Eighteen

The next morning was one of those perfect Connecticut autumn days where the air was crisp, the leaves were fiery shades of orange and red, and the sunlight streamed through the windows of the practice facility. It was a mood booster for everyone—players, staff, even Geno, who seemed in a rare good mood as he called out drills.

I had barely finished setting up my equipment when I felt a familiar presence behind me.

"Morning, Baby Girl," Paige drawled, her voice already full of mischief.

I turned, trying to keep my expression neutral even as her stupidly perfect smirk tugged at my composure. "Morning, Mama. You're awfully chipper today. Slept well?"

She leaned casually against the scorer's table, twirling a ball on her finger. "Let's just say I'm ready to dominate today."

"And when aren't you?" I quipped, snapping a quick shot of her mid-spin.

Her smirk widened as she let the ball drop, catching it effortlessly. "Never. But you knew that already."

Practice started soon after, and it was clear the team was locked in. Lou was on fire from three-point range, barely missing a shot during warm-ups. Azzi, ever the perfectionist, worked tirelessly on her midrange game, while Aaliyah showed off her dominance in the paint during a scrimmage.

Nika, naturally, was the loudest voice on the court, barking out plays with her usual mix of humor and authority. "India, you better not miss this!" she shouted after drilling a tough layup.

I gave her a thumbs up, raising my camera. "Don't worry, Nika. You're always picture-perfect."

"Damn right I am," she called back, earning a round of laughs from the rest of the team.

By the time practice ended, my memory card was bursting with highlights—Azzi's precision, Lou's textbook form, Aubrey's explosive athleticism, and, of course, Paige's undeniable charisma. She was magnetic on the court, every movement fluid, every play calculated.

As the girls huddled up with Geno for a post-practice talk, I lingered on the sideline, reviewing some of the shots. Paige broke away from the group first, making a beeline toward me with her usual swagger.

"How'd I look out there, Inds?" she asked, leaning in just enough to make my heart stutter.

"Pretty average," I teased, not looking up from my camera.

"Average?" she repeated, mock outrage dripping from her tone. "You must've been watching the wrong player."

I finally glanced up, unable to resist the playful glint in her eyes. "Fine. You were decent."

"Decent, huh?" She grinned, stepping closer. "Guess I'll have to step it up next time. Can't let my favorite photographer down."

"Favorite?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, her expression turning just the slightest bit serious. "You know you are."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of editing and meetings. By the time evening rolled around, the team had a mandatory media session, which meant it was my turn to play mediator between the players and the press.

Paige, naturally, was the star of the show, fielding questions with her usual blend of charm and confidence.

"Paige, what's it like leading such a talented group of players?" one reporter asked.

"Honestly, it's easy," she said, flashing a grin. "These girls make me look good."

Azzi snorted from her spot nearby. "Yeah, okay, P."

Paige winked at her before turning back to the reporters. "But seriously, we're all leaders in our own way. I just happen to be the loudest."

The room erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but shake my head. Paige Bueckers: queen of the soundbite.

After the session, the team headed out for a team dinner, but I stayed behind to pack up my equipment. I was just finishing up when Paige appeared in the doorway, her hands stuffed in her hoodie pockets.

"Hey," she said, her tone softer than usual.

"Hey," I replied, glancing up from my bag.

She stepped inside, her gaze flicking to the camera around my neck. "You really love this, don't you?"

I hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "Yeah. I do."

"Why?"

I frowned, unsure where this was coming from. "I don't know. I guess I like capturing moments, you know? The stuff people don't always notice. The way you guys work together, the little celebrations, the grit. It's... real."

Paige nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "You're good at it."

"Thanks," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She stepped closer, her presence filling the small space. "I mean it, India. You've got an eye for this. You make us look... better than we are."

I laughed, though my chest felt tight. "Trust me, you don't need any help in that department."

She smiled, but there was something different about it—something softer. "You know, you never let me take a picture of you."

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. "I'm not the one in front of the camera."

"Maybe you should be," she said, her voice low.

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was. "Paige..."

She tilted her head, studying me. "What are you so afraid of, Baby Girl?"

My heart was racing, but before I could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment. Paige stepped back, her easy smirk returning.

"See you tomorrow, Inds," she said, her tone light again.

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing there with a million unanswered questions and a heart that wouldn't stop pounding.