One

The moment I stepped into the gym, camera slung over my shoulder, the buzz of energy hit me like a basketball to the face. Squeaking sneakers, the rhythmic bounce of the ball, and bursts of laughter from the UCONN Women's Basketball Team filled the air. This was my world now, the chaos and beauty of capturing athletes at their rawest and most extraordinary.

I spotted the players scattered across the court, some stretching, others taking casual shots. My heart leapt for a beat—not because I was starstruck (though, let's be honest, I was)—but because of the monumental pressure of documenting the lives of these women. I'd never worked with a team this elite.

My eyes skimmed the court, finally landing on her.

Paige. Freaking. Bueckers.

The star. The golden girl. "P" to her teammates.

She was sitting on the floor, casually tying her shoe as if she wasn't one of the most hyped college basketball players of the generation. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a loose strand falling across her forehead. Even from across the gym, her intensity was palpable—sharp blue eyes, tanned skin glistening under the gym lights. She was a paradox of approachable and intimidating, and I hated how my stomach fluttered when her gaze shifted in my direction.

"Inds! You made it!"

Azzi, Paige's best friend and fellow basketball prodigy, jogged over, her smile wide enough to make me relax for half a second. "Did you get lost or something? You're, like, twenty minutes late."

I blinked, clutching my camera instinctively. "I wasn't late. I was...scouting the area."

Azzi arched a brow. "Scouting the parking lot?"

Busted. Okay, maybe I had sat in my car for an extra ten minutes hyping myself up. Working with this team was a dream gig, but walking into a room full of legends was like stepping into the lion's den.

"Cut her some slack, Fudd," Nika called from the other end of the gym, dribbling the ball with one hand while holding a bag of gummy bears in the other. "It's not every day you meet royalty." She gestured dramatically toward Paige, who rolled her eyes but didn't look up.

"Royalty?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Azzi snorted. "Yeah, they love to give P a hard time. You'll get used to it."

"Doubt it," I murmured, adjusting my camera strap as I scanned the gym for a safe vantage point. Somewhere I could blend in without—

"Yo, Baby Girl! You taking pictures or just staring at me?"

My head snapped up, and there she was. Paige. Smirking. Her voice carried across the gym, loud enough for everyone to hear. The room erupted in laughter, and my face flamed hotter than a gym sauna.

"Relax, Inds, she does that to everyone," Azzi whispered, barely holding back her grin.

I straightened my spine, determined not to let her—or anyone—rattle me. "I wasn't staring," I shot back, stepping closer to the court. "Just trying to figure out if you're photogenic enough to make this worth my time."

The laughter grew louder. Even Paige chuckled, tossing her towel to the side as she stood. She was taller than I expected, her broad shoulders filling out her jersey. She tilted her head, clearly amused. "Guess you'll find out."

I lifted my camera, hiding my face behind the lens. Through the viewfinder, Paige was even more magnetic. She wiped her face with her shirt, exposing toned abs that were probably illegal in 49 states. My pulse skipped, but I forced myself to focus. I wasn't here to fangirl.

I was here to work.

"India, right?" a new voice interrupted. I turned to find Coach Geno walking toward me, clipboard in hand. His presence was commanding, but his smile was warm. "Glad you're here. We need someone who can keep up with these clowns."

"I'll do my best," I replied, lowering my camera.

He nodded, then turned to the team. "Alright, listen up! We've got a scrimmage in ten. India's gonna be shadowing you all, so try not to scare her off on the first day."

"Too late," I muttered under my breath, earning a laugh from Azzi.

The team dispersed, prepping for their practice, and I took the opportunity to capture candid moments. Aaliyah sat cross-legged, braiding Nika's hair while cracking jokes. Azzi was practicing her three-point shots with surgical precision. Caroline waved at me, her easygoing smile a contrast to the intensity of her warm-ups.

And then there was Paige.

She was running drills, effortlessly weaving through her teammates. She moved like a predator, smooth and calculated, her eyes locked on the hoop. I snapped a few shots, the rapid clicks of my camera loud enough to catch her attention.

She stopped mid-drill, turning to face me. "How am I looking, Baby Girl?"

I lowered the camera just enough to meet her gaze. "Like you're trying too hard."

The gym echoed with another round of laughter, but Paige didn't miss a beat. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

Her words were casual, but her eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary. My stomach did that annoying fluttery thing again, and I cursed myself for letting her get under my skin.

As practice continued, I found my rhythm, capturing moments that told a story. The team's camaraderie, their determination, the subtle quirks that made each player unique—it was all there, framed in my lens.

But Paige?

Paige was a problem.

Every time I looked at her, she was already looking at me. Smirking. Teasing. Challenging me without saying a word.

By the time practice ended, I was emotionally drained. Azzi and Nika were the first to approach, both clearly enjoying my torment.

"So, how was your first day?" Azzi asked, grinning.

"Exhausting," I admitted, tucking my camera away.

"Welcome to the family," Nika said, tossing an arm around my shoulders. "And don't worry about P. She's all bark, no bite."

From across the gym, Paige called out, "Don't lie to her, Nika!"

The laughter started again, but this time, I didn't mind. Because despite the teasing, the banter, and the fluttery chaos in my chest, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

And Paige Bueckers?

She'd have to do better than "Baby Girl" if she thought she could win this game.