”
I ignore her and jog to the outside hitting line.
KK tosses a ball up.
“Let’s see if Miami ruined your arm.”
“Set the ball,” I tell her.
She does.
Perfect.
I load my approach.
Left. Right. Left.
Jump.
Swing.
The ball cracks off my hand and slams into the floor.
“Okay,” KK says. “She’s alive.”
We rotate through drills, the rhythm of the gym settling into a familiar pulse. Passing, each touch precise but demanding, forcing us to stay sharp.
Serve receive, eyes locked on the ball, every movement calculated. Transition hits fast, powerful, a test of timing and instinct. Paige runs middle quicks with KK, and it’s like watching a well-oiled machine in motion: fast, sharp, almost annoyingly perfect.
My chest tightens watching her. There’s a grace in her speed that feels both awe-inspiring and frustrating.
But it’s her block that’s the hardest to watch. She moves with a quiet confidence, reading hitters as if she’s inside their heads, anticipating their every strike before it even happens. It’s a silent challenge thrown at everyone on the court, daring us to keep up, and I can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and the sting of being left behind.
During a scrimmage rally I go up for a swing.
She closes the block with Caroline.
Hands pressed over the net.
The ball ricochets off their block.
Point.
Paige lands.
Looks at me.
Not smug.
Not teasing.
Just steady.
Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.
My chest does something uncomfortable.
Coach blows the whistle.
“Center!”
Everyone gathers near midcourt.
She flips a page on her clipboard.
“You had your little science trip,” she says. “Hope you enjoyed Miami.”
“Season starts this week.”
The gym quiets immediately.
“You’re opening at the Volunteer Classic.”
My stomach drops.
Everyone knows that tournament.
Coach’s voice stays calm.
“Which means our first match is against—”
She doesn’t even need to finish.
“Tennessee,” KK mutters.
Exactly.
The gym hums with energy instantly.
Tennessee isn’t just another team.
They’re the team everyone talks about. Their offence is lightning-fast, catching opponents off guard before they can react. Their block is massive, a wall that seems impossible to break through. There’s no room for mistakes, no mercy given on the court. Facing them feels like stepping into a storm; you know you’re in for a relentless battle, and only the strongest can stand their ground
Coach watches our reactions carefully.
“You want to know if you’re ready for the season?” she says.
“This will answer it.”
My pulse starts picking up, not from fear, but something closer to excitement, a spark that lights a fire deep inside me. The kind of energy that tells me I’m alive and ready for the challenge ahead. Paige crosses her arms beside me, her presence steady and calm. Focused. Already locked in, like she’s been here a thousand times before, mentally preparing for every play, every moment.
Coach steps forward, her eyes sharp as she points her pen toward the net. “Outside hitters—your swings need to be faster.” My heart skips a beat. That’s me. I feel the weight of those words, the unspoken demand to push harder, to be better, to not let up for even a second.
Then she turns to Paige. “Middle blockers—close the block earlier.” Paige nods once, almost imperceptibly, but there’s steel in that small gesture. She understands exactly what’s expected and she’s ready to rise to it.
The room seems to shift, charged with a new intensity. Practice resumes, harder, faster. Every movement sharpens, every breath shortens. We’re no longer just teammates warming up; we’re warriors preparing for battle. The sound of sneakers squeaking, balls thudding, and coaches shouting fills the air, blending into a relentless rhythm that drives us forward.
There’s sweat stinging my eyes, muscles burning with effort, but I don’t slow down. Not now. Not when the stakes are this high. Paige moves beside me with the same fierce determination, an unspoken challenge passing between us. We’re pushing each other, testing limits, breaking barriers. And somewhere beneath the exhaustion, there’s a thrill. Proof that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
This is what Uconn is about
By the end my legs feel like concrete.
Everyone starts packing up slowly.
Sarah collapses onto the floor, exhausted. Ice tosses her a towel with a grin. KK keeps chatting, still deep in Tennessee strategies. Paige quietly slips away toward the locker room, disappearing from sight.
Caroline bumps my shoulder.
“Walk?”
I follow her out into the hallway.
She leans against the wall.
Arms crossed.
Watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
“I always think.”
“Not like this.”
I stare at the floor.
Then the words slip out before I can stop them.
“I kissed Paige.”
Caroline blinks.
Then—
“Oh.”
That’s it.
Just oh.
“You knew?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “But I suspected something happened in Miami.”
I rub the back of my neck.
“I don’t remember it.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“You WHAT?”
“She told me this morning.”
Caroline stares at me for a full five seconds.
Then she starts laughing.
“That is so inconvenient.”
“Glad you’re entertained.”
She pushes off the wall.
“Wait—hold on.”
Her eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“You two hate each other.”
“We don’t hate each other.”
“You absolutely do.”
“We compete.”
She waves a hand.
“Same thing.”
I sigh.
“That’s the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Why would I kiss her?”
Caroline tilts her head.
Then slowly—
A grin spreads across her face.
“Oh my god.”
“What.”
“You’ve never heard the theory?”
“What theory?”
She leans closer like she’s about to share a secret.
“Enemies to lovers.”
I stare at her.
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It’s literally one of the biggest romantic tropes ever.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
She shrugs.
“Still applies.”
I shake my head.
“No.”
“Think about it,” she continues, clearly enjoying herself.
“Two people constantly competing.”
“Tension.”
“Chemistry.”
“Lots of unresolved emotions.”
“That’s not chemistry,” I say. “That’s annoyance.”
Caroline smirks.
“Then why’d you kiss her?”
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
Because I don’t actually have an answer.
She watches my face.
And suddenly her expression softens.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”
I exhale slowly.
“But if I did mean it—”
Caroline shrugs.
“Then maybe drunk you was just honest first.”
The idea sits in my chest.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
But not impossible.
“What if she stops me?” I ask.
Caroline smiles slightly.
“Then you’ll know she didn’t want it.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Her grin returns.
“Then congratulations.”
“You’re living in a romance novel.”
I shove her shoulder.
She laughs.
But the thought sticks in my head the entire walk back to the dorm.
Because Paige said something at breakfast that won’t leave me alone—like a weight pressing on my chest, refusing to be ignored.
“If you don’t remember choosing it, I don’t get to pretend you did.” Those words cut through everything, ripping open a space inside me I didn’t know was raw. No more pretending. No more hiding behind shadows or silence.
The next move is mine.
It’s mine to make, mine to own, mine to fight for. And this time, I won’t forget. I won’t let the memory slip through my fingers or the moment fade into nothing. I’ll hold it like fire, burning bright and fierce. It’s everything. And I’m ready.
Hey
Has the problem being solved? In respect to the new chapter
Yes I’ll be posting tomorrow and regularly after that.
I hope you find someone who looks at you like this...
A promblem
I have recently been facing some technical problems. My drafts keep getting deleted or going missing. I normally have it on queue till Chapter 16, but somehow Chapter 13 went missing, and I thought I accidentally named Chapter 14, so I changed it back to Chapter 13. I'm so sorry for this inconvenience.
the war before us ( chapter 13)
A/N: The romance shall begin.
Paige’s POV
Breakfast was a mistake.
I knew it the second I agreed.
Too early. Too quiet. Too much space for thoughts I’ve been trying not to think.
The café is nearly empty. Morning light bleeding through the windows. Coffee machines hissing in the background.
Azzi is across from me.
Hair still slightly messy from sleep. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Completely normal.
Like she didn’t kiss me under a streetlight and change everything.
I haven’t touched my food.
She notices.
She always notices, and i freaking hate that.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
I shrug. Because if I open my mouth without control, something honest might fall out. She watches me for a second longer than necessary.
“Caroline texted me this morning.”
My fingers tighten slightly around my fork. I start moving my food around, trying to seem disinterested in this conversation.
“She asked what happened in Miami.”
There it is.
The word alone is enough to pull the memory back in full color.
Salt air. Music fading in the distance. Her thumb brushes my jaw.
“And?” I ask, like I don’t already know where this is going.
“I told her nothing.”
Nothing.
The word hits like it shouldn’t because technically, that’s true.
There was no promise. No confession. No witnesses.
Just heat and alcohol and me wanting it too much.
She studies my face carefully now. Like she’s trying to read something I’ve locked away.
“Did something happen?”
I look at her.
Really look at her.
There’s no guilt there.
No teasing.
Just confusion.
And that’s when it settles in again. She doesn’t know. You can't get mad.
“You don’t remember?” I ask.
Her eyebrows pull together.
“Remember what?”
For a second, I consider keeping it. Letting it stay mine. Because if she doesn’t remember, then it can’t be ruined.
But I’m tired of carrying it alone.
“You kissed me.”
The words sit between us.
Still.
She freezes.
Not dramatically.
Just a small stillness in her shoulders.
“I what?”
“After the party.”
She searches my face like she’s waiting for the punchline.
There isn’t one.
“That’s not… I would remember that.”
“You don’t.”
The café noise feels distant now.
Like we’re in a different room entirely. Azzi is looking at me like I had taken advantage. Well done, Paige.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” she says, but there’s doubt in it now.
“You were.”
I remember the sway in her stance.
The warmth of her breath.
The way she chased the kiss when I pulled back. I can't believe she forgot. I would like to recreate that kiss.
Silence stretches.
She looks down at the table.
Then back at me.
“Did I start it?”
“Yes.”
That one doesn’t hurt to say.
Because she did.
She was the one who stepped closer. Who lifted her hand. Who closed the distance.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
“Did you stop it?”
I hesitate before mumbling “Yes.”
Her eyes flicker with worry.
“Why?”
Because if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t remember it at all. Because I refuse to be a blur. Because I would’ve let you.
“You were drunk,” I say instead.
She leans back slowly.
Processing her answer like it was a bomb ticking.
“I wouldn’t do that randomly,” she says.
I want to believe that.
I really do.
But belief isn’t the same as proof. During this time around proof is way more reliable than belief. I would love to think that maybe I'm just horny, that's why I'm feeling this type of way. Maybe I'm bored since I've gone through the majority of my classmates, and Azzi is the only one left. My brain somehow wants to get a taste of Azzi Fudd.
Dating your teammates is forbidden. This is an unspoken rule. It is a big distraction, and I don't need that.
“You don’t know that,” I say quietly.
Her eyes sharpen slightly.
“Yes, I do.”
“You don’t remember it.”
And there it is again.
The gap. The missing piece. Her frustration isn’t anger.
It’s something else.
Like she doesn’t like that there’s a version of herself she can’t access.
“Did I mean it?” she asks.
The question is softer than the others. Less defensive. More careful.
That’s the real wound.
Not that she kissed me. That I don’t know if she would’ve sober.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Because I don’t.
And that uncertainty has been sitting in my chest since Miami.
She looks at me like that answer unsettles her more than anything else I’ve said.
“If I kissed you now…” she says slowly.
My pulse spikes.
Not from the idea.
From the difference.
Now is sober. Now is clear. Now is choice.
“…would you stop me?”
The air shifts. This isn’t competition. This isn’t jealousy. This isn’t proving something.
This is her asking if I’d let her choose me.
I hold her gaze.
“You’re not drunk.”
“No.”
“You’d remember.”
“Yes.”
My heart is beating too fast for how still I’m sitting.
“If you don’t remember choosing it,” I say carefully, “I don’t get to pretend you did.”
That’s it.
That’s the truth.
I don’t want to be the five reckless seconds she lost.
I want to be something she walks into with her eyes open.
She looks at me like that lands somewhere deep.
“I don’t like that I don’t remember,” she says.
“Neither do I.”
We sit in that.
The unfinished space between us.
She runs a hand through her hair.
Quiet.
Thoughtful.
“Maybe I was brave for five seconds,” she says finally.
The honesty catches me off guard.
“And?” I ask.
“And maybe I need to figure out if I can be brave without the alcohol.”
My chest tightens.
Because that’s the first thing she’s said that feels intentional.
Not defensive. Not confused.
Intentional.
She stands slowly.
Leaves her coffee half-finished.
“I don’t want to forget it again,” she says before walking away.
I stay in the booth.
Staring at the empty seat across from me.
Volleyball is about timing.
You can’t run a play unless both people commit at the same moment.
In Miami, she committed.
For a second.
Now she has to decide if she will again.
Sober.
And I don’t know if I’m more scared of her not doing it—
Or of her actually trying.
For now, we have a plane to catch back to Connecticut.
The war between us ( chapter 12 )
A/N: i know this one is like extremely short, but i just don't know what to write and i have a upcoming test i have to study for.
Paige’s POV
She doesn’t remember.
I know before she even asks. I see it in the way her eyes squint at the light, annoyed instead of cautious. In the way she stretches, like last night was nothing more than bad music and cheap alcohol. In the way she looks at me like I am simply her enemy again.
“Did I embarrass myself?” she asks, pressing her fingers to her temple like the sunlight personally offended her.
No.
You kissed me.
You broke a boundary.
“No,” I say evenly. Too evenly. My voice doesn’t crack. I hate that it doesn’t.
She drags her hand down her face. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
You are.
You are forgetting the way your hands framed my jaw. The way you hesitated for half a second like you were giving me time to pull away. The way you didn’t.
She studies me, searching my expression like she might find a reflection of the missing memory there.
I give her nothing.
Later....
At camp she’s normal.
Teasing. Focused. Competitive.
Like nothing shifted under the surface.
Like she didn’t pull me under a flickering streetlight and kiss me like she’d been holding it back for weeks.
Like she didn’t look at me afterward with something dangerously soft in her eyes. Like, she didn’t give me one of the best moments of my life and then wake up and delete it.
I don't know why I care so damn much. She's nothing but a tease. Life would be so much easier if it wasn't for her.
She leans over my shoulder to check the data on my tablet.
Our arms brush.
It’s barely anything.
But my body reacts instantly, traitorous and electric.
She doesn’t.
She just points at the graph. “Your numbers are off.”
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
“I’m working.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me the way she studies game footage. Like she’s trying to find the flaw.
“You are.”
I want to scream.
You don’t get to forget. You don’t get to kiss me like that.
Instead I close the tablet harder than necessary. The sound snaps between us.
“You were drunk,” I say.
She shrugs. “And?”
“And that’s it.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “That’s not how you’ve been acting.”
Because you don’t remember.
Because I am walking around carrying something you handed me and then abandoned.
I force my voice steady. “You don’t remember, Azzi.”
“Remember what?”
There it is.
Blank. Open. Completely unaware.
For a split second, I consider telling her. I imagine her face when it clicks. Shock. Maybe embarrassment. Maybe worse indifference.
Something inside me hardens before I can stop it.
I don't want her to think I care. I don't care... Right?
“Nothing,” I say.
—
That night the broken bed is still broken.
Of course it is.
We share again.
The air feels heavier than last night, thick with everything unsaid. She moves around the room like she always does with confidence, careless as usual, but there’s a slight hesitation when she climbs into bed.
Then she builds the pillow wall.
Carefully. Precisely. Like it matters.
Like she needs the boundary.
“Is this necessary?” I ask quietly, staring at the ceiling.
“Yes.”
The hypocrisy almost makes me laugh.
You didn’t need it last night.
Last night you crossed every line without flinching.
I will tell her soon, but now isn't a good time.
I turn onto my side, facing away from her. The darkness feels safer than her face, which says a lot.
She shifts behind the pillows. I can hear the fabric of her hoodie brush the sheets. I hate that I know the sound.
“You’re still mad,” she says.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence stretches between us, long and fragile.
“You kissed someone last night,” I say into the dark.
Technically true.
“So did you,” she shoots back.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She goes still.
I can feel it. The exact second her body stops moving.
“What did I do?”
My throat tightens so fast it scares me.
This is my secret now.
The only proof that for one reckless second, she stopped fighting me. The only evidence that maybe I’m not the only one who feels this pull, this unbearable gravity between us.
“That’s the problem,” I say quietly. “You don’t know.”
She pushes herself up on one elbow. I can feel her looking at me even though I won’t turn around.
“I need you to stop acting like I hurt you without telling me how.”
There’s frustration in her voice. But there’s something else too.
That almost breaks me more than if she’d laughed.
I can’t tell her.
If I tell her, she might shrug. Say she was drunk. Say it didn’t mean anything. Say she doesn’t even remember wanting it.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I lie.
She searches my face when I finally glance back. Her eyes are sharp even in the dark.
If I tell her, I risk it meaning nothing.
If I keep it, at least it meant something to me.
So I swallow it.
Why does she even care?
“It was just a party,” I say.
She studies me for another long second.
Then she lays back down.
The pillow wall stands between us again.
But it feels different now.
Because I know what it felt like when it wasn’t there. I know how her hand slid into mine like it belonged there. I know how close she pulled me, like she was tired of pretending.
And she doesn’t.
Azzi Fudd is the one person I despise.
She’s also the only person my body responds to without permission.
And that might be the worst part.
Because I don’t know how to hate her when I’ve felt what it’s like when she stops pretending she hates me.
The war between us ( Chapter 11)
A/N: I just want to let people know the reason why my chapters are short is so that I can post more consistently, rather than doing really long ones and post every 2 weeks.
Warning: Drunk ( Azzi ), make out sesh.
Paige’s POV
I shouldn’t have gone.
The second that camp athlete leaned against our lab table and said, “Party tonight. You two should come,” I knew it was a bad idea.
Azzi didn’t. She smirked like it was a challenge.
Shes carefree and friendly. She is like a magnet; everyone is attracted to her. God did his time with this one.
Pre-season is about discipline. Control. Focus.
Azzi treats everything like it’s a competition.
Even me.
The beach house is loud. Too loud. Music shaking the walls. Sand tracking across the floor. Camp athletes everywhere.
Azzi looks different here.
Looser.
Louder.
She had the perfect amount of cleavage popping in her tight black top. Everyone is looking back to catch a glimpse of her half-exposed ass in those mini shorts.
God, she looks amazing. Her tan skin is perfectly glowing under the sunset, making her look like she came straight from heaven.
No matter how much I despise her, her looks cannot be resisted.
Someone hands her a drink, and she doesn’t hesitate to take it.
I stay near her at first.
Not because I want to.
Because I don’t trust her not to do something reckless.
I care about her even when she thinks I'm only after her downfall. I was raised better than that.
After a while, the girl from earlier comes back.
“You dance?” she asks Azzi.
Azzi glances at me.
Just for a second.
Then she shrugs. “Sure.”
Something sharp slides under my ribs.
Fine.
If she wants to play that game.
My charm has pulled half the people in my class; this should be no different.
A brunette pulls me toward the middle of the room before I can think twice.
Music thumps through my chest.
I spin her.
Let my hand rest on her waist and the other on her ass gripping it enough to leave a mark.
I let Azzi see the whole show.
Across the room, Azzi’s jaw tightens.
She pulls her girl closer. Grinding herself onto her girl.
We lock eyes.
This isn’t dancing anymore.
It’s competition.
It’s ego.
It’s stupid.
And I hate how much I care.
By the time we leave she’s definitely drunk.
Not falling over.
But unfocused.
Too warm.
“You’re done,” I tell her when she reaches for another drink.
“I’m fine,” she laughs.
She’s not.
We walk back to the hotel.
The ocean air cools my skin but not my thoughts.
“You were jealous,” she says suddenly.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“So were you.”
She stops walking.
We’re standing under a streetlight now.
Her eyes are softer than they were at the party.
Less defensive.
More honest.
She steps closer.
“You don’t like when someone else looks at me,” she says quietly.
My breath catches.
“That’s not true.”
She lifts her hand.
Brushes her thumb against my jaw.
My heart stumbles.
“You don’t like when someone touches you either,” she murmurs.
She’s right.
And I hate that she’s right.
The kiss happens fast.
No buildup.
No warning.
Just heat.
Her hand reached up to hold my jaw.
Mine gripping the front of her hoodie.
I angle my neck to make our kiss deeper. My hands move down onto her ass, gripping it tight.
Soft sounds escape her mouth. She hitched up her leg. I can smell her arousal from miles away.
It’s not gentle.
It’s weeks of tension finally snapping.
She kisses like she’s been holding back.
Like she’s done pretending we’re just rivals.
For a second I let myself believe it.
Then I feel the imbalance.
The slight sway in her stance.
The alcohol on her breath.
She deepens the kiss and my stomach flips.
But this isn’t fair.
If I let it go further she might not remember.
And I will.
I won't do that to myself. I want her to be present with me. What is wrong with me? I'm supposed to hate her.
I pull back.
She chases it.
“No,” I whisper.
“What?”
“You’re drunk.”
“I mean it.”
Maybe she does.
But meaning it doesn’t matter if it disappears in the morning.
“Let’s go,” I say.
She looks frustrated.
Confused.
But she follows me, probably too tired to argue.
Back in the hotel we collapse onto the one good bed.
No pillow wall tonight.
She doesn’t build it.
I don’t either.
She’s half asleep in minutes.
I’m wide awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
My lips still burning. My body bothered by all the tension and heat.
I shouldn’t have let that happen.
I shouldn’t want it to happen again.
Pre-season is about leadership.
And I just blurred every line.
The war between us (chapter 10 )
A/N: I hope you guys like this one. We are getting there i promise.
Azzi’s POV
Coach said this would “help team chemistry.”
Which is funny considering Paige and I barely have any.
Now we’re on a plane to Miami for a week-long pre-season biology camp while the rest of our team is back home grinding through conditioning without us.
Perfect timing.
Paige has the window seat. Of course she does.“ I get claustrophobic,” she said when we boarded. She literally chose the wall. A week goes fast, but when I'm with Paige, it might feel like a whole year.
I’m in the aisle seat. Our arms are fighting for the middle armrest like it’s a championship title. When can I catch a break with this one?
Neither of us moves when I push her arm off completely.
The plane starts taxiing.
“So,” I say without looking at her. “You excited to miss a part of pre-season?”
She keeps staring out the window. “You’re the one who argued with Coach.”
“You didn’t argue at all.”
“I trust him.” Her response caught me off guard. Paige generally disagrees with oach 80% of the time during practice. I imagined she would have been upset with Coach over the possibility of this trip.
I glance at her. “You trust him or you just don’t push back?”
That makes her turn.
Slow. Controlled.
“You think you’re the only one who cares about this team?”
I shrug. “I think I’m the only one acting like it.”
Her jaw tightens.
There it is. The spark.
“You benched me during scrimmage,” she says quietly.
“You weren’t communicating.”
“You didn’t listen.”
“We’re captains. You don’t get to override me.”
“And you don’t get to control everything.”
The tension hums louder than the engine.
The plane lifts.
There’s a sudden drop of turbulence.
Her hand grabs the armrest. My hand is already there. Our fingers press together.
Doesn’t pull away.
I don’t either.
For a second, we’re just… there. Too close.Too aware. Then she clears her throat and moves her hand.“Don’t overthink it,” she mutters.
“I’m not.”
Lie.
The situation between Paige and me is strange. Tension of some form has always existed. I try not to give it too much thought. She is my classmate, teammate, and, most importantly, my rival and some might even say, my adversary.
Miami, FL
Miami air is heavy and warm.
The hotel is nicer than expected. Probably because it’s sponsored by some pre-season athletic academic program.
Two beds.
White sheets.
Balcony with a sliver of ocean view.
Paige immediately drops her bag on the bed by the window.
“I’m taking this one.”
“Obviously.”
She sits.
The bed dips hard to the left.
There’s a loud creak.
Then another.
We both stare.
She shifts her weight.
The entire frame tilts slightly like it’s contemplating collapse.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says.
She lies back to test it.
The mattress sinks unevenly and one leg makes a cracking sound.
I bite my lip trying to hide my laugh.
She shoots up. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“It’s not stable.”
“It’s fine.”
The bed groans like it disagrees.
She glares at me. “Switch.”
“No.”
“Azzi.”
“You chose it.”
Her eyes flash. Competitive. Annoyed.
God she looks good when she’s mad. Too bad, she's too crazy to handle.
We call the front desk. Manifesting for another room.
Fully booked.
No spare rooms.
No maintenance until morning.
So now we’re staring at one functioning bed.
And one disaster.
She exhales slowly. “We’ll share.”
The way she says it is calm, but there’s something hidden underneath her thoughts. Like she knows this is dangerous. How bad is my luck.
We get ready for bed in silence.
I change in the bathroom.
When I come out she’s already under the covers on the far right side.
Leaving space.
I stand there for a second.
Then grab every extra pillow in the room.
I start stacking them between us.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
A full barricade to separate our bodies.
Paige stares at me.
“Is this necessary?”
“Yes.”
“It’s pillows.”
“It’s boundaries.”
She rolls onto her side facing me, propped up on her elbow.
“You’re dramatic.”
“You make me cautious.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Cautious of what?”
I don’t answer.
Instead I lay down on my side, back stiff, careful not to touch her.
There’s still at least a foot between us plus the pillow wall.
Silence stretches.
The city lights flicker through the curtains.
“You’re still mad,” she says quietly.
“I’m focused.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I stare at the ceiling. Uh, why does she care? She seems happy every time something miserable happens to me, and now she wants to act like were best friends.
Pre-season means chemistry. Trust drills. Eye contact. Anticipation.
We don’t have that right now.
We have friction.
“You hate that I challenge you,” she says.
“I hate that you think I’m competing with you.”
“You are.”
“Only because you act like I’m the opponent.”
The words land heavily.
The mattress shifts slightly as she moves.
One pillow tilts.
I fix it immediately.
She exhales, almost laughing.
“You really think a pillow wall is going to protect you?”
“From what?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just watches me in the dark.
My heart is beating way too loud for someone who supposedly can’t stand her.
The next morning at camp we’re paired automatically.
“Pre-season leadership partners,” the coordinator says. “You’ll be working together all week.”
Of course we will.
We’re assigned one microscope.
One data tablet.
One set of gloves.
Paige leans in to look through the lens.
I lean in too.
Our shoulders press together.
Heat shoots through me instantly. Why does this have to be so awkward? Where is Caroline when I need her?
“Move,” I mutter.
“You move.”
“You’re in my space.”
“You’re in mine.”
We’re both pretending this doesn’t feel different.
A volunteer walks by and smiles at Paige.
“You two work well together.”
We both answer at the same time.
“We don’t.”
The volunteer blinks, shocked by our response.
Paige looks at me.
For half a second we almost laugh.
Almost.
Later that afternoon we’re reviewing sample results and she reaches across me to grab the tablet.
Her arm brushes my chest.
Neither of us moves.
“Your heart’s racing,” she says quietly.
“It’s hot.”
“It’s air-conditioned.”
I look at her.
She knows.
I hate that she knows that she affects me. Why is my body betraying me? Paige is not the type of girl to settle down and is nothing like me. My brain needs to get that memo ASAP.
That night back at the hotel the broken bed is worse.
One of the legs has fully cracked, tilting the whole bed onto one corner.
She nudges it lightly and it dips again.
“Still glad you didn’t switch?” I ask.
She gives me a look. “Don’t start.”
We climb into the one good bed again.
I rebuild the pillow wall.
She watches the whole process.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re welcome.”
She lies down facing me.
The pillows between us feel thinner tonight.
“You know pre-season is about trust,” she says.
“I know.”
“Hard to build that when you treat me like a threat.”
“You act like one.”
Her expression shifts. Not angry. Hurt.
When she treats me like an insect during our time together, how could she be hurt? keeping me out of team hangouts and parties. never backing me. She is more of an opponent than a teammate. How could she not be a threat?
“I don’t want to beat you, Azzi.”
My throat tightens.
“Then stop trying to lead over me.”
“I’m not leading over you,” she whispers. “I’m trying to lead with you.”
Silence.
Why does she have the perfect answers to everything?
My brain short circuits.
One of the pillows slides when she shifts closer.
Just slightly.
Her fingers brush the edge of my wrist.
I don’t move it away.
She glances at the wall of pillows.
Then at me.
“Still necessary?”
I swallow.
“…Maybe.”
But neither of us fixes the pillow that fell.
And that feels like something.
like a chance
A war between us ( chapter 9)
A/N This was definitely rushed, but idc. I'm not happy with this one, but I honestly dont i could fix it, but I hope you enjoy it. I'll try to edit this more later on.
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Paige POV the one where we get sent away
Coach doesn’t call us into his office this time.
He calls a team meeting.
Which is worse because this could either go very well or hell.
We’re all sitting on the bleachers, still sweaty from practice, when he clears his throat and holds up two envelopes.
“I received an invitation from the NCAA Leadership & Performance Institute,” she says. “They’re hosting a one-week Sports Biology Intensive in Miami.”
Miami.
The gym perks up immediately.
Ice whistles. “Like… Florida Florida?”
“Yes,” Coach says dryly.
Caroline looks impressed. “What’s Sports Biology?”
Coach flips through a paper. “Advanced recovery science, muscle physiology, injury prevention, leadership psychology in elite athletics. Only two captains per program are invited.”
The team slowly turns.
Toward us.
My stomach drops. This can be happening right now. I would much rather eat a whole onion than go on a trip with Azzi Fudd after that episode.
Coach continues, “It’s competitive. Applications were reviewed. They selected Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd.”
Silence.
“What?!” KK blurts.
Azzi stiffens beside me.
Ice stands. “Coach, preseason just started.”
“I’m aware.”
Caroline looks between us. “You’re sending both of them? Together?”
Coach’s gaze is steady. Intentional. “Yes.”
I feel heat rise up my neck. “Coach, with respect, the team needs us here.”
“The team needs captains who can function,” He says calmly.
That hits.
Azzi crosses her arms. “So this is punishment.”
“No,” Coach says. “This is opportunity. And maybe perspective.”
The team looks uneasy.
KK frowns. “When would they leave?”
“Friday. You’ll be gone one week.”
A whole week.
In Miami.
With Azzi.
Alone.
The idea feels like a threat.
Azzi speaks first. “Coach, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“That’s exactly why it is,” Coach replies.
Ice leans toward me and whispers, “You two in Florida unsupervised? This is either going to end in murder or marriage.”
I elbow her, but she isn't far off from that idea.
Coach’s voice sharpens. “This isn’t optional. Flights are booked. You’ll room together. You will represent this program professionally.”
Room together.
I stop breathing.
Azzi turns slowly. “Room together?”
Coach doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
The team erupts.
KK is pacing again. “Nope. No no no. I do not approve. I’m not emotionally prepared.”
Caroline groans. “I’m stressed already.”
Azzi’s jaw tightens. “We can request separate rooms.”
Coach shakes his head. “No.”
I swallow. “Coach.”
His eyes lock on mine.
“Figure. It. Out.”
—
Later.
Locker room.
The team hovers around us like we’re being deployed to war.
Ice grabs Azzi’s shoulders. “Do not get arrested.”
Caroline points at me. “And you. No verbal crimes.”
KK steps between us dramatically. “If either of you comes back with a criminal record or married, I’m quitting.”
Azzi finally looks at me.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Just… resigned.
If she is tired of our predicament, I feel even worse. Every second I spend with her generates more tension, jealousy, and curiosity. My curiosity is not often a good match. It does more harm than good.
“Well,” she says quietly. “Guess we’re going to Miami.”
I force a shrug. “It’s just a week.”
But my chest is tight.
Because something tells me…
This isn’t going to be just a week.
The war between us ( Chapter 8 )
A/N: another chapter out. This is the most consistent. I've been posting. hope you love this one.
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Azzi pov
the one where everything hurts
I don’t remember walking back to the dorm. I barely remember leaving the gym. All I remember is Paige’s voice still echoing in my head. Every word was a hit, and every hit left a bruise somewhere deeper than my skin.
I slam my door when I get inside, and Sarah jumps in her chair like I fired a gun.
“Jesus, Azzi, are you okay?”
I am not.
But I nod.
Then sit on the edge of my bed and grip the blanket hard enough to wrinkle it. My chest feels too small for my lungs. My eyes burn, but I won’t cry again. Once was enough. Once was pathetic. Once was exactly why I should have never cared in the first place.
Paige Bueckers got under my skin without even trying, and I hate that.
I hate her.
I replay the scene in the hallway like some sick movie. Her eyes locked with mine. Her voice is sharp. Her body closed. Close enough that I could feel heat pouring off her. Close enough that something inside me twisted so badly I couldn’t tell which part was anger and which part was something else I can’t ever admit.
I rub my face with both hands and groan. “Why do I even care?”
Caroline’s voice from yesterday plays in my head. You don’t hate her, Azzi, you’re hurt.
I shove that thought down so fast it nearly chokes me.
I take a long breath, then another. I decide to go to the food hall just to calm down and distract myself. Food usually helps. People usually help.
Even if part of me just wants to crawl under my blankets and not come back out.
The food hall is loud enough to drown my thoughts. Students everywhere. Tables packed. The smell of fries, pizza, and whatever soup they burned today. I grab a smoothie and weave through the crowd.
“AZZI.”
I stop. Jared stands up at a corner table, waving like he’s trying to direct airplane traffic. Captain of the basketball team. One of my closest friends since freshman year. A human lighthouse. And unfortunately, he’s not alone.
Paige is sitting across from him.
And she looks up at the same time, I freeze.
Great.
Ivan is sitting next to her and perks up when he sees me. Poor guy tries to look subtle about it, but fails miserably.
Jared grins. “Come sit with us.”
My instinct says no. My pride says no. My throat says absolutely not.
But Paige’s expression tightens, and suddenly the competitive part of me that refuses to lose steps forward.
“Sure,” I say.
Jared fist pumps. Ivan practically glows. Paige stiffens. This is already better than therapy.
I sit between Jared and Ivan. Paige sits across from me, and suddenly it’s a table made of dynamite with one flickering lighter.
Ivan leans toward me. “I saved the seat for you.”
He didn’t. But it’s cute.
I smile. “Thanks.”
Paige’s jaw flexes.
Jared launches into a story about practice, and people keep coming to the table because it always happens. Friends, teammates randos from our classes. Every single one says hi to me. Some hug me. Some tap my shoulder. Some wave. They laugh. They talk. Then they walk off.
Paige gets exactly zero greetings.
It’s petty, but I can’t lie. It feels good. Maybe too good.
Ivan gives me his extra cookie, and Paige’s head snaps up like she’s watching an assassination. The entire table feels like static electricity.
Jared raises a brow between us. “Everything good.”
Paige mutters something under her breath.
I cross my arms and lean back. “Perfect.”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes say plenty. She’s uncomfortable. She’s annoyed. She’s losing.
And something sharp and victorious curls inside me.
It’s not healthy. It’s not mature. It’s not what a team captain should feel.
But right now I don’t care.
Because today hurts. And for onc,e I’m not the one hurting alone.
Paige pov
the one where jealousy slips out
Jared waves Azzi over, and for a second, I swear my heart stops. I don’t want her to come sit with us. I really don’t. I’m still wired from yesterday. Still angry. Still confused. Still replaying the way she shoved me and the way I shoved her back and the way her face looked right before she walked out.
But Azzi walks toward the table anyway. Smooth, confident, glowing as the sun hit her twice just for fun.
Ivan sits up straighter like he’s witnessing a holy event.
She sits between the guys, and I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel it tighten. Jared glances at me. Of course he does. Nothing gets past him.
Ivan doesn’t notice anything. He’s too busy elbowing Azzi gently. “I saved the seat for you.”
He didn’t. But she smiles at him like it’s the sweetest thing in the world.
Something sharp stabs right behind my ribs.
I poke at my fries and pretend not to care.
People keep stopping by the table to say hi to Azzi. Like a parade. A very sparkly parade. Everyone loves her. Of course they do. She’s warm, loud, and magnetic. The type of people gravitate toward without thinking.
Me? I’m background noise today. Not one person acknowledges me. Not even a nod.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t do crowds. I don’t do attention. I don’t do the whole approachable thing.
But watching everyone orbit around her stings.
“Want my cookie?” Ivan asks her.
And he actually pushes the whole plate toward her like he’s gifting her an engagement ring.
Azzi grins. “Sure.”
Of course, she grins. My jaw tightens. Jared slowly turns to look at me. The corner of his mouth lifts.
He knows.
“Everything good, Paige?” he asks in that fake casual tone that means he’s about to expose me.
I shrug. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Jared stares dead into my soul. “You look… tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mm-hm.”
Ivan leans closer to Azzi. “I can walk you to your class later if you want.”
My head snaps up before I can stop it. “She can walk herself.”
Ivan blinks at me. Azzi raises a brow. Jared actually chokes on air trying not to laugh.
Smooth Paige. Real smooth.
Azzi smirks like she just won a game I didn’t know we were playing. “Relax, Paige,” she says lightly. “He wasn’t talking to you.”
I grip my fork tighter. “I’m aware.”
“Then stop listening to our conversation.”
“I wasn’t listening.”
Jared elbows me under the table. “You absolutely were.”
I kick him lightly. He laughs harder.
Ivan, oblivious to the tension thick enough to choke on, goes, “So Azzi, if you ever wanna hang out one-on-one—”
“No,” slips out of my mouth.
Ivan freezes. Azzi’s eyes widen. Jared literally slams a hand over his face.
I clear my throat. “I mean… no pressure. Team stuff. Schedules. Whatever.”
Jared whispers, “You are so obvious it hurts.”
I shoot him a death glare. “Shut up.”
He grins like this is the best entertainment he’s gotten all week. “If you say so.”
Azzi crosses her arms and leans back, staring straight at me. There’s something different in her eyes. Less anger. More… awareness. Like she just noticed something she shouldn’t have.
Like she just realised I reacted.
Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
I look away first.
Which means she wins. Again.