Fifteen

The tension in the room was so thick it felt like a third presence, breathing down the back of my neck. Paige hadn't moved, still leaning close, her sharp, knowing smile hovering between playful and downright dangerous.

My laptop screen dimmed from inactivity, the photos forgotten as I sat frozen, caught in a silent tug-of-war between instinct and desire.

"Paige," I said again, her name feeling heavier this time, like it was something I wasn't supposed to touch.

"Yeah, Baby Girl?" she asked, her voice low, syrupy, like she already knew what I was going to say.

I blinked, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "You're, uh..." My brain scrambled for words that weren't way too close or you smell like every bad decision I want to make right now. "...invading my personal space."

Her grin widened, her dimples teasing me mercilessly. "Am I?"

"Yes," I said firmly, leaning back in my chair to reclaim at least a fraction of breathing room.

She didn't retreat, of course. Instead, she rested an elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, and looked at me like I was the most interesting puzzle she'd ever seen.

"You're cute when you're flustered, Inds," she said, the words slipping out so effortlessly that my cheeks burned.

I rolled my eyes, determined to salvage some sense of normalcy. "You know, Mama, if you're going to be this distracting, I'm charging you for my editing time."

"Go ahead," she said with a shrug. "What's your rate? A dinner date? Or maybe just some uninterrupted time with me staring at you?"

I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you keep letting me in," she countered smoothly.

By the time Paige finally backed off—though not without tossing another sly grin my way—I managed to redirect the focus to the photos. For a while, we fell into a surprisingly easy rhythm. She'd lean over occasionally to comment on a particular shot, pointing out details I hadn't even noticed, her insights sharper than I'd expected.

"You've got an eye for moments," she said, tapping the screen where Azzi and Nika were high-fiving mid-air. "The kind of stuff people remember long after the game."

"Thanks," I said softly, a little thrown by the sincerity in her tone.

"Have you always been this good?" she asked, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed.

I shrugged, brushing off the compliment. "I've always loved capturing things—details, emotions, stories. Sports just happened to be where I landed."

"Lucky for us," Paige said, her voice warm. "I don't think anyone else could make us look this good."

I laughed. "You're not exactly hard to work with. You know how to command a camera, Mama."

She tilted her head, her smile turning mischievous again. "Maybe I just know how to command your camera."

And just like that, the tension was back, buzzing in the air between us.

The next morning, I woke up groggy but determined to shake off the lingering effects of Paige's presence. She had left late, with a casual "See you later, Baby Girl" that was far too intimate for the way she had lingered in the doorway.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and checked my calendar. The team had a travel day ahead of their next away game, which meant the morning was wide open for me to finish up edits before hopping on the bus with the team.

When I arrived at the UConn facility later that day, the energy was slightly more subdued than usual. Travel days always felt like a liminal space—everyone caught between the high of the last game and the anticipation of the next.

Nika was sprawled across two chairs in the lounge, headphones in and bobbing her head to something undoubtedly chaotic. Azzi was perched nearby, flipping through her phone while Dorka and Aaliyah debated where to grab lunch before hitting the road.

"Inds!" Aubrey greeted me as I walked in, her smile wide and genuine.

"Hey, Bree," I said, giving her a quick wave.

"Still holding it down for us?" she teased, gesturing to my ever-present camera bag.

"Always," I replied.

Paige was the last to show up, as usual. She strolled in like she owned the place, her duffel slung over one shoulder and her confidence practically radiating off her.

She spotted me immediately, of course, and her grin was instant, like she couldn't help herself.

"Hey, Baby Girl," she said, her voice low enough that only I could hear.

"Paige," I said, pretending to be unaffected.

"Miss me?" she teased, leaning against the wall beside me.

"You saw me less than twelve hours ago," I pointed out, adjusting my camera strap.

"Doesn't mean you didn't miss me," she said with a shrug.

I opened my mouth to retort, but Nika saved me by shouting across the room.

"Yo, P! We're betting on how long it takes you to make India blush. Don't let me down!"

The room erupted into laughter, and I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

Paige just laughed, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. "Don't worry, Baby Girl. I'll let them think I'm the problem."

The bus ride to the next game was filled with the usual chaos—Nika leading a dramatic sing-along, Azzi trying (and failing) to nap despite the noise, and the coaching staff occasionally chiming in to remind everyone to "act professional."

Paige ended up sitting across from me, her long legs stretched out into the aisle as she scrolled through her phone. Every now and then, she'd glance up, catching my eye with that same infuriatingly cocky smile.

Eventually, she leaned over, dropping her voice so only I could hear.

"You look tired, Inds," she said, her tone soft but laced with teasing.

"I wonder why," I muttered, giving her a pointed look.

She chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Maybe you should let me take care of you sometime."

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach flipped at the suggestion.

By the time we reached the hotel, I was ready to crawl into bed and avoid Paige for the rest of the night. But as I unpacked my gear and settled into my room, my phone buzzed with a message.

Paige: Dinner at 8. Don't even think about saying no.

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.

She was impossible. And I was in way over my head.