Eight

It turns out that getting to sleep after a late-night diner trip with Paige Bueckers is basically impossible.

I'd tried everything—reading, listening to music, counting every blessed basketball photo on my hard drive—but nothing worked. Her voice kept looping in my head, low and soft in that way she reserved for one-on-one conversations. And don't even get me started on the way she'd smiled when she said, "See you tomorrow, Baby Girl."

I groaned, pulling a pillow over my face. Tomorrow had arrived way too soon.

By 9 a.m., I was back at the training facility, camera slung over my shoulder and caffeine coursing through my veins. The gym buzzed with energy as the team warmed up for a light practice. Coaches yelled instructions, sneakers squeaked on the hardwood, and basketballs thudded rhythmically against the floor.

The girls were in high spirits, probably still riding the adrenaline from last night's charity event. Aaliyah was practicing her footwork in the corner while Nika attempted to juggle three basketballs—unsuccessfully.

"Inds!" Lou called from the baseline, her French accent cutting through the noise. "You ready for my close-up?"

I smirked, lifting my camera. "Only if you can make the shot."

She grinned and launched a perfect three-pointer.

"Show-off," I muttered, snapping the photo as she winked at me.

Paige was the last to arrive, striding into the gym with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her usual unbothered expression. Her hair was damp, like she'd just showered, and she wore a fitted UCONN tank top that showed off her toned arms.

She spotted me immediately, her lips curving into a smirk as she walked over.

"Morning, Baby Girl," she said, her voice low enough to make me feel it in my chest.

"Morning, Mama," I replied, keeping my tone steady despite the way my pulse jumped.

Her eyes flicked to my camera. "You getting any good shots?"

"A few," I said, gesturing toward Lou, who was now attempting some ridiculous behind-the-back pass with Nika. "The usual chaos."

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded. "Let me guess—Nika's already causing trouble?"

"Always."

Practice started shortly after, and I fell into my usual rhythm, circling the court to capture candid shots of the girls. The team was sharp today, their passes crisp and their communication seamless. It was moments like these that made me love my job—watching this group of talented, driven women push each other to be better, frame by frame.

But, as always, my lens seemed to gravitate toward Paige.

She was magnetic on the court, her movements fluid and precise. Every pass, every shot, every defensive slide—it was like watching poetry in motion. And the way she commanded the team with quiet confidence only added to her presence.

"Focus, India," I muttered to myself, shaking my head as I adjusted my focus.

After practice, the team gathered for a cooldown stretch, sprawling across the court in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Paige plopped down next to me, her long legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned back on her palms.

"You got any embarrassing shots of me today?" she asked, tilting her head toward me.

"Not yet," I said, lowering my camera. "But there's still time."

Her grin widened. "You'd better keep that thing ready. I'm about to do something stupid."

As if on cue, Nika and Aaliyah started an impromptu wrestling match over a water bottle, their laughter echoing through the gym. Paige watched them for a moment before turning back to me.

"You coming to the team dinner tonight?" she asked, her tone casual but her gaze expectant.

I hesitated. "I wasn't planning on it. Isn't that more of a 'players only' thing?"

"Not really," she said, shrugging. "Besides, we all like having you around. Right, Lou?"

Lou, who was mid-stretch nearby, nodded without hesitation. "Of course! India is part of the family."

I blinked, caught off guard by the warmth in her tone.

Paige leaned closer, her voice dropping. "See? You can't say no now."

The dinner was at a local Italian restaurant, the kind with checkered tablecloths and a menu that required a translator for half the items. By the time I arrived, the team had already taken over the back room, their laughter spilling out into the main dining area.

"Inds!" Azzi called, waving me over to an empty seat between her and Paige.

Paige smirked as I sat down, her knee brushing mine under the table.

"You made it," she said, her voice soft enough that it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Apparently, I didn't have a choice," I replied, earning a chuckle from her.

The dinner was as chaotic as you'd expect—Nika argued passionately about pineapple on pizza (a firm "no" from her), Lou tried to explain French etiquette to an increasingly confused Aubrey, and Azzi somehow convinced Aaliyah to attempt the spicy marinara challenge.

Through it all, Paige stayed close, her presence steady and grounding. She didn't talk much, but when she did, her comments were sharp and perfectly timed, earning laughs from everyone at the table.

After dinner, as the team filtered out into the night, Paige lingered by my side.

"Need a ride?" she asked, her hands stuffed into her hoodie pockets.

"I drove," I said, nodding toward my car parked a few spaces away.

"Alright," she said, her voice easy. "But text me when you get home, okay?"

I looked up at her, surprised by the sincerity in her tone.

"I will," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

She nodded, her smirk faint but present. "Good."

As I watched her walk away, a strange warmth settled in my chest—a mix of comfort and something far more dangerous.

Because Paige wasn't just getting into my photos. She was getting into my heart.