Thirty Four

The team bus hadn't even pulled out of the arena parking lot before the group chat was blowing up with post-game chatter. Nika had already uploaded a selfie of herself with Azzi, both of them flashing over-the-top peace signs in front of the scoreboard. Aubrey, of course, commented with, "Okay, but did y'all actually do anything, or was this all Paige?"

Classic Aubrey.

The energy was contagious, even though I was sitting in my car, scrolling through the chat and waiting for traffic to clear. It had been a close game, way closer than any of us were comfortable with, but Paige had carried the team on her back in the final quarter. Again.

I knew she hated when people called it out, so I kept my thoughts to myself. For now.

By the time I got home, it was past midnight, but the buzz from the game hadn't worn off. I kicked off my sneakers by the door and collapsed onto the couch, laptop already open to the editing software. The post-game photos weren't going to sort themselves.

The first image I pulled up was of Paige, mid-drive, her face a mask of determination. She was a force on the court—focused, calculated, unstoppable. But what always got me was how different she was off it.

Like last night, when she made fun of me for missing shots but then stayed up late talking about everything except basketball. Or this morning, when she called me "baby girl" like it wasn't a big deal. Like it didn't send my brain into overdrive every single time.

I sighed, rubbing at my eyes before opening the next image.

This one was of Nika and Ice during a timeout, both of them grinning as they leaned into each other. Aubrey was in the background, holding up what looked like a gummy worm and pretending to feed it to Azzi. I snorted, saving the picture to a "team shenanigans" folder I kept purely for moments like this.

It was nearly 2 a.m. by the time I called it quits. I'd barely climbed into bed when my phone buzzed.

P: You awake?

I blinked at the screen, my heart doing this stupid little skip. It wasn't uncommon for Paige to text late at night, but it always felt like a private little secret when she did.

Me: Barely. What's up?

Her response came almost immediately.

P: Could use some company. You busy?

I glanced at the time and groaned internally. Sleep was overrated anyway, right?

When I got to her place, Paige was waiting on the porch, hoodie pulled up over her head and a mug of something steaming in her hands.

"Hey, mama," I said, stepping out of the car and slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Hey, Inds." She offered me the mug, her fingers brushing mine as I took it. "You looked like you could use this more than me."

I sniffed at the drink—hot chocolate, rich and sweet, just the way I liked it. "You trying to bribe me for something?"

She smirked, leaning back against the porch railing. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Uh-huh," I said, taking a sip. "So what's got you up at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep," she admitted, her voice softer now. "Game nights always mess with my head. Too much adrenaline, I guess."

I nodded, settling into the chair next to her. "You killed it out there tonight."

She huffed, shaking her head. "It wasn't just me."

"Don't be modest, P. You basically carried the team in the last five minutes."

"That's not how it works," she said, though her lips twitched like she wanted to argue.

We sat in silence for a while after that, the kind of comfortable quiet I'd only ever felt with Paige. The night air was cool, the street empty except for the occasional car passing by.

"Hey," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You ever think about...what's next?"

"Next?"

"Like after this," she said, motioning vaguely. "Basketball, photography, all of it."

I frowned, caught off guard by the question. "Not really. I guess I'm just trying to keep up with everything right now. Why? You having an existential crisis over there?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted, grinning. "I don't know. It's just...sometimes I feel like I'm so focused on the next game, the next season, that I forget what comes after."

I stared at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. Paige was usually so steady, so sure of herself. Seeing her like this was rare, and it made me want to hold onto the moment for as long as I could.

"Well," I said slowly, "if basketball doesn't work out, you could always become my assistant. You know, lug my camera gear around, hold reflectors, stuff like that."

She laughed, the sound low and warm. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it," I teased, nudging her with my elbow.

Her smile softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just us, sitting on her porch in the middle of the night.

"Maybe I do," she said quietly, her eyes locking on mine.

My breath caught, the air suddenly feeling heavier. But before I could say anything, she stood, stretching her arms over her head.

"Come on," she said, reaching down to pull me up. "Let's shoot around."

"Now?" I asked, incredulous.

"Why not? Court's empty. You scared I'll beat you again?"

"Oh, you're on," I said, setting the mug down and following her into the night.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights, Paige grabbed a ball from the rack near her driveway and passed it to me.

"First to five," she said, a challenge in her voice.

"Loser buys breakfast," I added, dribbling the ball.

She grinned, and for the next hour, the only thing that mattered was the sound of the ball hitting the pavement and the laughter that echoed into the early morning.

By the time we finally called it quits, sweat dripping and breaths coming hard, Paige leaned against the fence, her smile wide and unguarded.

"Good game, baby girl," she said, and for once, I didn't argue.

"Yeah," I said, my chest still heaving as I smiled back. "Good game."