Eleven

There's something about mornings at the training facility when the sun is barely up, and the world feels impossibly still. It's that liminal space between night and day, where anything feels possible.

I arrived early—not because I had to, but because I couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind, too many lingering thoughts about Paige. About her smile, her steady voice, the way she had looked at me yesterday like I was the only person in the gym.

I had hoped being here alone would clear my head, but it didn't take long before the sound of squeaking sneakers shattered the quiet.

Paige.

She was on the court, headphones on, going through shooting drills like it was game day. Her hoodie was discarded at the side of the court, leaving her in a black tank top that clung to her, her lean muscles flexing with every movement.

I froze for a second, caught between turning back and walking in like I belonged here.

Before I could decide, she glanced over and noticed me. Her smirk appeared instantly, and she pulled out one earbud.

"Morning, Baby Girl," she called, her voice echoing through the empty gym.

"Morning, Mama," I replied, forcing myself to walk in like my heart wasn't doing weird flips in my chest.

I settled on the sidelines, pulling out my camera instinctively. Paige's movements were mesmerizing—each shot fluid, deliberate. She was a machine, her focus razor-sharp.

"You just gonna sit there and watch?" she asked after a while, breaking the silence.

I lowered my camera. "I thought that's what you wanted—an audience."

Her laugh was low and warm, like it came from her chest. "Fair. But if you're gonna watch, at least make yourself useful."

I raised an eyebrow. "Useful how?"

She motioned toward a ball that had rolled near me. "Pass it back."

I stood and grabbed the ball, tossing it to her with more force than necessary. She caught it easily, her smirk growing.

"Got an arm on you," she teased. "You thinking about joining the team?"

I snorted. "I think I'll stick to taking pictures, thanks."

"Shame," she said, setting up for another shot. "You'd look good in a jersey."

The gym slowly began to fill up as the rest of the team trickled in for practice. Azzi was one of the first, jogging over to me with her usual high energy.

"Inds! You here early?"

"Could say the same about you," I replied.

She grinned. "Can't let P have all the glory. Gotta remind her who the real shooter is."

From across the court, Paige called out, "You wanna run that back, Az?"

Azzi grinned wider. "Oh, you heard me, P."

The two of them were already launching into a playful shooting contest, the competitive tension electric. I captured every moment, my camera clicking away as they trash-talked each other relentlessly.

"You missed by a mile," Paige said after Azzi's shot rimmed out.

"Still closer than that airball you threw yesterday!" Azzi shot back, laughing.

By the time everyone was on the court, the energy in the gym was buzzing. Nika, naturally, was the loudest, hyping everyone up as they started running drills.

"Let's go, ladies! This ain't a spa day!" she yelled, clapping her hands.

Lou rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're way too loud for this early, Nika."

"Somebody's gotta wake y'all up!" Nika retorted, dodging a playful shove from Lou.

Aaliyah and Aubrey joined in, adding their own banter as the drills continued. It was chaotic, but it was them—this team, this family that I'd somehow become a part of.

As practice wrapped up, Paige wandered over to me again, wiping sweat from her brow with the bottom of her shirt. I tried not to stare, but she made it impossible.

"You get any good shots?" she asked, her tone casual.

"A few," I said, tilting my camera toward her. "You're a natural in front of the lens."

"Or maybe you just make me look good," she countered, her smirk turning into something softer.

I felt my cheeks heat up, but I refused to look away. "I think you handle that on your own, P."

———

Later, I found myself in the editing room again, sifting through the photos. There was one of Paige that stopped me in my tracks—she was mid-shot, her face lit with determination, sweat glistening on her brow. But it wasn't just the athleticism that caught my eye—it was the vulnerability underneath it.

I stared at it for longer than I should have, my chest tightening in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

Before I could overthink it, my phone buzzed.

Paige: Hungry?

I blinked at the screen, my stomach flipping.

Me: Are you offering?

Paige: Always. Meet me in 20.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself at a quiet diner near campus, sitting across from Paige in a corner booth. She was still in her practice gear, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, and she looked... annoyingly good.

"Order whatever you want, Baby Girl," she said, leaning back in her seat.

"Thanks, Mama," I replied, rolling my eyes at the nickname even as my lips curved into a smile.

The conversation flowed easily, filled with teasing and banter that felt natural—like we'd been doing this for years. She made me laugh in a way that felt effortless, and for the first time in a while, I wasn't overthinking every little thing.

By the time we left, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink. Paige walked me to my car, her hands tucked into her hoodie pockets, her expression unreadable.

"Thanks for coming out," she said softly, her voice a little rough around the edges.

"Thanks for inviting me," I replied, suddenly feeling like the air between us was charged with something unspoken.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to mine. "You know, Inds... I like spending time with you."

My breath caught. "I like spending time with you too."

For a moment, it felt like she might say more, but then she just smiled—soft and warm—and stepped back.

"Drive safe, Baby Girl."

And with that, she was gone, leaving me standing there with my heart racing.