Seven

The thing about editing photos is that it's supposed to be relaxing. You throw on some music, sip a drink, and tweak your shots until they're perfect. It's a calm, focused process.

Unless, of course, every other photo you took happens to include Paige.

"Ugh," I muttered, dragging the slider back and forth on a shot of her mid-laugh. Her expression was soft, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail that somehow made her look even more annoyingly perfect.

"Too bright?" I asked myself, though the actual issue had nothing to do with the lighting.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at my laptop screen as if it might provide answers. Paige had been in my head all evening. Her smirk, her laugh, the way she looked at me during that ridiculous skills challenge—none of it had left me alone.

I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. It was nearing midnight, but the team was off tomorrow, so I didn't have an excuse to stop working. Not that I'd gotten much done.

My phone buzzed on the desk, lighting up with a message.

Paige: You still awake, Baby Girl?

I stared at the screen, my stomach doing a little flip at the sight of her name.

Me: Barely. What's up?

Her response came almost immediately.

Paige: Hungry. Want to hit that diner near campus?

I glanced at the time again. Midnight snacks weren't a new thing for the team—especially Paige—but the thought of sitting across from her at some quiet diner made my pulse quicken.

Me: Aren't you supposed to eat healthy or something?

Paige: Cheat day, Baby Girl.

I bit my lip, fighting a grin.

Me: Fine. Give me 10 minutes.

Ten minutes turned into fifteen, because finding an outfit that looked "casual" but also "I didn't try too hard" was surprisingly difficult. I eventually settled on leggings, a cropped hoodie, and sneakers—comfortable, but cute enough to make it seem like I'd put in some effort.

Paige was waiting outside the diner when I arrived, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie. She glanced up as I approached, her smirk appearing the moment our eyes met.

"Right on time," she said, holding the door open for me.

"More like fashionably late," I quipped, stepping inside.

The diner was exactly what you'd expect—bright, retro, and nearly empty at this hour. A couple of students sat in a corner booth, heads buried in their textbooks, but otherwise, we had the place to ourselves.

We slid into a booth near the back, and Paige immediately grabbed a menu.

"Pancakes or waffles?" she asked, her tone as serious as if we were discussing game strategy.

"Depends. Do you mean for now, or in general?"

"Now," she said, her eyes scanning the options.

"Waffles," I said without hesitation.

She nodded approvingly. "Good choice, Baby Girl."

When the food arrived—waffles for me, pancakes for Paige, plus a side of fries we agreed to split—the conversation flowed as easily as ever. Paige had a way of making you feel at ease, like whatever you said would be met with her full attention and that signature smirk.

"So, what's your deal?" she asked, spearing a piece of pancake with her fork.

I raised an eyebrow. "My deal?"

"Yeah. You're always behind the camera. What made you want to be a photographer?"

The question caught me off guard, but her curiosity seemed genuine.

"I don't know," I said, taking a bite of my waffle. "I guess I've always liked capturing moments. Freezing them, you know? Photos make things permanent in a way nothing else can."

She nodded thoughtfully, her gaze steady. "Makes sense. You're good at it."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a little shy under her scrutiny. "What about you? Why basketball?"

Paige leaned back in the booth, her smirk softening into something more reflective. "It's the one thing that's always made sense to me. Like, no matter what's going on in life, I can step on the court, and it all just... clicks."

I nodded, understanding more than I expected to.

She leaned forward again, her smirk returning. "Also, I'm really good at it."

I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Of course."

We lingered in the diner longer than necessary, the conversation bouncing between lighthearted banter and deeper topics. She told me stories about growing up, about her teammates, and even about some of the pranks they'd pulled during road trips.

"Wait, so you're telling me Nika actually glued Aaliyah's shoes together?" I asked, laughing so hard I nearly choked on a fry.

"Yep," Paige said, her grin wide. "And Aaliyah didn't notice until we were about to leave for practice. She was so mad, she didn't talk to Nika for a week."

"That's insane."

"That's Nika," Paige said with a shrug. "You get used to it."

By the time we left, the clock was nearing 2 a.m., and the streets were quiet. Paige walked me to my car, her hands tucked into her hoodie pockets as we strolled down the sidewalk.

"You good to drive?" she asked, her voice softer now.

I nodded, unlocking the door. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for checking."

She lingered for a moment, her gaze steady as she leaned against the car door.

"Tonight was fun," she said finally.

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice quieter than I intended. "It was."

She grinned, stepping back. "See you tomorrow, Baby Girl."

I watched her walk away, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing again.