Malfunction Junction

Where ya headed?

[thememedaddy]

[lupinqs]

guys i’m ngl i love holly rowe

[hcneymooners]

hello, i wrote an enormous essay about masculinity, and if you'd like, i'd love for you to read it. find it here.

[writingdose]

being a writer is fun

[pazziwoke]

geno just said the word pazzi on live television 💀

[champsside]

[dripanddrive]

Hot Lap Chapter 11: Interlagos, Part 2

Word Count: 21.5k

Summary: Paige knows how much Azzi loves Ayrton Senna, how much she wishes she could have watched him race in person. She knows what this track means, to Azzi and to racing and to herself. And Paige is going to deliver. 

Authors Note:  Part 2 is here! So excited to share with all of you. I love all your messages - questions, encouragement, thoughts. It makes me so happy that Hot Lap means so much to others. Thank you to the folks who have poured into this story; @buffalo1221 and @nellstark, @peach4pazzi, @azzified, and @azzibueckers5.

Hot Lap Notes: 

Purple Sector: Every F1 circuit is broken down into three sectors—Sector 1, Sector 2, and Sector 3. When a driver crosses the timing line for each section, their time lights up in one of three colors:

Purple: The fastest time of the entire session across all drivers for that specific sector.

Green: The driver's personal best time for that sector (but not the fastest overall).

Yellow: The driver's time was slower than their own previous best in that sector.

In Formula 1 qualifying, a "purple" sector means a driver has set the absolute fastest time in that specific segment of the track out of all the drivers on track during that session

Chapter 11: Interlagos, Part 2

[dripanddrive]

Hot Lap Chapter 11: Interlagos, Part 1

Word Count: 17k

Summary: It feels like everything is conspiring against her; every external force is pushing her into the state of mind that makes her do crazy shit.

Authors Note:  Life is so busy, for everyone. Thank you for following with this fic, for all your encouraging messages and for loving these characters as I do. And, of course, thank you to the people who give me so much of their time in editing, specifically @buffalo1221 and @nellstark, and endless love for Family FC for always hyping me up and encouraging me. 

Hot Lap Notes: 

Safety Car: Safety Car vs. Virtual Safety Car: Sometimes during a race, a safety car is called. This often happens if there is a crash and they need to clean up the debris/crashed car but don’t want to red flag the race and make everyone come into the garages to wait. A safety car means there is an actual car that comes onto the track, in front of the lead driver. All the cars must then keep at a reasonable speed and can’t overtake or do anything dangerous. A virtual safety car (VSC) is when there isn’t an actual car that comes onto the track, but the drivers are informed they are under VSC rules and that means they need to keep to a specific speed. 

Chapter 10: Interlagos, Part 1

Hartford, Connecticut 2012

Bumming around Barnes & Noble is a nice way to spend a Saturday. 

Kathy had to run errands in Hartford, and she likes to browse as much as the next middle aged white lady; she bought Paige a Frappuccino from the cafe and went to look at the gardening section, leaving Paige free to wander the isles and cover skim. 

Hanging out in a bookstore to pass the time feels like a world apart from any Saturday afternoon that she ever spent at home. 

Back in Hopkins, if it wasn’t a racing weekend — or if they didn’t have money for the kart gas — her Saturdays were almost always spent with Mrs. Cuthbert, the old lady who lives in the unit below theirs. She didn’t mind having Paige around the place while her dad worked first shift at the warehouse, happy to have someone to pass the time with. She’d make Paige pancakes and they would watch the Golden Girls. 

Walking around Barnes & Noble still feels so different to her life back in Hopkins, even though it’s been almost two years since she’s been living with Geno and Kathy. 

After browsing the youth literature section, Paige walks through the magazine racks. She’s paged through them before — Barnes & Noble is included in the usual rotation when Kathy runs errands in Hartford — but buying something that will be out of date within a few weeks isn’t how Paige wants to spend her money. What little pocket change she has. 

She settles in one of the plush armchairs that’s been deposited in the psychology section of the store, because it probably gets the least amount of foot traffic.There’s a stack of car magazines in her lap and the Double Chocolate Mint Frappuccino with whip cream and mocha sauce sweats droplets onto her thigh as she idly sips at it. 

It’s been almost forty-five minutes since she and Kathy arrived, which means there’s probably ten more minutes until Kathy comes to find her. Paige is almost finished with the last magazine she picked at random; AutoTalk Racing Magazine. 

There are a few interviews that are interesting, and Paige reads them slowly so she can remember the most important parts to soak up. There’s one with the Sauber F1 Team Principal, and another with one of the coaches who’s fairly well known on the karting circuit. 

She almost bypasses a Q&A write-up and listing of advice from ‘the next generation of motorsport minds’ because what do they know, but as she’s glancing through, her attention gets pulled toward one of the unique names that’s bolded in a yellow circular graphic, the double ‘z’ catching her eye. Azzi. Azzi Fudd. 

Q: Your high school engineering team recently won the national Shell Marathon competition for designing a racing vehicle. What’s the most important thing you’ve learned through the process?

A: Downforce is faith. It only works when you commit before it feels safe

Azzi Fudd, 16, incoming First Year at Imperial College London 

The name sticks out in Paige’s brain; this is the girl Geno’s talked about. The one who asked him for help with the competition. The one with the big brain. 

“Paige? Let’s go honey, we should get going if we want to eat dinner at a reasonable time.”

She looks up to see Kathy approaching, and nods. “I’ll put these back,” she says, already moving to stand. 

“You find anything interesting?” Kathy asks.

“This one,” Paige says, deciding. “I’m gonna buy it.”

“Put it in the basket. My treat.”

Kathy doesn’t need to be spending her money on Paige, but she always does. It feels nice, to have someone who wants her to smile, but awkward, because Paige always feels a little bit like a charity case. 

“Just this one,” she says, putting the magazine on top of the basket, over a knitting pattern book and a gardening magazine. “Thank you.”

“Maybe we should get a cookie for the road,” Kathy says, smiling. She digs into her wallet and hands Paige a ten dollar bill. “Get two of the big ones and I’ll meet you up front.”

Paige nods and takes the remaining stack of magazines and the money to head back to the cafe. She’ll tell Geno what she saw; he’ll be interested that Azzi Fudd is going to London. 

After all, he says he wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up running an F1 team someday. 

—--

October 3 - 5, Brazilian Grand Prix: São Paulo: The Autódromo José Carlos Pace (Interlagos)

“Looking great, looking great. Okay, Paige, let’s do eyes on the camera for a few shots.”

She turns her head and makes eye contact with the camera lens, her lips settling into something that isn’t a smile but doesn’t feel too severe. On her left, Nika looks out at the street as she was directed to do, her gaze assessing as always. 

The sound of the camera shutter is one more sound to the soundtrack of the morning, the vibrant bustle of São Paulo on a Tuesday; music from the crew to keep the mood high, a semi-busy street, and what feels like a hundred people scurrying around. 

“These are great,” the photographer says. “Absolute flames.”

“Flames,” Nika murmurs, too quietly for anyone else to hear. She’s been outfitted in a sporty little crop top and a pair of jeans that Paige is envious of. Nika has the face of a high fashion model so she always looks photoshoot ready, but the hair, makeup, and styling teams have really transformed her into the kind of vision that any label in the world would covet. 

“Chill,” Paige soothes her, letting the photographer capture a few more shots before she looks away and smirks in Nika’s direction. 

They’re seated in Beco de Batman at a little table brought in specifically for them. The popular street art area serves as a colorful and cultural backdrop for these photos; Paige can’t wait to see them. 

It’s a photoshoot designed to show off the young might of Team Lamborghini. Paige and Nika are in one location; Soni and Georgia are in another, and the four of them are supposed to converge at some tourist attraction in the center of the city in a little bit for a few shots of them just casually looking like they could grace a magazine cover. 

The photos will hit the internet by the end of the week, coinciding with a long form article that Soni and Paige both sat for. The Future of Lamborghini, or some shit like that. 

The whole thing has been planned for a while, but the timing couldn’t be better; Lamborghini has a 105 point lead over McLaren in the Constructors’ Championship and it’s creating a lot of buzz. Paige and Soni aren’t winning every race, but they’re consistently delivering good points and it’s really making a difference in the standings. Everyone — the analysts, the commentators, the fans — are frothing about how two rookies are giving the veterans on the grid the run around. 

It’s too early and everyone’s too superstitious to throw around the term uncatchable or runaway winners but numbers don’t lie; Lamborghini is narrowing in on the title. 

“Okay let’s do some fun ones,” the photographer chirps. “Can you do a little cheers with your drinks?”

Truly ridiculous. 

Paige lifts her glass of Guaraná Antarctica and Nika does the same with her cafézinho; they clink together and dissolve into laughter, because there’s definitely some part of them that can’t believe this is their life. That they get to do this together is the sweetest part. 

Ten more minutes of photos and the photographer announces that she’s gotten what she needs. Everyone begins to pack up and the poor handler assigned to shuttle Nika and Paige from place to place steps in to guide them to the car. 

“You’ll go through the styling teams again at the next location,” she says, opening the door to the SUV so they can climb inside.

São Paulo is an incredible city, vibrant and alive. Scope the size that confounds the mind. Paige has been three times before but each time she discovers a new side to the metropolis. A different personality to the concrete jungle that speaks to whomever Paige has been at that moment. 

Not always for the best.

“So we’re going to one of those observation boxes?” Paige thinks that’s what she remembers being told. “Forty floors up or something.”

“Who comes up with these ideas?” Nika asks. “At least the clothes are good. Do I get to keep this?”

“No.”

“What? What a racket. Life is a disappointment.” Nika frowns down at the crop, pulling on the bodice like she’s going to physically restrain someone from taking it off her person. But then she glances out the window and her face lights up. 

“Can we stop?” She calls up to the driver. 

Paige is sure that the driver is going to say no to whatever it is Nika’s requesting, but to her surprise, the assistant who’s in charge of them tells the driver to pull off. A few minutes later they pull into a parking lot, and Paige follows Nika out of the SUV.

“Oh fuck,” she murmurs. “Here it is.”

Above all else, racing in Brazil means paying homage to the most iconic F1 driver to ever exist. 

Ayrton Senna. 

“It really is a sick mural,” Nika comments, looking up. 

Across the very busy street is the famous mural. It’s over a hundred feet tall, a beautiful and colorful representation of Senna in his helmet, the visor up. 

The first time Paige saw it, she was drunk on an F2 win. It had rained before her race, during her race, and after. She’d stood nearby, drenched head to toe with rainwater, the feel of a random girl’s lips on her neck. 

The random girl and their night together is gone from her memory but for a blur of neon lights and slick skin and the taste of Cachaça, but she remembers the mural. Remembers looking up at it, at his eyes. 

It’s strange to feel things about someone who’s long dead, but there’s something about the legacy of Ayrton Senna that’s always spoken to Paige. She drives like him and it isn’t even purposeful. It’s the way the rain speaks to her, the way the car can dance. It’s a lot, sometimes, to feel the car so deeply.  

She’d stood that night, brimming with confidence and victory and wondered if she could really do it — if she could actually be one of the greats. Everything in the world would say no, that greatness is for a lucky few. But Paige has always been greedy. It’s a constant; she’s always wanted more than she’s been allotted and all signs point to that never changing. With her family, with racing, with Azzi. 

But Ayrton Senna died on the track and Paige supposes that might be a fitting way to go for someone who lives and breathes for it. That it’s the trade off, a bargain made with fate. Signed and sealed with her blood before she ever gave her verbal agreement. She still doesn’t know who the other signatory is; God or the devil. Time will tell.

“Imagine being so beloved by two hundred million people,” Nika continues, her gaze reverent as she studies the art. It’s the softest her face has looked in ages. 

“Imagine having that talent,” Paige muses. 

There’s a famous Senna quote that always stuck with Paige; if you no longer go for a gap which exists, you are no longer a racing driver. 

She thinks about those words as she walks to the edge of the parking lot, almost drawn to the mural. The calling doesn’t pull her into the traffic but it’s close. She’s been chasing the gap her whole life, trying to slip her way in. It’s inevitable that it opens up, after all. 

A few feet behind her, Nika pulls out her phone to snap a few photos. 

The click of the camera shutter surprises Paige; she turns around to see the photographer from their shoot, who was following in another car. Hers must have pulled off as well. She takes another photo as Paige makes unintentional eye contact with the lens. 

“We should get going,” the photographer says after a moment of shooting, when Paige has turned back to the mural. “Lots more to do today still.”

Paige nods but she lingers at the edge of the concrete lot, her eyes still on the only man she’s maybe ever loved. 

It’s hard to love a ghost. And yet. 

—--

1:22: …out of a meeting with Diana — more administrative bullshit, honestly — , they’re interviewing her about the new Ayrton Senna documentary. Thirty years on and people are still talking about his driving. Imagine meaning that much to a sport. I always thought his…

—--

Dinner is being held at an extremely fancy steakhouse. There’s live music being strummed somewhere nearby, in combination with the low beat of some kind of base. Waiters float around, barely visible unless someone needs something at which point they materialize. 

Diana wanted to treat everyone. That was the official narrative spread around, an order disguised as an invitation. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soni is saying, waving her red wine airily. “Think you must be imagining things.”

It’s a good atmosphere at the restaurant; people are feeling fairly upbeat about the weekend. Not too confident, just…capable. And Paige knows her role in this space, she’s aware of what’s expected from her. So she’s charming and easy going; she jokes around with the heads of the different teams and the other leadership level folks present and puts actual effort into being the most genial version of herself. 

“Bro you looked like you were gonna pass out,” Paige shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were afraid of heights.”

“Because I’m not afraid.”

“Sonia,” she chastises, “it’s wrong to lie.”

A fancy dinner at an exclusive steakhouse isn’t necessary to encourage team cohesion and positivity, but Paige knows it’s about more than the food or the atmosphere. Diana wants people present, she wants to lay eyes and stare them down. Lamborghini has never had a season that’s been this dominant. They’ve led a few times, but they’ve never brought home the Constructors’ Championship. 

At this point, the only team that could catch them is McLaren, and they’d almost have to win out. The talking heads on the sports channels and the analysts on the internet are all yapping about what the magic number will be, what race it’ll happen, if Lamborghini can keep it up. Paige doesn’t pay any attention to that; she gets in the car and does what she can, and sometimes she also does what she’s told, and altogether she fucking hopes it adds up to success. 

She’s engaged in a conversation with the heads of the tyre crew, returning from a trip to the bar for a sparkling water, when she finally catches sight of Azzi. Big group get-togethers like this aren’t Azzi’s favorite; Paige remembers with clarity the way she used to hype Azzi up before she left to go meet Sue or Nneka or the others at Mercedes. 

It’s easy to excuse herself, to make her way across the restaurant and to the balcony where Azzi stands at the railing, looking over the view. She’s wearing her usual nice black dress, the one that Paige picked out for her. It’s exactly right for this kind of event; nice enough to look dressy but still acceptable for a professional setting. Seeing Azzi draped in something Paige picked out will never get old but it still hits her like a punch to the gut. 

“Hey,” Paige says, walking to join her. 

Azzi turns. She has a glass of wine in her hand and she’s been drinking it; Paige can see the imprint of her lips on the rim. Red and full. 

“I heard you spent the day posing for the camera,” she says.

“It loves me,” Paige preens, unashamed to be so beautiful. “I’m blessed.”

“And humble.” Azzi sounds like she’s not charmed but Paige knows differently. 

Well, she certainly believes differently. 

Things are different now. Paige thought they would be, but being near Azzi again confirms it. Zandvoort changed the lay of the land, the ground under her feet. So did Monza and her win there. Because they did that together. 

But Austin - Austin - they can't go back after Austin. After she took care of Azzi and put her to bed and sat next to her while she finally succumbed to the needs of her body. Reading poetry to Azzi as a comfort. 

Paige doesn't know what it means, where they go from here. But she knows that things are different. In a good way. 

“This is a fun little event.” She leans her elbows on the balcony railing, taking in the view. São Paulo is similar to Mexico City in feel. Alive and electric and huge. And Azzi always loved big cities. 

“Diana’s feeling the pressure of leading. She’s obsessed with cohesion.” 

“Bet that’s fun,” Paige comments. 

Azzi smiles to herself, a tiny little smirk. “She won’t say it. She’s too cool to admit that she actually feels the pressure.” 

She turns to open to Paige just a little more. The lights from inside flicker against her skin, little golden flames that dance across her face. There’s a change about her. It’s not that she seems…lighter. In fact, it almost feels like the opposite. 

But in a good way. 

“She doesn’t want to put too much pressure on you,” Azzi adds; she’s amused. “Thinks it’ll ruin your vibe.”

The way she annunciates vibe is going to live in Paige’s fantasies. 

“Let me guess,” Paige hypothesizes. “You told her it’s just not possible. Not with an ego as big as mine.”

The smug grin that graces Azzi’s face is so self satisfactory that Paige’s mouth waters a little bit. Azzi’s always pretended to not care about being right, but Paige knows she relishes in it, that she delights in always being right. How she manages to keep it a secret from most folks is a mystery; Paige has always been able to see right through her artifice. 

But Azzi just shrugs. “I told her you could handle it.”

“I can,” Paige confirms. “You feeling better?” 

Obviously Azzi is feeling better. She looks like a different human being than she did in Austin, when she was a snotty and sick mess and resembled patient zero in a post-apocalypse horror movie. They’ve exchanged voice notes since then; first just one a day and then two. Yesterday they traded five back and forth. 

“I am. Thank you,” she adds, and it’s the first time she’s said it. 

“You’re welcome.”

Azzi may be physically better but Paige can’t stop thinking about the hotel room in Austin. About the lack of poetry and the dress and the way that Azzi fell asleep next to her. It seems like every intimate encounter only adds to the list of questions. 

“You stop anywhere on your way down?”

Azzi’s commitment to work is unmatched but her dedication to seeing the world has deeper roots than her love of numbers. 

“No. I stayed two extra days in Austin, just sleeping. But then Diana wanted me back at the factory.”

It’s insane what these teams do; the US to Italy to Brazil in the span of two weeks. The trans-Atlantic flight probably negated all the good that Azzi did her body by sleeping two days away in Austin, but at this point in the season it’s really just about getting to the end. How can Paige nitpick at her when she’s done worse herself.

“You doing okay, after Austin?” Azzi asks, glancing over. She takes another sip of her wine and Paige tries not to focus on the way her lips kiss the rim of her glass.

“I hate what happened at COTA,” she admits, exhaling a deep sigh. “Racing like that didn’t feel good.” 

Paige doesn’t need to explain that to Azzi, of all people. But Azzi asked, after all.

“It won’t happen again,” Azzi promises her.

Paige shakes her head. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“And I don’t need you to fight mine.”

There’s strength in Azzi’s words, the kind that comes from getting deep into it and emerging victorious. Things must have gone down, back in Sant’Agata; Paige wants to know the ins and outs of it all, the messy and gossipy details. But that’s never been Azzi’s thing. 

“So it’s a battle we fight together,” she offers, and it’s worth it to see the way Azzi softens into a smile.

“It’s going to be a good week,” Azzi murmurs a moment later. She glances down at her wine and then over at Paige, like lingering eye contact is too much for her to sustain. “It’s a good track for you. For the car.”

Interlagos is a demanding track; it doesn’t prioritize one type of driver over another, or even one type of car over another. With twists and turns, elevation changes and a need for efficient aero, it’s a track that accepts only the best of the best. To truly master Interlagos is something beautiful to watch. 

The design of the Lamborghini car also helps them here, because Paige isn’t a driver who needs to rely only on straight line speed to get an advantage. At Mercedes, it was part of Azzi’s job to help mold the car, to give her feedback on the design process so that the engineers could align it as best as they could to suit Sabrina’s driving style. But now, at Lamborghini, it’s starting from scratch again, and Paige’s strengths combined with Soni’s strengths mean they have a little more breathing room. 

There will be expectations for Paige this weekend; she was good at Interlagos in F2. Better than Sabrina was when she was in F2. But it also means that there will be pressure. She pushes the thought out of her head.

“It’ll be different in the F1 car,” she says instead, always happy to pad her ego but never comfortable enough to take the direct compliment from Azzi. Not until she’s earned it.

“You’ll manage.”

There’s a buzz inside; Paige turns her head to see people starting to take their seats. Diana must be gearing up to start her on-location pep talk.

“We should head in,” she says, reluctantly.

Azzi hums in agreement, but neither of them make a big move to leave their quiet little bubble. It’s nice here, just the two of them, the silence no longer filled with anger or resentment like it was at the beginning of the season.

But they can’t stay cocooned away from the team, because chairs are scraping and people are moving and it’ll be obvious that they’re missing soon enough. Paige turns to leave but before she goes she steps in just a hair, just close enough for the scent of citrus and motor oil to invade her nostrils. 

“You look beautiful,” she whispers, her chin just brushing the side of Azzi’s head. 

—--

“Dig, Paige, you got this.”

Paige breathes through the exertion, through the discomfort. She’s on one hand and the opposite foot, planking with her other hand on a roller disk. Sweat drips down her nose as she extends the arm on the roller disk to redistribute her core balance and stretch her arm beyond 90 degrees. 

Beside her, DiJonai counts as Paige adds reps. She’s taken some video already, since Paige’s management team asked for a little more content. Given her success so far in the standings, people are clamoring for more; she doesn’t want it to be a distraction so she put DiJonai in charge. 

“Alright, three more.”

She groans into it, then collapses, exhausted, onto her stomach. 

“Dead,” she manages, flopping onto her back to starfish. 

It’s a fancy gym. Some place in downtown São Paulo nearly as high as that observational tower they went to. DiJonai is punishing Paige for the steak, ruining the buzz of a good evening with sweat and exertion. It’s too extreme to say Paige loves it, but she can appreciate what a workout does for her mind and her body. 

It’s just her spirit that constantly needs mending.  

“Five minute rest and then let’s do some combos.”

Paige nods, catching the water bottle that DiJonai tosses at her. She takes three long swigs, relishing in the sensation of the ice water in her body. She worked hard to keep herself in shape during F3 and F2, to make sure that she was ready for what the car demanded of her, but the F1 car is a different beast; it takes more than Paige sometimes thinks she’s capable of giving. And she was able to keep up when the season started, but now she knows how much it will take. DiJonai keeps her ready. In more ways than just one. 

“Alright,” Paige says, heaving herself up and stretching. “Let’s do this.”

They go to the balcony, because the fresh air feels good on her overheated skin. The view of São Paulo doesn’t hurt either. 

“Good,” DiJonai says as Paige follows the instructed throwing combination. “Lean in a little more with your shoulder.”

They go five full minutes, and Paige’s arms are almost shaking when the timer dings. She walks a little circle to wind down, focusing on her breathing. 

“How you feeling?” DiJonai asks. “With everything?”

She didn’t tell DiJonai anything about what happened in Austin. Didn’t tell anyone, really, though all the engineers know that Paige and Azzi left the track together after the race and Nika gave her a few meaningful glances when they met up in São Paulo. 

“I’m feeling good,” Paige admits. It’s the truth. Even though Austin was a clusterfuck on track, Paige is feeling more positive than she’s felt in a long time. She’s not back to how she was last season, when she was narrowing in on her third consecutive F3 victory — she’s not even close to that — but she’s climbing the mountain. One step at a time. 

“What’s the word on the car for this week?”

“Briefings say we’re competitive. Understeer shouldn’t be too bad, and Interlagos is a good track. So long as it doesn’t rain, plan looks good.” 

Almost immediately, there’s a crack of thunder. She and DiJonai both look up to see that the sky has turned from gray and overcast to dark and stormy. 

“Cool,” Paige mutters. “Welcome to Brazil.”

—--

“It’s an extratropical cyclone,” Nika says when Paige arrives at the track. 

The entire mood around the garage has transformed; gone is the goodwill that last night promised. Lamborghini — and every other team on the grid — has been following satellite images and weather forecasts for weeks. Everyone expected Interlagos to be a dry race given the weather patterns. The current deluge doesn’t seem to be engendering a lot of positivity. 

Also, in extremely annoying fashion, Paige’s hair is wet and raindrops cling to her eyelashes, because an umbrella did literally nothing to keep her dry. She shakes out her hair like a wet dog and throws the damp strands into a messy ponytail. Beside her, Nika looks on with disgust. 

“You’re getting water everywhere. You’re like an actual dog.”

“I hate being here before the car is assembled,” Paige complains, eyeing the massive crates that contain the chassis, engine, and gearboxes. 

Mechanics are hurrying around, checking parts against lists and communicating with one another in rapid Italian. She forgets, sometimes, that the bulk of the mechanics and a good portion of the engineers are Italian. Everyone speaks English at the track around her, but most of the project teams communicate in Italian. Lamborghini has deep ties to their country or origin. 

“Are you going to be a baby all weekend?” Nika’s clearly not in the mood for Paige’s moody bullshit, and honestly it feels like the entire garage is in the same mindset. 

“Is extratropical cyclone a stand in for ‘we fucked up on the weather report’?” She asks, just to be annoying. 

“The storm formed at sea. It’s unexpected. You want the rundown?”

“Not really,” Paige admits. “Rain is rain, right?”

Nika shrugs. “Nobody can say how long it’ll last. Might be this bad through Sunday. Might resolve and go dry again.”

“How much do weather analysts make? Like, could I make a good living and not risk my life on four wheels and a seat going fast? Because it feels like the fuck up rate would work in my favor.”

One of the mechanics approaches Nika and says something in Italian; he hands her a clipboard and she scribbles her name. She probably doesn’t even know what it is; Paige hopes she just watched Nika sign her life away to a timeshare. 

“Would you consider an existence where you don’t risk your life on four wheels and a seat to go fast a good life?”

“Fair,” Paige acknowledges. “Has Azzi exploded on the boys in the factory yet?”

Nika snorts. “Yes, but it was disappointing because she did it in Italian. But I got the gist.”

Damn. Missed opportunity. Paige would pay actual money to see Azzi chastising the weather analysts in Sant’Agata in Italian. She bets it would be hot; Azzi speaking another language is always hot. 

As if Nika can read Paige’s thoughts, she rolls her eyes. “Mind out of the gutter. You’re worse than the tyre team.”

Whatever. Paige isn’t going to apologize for appreciating beauty in its most elevated form. She looks around, surreptitiously trying to see if Azzi’s anywhere near. Annoyingly, she’s not in the garage and Paige idly calculates the odds of running into CD or Azurá if she goes looking. It’s not a great outlook for her, all things considered. 

“I’m gonna check in with the tyre guys,” she tells Nika, who only rolls her eyes. 

“Sure you are.”

Paige gives her the side eye as she walks away. 

—--

When she does, eventually, run into Azzi, it’s because everyone at the track has been called together for a briefing. Diana’s pulled all team members who are onsite into the garage to give a reframed version of the pep talk she delivered at dinner to the leadership team; this time, she’s added an ease and lightness to her delivery that Paige can tell is a front from the way her eyes continue to crinkle. 

“Look at that,” she says with a wry smile. “It’s Brazil. It rains.”

That pulls a laugh from the crowd. Maybe there will be a master performance at Interlagos this weekend. Maybe Paige is about to see the maestro at work. 

"So," Diana continues, a hint of amusement still lacing her tone. "We thought we were going to have a dry race. Now it looks like that's not the case. That’s alright. We'll adjust. F1 races in the rain. We're ready for this; it's why we do all the preparation that we do. We take nothing for granted."

Pretty words, and there’s feeling behind them. The tyre crew and the assorted engineers in the garage are all nodding in agreement. They want to win too. 

Paige scans the room for Azzi and finds her across the crowd, standing next to a tall woman with goddess braids. They aren’t talking, though they’re standing closely; close enough that Paige cocks her head in interest. She doesn’t recognize her, and she prides herself on knowing everyone who works through the garage on race weekends. 

“Who is that,” she whispers to Nika, pressing their elbows together and gesturing with her head. “With Azzi?”

Nika looks over. “Sarah… Strong, I think. She’s one of Diana’s minions. She’s usually at the factory.”

That makes sense. But it’s still odd, the way Azzi’s fine with this woman inside her personal space. 

Of course, Azzi’s not paying any attention; not to Paige, or this Sarah Strong woman, or to Diana’s speech. Instead, she’s leaning against one of the tool cabinets and staring out the garage door at the rain, playing with a Rubik’s Cube. Her fingers twist and turn the six sided square with precision, even though she doesn’t look down to see what she’s doing. Paige can see the full square starting to establish, the sides beginning to form in full squares of color. Azzi’s going much slower than what she’s capable of. Paige once timed her doing it wine drunk and she got it in twenty-one seconds. Her fingers kept turning into butter and it pushed her time up. 

The two of them laughing themselves silly probably didn’t help. 

“We have everything we need to be successful,” Diana is concluding her speech. At least, Paige hopes it’s the end. “We have a good car. We have incredible drivers. We have a dedicated and capable team. We race as one.”

People clap, Paige included. She watches as the team starts to disperse; engineers begin to turn their attention back to data readouts and the tyre crew heads to their own huddle. Across the garage, Soni and Kiki are involved in deep conversation with Georgia and Caroline. 

“Hey,” she says to Azzi. The cube is long solved and Azzi’s just twisting it aimlessly now, her attention still on the rain. 

But Paige’s presence and words pull Azzi out of her daydreaming. 

“Hey.” 

She’s wearing an old pair of shorts. Not so thin to be indecent but enough to make Paige’s eyes linger. God, she’s so inappropriate about her senior race strategist. 

“You fiddling,” she says, glancing at the cube. Azzi only fiddles when she’s particularly focused. 

“Just needed something to keep my fingers busy,” Azzi says, and abruptly freezes. “I mean, that’s not, I—”

“Please,” Paige grins, “tell me more.” 

“You’re the worst,” Azzi informs her, but her cheeks are red. Paige loves it. “Such a child.”

Paige shrugs, unrepentant. “You’re the one who thought about it being sexual. Can’t blame me for my mind wandering to—”

“A wet race,” Azzi interrupts, and then looks like she wants to run her face into a wall. Paige is delighted. “Oh my god, Paige. I — you — ugh.” 

She groans and storms off, leaving Paige standing there absolutely shocked with glee. 

“I love Brazil,” she whispers to herself, a different kind of understanding dawning. This is going to be a good week. A very good week. 

—--

Rain in São Paulo is different from rain in Monaco, or anywhere else Paige has been in Europe. It’s warmer in Brazil, and more humid. Even in a loose T-shirt and shorts, she feels sweaty and gross from the inside out; it’s an uncomfortable combination.

The outlook doesn’t improve when she walks into the office waiting room and stops short.

“You again,” she mutters, immediately unenthused about life. Charlotte Atlier, in the flesh; Paige is reminded of seeing her in Mexico City and immediately scowls. 

Unlike Paige, Charlie doesn’t look like she’s in any discomfort or having difficulty. Her hair is braided back into a low bun and it looks especially ginger with the dark green blouse and form fitting skirt. 

“Good to see you too, Bueckers.”

“Why are you here,” Paige sighs. “In this room, not in South America,” she adds, because she can just see that stupid smirk starting to pull across Charlie’s face. 

“I’m here on official business.” 

“Have you been practicing saying that in the mirror?”

It’s nice to be such a bitch to Charlie. When she and Azzi were dating, Paige had to pretend to be cordial. Even then, when she and Azzi were only at the beginning of their friendship, Paige hadn’t wanted to cause Azzi distress. Now there’s no reason she has to play nice. 

“I promise you, it kills me to say this,” Charlie sighs, “but you’re wanted on TV tomorrow. Brazil’s morning show. It's called Hoje em Dia.”

It’s just like Charlie to omit all the juicy information. 

“What’s with the eleventh hour request? I’m not scheduled for external media this weekend.” 

Paige isn’t trying to be actively difficult; it’s a relief to have a week away from any media duties other than the usual post-session/race press lines. But being on a morning show means she’ll have to get up at fuck o’clock in the morning on a Thursday and let herself get dolled up and – without question, the worst part — spend time with Charlie. 

“Red Bull has declined all additional social media and public opportunities until further notice. After what happened in Austin with Nastya—”

“Nothing happened in Austin with Nastya,” Paige interrupts, because if that’s a narrative that’s spreading then she’s going to absolutely lose her shit. Especially since Nastya wasn’t scheduled to cover the Interlagos race for the communications team. She’ll be back to the paddock in Vegas, but she’s not in São Paulo.  

Charlie raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Protective, huh. Moved on from Azzi so fast, then?”

Christ, this woman is like an antibiotic resistant virus. No amount of herd immunity can get rid of her. 

“Sophie’s just on her usual bullshit,” Paige snaps, ignoring the dig about her friendship with Nastya. “So stop making that about something that it isn’t.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually have all the power in F1. Red Bull is sticking by Sophie and they’ve pulled Caitlin from media duty. So I have a spot to fill.”

What a fucking power move. Paige wants to throw something. It’s bad enough that all of them have to deal with Sophie and her fuckass antics on track; she’s a dangerous driver and sooner or later someone is going to get hurt by her recklessness. But to add to the unbearable frustration of that, she inexplicably commands power at Red Bull. Nika thinks it’s because Sophie does such a good job of courting the sponsors; they see her as the anti-woke shero that the more conservative F1 money has always clamored for. Whatever the reason, it’s galling that Red Bull is actually standing on business because of Sophie’s nonsense. 

“I’m not the championship leader anymore,” Paige reminds Charlie. It stings, a little, because Austin was a shit show in every sense of the word, but being a driver means having a short memory. She can’t be concerned about what happened on the last track; Paige needs to focus on what’s ahead of her. Besides, her priority is Team Lamborghini and what she can do to ensure success for the team. 

All to say, she doesn’t relish the idea of getting on national television after she led the Drivers’ Championship for exactly one week and having to answer questions about how great it is to be a Formula 1 driver. 

“For reasons that truly confound me, people still want to hear from you.”

Paige rolls her eyes, unamused and annoyed.  “What about Sabrina? Shouldn’t it go to her first?”

“Sabrina’s popular,” Charlie says. But there’s reluctance in her tone, a serious note of loathing that tells Paige what she’s really thinking. 

Because the second part of her sentence goes unsaid, and Paige would bet there’s no universe where Charlie would admit it out loud. 

But not as popular as you. 

Someday, far in the future — when she and Azzi have grandchildren and a stupidly successful 401K — she’ll ask Azzi about Charlie. About what could have possibly drawn her to this woman. 

Far, far in the future. 

Maybe when they have great-grandchildren and they’re moving to Mars to establish a colony there. 

“You gonna do it or am I going to have to go through more official channels?” Charlie snaps, annoyed at being made to wait. 

The urge to make her crawl for it is strong; it fizzes in Paige’s fingertips, lays on her vocal cords like carbonation. For reasons that have nothing to do with Azzi or her affections, Paige finally has Charlie in the position of having to ask for something. The power trip ought to feel good. 

“Send the details to my performance coach,” she says instead, agreeing to the TV segment. She’s done her due diligence and tried to get out of the entire thing but the last thing she needs is Charlie running to Diana to complain about Paige being difficult to work with. Everyone knows Diana is wound up, word on the paddock is that she and Sue are still feuding. So now’s not the time to push. 

Charlie nods, and leaves Paige with a disparaging glance. She doesn’t even say thank you. 

“You’re welcome,” Paige calls after her, rolling her eyes. 

It would probably be good if they could find a way to work together in peace; Paige wants a long career in Formula 1, after all, and Charlie is high enough on the Public Relations team that she’s a fixture at many of the North and South American races. There’s a world where not having Azzi between them would fix the bad blood. 

But not this world. Not this universe, where Paige still wants Azzi with a burning that lights her bones on fire. Not when she can still remember the cracked ceiling of her apartment in Brackley and the way she used to stare at it in the dark while knowing that a few blocks away Azzi slept next to Charlie. 

Not when all that technically tethers Azzi and Paige right now are the contracts they each have with this Formula 1 racing team. And it seems that all that keeps them apart are the contracts they have with this Formula 1 team. 

There’s too much to overcome. If Paige has to pick her battles, she’ll always choose to be suited up against Charlie. 

—--

2:11: …like I can’t concentrate with all this nonsense happening. I never paid attention in earth sciences because it honestly just seemed fairly useless, given everything else that was going on…

—--

Toward the end of the day, she goes looking for Nika and finds KK and Jana first. Because God clearly has a sense of humor. The two of them — and Kelis — are settled in the conference room arguing about lap differentials. There are six different binders spread open in front of them; Kelis is seated on top of the table, patiently highlighting numbers as she calls them out and Jana inputs them into some kind of spreadsheet. 

“Yo,” Paige greets, reaching across the table to dap KK up. “This fucking rain, man.”

“The worst,” Jana agrees. She twists her hair into a high bun, her face shiny from the humidity. 

Paige surveys the mess on the table and makes a face. “What are you guys doing?”

“Azzi asked us to run the deltas from wet races and account for the power train differentials,” Jana informs her grumpily. 

Paige isn’t surprised at the attitude; it sounds tedious as fuck. “Factory team couldn’t do it?”

KK shrugs. “It’s good to do it on-site. Helps to get familiar with the data. Plus, nobody wanted to wait for the factory team.”

“It’s a punishment,” Kelis announces, ignoring the look of betrayal from KK. “Jana pissed off the weather team.”

That sounds like the more plausible explanation. Paige turns an amused glance to Jana, obviously wanting the scoop. 

“What did you do?”

“Bro,” Jana immediately launches. “It was a complete misunderstanding.’

“You told them they’re glorified witch doctors with the competency of a first year Neville Longbottom.”

Jana looks unrepentant. “Actually, I stand by it.”

Kelis sighs and gives Paige the rest of the dirt. “The satellite tech told Azzi she was gonna revoke our database privileges.”

Oof. Paige almost wants to laugh. 

“Azzi can’t have taken that well.”

“She ripped them a new one,” Kelis confirms. “But we still have to pay for making her life harder.” She sends a glare at Jana and KK, who don't look at all concerned. 

“She’s in with Diana,” KK tells Paige. “If you’re looking for her.”

“I’m not,” Paige lies. 

She’s always looking for Azzi. Even when she’s not. 

—--

Nika comes to her suite on that night, already dressed in lounge pants and a tank. She has a plethora of sheet masks with her and she shoves Paige into the armchair and plasters a wet napkin onto her face that’s supposedly imbued with the healing properties of a pomegranate. 

“This is gross,” Paige complains. 

“It’s good for your skin,” Nika reminds her. “Especially you since you’re sitting in a hot box for two hours.”

Paige is lounging in her boxers and a sports bra, the fluffy hotel robe tied loosely about her waist. She’s got her hair thrown on top of her head in a housewife bun, the kind of look she’d never be caught dead in outside her hotel room. 

“I’ve got skin like a newborn baby,” she argues. 

“More like you are a baby.”

They argue about how to pass the time. It’s a very fancy hotel so every channel known to woman is available. Paige almost makes Nika watch lesbian porn just to fuck with her, but they eventually agree to just play Fortnite instead. 

“You want to go on a trip after the end of the season? Oh, fuck they’re on me,” Nika says as the last remaining team in their battle royale creeps up on them. “We could do another house stay? Or go on a road trip, if you aren’t sick of being in a car. You wanna drive down the Portuguese coast? You’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Nah. I just wanna sleep for a hundred years after the end of the season. Oh fuck me they’ve got ice gauntlets. Get in the car!” 

This close to a win, they’re both louder, their focus on the TV absolute as they grip their controllers tightly. On screen, Paige drives them up the mountain and they find a better vantage point.  

“You gonna go see your pops?”

“Maybe.

“Bringing him to Monaco? Oh get them! Nice one. Take that you pre-pubescant shit.” 

Paige shrugs. “Honestly, bro, I hate Monaco.”

She can almost hear Nika’s eyes roll around her head. 

“Only you could hate living in the most fabulous and exclusive country in the world.” 

“Whatever, it’s stuffy. I can’t breathe there.” 

On the screen a Juice WRLD peeks out from the bunker below and disappears. Paige waits for him to do it again then goes for the headshot.

“Fuck yes,” she cries as she eliminates him, pumping her arm in the air when the #1 Victory Royale branding pops up. She and Nika high five, and it’s perfect timing because room service arrives with their fries and shakes. Paige feels a little guilt, but honestly not much; she’s not getting into the car until Friday so it’s not the end of the world to be enjoying some of life’s few victories.  

“I think I wanna move,” she says, blurting out the thoughts that have been bouncing around in her head for a while. 

Nika looks over in surprise, a fry halfway to her mouth. “For real?”

Paige drinks a few sips of her milkshake and nods. It tastes like happiness and putting teenage boys in their place. 

“Yeah. What if I moved to the factory? Into the apartment?” 

Nika has a two bedroom flat in Modena and Paige stays with her whenever she needs to be at the factory in Sant’Agata. Nika won’t let her pay for the entire place but Paige bullied her into accepting fifty-fifty. The monthly is pocket change compared to what she pays in Monaco, even with the steep discount that Phee’s fiancé tosses her. 

“There’s nothing to do in Modena,” Nika warns. “It’s boring as shit after dark.”

“Yeah, because Brackley was so different,” Paige counters. “And I’m not going clubbing every night in Monaco or trying to hang out on yachts every afternoon so it’s not that much different.”

She likes the yachts but it gets old after a while. Especially without her closest there. Soni won’t be around in the offseason because of her boyfriend, and the other drivers are paired up or have their own things going on. Paige can only third wheel so many times. 

“Just feels like a colossal waste of money,” she adds, dunking one of her fries in ketchup. She’s made an extreme exception about letting Nika eat in the bed, because the couch is uncomfortable as shit and the two of them aren’t going to sit at the massive dining table. “And, like. For why?”

For a long moment, Nika’s quiet. She swirls one of her fries through the milkshake because she’s disgusting like that, and munches on it quietly. 

“I can get my own place,” Paige continues. “Like, I’m sure you like your space now—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Nika scoffs. “It’s just different than Brackley, that’s all. I work a lot fucking more now that I’m on the F1 team. I don’t want you moving to the middle of nowhere and thinking it’ll be one way and it not turning out to be what you thought.”

Nika hesitates, like she’s going to say more, and they probably both know what’s likely to come out of her mouth. But she must decide that this isn’t the moment. 

“I miss having you around all the time,” she says instead. “You’re my favorite rash.”

She’s bold because she knows Paige won’t shove her and risk getting food all over the bed. And she’s right. 

“Love you too, twin.” 

—--

The morning show is terrible. Paige is used to waking up before she’d prefer, but going on morning shows is another kind of early. She sits in hair and makeup with her eyes closed, trying to pretend that she’s asleep to trick her mind. DiJonai came with, and hangs around nearby scrolling on her phone.  

“Good, you’re here already,” Charlie says, entering the little ready room. 

Paige opens an eye and glares at her. “It’s too early in the morning for your bullshit.”

Being that she’s sponsored by the devil, Charlie looks perfect. Her dark navy dress hits right above her knee, the usual style of “business botox” that she embodies so very beautifully. Never trust a ginger, Paige always says. Has said since she encountered Charlie. 

“I could say the absolute same, Bueckers. Did you review the talking points that got sent over?”

“Sure did. I can talk all I want about the egregious social inequity in São Paulo, severe traffic issues, and the impact of extreme urbanization on the air pollution. Right?”

Goading Charlie has always been a fun pastime, and a lot has changed in the years since she fucked off to America, but that certainly hasn’t. There’s a lot of pride that Paige takes in the fact that she’s probably one of the few people on earth who can push Charlie’s buttons so beautifully. 

“Mention how excited everyone was about the three-year contract renewal,” Charlie says through gritted teeth.

“Got it,” she responds, and gives a little salute. 

But Charlie clearly has no belief in Paige’s ability to actually know what she’s doing. 

“Do not answer anything about rumors that F1 is bringing another race to South America.”

The makeup artist finishes up, and Paige gives a grateful smile with a murmured obrigado for being made to look presentable for national television. Behind her, DiJonai has put her phone away and is laser focused on the tension that simmers between Paige and Charlie; she’s ready to jump in for whatever Paige needs. 

“Charlie,” Paige sighs. “Go jump in the Atlantic.” 

It’s going to be a long fucking morning. 

—--

By the time Paige arrives at the track following her stint on Brazilian morning television, she’s started to feel the buzzing in her bones. It’s a race weekend, it’s a race weekend, it’s a race weekend. Being around the garage and not in the car is making her skin itch. 

And it seems like she’s not the only one.

“I hate these NWP models,” Azzi complains, in a louder tone than Paige thinks she’s probably aware of. 

She has her walkie attached to her belt loop like she often does, the weight of it causing her pants to fight the laws of gravity. 

“I know. And the team at the factory is aware of your displeasure,” Kelis tells her. To her credit, she keeps her voice absolutely even; Paige is impressed. 

“What’s going on?” Paige asks. She gets the delight of Azzi’s full ire directed at her. 

“The storm was expected to head inward and decline in strength,” Kelis informs her. 

“And it’s not doing that?” Paige guesses. 

“No,” Azzi interjects, clipped. “It’s not.”

“It’s shifted to head back to sea. But there’s a warm front coming in from the east,” Kelis adds. “Which means it’s probably just going to hover for a bit right off the coast and drive more rain across the area.”

“Chill, Azzi,” Paige says, because she can’t help but needle her. “I’m good in the rain. We’ll be fine.”

Azzi looks like she’s going to launch across the small space between them and knock Paige’s head off with one glancing blow. In response, Paige can only beam at her. 

“Maybe you should…go,” Kelis suggests, no doubt well aware that Azzi’s only recourse is to take her frustration out on her team instead of with Paige. 

“I’m due for media, anyway.” 

But she lingers for a moment, enjoying the prolonged eye contact. Because there’s something pricking at Paige and she knows Azzi knows; they’re really going to be fucked this weekend. Silverstone was one day of inclement weather and if this rain keeps up. 

Well. 

“I’ll see you later,” she tosses at Azzi, because that’s who Paige is. Then she ducks away and heads to do her press interview. 

—--

It’s the worst possible driver combination that Paige could have imagined. She sits between Sabrina and Caitlin, cold from the air conditioning on her already wet hair, shirt, and jeans. 

“Paige, do you feel like Interlagos means more now that you’ve led the championship and are within striking distance of the lead again?” 

It’s so awkward, God it’s so horribly awkward. 

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter about my personal points. Last week was disappointing because of what I didn’t bring home for the team. I’m only focused on that.”

She wishes she had gum, but CD made her spit it out before she walked into the press room. 

Beside her, Sabrina’s sitting pretty. She’s not the kind of person who has nervous energy — she’s too serial killer focused for that — but her unnatural stillness is really disconcerting. On Paige’s other side, Caitlin keeps twitching and readjusting; it’s driving Paige fucking crazy. 

“Sabrina, there’s been a lot of chatter this week about Paige’s success driving in the rain. Any of that a concern for you?”

Jesus. Paige does everything in her power to keep her facial expression from changing. 

“I’ve had success at Interlagos in the past,” Sabrina answers, totally monotone. “I know this track in an F1 car. Success in F2 and F3 doesn’t always translate here.”

For fuck’s sake. Paige internally sighs, more annoyed than insulted. If Sab could just keep her goddamn mouth shut they wouldn’t have to go through this bullshit. 

“Paige, any response?”

“No.”

CD would be proud of her.

Afterward, the three of them trudge out together, each of them careful not to touch or bump or get into each other’s space. Surprisingly, it’s Caitlin who breaks first. 

“Was that really necessary,” she mutters, throwing Sabrina an annoyed glance. They’re holed up in the green room, waiting for security to announce their covered golf carts are ready so they can be transferred back to the main part of the paddock without getting caught in the deluge. 

“They asked a question,” Sabrina says as she shrugs. “I answered it.”

“You answered it and opened us up to another round of bullshit questions,” Caitlin bites out. She looks like an owl with her eyes so wide. 

“You got anything to add?” Sabrina spits at Paige. 

“Seems like you got enough to say for both of us,” Paige answers, her words syrupy slow. She doesn’t have any reason to get into it with Sabrina but she’s also not someone who ever walks away from the disrespect.

Sabrina doesn’t reply, doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t escalate. Her assessing eye roves over Paige, like she’s trying to figure something out. Whatever she takes from the interaction, Paige doesn’t know. 

Why did Azzi visit you over summer break? Do you know why she left Mercedes?

She wonders if Sabrina would tell her, if she were to ask. But Paige can’t be that soft with another driver who isn’t Soni; she’s not going to make herself an easier target than she already is. Formula 1 is about more than just what you can do on a track, and Sab and Azzi seem to have some kind of perplexing bond. She’s not going to wade into waters she can’t see into just to ask questions she doesn’t know the answer to. 

"Be a robot if you like," Sab says, moving her gaze away from Paige and back to Caitlin. "That's not how I drive."

Caitlin clenches her jaw and brushes past Sabrina, who clearly doesn't have any trouble picking fights today. And Paige really isn't trying to make it worse so she follows Caitlin out at a measured pace. Not running away, but choosing not to stay. 

The three of them sit silently on the golf cart as they’re driven away from the Interlagos HQ building and back to the garage. The poor minion assigned to shuttle them around must be able to feel the tension, but none of them make any effort to diffuse the atmosphere. 

It’s raining too hard for any kind of conversation, anyway. 

—--

The afternoon strategy meeting goes well. 

“Our goal this weekend is to be early, not reactive,” Azzi says. 

She and Caroline typically alternate on running the Thursday briefing, depending on Dorka’s schedule. But Dorka is holed up on a conference call and Paige doesn’t have a lot of interest in what she has to say anyway, after the cluster fuck in Austin. 

There are really only two people that Paige trusts with her life; Azzi and Nika. She doesn’t know what she’ll do on the day that they disagree. 

“Interlagos drains unevenly. Sector 2 will stay wet longer than Sector 1.”

“If it stops raining,” Paige says, interrupting. 

Azzi looks at her, annoyed at the interjection. “Yes, Paige. If it stops raining.”

God, Azzi looks good. Her hair is even curlier because of the rain and humidity; it keeps getting wet and then drying and it means her curls are out of control. The ringlets look like they would wind around Paige’s fingers beautifully, like she could tug and pull them with gusto because they’d just bounce right back into place. She imagines what it might be like to be able to win at Interlagos and get a congratulatory kiss from Azzi. That type of thing was never going to be a possibility for her, not with the original plan of them working for other teams and it’s not possible now with them both at Lamborghini, but it means Paige can freely fantasize about it. 

“People suffer here because they hesitate and we’re not doing that. We’re making gains this weekend by being in front. By going bold and going strong.”

And now Azzi’s talking dirty, which makes it all the worse. 

“We’ll be relying on driver feedback, so Paige and Soni, we want to hear from you this weekend. Everything and anything.”

She wants Paige to yap at her through the headset? Paige is happy to accommodate. 

“We also have a smaller pit lap delta because of the short on/off. Twenty second loss. That works in our favor too.” 

The meeting continues; general outline of the race weekend and their goals for the strategy sessions, recon on what other teams will be likely to focus on, additional technical information about the track. 

Paige listens and takes notes; she’s been studying her pre-race assignments and she knows Interlagos as a track. Because it looks simple, but the Autódromo José Carlos Pace is brutal. The combination of layout, elevation, and how little margin there is for error would make it difficult enough. Add in inclement weather and low visibility and it changes everything. 

But she’s ready. 

She’s fucking ready. 

—--

Paige gets summoned to Diana’s makeshift office at HQ before the day is over, and the reasoning doesn’t make her happy. 

“You’re joking.”

Diana stares at her, eyebrows raised. The Lamborghini Team Principal doesn’t have time to waste on bullshit like this and they both know it. Standing next to the desk, CD sighs. 

“What if this wasn’t a big deal and you just said yes and got it over with quickly?”

Paige turns a glare toward CD. “No.”

In front of her, Diana rubs the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows are pinched together in frustration and Paige can feel the ice beneath her feet getting thinner with each passing moment. Diana’s been under so much stress, she’s wound so very tight. And things with Sue Bird haven’t settled; gossip on the paddock is they’re still on the outs. 

“They’ve asked, Paige, and I’m inclined to say yes. This is their third request in a month. You were a big draw on that morning show today.”

Paige hasn’t had to worry about the Netflix docuseries Drive to Survive all season. With Soni the only driver taking part from Lamborghini, it isn’t even something that’s been on Paige’s radar. 

“We agreed at the beginning of the year,” Paige reminds Diana. “One driver from Lamborghini was enough, and Soni’s been subjected to this nonsense for months now. I don’t understand why there’s so much desire to change it up mid-season.”

“Because nobody thought you’d be in any kind of position to win at the beginning of the season,” CD says, stating the obvious. She looks a little too happy about Paige’s misery.

It makes everything inside Paige recoil. She doesn’t mind the brand deals and the photoshoots because that feels like a different beast; it’s just her image, it’s just her touting a few lines in commercials, or random shit like that. But this — this is different. This is quiet and close up and people who are in the know asking probing questions. It’s needling when she’s vulnerable and creative editing. It’s giving someone else the ability to control the narrative. 

And if there’s anything Paige hates, it’s giving up the power to control her own narrative. Especially given the events of the last year. 

“The point of having only Soni take part was to raise her profile.”

“Soni was always going to take part, and so were you,” Diana reminds Paige. “Now things are different; you’re a serious contender for the championship this year and Lamborghini is leading in the Constructors’ and I want to maximize on that.”

“We don’t control the editing,” she says, trying one last time to talk Diana out of it. 

“So don’t say anything stupid,” Diana says with a wave of her hand. “They’re expecting you for an interview before you leave the track for the day.”

It’s a dismissal, and it takes all of Paige’s self restraint not to stomp her way out of the office suite. Unsurprisingly, she’s only one in a line of people who want Diana’s time; the woman with the braids from earlier — Sarah Strong, her brain supplies — is sitting on the bench in the waiting area. 

They nod at each other, but Paige is too worked up to really put any thought into the interaction; she storms away and Paige fumes all the way back to the garage. She finds DiJonai and unloads as she paces back and forth in her ready room, her hair a frizzy mess and her frustration bubbling over. 

But DiJonai only surveys Paige with skepticism. “So you’re upset over having to give an interview? I really don’t see the problem.”

“I have to sit for a recording at the beginning and end of every race weekend,” she corrects, because she’s a professional driver and her time being wasted is important. “Dissecting what went wrong or how I fucked up and all that bullshit. And they’re always digging for a story to make drama. I don’t want any part of it.”

Paige had been a mess at the beginning of the season; she’d been angry with Azzi and furious with herself and generally pissed at the world. It had taken everything in her to play nice at work and she hadn’t even been that successful, given how bad things had been with Azzi. Taking part in Drive to Survive and opening herself to that kind of insight and scrutiny hadn’t been a good idea. She’s lucky that Diana either realized that or just didn’t care enough to disagree. 

“All you have to do is talk about how excited you are and how difficult the track is,” DiJonai reminds her. “That’s literally it.”

It’s hard to explain. Paige doesn’t even really have the words, only a deep feeling of reluctance. Maybe part of her had wanted to avoid the docuseries on the off chance Azzi changed her mind about them, about working with Lamborghini, about any and all things. The last thing she needed — or needs, really — is for the camera crew to pick up on any of her feelings. On any dynamics. 

But Paige sighs and tells herself that things are different now. That this is where she’s meant to be, and she’s capable. They want her because she led the championship, because she’s still a contender. And she doesn’t have to give them a sound bite that they can use against her interests; all she needs to do is stay on message. 

So she walks back to the HQ building and shakes hands with the recording crew, introducing herself and swallowing the frustration in lieu of learning what’ll be expected of her. They put a little make up on her, but she insists on a more natural look. The last thing she fucking needs is to look like a child beauty pageant contestant. 

The wardrobe is easy, at least; a crisp Lamborghini polo and the team hat. 

They get her into the chair, under the lights and across from the camera. It all feels strange, because this is different from the other ways she does publicity or press. Everything else feels like a persona, even the interviews. This is longer, more serious, more probing. 

The cameras start rolling, even as the assistant is finalizing attaching the lavalier microphone to Paige’s collar and testing the sound quality. 

“Just introduce yourself and say what team you drive for,” the coordinator says. “Do you know the team name?”

Paige scoffs with bravado; she knows it’ll come across as charming. This is who they want. 

“‘Course I know the team name. Did Soni, the first time?”

“She needed a little help.” 

This is all going to air. Netflix loves a good moment. So Paige readjusts herself a little, then looks at the camera with a big, self satisfactory grin. 

Her moneymaker, her agent always says. 

“I’m Paige Bueckers. I drive for Scuderia Lamborghini Corse Velocità Formula One Team.”

—--

She ducks in to say goodnight to Nika before she leaves the track for the day. It’s still raining, still humid; everything feels like it’s taking extra effort.  

“Get outta my seat,” she grumbles, frowning as Nika wiggles her bony ass and makes herself even more comfortable in the cockpit. A few feet away, Georgia is knelt near the front wheels with a digital reader that’s hooked up through a long cord to somewhere underneath the car. 

“It’s not your seat,” Nika murmurs, though she’s distracted with making notes. 

“Um, beg to disagree. That’s my number on the nose.”

“PB5,” Nika mutters. “So humble.”

“It’s cute how you drivers are possessive over a hunk of metal,” Georgia comments, and Paige flips her off immediately. 

She gives them the rundown of Drive to Survive, complaining about it being a waste of time and regurgitating all the silly questions they made her answer in a confessional style recording. Nika tells her they haven’t had any update on the weather front and Georgia unhelpfully adds that Azzi is ready to put her fist through a wall. None of it is surprising; Azzi gets annoyed with any problem that can’t be answered by mathematics. 

“I’ll pop in before I head out.”

“Because that will improve her mood for sure,” Georgia laughs. 

“Whatchu talking about,” Paige laughs. “My presence is always a delight.”

But she goes to find Azzi anyway, because Azzi taking out frustration on her team isn’t Paige’s problem. And when she does find Azzi, it’s to the absolutely glorious version of her yelling in Italian. 

“Francisco, questo è assolutamente inaccettabile. Non puoi continuare a cambiarmi le previsioni ogni ora. Non posso prendere decisioni basate sull'incompetenza.”

Azzi’s standing next to the table in the conference room, furiously swiping through something on her tablet as she expresses her frustration on the conference speakerphone. When she looks up and sees Paige, her expression darkens even further. 

Paige takes it as an invitation. 

“Hey,” she whispers, stepping closer. 

“Quanto tempo impiegherà il vostro team per effettuare un'altra valutazione?” Azzi’s tone drops into something even more deadly as she speaks to whoever’s on the other end, maintaining eye contact with Paige. “Parla con loro proprio ora e chiedi. Voglio una risposta vera. Aspetterò.”

She pushes mute on the conference phone. “What.”

Paige grins. “Can’t I say hi?”

Azzi lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you think you’re about this weekend, but you need to knock it the fuck off.”

Paige leans a hip against the conference table, the most angelic expression she can possibly make plastered across her face. 

“Don’t know what you mean,” she says, her eyes wide. 

"I know what you're doing," Azzi accuses. "You're trying to rile me up." 

"Genuinely don't know what you're talking about," she lies. If Azzi were actually angry they both know Paige would knock it off. "You ready for this weekend?"

That only serves to make Azzi's jawline tighter. 

"Am I ready for this weekend? Fuck right off, Paige, and wipe that stupid goddamn smirk off your face. A rain race is nothing to smile about."

Paige shrugs. This is a dynamic that feels so familiar it might as well be a year ago, messing about during a race. 

"I mean, I'm good in the rain."

"I will absolutely not deal with bullshit this weekend," Azzi warns her. "We have a strategy; we are going to execute on that strategy." 

"Course we are," Paige agrees, as genially as she can. "You maxed out on steak or you wanna grab a bite?"

She doesn't bat her eyes, but it's a near thing. 

Azzi's eyes are dark: lightning flickers in them, ready to fry Paige. 

"Get out," she orders, and Paige stands up. 

"I'm goin," she says as she backs away. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

—--

The bravado of who she has to be falls away as she sits in the car on the way back to the hotel. 

Her forehead tips against the window, the glass cool against her skin. It's always her preference to drive herself around, but it was an unequivocal no from the team lawyers; the insurance on her or Soni would be insane and the admin folks were super clear that they weren't having it. Paige isn't concerned about being kidnapped; too many times she’s been told she would be too much trouble for anyone to keep for long. 

But now that she’s alone, she’s having trouble wading through how she feels, as the adrenaline of being around other people wears off. It’s strange to have everything feel so up and down; the ups being Azzi’s presence and how Paige is feeling about the track and the downs being all the bullshit that surrounds everything in F1. She refuses to consider that Azzi is anything but a net positive in her life.  

There are people waiting at the gate as the car pulls into the hotel area. Fans or paparazzi; the windows are too tinted for anyone to know it’s her and she’s glad for the anonymity. She doesn’t feel up to being Paige Bueckers tonight. 

The hotel suite is absurd; it has a dining room. A dining room with an enormous table. What could Paige possibly want in a giant suite that has a dining table that can seat twelve? She’s not running a Last Supper situation. 

But she will avail herself of the giant fruit basket that’s been left in the middle. 

There’s a voice memo from Azzi on her phone. Paige looks at it and her heart is already racing, her vena cava quivering deep inside her chest. She doesn’t know how to do this anymore, how to keep the balance where it’s comfortable and not dangerous. 

It feels like everything is conspiring against her; every external force is pushing her into the state of mind that makes her do crazy shit. Charlie. Sabrina. The rain. It’s like every little bit adds pressure, sits on her shoulders and settles her spine into formation. It whispers in her ear, a soft little this is who she’s meant to be. Like the snake in the Garden of Eden; Paige knows her scripture. She’s living out her own Book of Genesis. 

Paige sits at her dining room table and picks a fruit at random. It’s green and oblong. She’s never seen it and doesn’t know what it is. 

But she has an app for this. There’s an app for everything. Except for what she really, really needs. 

—--

20 seconds: I know you think you’re cute, you really do, but don’t you dare try something crazy this weekend, Paige. I mean it. 

—--

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“Paige,” Azzi warns, glaring her way. She’s clearly annoyed with the restless energy Paige is putting into the room. 

Whatever. She can’t help it. She’s buzzing and everyone knows it; Paige can’t even find it in herself to be apologetic. 

But she does stop tapping her pen against the table. 

The clock on the wall ticks down to the start of FP1; twenty-eight minutes. But there’s no way. Not with the rain as heavy as it is. 

“So just to repeat back,” Caroline is saying, hunched over the conference phone, “you estimate that it could be anywhere between thirty minutes and two hours of rain at this intensity?”

At her side, Azzi looks like she’s ready to toss herself out of the garage and swim her way around the track. 

“That is correct,” the heavily accented voice on the other end of the conference phone says. 

“I can’t live like this,” Caroline sighs, pressing mute on the conference phone and turning her head to Azzi. “What do you want to do? Dorka’s on a call with the Aero team.”

Azzi runs her hands through her hair, and Paige is surprised that actual clumps don’t come with them when she brings her hands down and presses them together. 

“Okay. Okay. Let’s break into Rain 1 protocol. I want every single thing triple checked. Quadruple checked, even. On my team, Jana and KK will run point. Get assignments and report up to them. Caroline?”

Azzi stands up as Caroline gives her own set of instructions. Paige doesn't have to pay attention anymore because Caroline isn't her senior race strategist. Instead, she swivels her chair in Azzi’s direction. 

“Go find something useful to do,” Azzy says to Paige before picking up her pace and striding out of the room. 

“Useful,” Paige mutters. “Like I’m not useful around here for what I do in the car.”

She hears an undignified snort and turns to see Kelis, who blushes at being caught. Paige raises an eyebrow and Kelis scurries off. 

“No appreciation for your talent,” Soni coos. 

“Long suffering me,” Paige agrees. 

—--

Paige is zero percent surprised when race officials announce that the start to FP1 will be delayed by at least one hour. The rain is pounding the track; there’s very little visibility and nobody wants a bunch of crashes in a practice session. 

“The two of you couldn’t find anything else to do?” Jana asks as she passes by them in the hallway. “Where did you even find a fútbol?”

Soni traps the ball with her left foot and sends it arching back to Paige. It lands neatly at her feet. Suspicious. Her boyfriend must be teaching her. 

“It’s Brazil,” Paige shrugs, providing no additional explanation. 

“If Azzi and Caroline hear that you two are out here playing games instead of reading delta reports—”

“Bro, there’s nothing useful in the delta reports.”

Soni snorts. “I mean, she’s right,” she appeals to Jana, who looks scandalized by Paige’s  sacrilegious statement. “Not with this rain.”

Jana leaves them be, though Paige assumes it’s because she doesn’t want to get caught too near the crime of goofing around when there’s actual work to be done. She and the rest of the engineering team are scrambling, because everyone wants answers and nobody’s going to get them until the cars actually get onto the track and data comes back on how they behave in the rain. With the elevation changes it’s going to be brutal. 

They kill twenty minutes passing the soccer ball back and forth, chatting idly about paddock gossip, until word reaches them that the engineers are ready to meet. 

Everyone is set up in the garage; the heart of the engineering team is gathered around one of the big monitors, watching the reassessed deltas coming in. Paige situates herself in the back, leaning against a tool cabinet. 

“Your thirst is unknown to human kind,” Soni laughs at Paige, eyeing the unzipped racing overalls that hang down and the way she’s shed the fireproof turtleneck and tied it around her waist. It leaves Paige in only her sports bra. 

“It’s humid as shit,” she waves Soni off. “And you’re one to talk,” she adds, eying the loose tank top that Soni’s donned that shows off more than it covers. 

“Nope. Thirsty.”

Paige rolls her eyes, and pulls out her phone to check her messages. At the front of the group, Azzi’s yapping about the weather. 

“...so we should expect the rain to stick around. We’ve also been warned that lightning is expected and if that’s spotted, we’re looking at thirty minute window delays. This might be a bumpy day.”

Azzi goes on for another ten minutes, giving more of an overview of the day and the weather expectations, and answers a few questions from various team members. 

“Any other questions?” 

Azzi’s eyes drift over the crowd. Because Paige is in the back — and because she’s super invested in everything Azzi does — she’s probably the only person who notices the way Azzi glances at her three times over the course of ten seconds. Like she can’t help herself. 

Like Monza all over again. 

“I guess your thirst pays off,” Soni muses, clearly catching it as well. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige hisses, turning red. But she can’t help the way her lips turn up at the ends. 

—--

She jumps out of the car when FP1 ends and water drips from her overalls onto the cement of the garage floor. KK swoops in to pat at her with a towel, vigorously drying Paige off. 

“Hold on,” she says, and undoes the clips so she can take the helmet off, finally emerging into relief. “Jeez Louise, ease up!”

KK only twists the towel and snaps it at her. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You fucking know what it’s for,” KK glares at her. 

And, well, maybe Paige does. 

She’s not going to get changed completely because it’s too much hassle, but Paige undoes the top of her racing overalls and lets them hang, then peels off the fireproof turtleneck again as well. Across the garage, Nika eyes her and rolls her eyes. 

“It’s so freaking humid,” Paige says, her tone just a hair short of whiny. 

And it is humid; the heat and the rain is a disgusting combination. 

“She wants to see you,” KK informs Paige. 

“Wonderful,” Paige says with a smile. “I love being yelled at. Also, see if we can add something to the back of my gloves so I can swipe at the visor; even at speed it was hard to see with rain on it.”

She loves the helmet that she’s wearing this weekend. F1 drivers like to customize the skins on the helmet; it’s the only way they can show personality through fashion on the track. Everything else is sponsor branded and subject to regulations, but for some reason the helmets haven’t been brought under scrutiny yet. Like a few of the other drivers on the grid, Paige has a special helmet this weekend; it’s yellow with blue, an homage to the Brazilian flag and there’s a watercolor depiction of Ayrton Senna on the back. 

It’s good luck, she tells herself. 

Paige hands KK the helmet and her in-ears and scrapes her hair into a ponytail. It’s always better to have her hair tied back when she goes into battle. 

Azzi’s in the conference room and she’s got murder in her eyes; the genuine kind, the kind that really, really means that Paige’s life is in jeopardy. Her eyes flick over Paige for a nanosecond and then she’s right back to glaring.  

It was a good choice, to shed the fireproof turtleneck and show off her ab muscles. Paige is acing all her decisions today. 

“What were you thinking,” Azzi says, very much a statement and not a question. “We had a plan. We went over the plan. You said you were clear on the plan.”

Paige leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She doesn’t clench her abs on purpose, it’s just what happens. 

“I sent you out on full wets to make the most of the thirty minutes,” Azzi reminds her, though it sounds more like an accusation than a retelling of what happened. “Three laps to warm-up and get a baseline. You wanted ride height and I gave it to you. Fine. Another three to get better data and then two laps to push at the target delta, and in-lap break temps.”

Azzi’s really gathering momentum now. Behind her, Paige can see Blanca and Morgan exchange a look. Jana pops a jelly bean in her mouth like it’s popcorn at a movie theater. 

“You can’t just decide to experiment, Paige.” Azzi starts to pace, just little back and forth movements that hardly count as steps. “I know you think the deltas aren’t the most important indicator but we’ve got to get those. You went so far off the line through Curva do Sol you were into standing water. You should have lifted. You know the tyres were overheating. Genuinely, what the fuck were you thinking?” 

Paige arches an eyebrow. “I was thinking it’s definitely going to rain all weekend and I wanted to know how the wets actually behave.”

“You stayed north of seventy percent throttle,” Azzi hisses, like Paige has committed a cardinal sin.  

“I don’t like lifting if I don’t need to. The rear hooked up mid-corner instead of snapping.”

“You got greedy,” Azzi accuses, pointing her finger at Paige. She looks so angry it’s almost cute. Like an old school cartoon. But, of course, still gorgeous. 

Paige pauses, wondering if thinking such thoughts about Azzi is anti-feminist. Is she being patronizing? 

“I wouldn’t say greedy,” she says, after a moment, once she’s pulled her thoughts back to the argument at hand. “Just wanted to know the lay of the land. Test the water, really.” 

She smiles, pleased with the wordplay. 

Naturally, that’s what really pushes Azzi over the edge. Her fingers twitch, like maybe she’s going to slap Paige, or try to strangle her. Such violence between them. It really is their own little love language, a true hallmark of their friendship. 

“Figuring out the lay of the land—”

“Testing the water—”

“Fine, testing the fucking water! You got greedy and added more throttle and couldn’t control the massive snap oversteer and you spun out.”

It really looks like Azzi’s going to break her rule of no violence in the garage and try to beat the everloving shit out of Paige. 

God, Paige hasn’t had this much fun in ages. 

“There was no damage to the car.”

“Luckily. You could have crashed.”

“Extreme assessment,” Paige disagrees. “But I didn’t. She’s fully intact.”

“You have a flat spot on your back right and you burned a set of full wet tyres. I swear to god, I can’t with you drivers sometimes, always thinking you know better about everything. We planned for a long-run comparison and now we have nothing to compare it to.” 

Paige isn’t worried because they’ll be able to get what they need in FP2, and it’ll definitely still be raining. 

“I need to stretch with DiJonai,” she says, pushing off the doorframe. “My shoulder’s feeling a little tight.”

“I swear to god, Paige—”

“Take a look at the data,” Paige suggests. “And come find me.”

She can see the astonishment on Kaleigh’s face, the genuine amusement on Jana’s. Even Gandy looks skeptical. But this is a far cry from the fights Paige and Azzi had at the beginning of the season. Those were…mean, and messy. Full of digs and genuine anger that originated far from the track. Azzi’s team can see how different things feel now. Paige assumes they’re relieved by the new dynamic. 

With a nod, she walks away. 

—--

It takes forty-five minutes for Azzi to find Paige. 

It’s forty minutes more than Azzi likely needed to find the gem in the data readouts, plus another ten for her to make the team re-calculate and cross check the numbers. And then it would have taken her another fifteen minutes to stew about the entire situation, and she’d have needed time to debrief the rest of the data readouts with her team. 

All to say, Azzi walks into the hospitality suite right about when Paige expects her to. 

“You can’t just go all Maverick,” Azzi says, dripping water all over the table. 

Per usual, she looks like she didn’t even bother with an umbrella when she dashed across the paddock. The suspicion is confirmed when Paige sees Kelis enter the hospitality suite, holding the umbrella and Azzi’s rain jacket, like she ran after her. 

“Feels like maybe it paid off,” Paige suggests.

“Just because you got lucky doesn’t excuse you from doing stupid shit,” Azzi snaps. 

It’s not that Paige has low self preservation instincts. It’s that she clearly doesn’t have any value for her life. That must be why she can’t help but grin. 

“Was the down arc in the data beautiful? It just nosedived, right?”

She sees the way Azzi’s nose wrinkles, the minute little twitch that says how annoyed she is that Paige found some use from spinning out and getting back onto the track. 

Because the tyres are overheating, even in the heavy rain; Interlagos is known for having an incredibly abrasive asphalt and it cooks the rubber quickly. 

But when Paige spun out and moved off-line, her rear slip got better. When she wasn’t on the racing line — which is always going to be the driest part of the track — she had more grip because of the deeper water. It cooled the tyre surface. 

“You didn’t say anything on the radio.” 

“Because I can keep my fucking mouth shut.”

Azzi’s eyebrows raise. “Beg to differ.”

She and Azzi stare at each other for a moment. 

It’s already miserably hot in São Paulo. If anyone had asked Paige, she’d have said she didn’t know how it could possibly get any hotter. 

But she’d have been wrong. She’d have been very, very wrong. 

—--

There are no big blowups during FP2. 

It’s not exactly smooth sailing since it’s fucking pouring down rain, but Paige manages to make do and get all the necessary laps in. They test a little bit on the earlier theory that the deeper water just off the racing line cools the tyres, but they do it quietly; she complains on the radio about losing her grip and sliding around. Subterfuge is a common enough practice in Formula 1 and Paige will take any advantage she can get. 

The debrief sessions also go without incident, though Paige does feel like she’s in a crockpot and the dial is being slowly turned from low to high. 

Eventually, all bad things come to an end and make way for more bad things. She and Soni groan when it comes time to leave for the driver briefing; going back through the rain is as unwelcome a prospect as sitting in a room with the grumpiest and most aggressive bunch of racecar drivers known to womankind. But even as they grumble, they gather their things and start to leave.

“Paige,” Azzi calls, her voice soft among the din of the engineering chatter. She waits for Paige to pause and turn back before continuing. “Mercedes will push for an automatic VSC if visibility gets bad on the run to Turn 4.”

Paige holds her gaze for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

—--

40 seconds: …be careful this weekend. I know you think you’ve got it all handled but Interlagos has a way about her. 

—--

On their way to the briefing meeting, Paige and Soni make a plan. 

“Visibility and grip first?”

“Yeah,” Soni agrees. And then safety car versus virtual safety car. Caroline wants an answer on formation lap too.”

“Turn 4 as well,” Paige mutters. “This is going to be a fucking shit show.”

She’s not wrong. The atmosphere inside the drivers’ briefing room is tense with simmering frustration and animosity. Lamborghini has a good fucking lead in the Constructors’ Championship and it means everyone else is feeling the pressure. Paige wants to remind them all that she and Soni have the most pressure, because everything is a competition and what’s the point of being alive if you aren’t trying to win? 

“Is there going to be a mandated switch point?” 

Paige has to work hard not to physically let her eyes roll out of her head at Aliyah Boston’s question. 

Behind her, Kah isn’t as polite. 

“Rook, it’s gonna rain all weekend,” she calls. A few of the other drivers — specifically AT — chuckle in agreement. “Ain’t nobody getting onto inters.”

“Not a rookie,” Aliyah reminds Kah, loudly. She’s really in a mood now, and Paige sighs at the way the meeting has gone off the rails so very quickly.  

“To be fair,” Cam says to Aliyah, not trying to keep her voice down, “she calls everyone younger than her a rookie.”

Paige wants to bash her head against a wall. 

“We don’t have a mandated switch point,” Cathy says from her position at the front of the room. She’s standing behind a podium like she always does, but this far into the season it feels particularly ridiculous. It’s only the twenty of them plus Cathy’s two assistants in this room; there’s no need for a media posture when nobody from the media is present. 

“So it’s just like, a ‘hope and pray’ situation?” KMac’s feeling spicy. Paige can feel her disdain from five seats away. 

“Race Control is monitoring the situation very closely,” Cathy assures them. “If we see the track carrying more standing water than would be safe for intermediate tyres, it is possible that full wet tyres will be ordered. Or the opposite. We’re monitoring.”

Everyone grumbles about that, because a situation necessitating wet tyres is more likely than not a situation where a red flag should definitely be called. 

“Every weather report available in this hemisphere is projecting heavy rain and high winds,” Phee says. She’s got a McLaren binder with her, like the good girl that she is. “What’s the max point Race Control will allow before calling for a red flag?”

“I’m not prepared to share a number with you; if conditions are unsafe, we will red flag.”

They’ll let it go long, though, because even though hosting a race in São Paulo at the beginning of the rainy season makes no fucking sense, Formula 1 needs to get the most out of the weekend. There’s a lot of money on the line, and it always comes down to money. 

“Fine,” Sabrina calls from the middle of the room. “What about visibility at Turn 4. If we can’t see then it should be an automatic VSC.”

Damn. Paige should have been faster. 

“Even if visibility is low, we might still have grip,” she says, interjecting herself. It’s probably the most combative thing she’s ever said to Sabrina, and the look Sabrina sends Paige makes it clear that she fucking knows it.

“Grip doesn’t make a difference if we can’t see anything,” Sabrina rebuts, and everyone is taking notice now.

Something that Paige hasn’t focused on this season is that Sabrina’s the reigning world champion. Two time reigning world champion, actually. She knows a thing or two about driving, and Paige has been so laser focused on everything happening off track that it’s been a while since she’s really thought about what it means to be a contender against Sabrina when they’re in the cars. Not since Silverstone.

And the truth is, you don’t get to be a driver at this level without knowing where your talent is strongest and where you fall short.

Without knowing the same about the other drivers. So she pushes.

“I mean, are we going racing or are we going for a drive behind a VSC or safety car?”

It sounds brash even to her own ears, but sometimes persona means more than people give it credit for. Certainly more than Azzi ever gives it credit for. 

She’s setting herself up and she knows it, but Paige has been aching for a chance to put her elbows out and clash with Sab. She can only do it on the track, or about the track, which isn’t what she really wants but she’ll take what she can get. Seems like Interlagos is going to be the place that happens.

“You haven’t even driven this track in an F1 race yet,” Sabrina scoffs. 

“What’s the answer?” Paige asks Cathy, who’s draped herself over the podium and looks tired of being the referee between two toddlers. The expression on her face is one of extreme exhaustion; Paige almost feels bad for her.  

“No absolutes,” Cathy answers. “If it’s unsafe we’ll red flag, as I said.”

Well, Cathy can get fucked. 

The meeting continues like that. Track limits, the formation lap, restart conditions; it goes on and on and on. The drivers who are more confident in the rain ask for explicit parameters so they can push, and the drivers who aren’t as comfortable ask for earlier intervention. Sabrina doesn’t say anything else and neither does Paige, but it feels like they’re both extraordinarily aware of each other. 

 By the time they hit the seventy-five minute mark, Veronica and Jackie have outright argued and Phee has straight up started painting her nails. 

“Alright that’s all we can do for tonight. If you have additional requests you can run them through team channels to the stewards,” Cathy says, ignoring the groans that permeate the room. 

“What’s the point of doing it if you aren’t doing it right,” Kah mutters. 

Paige doesn’t care about any of it; people are whining and moaning about the rain but she just wants to race. A wet track has never been an issue for her and she’s not about to believe that Brazil of all places is where that will change. 

Azzi would call her delusional. Nika would agree.

Paige wants to walk away from the driver briefing room so quickly it would probably verge on sprinting, but she forces herself to relax and appear chill. Of course, Soni’s taking her sweet fucking time yapping with Kate, and it means that by the time they make their way out they’re practically shoulder to shoulder with the Mercedes drivers. 

“After you, rookie,” Sab says with a smile. Her face is so angular it’s hard to tell if it’s a sneer or just how her muscles work. Unless she’s got a giant grin on her face she always looks angry. 

“Really,” she mutters, and though Paige truly doesn’t mean for Sabrina to overhear, it’s obviously her shitty luck that the Ionescu family has fucking bat hearing. 

“What’s your problem,” Sabrina says, calling the question between them as they walk down the hall. 

Two steps ahead of them, Soni slows her gait even as her head is turned to something else. Ride or die. In more ways than one. 

“What’s my problem?” Paige asks, turning to post up just a little. She’s escalating with no good reason, really. Based on the look Soni tosses back at her, that’s clearly apparent. “I don’t got a problem, bro. Can’t speak the same for you.”

Sabrina opens her mouth to respond but right as she does, Sophie Cunningham walks by. 

“Oooh, trouble in paradise,” she coos in her stupid, annoying sing-song voice.  

“Shut the fuck up, Sophie.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sophie.”

Paige and Sab say it in unison, barely sparing Sophie a glare. 

Of course, it makes Soni snort and she has to smother it with a little cough because neither Paige nor Sab so much as crack a smile; even ganging up on Sophie isn’t enough to diffuse the pressure in the air. 

“You’re in over your fucking head,” Sabrina says. The worst part is she doesn’t even say it with any bite. She says it like she knows it’s true. Like she’s just telling Paige a fact that Paige ought to already know.

And that’s the part that really fucking digs at Paige, like a suckerpunch low in the stomach. No way to block properly and really goddamn painful because it’s such a surprise move. 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you,” Paige spits, suddenly glad to let out the frustration she’s been keeping inside her chest. It’s taken voice and shape, morphing so rapidly its growth feels almost alarming. 

“God. The things you don’t know are eating at you. You want to know it all so badly, don’t you?” The words sound strange coming from Sab’s mouth in such a unique tone; a dichotomy between mockery and concern.  

If the driver briefing went off the rails, this is something in the vicinity of an epic crash. Messy, bloody, high casualty count. Soni starts to edge closer but Paige keeps her at bay with a quick flick of her eyes. 

Paige tries not to take the feint, but it’s hard — this is her life. This is her fucking life. 

“It’s not good to keep your feelings all bottled up,” Sab continues to goad. Her eyes narrow on Paige’s face before she gives an amused huff. 

But Paige is done keeping her mouth shut.

“Fuck you, Sab. I don’t—”

“I’ll tell you.”

The words don’t echo or drop like an anvil. They’re just words. Just three words. 

A contraction. 

An irregular verb. 

A second-person personal pronoun. 

Three easy words, meaningless on their own and strung together with massive implication. Like holding a firework. Or a bomb. 

“Sab.”

Paige can’t breathe.

“I’ll tell you,” Sabrina says again. “But you have to ask.”

A gap will always open up. It’s inevitable.

[buffalo1221]

ITS A GOOD DAY, FOR A GOOD DAY.

(aka it’s hot lap day)

[sleepytp]

Phenomenal as always

[dripanddrive]

Ok go reread

[sleepytp]

Y’all look at my puppy. His name is Beck. :)

[girliblue]

can i have this dance? - one

pairing: paige x azzi💕

——————

Summary: Weddings are a lot of things. Celebrations of love, gatherings of friends and family, and maybe even the beginning of someone else’s happily ever after.

Azzi loved weddings, had loved them since she was a kid and religiously watched ‘say yes to the dress’ with her sister Olivia.

And now this time next year Olivia would be getting married, with Azzi as her maid of honor. Azzi should be thrilled, should be over the moon really. She loved her sister, and she loved her soon to be brother-in-law, Jared, almost as much. So why wasn’t she excited?

The answer was three words. Paige fucking Bueckers.

Paige - - Azzi’s infuriating, arrogant, utter arch nemesis that she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with. Also known as Jared’s sister/best woman.

So, also known as the best woman opposite her maid of honor, meaning she would be impossible to ignore in the entire team leading up to the wedding.

Forced to co-host events, an unresolved past history, their families about to become one and confusing feelings that arise only when the two girls are around one another. What could possibly go wrong?

—— or, the enemies to lovers fic that i randomly got inspo for :)

—————

a/n: my first time (literally ever) writing enemies to lovers, so get excited!!! loosely (like very loosely) inspired by the movie ‘anyone but you.’

title from ‘can i have this dance’ from high school musical 3.

sorry if this is formatted weird, my laptop is broken once again so i’m posting from my phone.

pls enjoy and lmk what u think!!

wc: 5.1k

——————

Chapter One: The Engagement

“take my hand, take a breath…”

There were very few people Azzi would answer her phone for in general, but mid-workout? Fucking forget about it. So when her sister’s boyfriend, Jared, wouldn’t stop spam calling her at nine am on a Tuesday while she was at lift, she could only assume that something was terribly wrong.

“Who died?” She barked out, negating a greeting. The athletic trainer that was stretching her gave her a stunned look, and she felt a tinge of embarrassment for this new hire who wasn’t accustomed to her dry humor yet.

Jared laughed on the other end, “Um, and what if I was calling to say someone actually died? This could’ve been extremely awkward for the both of us.”

Azzi sat up from the training table with a grimace, rubbing a hand over her face. “You called me four times in a row!”

“Cause I’ve been trying to reach you for almost a week now!”

Confused, Azzi put the phone on speaker, then opened her call log with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Sure enough, her sister’s boyfriend had called at least once a day since last Saturday, all of which went unanswered by Azzi. Putting the phone back to her ear, Azzi let out a sheepish, “Oops.”

Jared barked out a laugh, “Yeah, oops is right.”

Azzi snorted under her breath before thanking the trainer and hopping down from the recliner. She grabbed her water bottle off the nearby chair, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she shoved her things into her bag. “So,” she said, pushing through the training room doors, “what’s up?”

There was silence and some shuffling on the other end, before he finally cleared his throat. “I’m asking Liv to marry me.”

Azzi stopped short in the hallway, her jaw dropping. “What?!” She practically squealed, her previous shitty mood completely forgotten. “Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing Jared! When?”

“Next weekend, it’s all planned out.” Jared said, and she could hear the nervous excitement bleeding through his voice now. “Can you come to Pier 17 to take pictures? I’ll send you all the details.” Then, his voice got quieter as he added, “Assuming she says yes, that is.”

“Dude, she’s obviously gonna say yes. She loves you, y’know that.” And this was an understatement quite honestly. Olivia and Jared had been together since college, almost eight years now, and they were still attached at the hip despite the time that had passed. Them getting married was less of an ‘if’ and more of a ‘when’ for years now. “Don’t be nervous, she’s gonna be so happy.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do.”

They talked for a little longer after that, with Azzi promising not to spoil the surprise to her sister, and also promising to subtly make sure her sister’s nails and hair were properly prepared for the occasion. When Jared sent over the detailed schedule he crafted for the evening, Azzi put the call on speaker again so she could look at it. Her role was rather simple, she just needed to stay hidden on the pier in Manhattan and take photos of the proposal itself.

The next four days of keeping the secret from Olivia had started off easy, given that she usually only saw her sister on the weekends with how busy both of them were during the week anyway. The problem really had to do with the morning of the proposal, in which Azzi was on the phone with her sister ready to ram her head in the wall over how stubborn she was being. “Liv, you can’t wear a slick back tonight.”

Olivia groaned on the other end of the facetime, “But I don’t have time to blow it out, and I certainly don’t feel like doing my whole curl routine right now.”

“What if I came over and blew it out?” Azzi offered, hoping that her sister wouldn’t question her rare display of kindness (especially when it came to anything cosmetic).

“I don’t like the way you do my hair!”

“So just wash it and put some product in it then!”

“But I don’t feel like it!” Olivia’s eyes narrowed, “Why does this bother you so much anyway?”

Azzi had to resist the urge to snap and express how much she wouldn’t hear the end of it when, in a few short hours, her sister would have a ring on her finger with a fucking slick back hairstyle? Azzi would be murdered for not forcing Olivia to do her hair, which is why she was being so adamant at the moment. And, of course, her sister was being anything but cooperative.

So, Azzi went for the jugular. “Because you don’t look good in slick backs.” This was, in fact, not true, her sister looked pretty in just about any hairstyle (although Azzi did think she wore a few too many slick backs… she’s allowed to say that as the role of the younger sister, though). But, she knew that would do the trick.

“You’re such a bitch, like really? Now I just wasted time fighting with you instead of doing my hair.” Thankfully, Olivia could now be seen turning on her bathroom light and then the shower from the other end of the call. “You better be here to do it by the time I’m done.”

After that entire production, as well as the production of Olivia complaining about the ‘lack of volume’ in the blowout Azzi ended up doing for her, her sister was ready for one of the most special moments of her life. Azzi even kindly offered to drive to the restaurant, which was a pier bordering the hudson, one that required reservations at least several weeks in advance.

Normally, Azzi would rather die than drive into Manhattan from Brooklyn, considering she rarely used her car most days anyway, but she decided that the most discreet way for her to take pictures before the official proposal would be from the front seat of her Mazda.

“You sure my hair doesn’t look dumb?” Olivia asked for probably the tenth time since getting in the car, checking herself in the mirror again while fluffing the front pieces of her hair.

Azzi resisted the urge to pick a fight again, taking a deep breath instead before offering a supportive smile. “You look beautiful, Liv. Now go enjoy your anniversary dinner.”

Olivia nodded, shifting the review mirror back into its original place. “Okay, thanks.” She slid out of the car, adding “see you tomorrow!” before slamming the door shut.

“Bye,” Azzi laughed, watching her sister hurry toward the restaurant with a grin she was trying very hard to hide.

Once Olivia was inside, Azzi pulled around behind the restaurant, finding a secluded spot near where Jared was planning on popping the question. Reclining her seat back, she made herself comfortable for the time being, knowing from the detailed itinerary Jared sent that he wouldn’t be bringing Olivia down by the pier until after they ate.

About twenty minutes passed before a sudden knock against her window scared the shit out of her, causing her to drop her phone into the crack of the seat. “Fuck my life.” She assumed someone had recognized her through the windows of her new car (she really needed to get them tinted), internally preparing herself to socialize with whatever fan was waiting.

But, when she looked up, she was face to face with the dead last person she wanted to be looking at right now. Or ever.

With a huff, she rolled down the window, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too.”

That annoyingly smooth voice drawled from a crooked smirk as none other than Paige Bueckers leaned against her car door. With a tilt of her head, she rested her chin on her hand, “You gonna unlock the door, or…”

Azzi scoffed, brow raising, “Now why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t in the next thirty seconds, your sister is bouta see me and you’re gonna spoil this whole thing.”

That’s when Azzi’s critical thinking skills kicked in and she processed why Paige was in Manhattan, let alone beside her car, in the first place. Jared must have conveniently left out the part where his plan included his irritating little sister. She didn’t have time to focus on the fact that she was going to kill her (God willing) soon-to-be brother-in-law, because she realized Paige was (annoyingly) correct. She dramatically clicked the unlock button, “Hurry up ‘fore I change my mind.”

As if she needed to do the exact opposite of what Azzi instructed, Paige took her dear sweet time opening the passenger door, making sure to adjust her seat so she was in a full manspread before finally closing the door fully. “You got a nice ride here,” Paige commented casually, glancing around the interior before running her fingers along the dashboard. “Is it new?”

“Mhm.” Azzi barely even looked at her, far more focused on trying to recover her phone from the crack beside the driver’s seat. She bent down, one hand bracing herself against the center console while the other searched blindly beneath her leg. Her voice was muffled as she asked, “So what exactly are you doing here?”

“Um, you are aware that my brother is about to propose to your sister, right?”

“I meant, why are you here with me right now?” Azzi shifted in the seat again, bending over so that she was facing away from Paige, her fingers just grazing her lost phone from where it was stuck between the door and the seat. When Paige didn’t respond, Azzi turned her head to look back at her mortal enemy. “Hello? Are you deaf?”

That’s when she noticed blue eyes locked on Azzi’s ass which was still bent up in the air from the awkward angle she’d twisted herself into. Her jean shorts rode up, revealing more skin than she would have preferred her least favorite person on this planet to be looking at. A solid three seconds passed before Paige snapped out of her trance, shaking her head and coughing into her hand. “I’m taking a video while you take pictures.”

She would have loved nothing more than to annihilate Paige for having been blatantly checking her out, but she could feel her cheeks warm involuntarily. Considering the last thing she wanted was for Paige to think she had any sort of effect on her (which she didn’t, obviously), she returned her focus back on looking for her phone. “And you needed to do it from my car?” Azzi exhaled when she finally made full contact with her phone, slowly sliding it up until she was able to hold it in her hand again. “Feels like this didn’t need to be a two person job.”

Paige shrugged lazily, “It’s not like I have a car to hide out in, so yeah.”

The Fudd girl couldn’t think of a clever response to that, considering it did make sense. Paige lived in LA as the shooting guard for the Sparks, rarely visiting her brother unless it was for special occasions. And Azzi certainly wasn’t complaining about this, she’d preferred if Paige remained on the other side of the country and they only ever had to interact when their teams played one another.

“So Jared told you that you’d have to be with me for this?”Azzi asked, finally sitting upright again and tossing her recovered phone into the cupholder. When Paige nodded, Azzi continued. “And you didn’t care?”

“Hey,” Paige started, lifting both hands defensively, “I wasn’t thrilled, but I’m a big girl. I can put up with your bratty ass for an hour.” She smirked, clearly pleased with the subtle jab.

“Don’t call me a brat.” Azzi shot back, tossing curls off her shoulder in frustration.

Ignoring her response, Paige shifted in her seat so she was facing her fully. “Why, he didn’t tell you or somethin’?”

“Nope.”

Paige let out a knowing hum. “See, that’s ‘cause he knows you're a brat.”

“I swear to God, call me that one more time.”

Paige leaned forward onto the center console, her face now mere inches away. “Yeah? You’ll what?”

Azzi’s mind suddenly went static, her chest rising and falling with huffs of anger. God, everything about Paige just drove her crazy. The way she flirted like it was nothing with any girl with boobs, her constant degrading of every little thing Azzi did, how she carried herself like she was the shit.

All of those things filled her mind rather than one of her typical witty remarks, which only boosted Paige’s confident bravado more. The blonde leaned back against the door, crossing her arms against her chest. “‘S what I thought.”

Instead of giving her the satisfaction of sitting in their weird tension, Azzi focused her attention back on the task at hand. She clicked on her phone to check the time, “We have about another fifteen minutes before they should be coming down. So let’s not talk until then.”

“Fine by me.” Paige shrugged, pulling her own phone out of her pocket and starting to scroll.

As a surprise to no one, Paige lasted less than two minutes before being obnoxious again, “You think she’ll say no? That’d be lowkey funny.”

Azzi whipped her head toward her, “And why the fuck would that be funny?”

Paige giggled, “Relax, ‘s a joke.” She muttered the latter half under her breath, “Forgot I can’t say nothin’ without you getting all mad.”

Thankfully, both of their phones buzzed after that with a text from Jared saying that they were starting to move down to the pier, and that they should start making their way over to the spot he told them about. The tension in the car shifted, both of them suddenly reminded why they were there in the first place.

Azzi moved first, going to her trunk to get her camera bag out of it. When she pushed the button to close it, Paige spawned at her side, sticking an arm out to stop it from closing. Azzi side eyed her, “Can I help you?”

Paige leaned slightly into the trunk, scanning around the mess of random shit Azzi kept back there. “You got any waters? I’m quenched.”

“Quenched? Can’t you just say ‘thirsty’ like a normal person?”

“Do you have any waters or no? It was just a question, dear God.” Paige snapped, her voice rough and lowering an octave.

Azzi was a little taken aback by Paige’s lack of patience. The other girl was a lot of things (annoying, rude, slow - - to name a few) but impatient was rarely one of them, especially when the two of them would bicker. “Yeah, I do.” Azzi muttered, reaching behind one of the folded beach chairs shoved in the back and grabbed the half-finished case of water bottles leftover from a beach trip with her friends a few days earlier. She handed one over with a small shrug. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Paige said with a curt nod.

They made their way to the bottom of the pier in silence, with Azzi now somehow bothered by the lack of words being exchanged between the two of them. “I’m happy for them.” Azzi said after a minute, feigning casualty. “Jared and Liv, I mean.”

Paige’s step faltered, probably also shocked that Azzi was initiating any form of conversation. “Me too.” Her voice was less rough than earlier when she added, “I love Olivia. Not sure how she’s so awesome when she’s genetically related to Satan himself, but.”

Azzi nudged Paige with a huff, but a small part of her felt a tiny piece of relief that they were interacting normally (for them) again. “Here, this is where he said to go.”

They stopped at the bottom of the dock, directly across from where Jared and Olivia were slowly making their way down now. From this distance, Azzi could see her sister smiling about something Jared was saying, completely oblivious to what was about to happen. “Why am I nervous right now?” Paige whispered, rubbing her palms against her sweats. “When I end up proposing, Imma be a nervous wreck.”

Azzi hummed distractedly while unzipping her camera bag, sliding the strap of it over her shoulder. “You got marriage on your mind, Bueckers? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Nah, no one important. I jus’ meant in general.”

“So, you’re still fucking the entire city of Los Angeles?”

Paige scoffed, grabbing Azzi’s wrist and halting her movements with the camera. “Okay, now that’s taking it too far.”

Azzi, momentarily stunned, froze in place, startled by the unexpected contact between her wrist and Paige’s veiny hand. It wasn’t a rough grasp, but it was certainly firm, and the contact sent a jolt through Azzi, causing her brain to go static.

Shaking herself out of it, Azzi shrugged her hand out of Paige’s tight grip and roughly placed her camera back down on the dock. She stood with her hands planted on her hips, anger rising in her chest again. “So you can say whatever the hell you want to me, but I can’t say the truth to you?!”

Paige took a step closer to her. “Did I slut shame you?”

“No, but you- -”

“Then you have no leg to stand on.” Paige dragged a hand through her blonde hair with a frustrated exhale, pacing a step away before turning back toward Azzi again. “How has it been a whole year since I’ve seen you,” Paige muttered, more to herself than anything, “and you’re still the same selfish…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right word, eyes flicking back up toward Azzi’s, “princess or somethin’.”

Azzi let out a dry laugh, taking a step closer to the blonde in a surge of confidence, “Please, you know nothing about me.”

Paige’s jaw tightened as she looked off to the side. “I know enough.”

“No you don’t! Which is why it makes no sense that you hate me for no fucking reason!”

For a second, it looked like Paige was ready to fire back, her mouth opening and blue eyes widening. But, she stopped herself, instead looked out toward the water and swallowed thickly. “I have a reason.”

The pair had a habit of ripping each other’s heads off when they were in close proximity, that was nothing new. They had a habit of only seeing the worst in each other, and dancing around the why of it all. This was the first time, in a long time at least, that either of them had acknowledged this, and it stole the breath right from Azzi’s lungs. She cleared her throat, several follow up questions on the tip of her tongue, but the sound of people cheering around them pulled her attention.

Both of their heads whipped toward the other side of the dock, where Olivia and Jared were currently kissing, Jared on one knee and Olivia crouched above him. “Holy shit, what?!” Azzi said in a panic. Somehow in the middle of whatever just happened with Paige, she missed the entire proposal. They both did.

“Fuck, the video!” Paige yelled, equally as frantic, scrambling to pull her phone out of her pocket and trying to get what was left of the proposal.

Azzi was thinking the same thing, sliding the lens off the camera as quickly as she could, rapidly taking photos as Jared placed the engagement ring on her sister’s ring finger. The camera clicked over and over while Olivia cried into Jared’s chest, both of them laughing through tears as people around them continued cheering.

For a moment, Azzi forgot about the fact that she had just totally fucked up her one job (although it was entirely Paige’s fault and she was very much prepared for throw the obnoxious girl under the bus), and instead focused on the fact that her big sister was engaged. Her big sister, her best friend, was getting married to the only man Azzi would probably consider even slightly good enough for Olivia.

Then, because she had to ruin everything, Paige started laughing at her when she spotted the tears threatening to pool over at Azzi’s waterline. She stood there, quite literally pointing and laughing, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Bruh, you’re so gonna be a mess at the wedding.”

Azzi spun back toward her, “Can you take anything seriously? You’re the one who’s going to have to explain how you fucked up your one job, and now there’s no video record of one of the most important moments of their lives!” She watched both the humor and the color drain from Paige’s face. “That’s what I thought.”

“Nah, but you’re in deep shit with me, though.”

“Not really.” Azzi gestured toward her camera. “I still got the end of it. You missed the most important part.”

She watched as Paige’s eye flicked back and forth between where they stood and the couple across the way, “Did you get him down on one knee?”

Azzi felt the color drain from her own face when she realized she had, in fact, not captured Jared as he proposed on one knee. “Fuck, what do we do?”

They had to act quickly when Olivia spotted the two of them, and the newly engaged couple started making their way across the dock. Paige stood beside Azzi, both of them waving with fake smiles plastered on their faces. “Just act like everything’s normal.” Paige said through her teeth.

Azzi forced a smile so hard her cheeks hurt. “And when they ask for the pictures? Or your video?” she whispered back, equally tense beneath her fake calm expression.

“Say we needa edit them or something.”

“Fuck, this better work.”

Somehow, it did work. When the engaged couple got closer, Olivia sped up, running toward Azzi and throwing her arms around her. “I’m engaged!” She kept repeating, laughing wildly before hugging Paige too. And when Jared asked if they ‘fulfilled their jobs’, Paige turned on that annoying charm with a casual shrug. “Yeah,” she nodded casually, holding up her phone. “We got stuff, we just gotta go through it and edit everything first.”

Azzi immediately caught on, “The lighting got weird at one point too,” she added quickly. “So I wanna fix some stuff before we send anything.”

Neither Olivia nor Jared batted an eye at that. Despite not having any desire to spend further time with Paige, Azzi agreed to get drinks with her and the newly engaged couple, solely for the sake of her sister. A few of their friends met them out too, in order to celebrate Jared and Olivia, which Azzi was originally thrilled about, hoping it would mean she could get away from Paige.

But about half an hour after they had arrived at the bar, Jared was outside smoking with his friends, and Olivia was ushering the girls to the bar for a shotski. When Azzi refused, Olivia popped her hip with a huff, “You have to do one, I’m the bride and I say so.”

“That’s gonna get old real fast.” Azzi muttered to herself.

“What was that?”

“I said I can’t, I’ve got practice early tomorrow.” Azzi fibbed, offering an apologetic smile.

“Okay, well at least come up to the bar then. Stop being all mopey.” Olivia tugged her by the arm so she was forced to get up from the high top she had been comfortably sitting at.

Azzi was about to remind Olivia that she had a right to be mopey considering she was fresh off a flight from Chicago and hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, when a blonde ponytail caught her eye. She stilled in place, taking note of the way Paige stood on the opposite side of the bar, leaning against the wall, phone in hand and looking like a lonely puppy or something.

Before she could really process what she was saying, Azzi shrugged her arm out of her sister’s hold. “I’ll be right back. Needa pee.”

Olivia gave her a sassy once-over, “Bruh, you better not be irish goodbyeing right now.”

Azzi laughed, knowing she did have a tendency to make a stealth exit when she didn’t feel like socializing anymore. “Swear I’ll be right back.”

Olivia waved her off, and only once her back was fully turned did Azzi make her way across the bar. She stopped in front of Paige, whose attention was still fixed on her phone. “Having fun?”

Paige glanced up, surprise flashing across her face before settling into confusion. “Why’re you over here?”

Azzi shrugged, feigning indifference. “You looked lonely.”

Paige scoffed, “Since when do you care?” She stuffed her phone into her back pocket aggressively, “And I don’t need your fucking pity.”

Even though this was their typical dynamic, Azzi couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt, especially when she really did feel bad that Paige seemed lonely. She might’ve despised Paige, loathed her even, but she didn’t like the thought of anyone feeling out of place (or that’s what she told herself, at least). “You don’t need to be so on edge, I was deadass trying to be nice.”

“Whatever, I’m good.” Paige leaned back against the wall. “Go find a guy to flirt with or something.”

Azzi’s brows knitted, and she knew she must have been looking at Paige like she grew three heads or something, but she was confused beyond belief. “What’re you even talking about right now?” The only guy she’d talked to since they arrived at the bar was Xavier, Jared’s friend from work - - who, one, had a girlfriend and two, why the fuck did she even care?

“Y’know what, nevermind.” Paige muttered, jaw hardening. “I’m bouta head out anyway.”

“Fine, be like that.” Azzi started to turn back toward the bar, “See ya at the wedding then.”

“Yup, hopefully it won’t be anytime soon. I’ve had my fair share of Fudd time.”

Azzi spun back around, “You’re such an asshole!”

“Solid comeback right there.”

“Can you just - - ugh!” Azzi tucked her curls behind both ears at once in sheer frustration. “You’re right, thank God I don’t have to see you ‘til then.” She was well aware she had a game against the Sparks in a few weeks, but she would be following her usual routine of avoiding Paige at all costs anyway (besides when they would be forced to guard one another). She was optimistic that her equally indecisive sister would take forever to plan a monumental occasion such as a wedding, so that would be a long way down the road (thank God).

“And I’m not gonna talk to you there, don’t worry. Just family photos or whatever.”

“Good.” Azzi barked out, taking a step closer.

“Good.” Paige brushed past her, shoulder checking in the process. She stilled once she passed her though, calling over her shoulder. “Thanks for coming over,” she muttered over her shoulder before adding quickly, almost under her breath, “I guess.”

With deep rooted-anger still coursing through her, Azzi truly didn’t have a response to that. She was confused again, the way she always got around Paige. The constant bipolar back-and-forth was fucking exhausting, and she didn’t have it in her to fight anymore.

But Paige was still standing next to her, eyes focused elsewhere but her body heat could still be felt from where Azzi was also frozen in place. So, she whispered back, “You’re welcome. I guess.”, before finally crossing the room to where Olivia was waiting at the bar.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Olivia asked, gesturing toward the last glass of the shotski that was currently empty.

Deciding she’d rather go to practice hungover than sit soberly with the aftermath of whatever today had been with Paige, Azzi changed her mind. “Actually, I’ll do it.”

“Hell yeah!”

She positioned herself between Olivia and their friend Janelle, grabbing on the edge of the wooden ski and tipping it back once the countdown sounded. The liquor burned going down her throat, but once she took two more after, she started to loosen.

She had been mid-ordering a drink when a flash of blonde hair caught her eye from outside the glass doors to the bar. Paige was still there, talking to Jared while he finished a cigarette. Well, he was talking, but Paige didn’t seem to be paying much attention; instead her focus was on something inside.

And Azzi might be a little buzzed, but she swore Paige was looking at her, all soft and just about the exact opposite of the way she usually did. Her eyes might be a little crossed, and her balance unsteady, but she swore Paige was looking at her and just didn’t realize Azzi had noticed.

So, Azzi lifted her hand in a slight wave, finally pulling Paige out of whatever trance she was in, prompting the blonde to roll her eyes and turn fully toward her brother. Clearly whatever Azzi had thought she had seen was just her tipsy imagination. Fucking asshole.

The thought of having a connection to Paige for the rest of her life could run a chill down her spine, but that was future-Azzi’s problem. And current-Azzi was feeling grateful that she wouldn’t have to deal with Paige again until the wedding.

Or so she thought.

“pull me close, and take one step…”

—————

a/n: this is my first time writing enemies to lovers, so genuinely pls lmk if there’s anything i should add going further to fit that vibe LOL

thank you for reading!!🤗

[emeqem]

SOOOO GOOD I LOVE!!!!

[buffalo1221]

can you fix a broken heart

Synopsis: Paige attends Azzi’s game expecting a relaxing night courtside and instead ends up publicly exposed as possibly the world’s most whipped lesbian.

warnings: down bad lesbians. sexual tension. suggestive language. emotional humiliation (depending on who you ask). somewhere between light and heavy petting. a lot of gayness.

wc: 8.7k

a/n: i cannot believe the last chapter is here! thank you all for sticking with me and coming along on this journey with me. hopefully you enjoy how i wrapped this up, and hopefully you think it does these two justice. as always, thank you to @dripanddrive for the editing, and familyfc for the brainstorming, emotional support, etc.

chapter 20:

“Right this way, ma’am.” 

Paige looked up at the middle-aged usher, flashing a polite smile as he lifted the rope and motioned them forward. She stepped through first, past a line of fans who definitely did not have access to where they were going.

Behind her, Nika let out a low whistle. “Oh this is nasty,” she said, dragging the word out. “We got money now or something?”

“We do not got money,” Paige laughed, glancing over her shoulder to meet Nika’s knowing smirk. “We got connections.”

Connections like dating the star shooting guard for the Seattle Storm, Paige thought. Her friends definitely didn’t need to know these seats were the result of a playfully heated argument a few weeks ago when Azzi demanded to be billed for all the work Paige had done around the house and Paige flat-out refused. The excuse that the “billing department” was backed up only worked for so long. Paige could ignore Venmo requests all day long. What she couldn’t do was reject courtside seats for her and her friends, especially once Nika found out they existed.

“Same difference,” DiJonai shot back, grinning as she nudged Marta forward. “Move, I’m trying to see where my seat at.”

The court opened up in front of them, the Storm logo stretched across the center circle, gleaming under the bright lights. The seats—according to the ticket on Paige’s phone—were along the sideline at half court. It felt like something out of a different tax bracket, and she briefly considered how many small jobs she’d have to add to her current backlog to pay for these seats under normal circumstances. 

Paige slowed to a halt, taking it all in, wondering how the hell a broken faucet had gotten her here. Sitting courtside, about to watch her amazingly talented and drop dead gorgeous girlfriend ball out.  

“Uh huh,” Nika hummed from behind her, catching the look on her face immediately. “Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting anything,” Paige scoffed, even as she stepped a little more carefully down the row of chairs, not wanting to make a scene. Or knock something over. Or bump into someone who made her annual salary in a month. “Just a fan getting ready to enjoy the game.” 

“You are literally wearing your girlfriend's jersey and sitting courtside,” Dijonai scoffed, eyes widening in exaggerated disbelief. “Like… let’s be real here.”

Paige looked down instinctively, fingers brushing the hem of the forest green jersey she’d thrown on earlier. The one with FUDD stitched across the back. Yes, she wore it every game, but mentioning that didn’t seem like it would help her case at all.

Instead, she rolled her eyes, dropping into her seat and bracing her elbows on her knees. 

This was fine. It was a completely normal experience to sit courtside at a WNBA game in your girlfriend’s jersey while all your friends judged you.

“She got you sitting in the best seats in the house,” Dijonai continued, settling in on Paige’s side. “How many orgasms did it cost you?” 

“I will leave,” Paige said flatly. “I will actually get up and walk out and leave you idiots here.” 

“Not too much on Paige,” Nika cut in, though Paige knew enough to know she wasn’t actually coming to her aid. Nika dropped into the seat on her other side and nudged Paige’s knee lightly. “Fudd is getting plenty of perks herself.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicion confirmed. “Don’t—”

“Oh that’s definitely true,” Stewie nodded, leaning over from her seat, completely ignoring Paige. “I saw the before and after pics she posted of her back deck. I know that girl did not do it herself.”

And okay, that was true, but it was certainly not the perks Paige thought Stewie was about to list off. Thankfully. 

Dijonai let out a loud laugh, doubling over as she slapped her knee. “Oh, you down bad, Paigey. You rebuilt her deck?”

Marta peeked around Stewie with a proud smile. “It did turn out very nice, P. You really put in work.”

“Stop,” Paige groaned, dragging a hand over her face as heat crept up her neck. Thankfully the players weren’t on the court yet so Azzi couldn’t see her getting absolutely roasted. “She asked me for help.”

Technically, that was a lie. Azzi had mentioned needing to “find someone” to replace a rotting board on her back deck. 

“Mm,” Nika hummed. “And you said yes. Immediately.”

Well, obviously. The alternative was letting the crusty boy down the street who was home from college take a shot at it, as Azzi originally suggested. Which Paige had shot down immediately. She’d already caught him ogling Azzi while she was out for a run on several occasions. Not that Paige would have allowed it, regardless. No one was allowed to touch Azzi’s house but her. 

“Because it needed to get done,” Paige shot back, even though that wasn’t helping anything.

They didn’t need to know that the original request to replace a single rotted board had turned into a side quest where Paige rebuilt the entire deck because Azzi once mentioned wanting the railings to be bench height to add more seating. That was no one’s business but hers. 

“Because you’re whipped,” Dijonai corrected.

“I am not whipped,” Paige said, a little too quickly.

Which, of course, made all of them pause before erupting into laughter. Because she was absolutely whipped and they all knew it. It had become painfully obvious over the last few months just how bad it was. 

“Bro, you’re like whipped whipped,” Nika said with a playful laugh. 

Paige slumped into her seat and glanced out at the court where players were starting to trickle out for warmups.

“Y’all are so annoying,” she muttered under her breath.

“Yeah,” DiJonai agreed, patting Paige’s knee in a way that was only slightly patronizing. “But we’re right.

“Whatever,” Paige mumbled, the corner of her mouth tugging up as she tried to fight it. Because they weren’t entirely wrong. That wasn’t something she was going to admit out loud, though. 

And who could honestly blame her for treating Azzi like the princess she was? She deserved coffee in bed, and homemade dinners, and Paige flying across the country to surprise her at All-Star weekend. 

She certainly deserved the new kitchen table Paige had built her last month. The one their friends relentlessly teased her about, completely unaware it broke when Paige bent Azzi over it after she returned from a two-game away trip. How could she not replace it? Really, building the table saved her time in the long run because Azzi was perhaps one of the pickiest people on the planet, and Paige got tired of being dragged to furniture stores only to be told it “wasn’t the right shade” or “she didn’t like that little detail thingy” or whatever other excuse came out of Azzi’s perfect mouth. So Paige had taken her home and kissed her and told Azzi to tell her exactly what she wanted. And then she spent a week of late nights at the shop and made it happen. 

She’d also argue—in her head, of course, never aloud to her friends—that Azzi was not the only one being treated well. Paige had come home to find the latest version of the exorbitantly expensive Festool random orbital sander that she’d been eyeing for a while, sitting atop said table. Before she could even open her mouth to thank her girlfriend for it, Azzi had her shoved against it, and Paige was glad she had built the table so damn sturdy as Azzi laid her back, spread her legs, and ate Paige out on top of it to show her thanks. 

Azzi deserved the world and Paige would do literally anything to give it to her. Like fighting a child for the last pint of Half Baked at the gas station when Azzi had a late night craving after her fourth orgasm of the night. And, okay, she didn’t fight the teenager, but she did give him fifty bucks for it,  which might actually be worse. Still, she wasn’t going to let her friends know that.

“Whatever you say, P,” Nika laughed before bringing her drink up to her lips. 

Paige leaned back in her seat, her eyes tracking the tunnel for any sign of Azzi as more fans filtered in around them, music thumping through the speakers. Beside her, Dijonai was chatting with Stewie and Marta, laughing about something that probably involved her, but Paige chose to tune it out for the sake of her sanity. 

Her thoughts circled back to Azzi, as they always did these days. To how things had shifted between them over the past few months. 

The first few weeks after they stopped pretending this was something casual had certainly been interesting. They’d both been a little cautious. Almost like they knew exactly how much they had to lose now and were afraid of messing it up.

Not to mention that they were both extremely busy. Paige had her business, which meant early mornings, some late nights, jobs that ran over, and clients who called at the worst possible times. And Azzi had practices, travel, film, media, appearances, and games stacked on top of games. It wasn’t easy balancing their schedules by any means. There were days they didn’t see each other at all. Days where the only thing they managed were some brief text exchanges or a quick FaceTime before bed. 

They’d figured it out without guilt-tripping or scorekeeping or passive-aggressive comments about who canceled last or who forgot to text back. They were just open and honest, and always made sure to end the day with a check-in, no matter how short.

It was a bit weird, at first. Paige was used to things exploding into something else if not handled right. A missed call becoming a fight. A late night turning into an accusation. A lack of texting turning into you don’t care, when really her hands were covered in paint or drywall mud or caulk and she literally couldn’t answer for hours. 

But with Azzi, it didn’t escalate or blow up. It stayed what it was—simple. Which, Paige had quickly learned, didn’t necessarily mean easy. It just meant steady and secure. That was still something she was adjusting to, even months later.  

Her eyes tracked absentmindedly across the court, landing on a rack of basketballs as a few of the Sparks players started working through a shooting drill. Kelsey Plum waved at Paige from across the court, basketball tucked under her arm. They’d met once, last month, when the Sparks were in town and she’d met Azzi out at the bar with some of them after the game. It still blew Paige away how their lives had started to overlap in the past few months. 

It started small. A random dinner that Azzi invited a couple teammates to join, to which Nika showed up unannounced with takeout because she “missed Paige” and then refused to leave when she saw Gabby and Sarah sitting at the table. And suddenly Paige’s house—or Azzi’s, depending on the night—was full of people who didn’t feel like they were from separate worlds anymore. 

Then there was the night that turned into them watching both Julien and Theo at the same time. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been a huge red flag the second it was suggested.

“Super easy,” Gabby had said.

“Just for a couple hours,” Marta added as she dropped him off at Azzi’s, handing over a sleepover bag even though they definitely hadn't discussed that.

Neither of those things turned out to be even remotely true. Paige had ended up elbow-deep in bath water trying to get the boys clean after a cookie-making incident, while Azzi tried her best to salvage the sticky explosion in the kitchen. And yet, when the boys climbed into their laps and passed out halfway through a movie with chocolate chip cookies clenched in their fists, a quiet thought flickered through her mind that maybe, someday, her everyday life would look like something like that.

Paige exhaled slowly, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she shifted in her seat and looked around the court for Azzi. She still wasn’t out, only Nneka and Dom goofing off by the bench. After a few seconds watching them, Paige’s gaze drifted down to her hands resting against her knees.

Her cuticles looked suspiciously healthy these days. Honestly, her hands in general did, a ridiculous feat considering she spent most days picking slivers out of her skin or trying to scrape paint or grout from her nail beds. The whole glamorous contractor experience and all.

Now, though, she had regular manicures because Azzi, horrified by the state of Paige’s hands one night while laying in bed together, insisted. The first appointment had been against Paige’s will, or at least that was the story she told her friends to save face. In reality, she’d folded embarrassingly fast the second Azzi started rubbing cream onto her hands while explaining the importance of cuticle oil. 

And don’t get Paige started on the lotion. It was truly offensive for something that essentially amounted to fancy smelling hand cream to be that expensive. Not that Paige paid for it. It had miraculously shown up in her bathroom one day, with replacement bottles arriving every few weeks. 

It was stupidly domestic, but then again, Azzi always paid attention to the little things. She’d slip sunscreen in Paige’s work bag if she knew she’d be outdoors on a job. She’d notice if Paige didn’t pack a lunch and show up with takeout because they both know she wouldn’t take the time to go herself. And sometimes, if Azzi noticed her grimacing or stretching weird, Paige would come home to a warm epsom salt bath drawn. All the better when Azzi was waiting in it for her. 

Her chest constricted a little at the thought, warmth settling behind her ribs. It took some time, but somewhere along the way, Paige had gotten used to someone paying attention to her in ways that went beyond surface level.

Though, if she was being honest with herself, it hadn’t all been easy. Not that she’d expected perfection. 

There had been a few moments. Small ones, mostly. The first real argument had been stupid. So stupid Paige would have laughed about it after, had Azzi not been glaring straight into her soul at the time.  

Azzi had canceled on her last minute, again. She was tied up watching film, and Paige, already running on too little sleep and too much work and missing her girlfriend, had snapped. A beat of silence followed on the other end of the phone, long enough to take the heat out of the argument. Long enough for her to realize the mistake. Then Paige apologized, they’d talked it through, and came up with a plan to make time.

There was another one about something even dumber. Well, depending who you asked. Nika had posted a video from the SZA concert they were all at. Unfortunately, it captured Paige behind Azzi with her arms wrapped tightly around the brunette, her head resting on Azzi’s shoulder. It wasn’t obvious, but it was enough that people noticed, and it spread fast because Nika might be the only person in the world who didn’t have a private Instagram account. 

The comments that followed had been curious. You couldn’t make out Paige’s face and it wasn’t completely obvious that it was Azzi. But Azzi had posted a story of the concert on her own feed earlier so it didn’t take much brain power to put two and two together. 

Paige hadn’t cared, but Azzi had. Not because she wanted to keep Paige a secret. She just didn’t want them to be dragged into something they weren’t ready for. Honestly, who could ever be ready for a media frenzy? Azzi had already endured one a few months ago and wasn’t in a hurry to repeat. 

“It’s too late. The damage is already done, P,” Azzi had said after Paige texted Nika to take it down. “Can you just talk to your friends and ask them to be more careful?”

That had started an argument that had lingered longer than the others. Mostly because it was something they hadn’t fully solved yet. They were keeping things low key on purpose, but that was proving harder and harder to do by the day. 

Fans didn’t need much to go on and they’d left enough breadcrumbs that Paige had seen plenty of comments along the lines of: that’s gotta be Azzi’s girl, right? Even worse were the clap backs about Azzi being straight because Paige knew that was decidedly not true. 

They hadn’t talked about it head-on, but they both knew it was coming. To Paige, it felt almost like they were waiting to get caught, which was both exhilarating and also a little annoying.

And Paige was currently sitting courtside in Azzi’s jersey amidst all the speculation, so. Maybe they weren’t being as subtle as they thought.

A sharp jab to her ribs snapped Paige out of her head.

“Look alive,” Nika muttered, elbow still pressed into her side. “Your girlfriend’s about to come out.”

Paige shot her a look, before turning toward the tunnel. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” Nika hummed. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later a ripple of cheers rolled through the crowd as the rest of the Storm players began jogging out onto the court. Gabby and Sarah were out first, grinning as they locked eyes with Paige. 

“Yo, look at this,” Gabby called, veering toward the sideline instead of heading straight to the bench. “We got upgraded seats now?”

Sarah slowed beside her, eyes sweeping over the row. “I see what’s going on.”

Dijonai leaned forward, pointing at Paige like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Tell them, P,” she said. “Tell them how you got us down here.”

“I didn’t—” Paige started, shaking her head, but it didn’t matter.

Marta, sensing where this was going, jumped in with a shrug that tried so hard to be convincing. “It was probably no big deal,” she said, waving a hand like it would smooth things over. “You know, just a couple extra tickets. Light work for Azzi.”

Paige gave her a grateful look for all of half a second until Gabby snorted. Apparently that was a crazy concept. 

“Girl,” she said, turning fully toward Paige, “I heard Fudd practically begging admin for these seats. Promised to do extra media shoots, extra promotion. Whatever they needed.”

Every head in the row turned toward her at the exact same time. Paige felt the heat hit her neck instantly. 

“Oh my god,” Paige muttered, dropping her head into her palms as Dijonai and Nika leaned back laughing.

“Guess Azzi is just as much of a sad lover girl as you, P,” Nika announced.

Paige shook her head, fighting the smile threatening to give her away. As much as she didn’t want to be teased, knowing Azzi had gone through all that made her feel some type of way. 

Before she could even think about formulating a coherent response, a familiar voice cut in. 

“Y’all are just making stuff up now.” 

A familiar pair of bright pink Jordans came into view from between her split fingers. Paige lifted her head, before standing and instinctively stepping forward as Azzi came to a stop in front of them. 

Up close, she looked so good that Paige had to force her brain to keep functioning as Azzi closed the gap. She slipped into an easy side hug as Paige’s pulse did its usual stutter when she made contact with her girlfriend. 

“Are we making stuff up, Fudd?” Gabby asked rhetorically, eyes narrowing because she was enjoying this a little too much. “Or do you have a special photo shoot with Carly tomorrow after practice?” 

Azzi scoffed and pulled Paige in tighter, conveniently choosing not to answer. 

“You didn’t tell me these tickets were so hard to get,” Paige murmured, ignoring Gabby. “I would’ve been fine in my regular seat, baby.”

Azzi just shrugged, like she hadn’t apparently signed her life away for five courtside tickets. “I had to treat my girl right for all her hard work,” she said with a lilt of amusement tucked into the words. 

Her eyes flicked down briefly, taking in the jersey Paige was wearing, before coming back up, warmer now. Paige briefly wondered if Azzi was thinking the same thing—them fucking in the back of Paige’s truck after Azzi’s game a few weeks ago. Apparently Paige “looked too good in her jersey” and Azzi couldn’t wait until they got home from the bar. 

“And you’re worth it,” Azzi added. 

Paige let out a quiet laugh, trying to fight the crimson forming on her cheeks as she pulled back. Azzi never ceased to make her blush. 

“Thank you, baby,” she replied softly. “Appreciate you.” 

Azzi smiled fondly before turning to the rest of the group, moving down the line with quick hugs and daps. Paige stayed where she was, watching the way Azzi moved through it all so easily, amazed at their worlds blending together so seamlessly. 

Then, just as quickly as she’d come over, Azzi was backing away, jogging toward the bench with her teammates as the coaches called them in.

“Don’t get too comfortable down here!” Sarah called over her shoulder as she followed. “Fudd can’t afford this every game!”

Paige laughed and dropped back into her seat, exhaling through her nose as she stared out at the court, trying to act like her friends weren’t absolutely about to start in on her again for the whole encounter. Judging by the way Nika leaned forward behind her, she had about three seconds. Maybe less. 

She was right about the teasing, but thankfully, Paige didn’t get roasted as bad as the LA Sparks. When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read, 87 for the Storm and 68 for the Sparks. 

Paige stayed seated, elbows on her knees, watching the Storm players huddle up after the win. Pride flooded through her at Azzi’s twenty-six points. The feeling of watching her girlfriend light it up every night never really got old. A lot of things had changed the past few months, but the joy Paige felt watching Azzi play basketball didn’t. If anything, she loved it even more, her heart swelling with pride watching her girlfriend ball out. 

Around her, people were moving, some heading for the exits, others leaning forward because they knew something else was coming. 

Paige didn’t think much of it until the announcer’s voice cut through the noise.

“Alright Storm fans, don’t go anywhere just yet!” he called, drawing a fresh wave of attention back to center court. “It’s time for our annual Fan Appreciation Night grand finale!”

Paige straightened in her seat, glancing toward the jumbotron as it lit up with graphics and flashing text.

Oh fuck.

“We’re about to announce the winners of our Biggest Fan Competition,” the announcer continued. “So if you hear your name, find the nearest usher and make your way down to the court!”

Paige’s stomach dropped immediately. Like the floor had literally disappeared underneath her. Honestly, Paige wasn’t against that, as long as she went down with it and got buried in the rubble. 

“Oh my God,” she groaned, turning to glare at Nika. “I can’t believe your dumbass submitted an application in my name, bro.” 

Nika, who had been leaning comfortably back in her seat like she didn’t have a single fucking worry in the world, barely reacted. “First of all,” she said, sitting up straighter, “it was a beautiful application, Very heartfelt.”

Dijonai let out a loud laugh beside Paige, shaking her head. “Relax, P,” she added, nudging Paige’s shoulder. “They always pick little kids for this. You’re fine.”

Paige didn’t look convinced but the words settled her a little. DiJonai was right, at least from what she remembered from the other years. There was usually a steady stream of five to fifteen year olds being called down to meet the players. 

“But Nika was right,” DiJonai added. “That application was gold.”

Paige turned to her immediately. “You saw it?”

Dijonai’s grin widened. “Girl, she sent it around in the group chat.”

Paige blinked, looking between all of them. “Why didn’t I see it then?”

“The other group chat,” Nika said without hesitation.

Paige frowned. “What other—”

“The one without you in it,” DiJonai finished matter-of-fact.

There was a moment of silence where the words were registering before Paige’s head snapped toward her so fast it almost gave her whiplash. “Bro, what the hell? You have a group chat without me in it?”

From down the row, Stewie shrugged like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah. It’s where we talk about how gay you and Azzi are behind your back.”

Paige threw both hands up in the air, incredulous. “You’re all dead to me.”

“It’s really not that active,” Marta cut in quickly, trying to de-escalate a situation that definitely required de-escalation. “We barely use it anymore. Don’t worry.”

“Anymore?” Paige waved her off with a flick of her wrist, turning back toward the court. “No, because now I have even more questions.”

“Ask them later,” DiJonai said, still laughing. “Right now, you need to relax and enjoy the show of little kids they’re about to trot out on the court to meet their idols.”

Paige blew out a deep exhale, forcing herself to look up at the jumbotron instead of continuing whatever this argument was about to turn into. She was irked, but it really wasn’t worth crashing out over. Even though her girlfriend had gotten them all courtside seats. Ungrateful. 

The screen cut to the first winner, a tiny redheaded girl no more than ten years old who looked like she might actually combust from excitement as her name was called. She shrieked loud enough that it cut through the speakers, bouncing in place as an usher hurried over to guide her down the aisle to take her place next to Gabby.

Paige couldn’t help it, smiling at her pure excitement.

“See?” DiJonai murmured beside her.

Paige nodded, settling a little deeper into her seat as the next name was called. And the next, and the next; each one exactly the same. Little kids, wide-eyed and ecstatic, practically sprinting down toward the court like they couldn’t get there fast enough. Some in jerseys too big for them, some clutching handmade signs, all of them buzzing with joy that was impossible to fake.

By the time they got to the second-to-last name, Paige was fully relaxed again, leaning back with her arms crossed loosely over her chest, one ankle casually hooked over the other like she’d been sitting like that all night.

“Last one!” the announcer called, voice lifting just slightly for effect.

Paige was barely paying attention, instead checking stats from her fantasy league that DiJonai had aptly named Hoop Girl Summer. She was currently crushing Nika in their head to head matchup, and did a little fist bump after seeing Azzi had gotten her nearly forty points that game. She would properly thank her later when they got home. Preferably several times. Starting in the car. And then the shower. Before ending in bed. 

“And now…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Please welcome to the court Azzi Fudd’s number one fan…”

Paige’s gaze drifted lazily from her phone to the jumbotron, excited to see the joy on some child’s face when they got selected. 

“Paige Bueckers!”

What. The. Fuck. 

The world didn’t stop. The floor didn’t drop. But Paige wished it did. She felt the blood drain from her face so fast it was almost impressive.

She didn’t move, blink or breathe. For a half-second, she was pretty sure she’d just imagined it. This had to be her imagination playing tricks on her because in what world would they call her to join a line of literal children on the court. Then the camera found her and the entire arena got a much closer look at exactly how horrified she was.

Paige’s head snapped to the side so fast it almost hurt. She was going to fucking kill Nika. The many ways she could do this riffled through her mind in rapid speed. Strangulation. Pushing her off a cliff on their next hike. Cutting her brake lines. So many options to choose from… 

Her eyes went wide, sharp, murderous, every possible threat she could think of packed into one look.

She didn’t even get the words forming on the tip of her tongue out because DiJonai grabbed her arm, hauling her up out of her seat with zero hesitation. “Get up. You’re on camera,” she hissed, half laughing, half shoving, clearly thinking this was the best thing that had happened to her all week. Maybe even all year.

Paige staggered to her feet, heart climbing into her throat as the realization fully hit her. It wasn’t just the announcement or the expectations that came with it, but the fact that the giant screen above them was very clearly locked onto her shocked, bright pink face.

“Nika,” she muttered through gritted teeth, letting herself get pushed forward onto the court because at this point there was no version of this where she sat back down and pretended it didn’t happen. “You’re dead. You’re actually fucking dead.”

“Worth it,” Nika called after her, not even trying to hide the grin.

Paige didn’t look back, instead locking her gaze ahead as the usher guided her across the floor. She  followed on autopilot, her brain still trying to catch up to her body.

And then she saw Azzi, standing at half court, jersey in her hands, looking… stunned. Like actually stunned.

Azzi stepped toward her first, arms opening instinctively, and Paige met her halfway, slipping into the hug because Azzi was the only steady thing in the middle of all of this.

“Did you do this?” Paige murmured. There wasn’t any real accusation behind it, just surprise, and a little disbelief still clinging to the edges.

Azzi shook her head almost imperceptibly, pulling back to look at her. “No,” she said, then leaned slightly to the side, eyes narrowing as she looked past Paige.

Gabby and Sarah stood a few feet away, both of them already laughing, shoulders shaking, completely unapologetic.

Azzi’s expression flattened, lips pulling together in a playful scowl. She didn’t even need to say words, the pointed look she shot them doing enough.

Gabby held her hands up like she was innocent, which she very clearly was not. “Hey,” she said, grin widening, “they had something to do with it too.”

She nodded toward the stands where Paige’s friends sat. Paige didn’t even need to turn to know exactly what they looked like right now. Probably wearing smug, pleased grins. Still, she did anyway. Sure enough all of them were laughing and very intentionally not making eye contact.

Paige narrowed her eyes, pointing at them briefly. “I’m going to kill them all,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi laughed, unable to contain it and nudged Paige lightly with her shoulder.

“Hey,” she added, lifting the jersey slightly. “At least you get an autographed game-worn jersey.”

Paige glanced down at it, then back up at her. Her lips curled up despite everything going on around them as she realized Azzi was standing there in her black jordan compression tank, toned arms on full display.

She stepped just a fraction closer, leaning in toward Azzi’s ear. “I better get to fuck you in this game-worn jersey when we get home later to make up for this humiliation.”

She pulled back just enough to see Azzi’s cheeks flush. It never ceased to amaze her that she could make Azzi Fudd blush. 

“I think that can be arranged… if you win the contest.”

Paige’s eyes widened as her heart clenched in her chest. “The contest?” 

She’d already won the contest. The Biggest Fan Contest. And although it was a bit embarrassing to be standing in a line or pre-pubescent children, Paige wasn’t sure what else she had left to prove.

Azzi nodded, entirely too calm for someone who had just casually introduced new information to Paige that felt like it was going to be a personal attack. “Yeah,” she said, drawing the word out innocently. “Everyone plays a game of knockout. The winner gets courtside seats to the season opener next year.”

Paige stared at her, then glanced around before turning her attention back to Azzi. 

“Bro, I don’t need those,” she said quickly, shaking her head at the terrible optics of this entire situation. “I’m not about to be out here cooking a bunch of kids on national television.”

The corner of Azzi’s mouth lifted. She was trying not to smile and absolutely failing, and maybe she was enjoying this just as much as their friends. 

“Yeah,” Azzi shrugged casually, “but you need to win if you wanna fuck me in this jersey tonight.”

Paige’s eyes went wide, her gaze flicking automatically toward the line of children, toward Gabby and Sarah, scanning for literally anyone who might have heard that, even though it had been quiet. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone caught on. 

The announcer’s voice kicked back in, explaining the rules for knockout, but Paige barely registered any of it. The words blurred together, background noise to the fact that she was currently standing on a professional basketball court, about to compete against kids, with an entire arena watching.

“Are you serious right now, Az?” she asked, leaning in just enough to keep it between them. “They’re literal children.”

Azzi just shrugged, completely unfazed. “My number one fan would win for me.”

From somewhere behind them, Sarah leaned in to interject her voice into the conversation. Because apparently she felt it was needed. It wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” she nudged Paige’s shoulder playfully, “if you’re her true number one fan.”

Paige didn’t even turn fully as Gabby and Sarah snickered beside her.

“I don’t wanna hear shit from the B Team over here,” she shot back, finally throwing a glare over her shoulder that landed squarely on Gabby, taking note of the smug grin on her face. At least Paige had something to hold over her. 

“See if we babysit Julien anytime soon,” Paige added.  

“Please, Bueckers,” Gabby scoffed, already knowing how this would go. “He’s got Auntie Azzi wrapped around his finger.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue, but stopped because it was unfortunately very much true. Just last week, she’d gone over to Azzi’s after a long, brutal day of work and found her stretched across the bed in a fucking lingerie set. Purple lace. Form fitting. Literally perfect. Azzi was leaving for an away game the next morning and had wanted to give Paige a little “surprise,” she’d said coyly while grabbing Paige by the shirt and yanking her down onto the mattress.

Unfortunately for Paige, the only surprise she ended up getting was aggressive banging on the front door five minutes later. Apparently Gabby had been taking Julien for ice cream, saw both their cars in the driveway, and decided they absolutely needed to stop by and invite them too. And while it had been painfully obvious from both Paige and Azzi’s disheveled state what had been happening—and even more obvious from Gabby’s smug little expression that she knew exactly what she interrupted—Theo had batted his little eyelashes at Azzi and she cracked immediately. Yes, Paige ended up with her favorite ice cream, but if she was being honest, she would’ve preferred eating her girlfriend out instead.

She shook her head in disbelief as she turned back toward Azzi, already feeling the competitive itch starting to creep in whether she liked it or not.

This was a setup. A very public, very embarrassing setup, but a setup nonetheless. Still, if there was one thing Paige wasn’t about to do, it was lose. It’d been years since she’d actually played and even though this was a contest against children, she could already feel the competitiveness pumping through her veins. 

The last time she’d felt this riled up was last month during her fantasy football draft. She and Nika had spent the hour leading up to it trash talking over who would draft the better quarterback, so relentlessly that Stewie eventually tried using the “who can stay quiet the longest” game she used on Theo just to get them to shut the hell up. Paige, three beers deep at her kitchen table, had honest-to-God laughed directly in Nika’s face when she picked Drake Maye over Josh Allen. The stupidity of that decision became painfully obvious over the first three weeks of the season, when Maye’s tendency for dumb turnovers lost Nika her first three fantasy matchups. Meanwhile, Paige was sitting comfortably at the top of the league, undefeated—just like the Buffalo Bills—and never failed to rub it in Nika’s face just how dumb it was to put faith in Drake Maye and the fuckass New England Patriots. Needless to say, Nika was a fucking idiot.

Wearing shit eating grins, the players cleared out but still lingered close enough to watch. Paige sighed as a staff member waved the small group of winners into a loose line near the free throw lane. The kids clustered together, full of energy, bouncing on their toes with excitement. 

Paige stepped into place at the foul line, still trying to process how she’d gotten here, in this ridiculous situation, when a basketball was shoved into her hands.

Cool.

Great.

Fucking perfect.

She glanced down at the orange and white ball, then up again, only to realize the small redheaded girl in front of her—Gabby’s fan, if Paige remembered correctly—was staring at her like she was her mortal enemy.

Paige blinked, caught off guard by the intense glare before she let out a quiet laugh and leaned closer. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I promise I’ll take it easy on you.”

The girl scoffed, tucking the ball under her arm. “Please,” the little spitfire laughed. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

Paige’s eyebrows lifted. Oh. It was like that. 

She squatted down, matching the girl’s energy, a grin pulling at her mouth. “I’d like to see you try.”

From behind her, another squeaky voice chimed in. “Have you even touched a basketball before?”

Paige straightened slowly, turning her head to glance back at the second girl in line. For a brief moment, she wondered what had happened to respecting your elders.

“Yeah,” she finally shot back. “I played in college actually.”

The first girl snorted, then asked, “What was that? Twenty years ago?”

Paige’s eyes widened at the level of trash talk. She glanced over, and of course Gabby and Sarah were doubled over, laughing so hard they were practically gasping for air.

Paige narrowed her eyes at them, locking her jaw and pointing at them in warning before turning back to the girls in front of her.

“Just don’t cry when you lose to me, okay?” she said, voice calm and measured.

The girl behind her didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t cry when you throw your back out shooting.”

Paige’s mouth dropped open. She wasn’t even mad. Honestly she was a little impressed. Offended, sure. But still kind of impressed. And even more excited to crush them and earn her prize. Admittedly, she was playing for more than these little shits were even aware of.

Before she could get a response out, the whistle blew and chaos ensued. The girl in front of her slapped the ball right out of Paige’s hands before turning to toss up her own shot.

“What the hell!” Paige blurted, sprinting after it as it bounced away wildly, only for it to get nudged even farther away by a very deliberate tap from Azzi’s foot.

Paige shot her a look mid-chase. “Are you serious right now?”

Azzi just grinned, completely unrepentant.

Fucking unbelievable.

Paige finally scooped the ball, running back and barely setting her feet before she lifted into a quick jumper from the line.

Swish. 

The game moved fast after that. Shots up, shots missed, ball ricocheting everywhere, kids squealing when they stayed in, groaning when they didn’t. The players along the sidelines were absolutely no help whatsoever when it came to Paige. Yelling distractions, clapping in her face, accidentally bumping into her just enough to throw her off. At one point, Sarah literally tried to tip a rebound away from her.

“Yo!” Paige barked, laughing as she snatched it back. “Get off me!”

“Helping the youth!” Sarah shot back, retreating to hide behind Azzi. 

The crowd that had stayed behind started to catch onto it, cheering louder with each round, especially when it became very clear that, despite the obvious efforts against her, Paige was not going down without a fight. 

One by one, the line thinned. Until it was just her and the little redhead. Paige was in it too deep. She couldn’t lose now. Not with her pride on the line. Honestly, she wasn’t sure whether she’d get teased worse for beating a line of small children or losing to one. Only one of those options ended with her fucking Azzi later, though, and that’s really all that mattered. 

The ball rotated back around. Paige caught it clean as the redhead rushed her shot. It clanked off the rim and Paige took one quick breath before she lifted into her shot. The motion felt smooth and the ball dropped through the net.

Paige held her follow through longer than necessary as the arena erupted, stoking her already inflated ego. 

Arm still in the air, movement caught her eye. Azzi was crossing the court, arms stretched wide. Paige barely had time to brace before Azzi collided with her, jumping into her arms and wrapping around Paige like she’d just hit a game-winner in a playoff game.

Paige laughed, catching her easily, spinning her once as Azzi’s arms tightened around her neck.

“Hey you,” Paige said, breathless but still grinning as she steadied them.

Azzi didn’t let go right away and Paige could feel something a little more charged between them. Her smile softened as she looked at Azzi, reading the adoration in her eyes. 

“What about everyone watching, baby?” Paige asked, quieter now, picking up on the familiar look she was getting. One that usually ended up with Azzi’s lips on hers or her hand down her pants. 

Azzi just shrugged, one shoulder lifting like it was the simplest thing in the world. “It’s only a matter of time ‘til they get the picture they’re digging for anyway. Might as well do it on our time.”

And then Azzi leaned in. It was just a quick kiss, but everything else fell away. The noise. The lights. The crowd. To Paige, it felt like it was just them standing there in the middle of it as her heart thudded in her chest from more than just the adrenaline of winning the game. 

When they pulled back, the sound came crashing in again. Loud, whooping cheers that make Paige shake her head, laughing a little under her breath as heat climbed up her neck. 

“Hell yeah, Fudd!” Gabby yelled, topped off by a “It’s about damn time!” that Paige knew came from Nika. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

Paige couldn’t stop the dopey smile that spread across her face because Azzi had just…

Yeah.

There wasn’t really a way around it. Azzi had chosen her, right there, in front of everyone. Paige felt like she was floating on air, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to break free from her chest. 

She glanced around once more, catching the semi-shocked looks from some of the people around them, then back at Azzi, still a little dazed in the best way.

“Can I take you home now or what?” she asked, only half joking.

Azzi laughed, stepping back to look at her properly though not enough to slip free from her grasp. “I still have media,” she said. “And a team meeting.”

Paige sighed dramatically, dropping her head for emphasis. “Of course you do.”

“And I’ve gotta shower,” Azzi added, like that was a real issue.

Paige leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to her lips again before she could overthink it. 

“Save the shower for when we get back to your place, baby,” she said, a hint of a grin tugging at her mouth. 

Azzi’s brow lifted slightly, amused. “Yeah?”

Paige just nodded, stepping back and finally dropping her arms from around Azzi’s waist. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I plan on spending my night making sure you know I’m your number one fan.”

Azzi’s eyes darkened, but there wasn’t time to respond before she was being pulled away for media. 

Later that night, when they pulled into Azzi’s driveway, the adrenaline from the game hadn’t even begun to wear off. It sat under Paige’s skin, buzzing, like it had been since the moment Azzi looked at her on that court and decided not to hold back.

The house was quiet, a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the arena. Paige barely had time to close the door behind them before Azzi was on her.

Hands grabbing, pulling her in, mouth finding Paige’s with an urgency that sucked the breath out of her lungs. Azzi pushed, and Paige stumbled back a step, until her shoulders hit the wall. 

Crack.

The sound was unmistakable and Paige froze mid-kiss, her hands still gripping Azzi’s ass like a lifeline. 

Slowly, she turned her head, eyes tracking down the wall beside her. Pressed into the drywall, was a very clear, very fresh, shoulder-shaped dent in nearly the same spot Gabby had left one months and months earlier

She whipped her head back toward Azzi.

“Bro,” she said, incredulous, breath still uneven as her fingers dug in, pulling Azzi tighter against her. “Are you serious?”

Azzi barely even looked at it. She just shrugged, completely unbothered. “That’s your fault.” 

Paige laughed, knowing she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on for many reasons. She had spent the entire drive home running her mouth, leaning over at red lights, whispering things she knew would make Azzi wet, kissing along her neck, teasing her absolutely relentlessly with her fingers rubbing along Azzi’s inner thigh or slipping under the waistband of her sweats and cupping her soaking went cunt.

Okay, so maybe she walked into that one by riling up Azzi. Still…

She pushed off the wall, glanced at the dent, then back at Azzi, who was watching her now with that same look she’d had on the court. Well, mostly the same look. It had shifted to become a little darker and hungrier with much less patience threaded through. 

Paige dropped her head against Azzi’s shoulder in defeat. “I’m so backed up at work, baby,” she sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the wall behind her. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to this.”

Azzi shrugged. “I can just hire a handyman to take care of it, P.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Paige scoffed, her entire posture stiffening in an instant as she straightened. 

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched, her expression going just a shade too innocent for the game they both knew she was playing. “What?”

Paige narrowed her eyes, playfully twirling her finger in Azzi’s face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Azzi asked, pretending she didn't know exactly what she was doing.

Paige stepped forward, closing the space between them again, finger poking lightly into Azzi’s chest. “Ain’t no one doing work in this house but me.”

Azzi shrugged again, feigning indifference. “It’s not that deep. It’ll save you time.”

“It’s not that deep?” Paige shot back. “Okay. Yeah. Fine. And I’m gonna go out and buy an Indiana Fever jersey.”

Azzi stepped back just enough to look at her fully, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t.”

Paige laughed as she reached for Azzi again, pulling her back in, aiming for her mouth—but Azzi turned at the last second, lips landing on her cheek instead.

“Coward,” Paige muttered, undeterred, pressing another kiss just below her ear, then another along her jaw, crowding her space until Azzi had nowhere to go.

“Okay, you’re right,” Paige said between kisses, voice softer now but no less certain. “But I’m serious. Ain’t no one working on this house but me, Az.”

Azzi finally stilled, her hands coming up to rest lightly at Paige’s waist as she met her gaze again, something mischievous lingering there for a moment before it gave way to amusement.

“Was that also in the fine print I should’ve read before becoming your girlfriend?” she asked.

Paige grinned immediately, the expression easy and a little proud, thinking about all the little rules she’d made up over the past few months—half jokes, half excuses, all of them landing somewhere between teasing and real and somehow able to get Azzi to do whatever she wanted in the moment.

“Yep,” Paige nodded. “Clause five.”

Azzi shook her head, a quiet laugh slipping out of her as she leaned in just slightly. “Okay. Deal.”

Paige’s smile shifted, just a fraction, as something a little more intentional crept in. “It’s also in there that I get to dictate the terms of payment.”

Azzi’s brows lifted. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, hands sliding down, settling low on her hips before slipping just beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, pulling her in closer. “And I’d like payment upfront this time.”

Azzi grinned and leaned in, kissing her again, slower this time but deeper, in a hungry, desperate way that made Paige absolutely throb.

“I think that can be arranged,” Azzi murmured against her mouth. “What were you thinking?”

Paige hummed, letting her forehead rest briefly against Azzi’s as she pretended to consider it, even though she’d had an answer ready since the second Azzi mentioned it earlier.

“There was talk of a shower,” she said finally, lips brushing hers as she spoke. “I think we can start with that.”

Azzi smiled, just barely. “And then?”

“And then I was also promised a reward for winning that game of knockout.”

Azzi let out a quiet laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Kissing you in front of thousands of people after you beat children wasn’t reward enough?”

She leaned in again, voice dropping, grin turning borderline feral. “That was pretty cool,” Paige said. “But I also heard something about fucking you in a game-worn jersey.”

Azzi’s reaction was immediate. Her smile shifted, pupils widening so fast it made Paige’s stomach drop in the best possible way.

“Mmm,” she said, almost to herself. “Yeah, baby. I can definitely get behind that.”

She didn’t give Paige a chance to respond. Just grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs, the momentum carrying them both as they moved, bumping into walls, into each other, laughter slipping in between kisses that they kept finding their way back to.

Paige caught herself looking at the fresh dent in the drywall over Azzi’s shoulder just before she was tugged forward and it slipped out of view. A few months ago, she would’ve already been mentally calculating what tools she’d need to patch it. How long it would take. Whether the paint color would match.

Now, though? Now she just let Azzi drag her upstairs. 

Maybe that was the funny thing about all of this. Paige had spent years fixing other people’s houses, patching cracks, rebuilding things to be stronger than they were before. And somehow, without even meaning to, Azzi had done the same thing to her.

Paige knew with startling certainty as Azzi kissed her again halfway up the stairs, laughing against her mouth when Paige nearly missed a step, that Azzi’s heart was one thing she’d never have to fix. Because Paige had absolutely no intention of ever breaking it.

[dripanddrive]

This is so wonderful. So proud of Buffy.

[sleepytp]

Day 3 of convincing @pazziwoke to finish #StatisticallySignificant

Courtesy of my university’s creepy psych building.

[sleepytp]

Day 2 of inspiring @pazziwoke to finish #StatisticallySignificant

On my walk across campus today (much like her character, Paige, would have taken 😉), I found this…

#Pazzi #PazziFics

[sleepytp]

Day 1 of trying to reinspire @pazziwoke to finish #StatisticallySignificant

#ViewsFromSouthFarm

[akaz2908]

[sleepytp]

Paige working on her 90s Butter Mom Booty and I am here for it

[hauntedvxper]

i fucking love pizza