dels

The white leather booth Paige was sprawled across curved around a glowing table littered with half-empty glasses, melting ice, and the remains of what had once been three very full bottles of liquor. Now they sat mostly drained in silver buckets sweating onto the tables, casualties of a long night.

Paige swirled her Dirty Shirley and watched Nika aggressively throw back another shot of tequila that she absolutely did not need. Honestly, she hadn’t needed the last three, but Paige wasn’t going to try to make that point again. It was a lost cause. The Croatian didn’t even wince. 

“I’m serious,” Nika declared for probably the tenth time in the last hour, leaning forward so abruptly her dark ponytail whipped over her shoulder. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”

Across from them, Napheesa Collier, Paige’s Lynx teammate, snorted into her vodka soda.

“Oh my god,” Phee laughed. “You are obsessed with this girl.”

“I am not obsessed with her,” Nika shot back. “I fucking hate her.”

Paige bit back a smile behind the rim of her glass. There was an important distinction in Nika’s mind. Obsession implied admiration. Hatred was apparently noble. And Paige knew better than to question the logic after all these years. This feud ran all the way back to college. 

Phee raised a brow. “You’ve said her name at least twenty times tonight.”

“That’s because she’s a fucking bitch.”

“She’s literally just a soccer player,” Paige corrected lazily, her brain, thankfully, a bit fuzzy from the alcohol. “Why you so pressed about her all the time, bro?”

“She’s the devil in shin guards,” Nika argued. “Seriously. Did you see how tiny her shin guards are? Like why even wear them?” 

Paige laughed, sinking deeper into the absurdly soft white leather. The booth was tucked in the corner of the VIP section overlooking the dance floor below, giving them a clear view of the entire club. The place was decent size, and about as trendy as you could find in Minneapolis, where the Lynx and the newer NWSL team, Twin Cities FC, were based. 

Honestly, Paige kind of loved it. Mostly because she was perfectly drunk enough for the pulsing music to feel pleasant instead of overstimulating as it hummed through her body. And the Lynx had off the next day, a nice reprieve from the gauntlet of games they’d been in to clinch a playoff spot.

Nika, meanwhile, was still fully locked into her postgame spiral after her team had lost to the Washington Spirit. Yet again. 

“She took my legs out,” Nika continued, pointing accusingly at nobody. “No attempt at the ball whatsoever.”

Phee tilted her head. “You sure you’re not just pissed she got by you and scored? ”

“Who’s side are you on, Phee?” Nika hissed before turning her attention to Paige. “Get your girl in line, Bueckers,” Nika scoffed, thrusting her thumb over her shoulder. Then she turned, glancing back at Phee through half-open eyes. “Seriously, did you even watch the game? She coulda broke my leg.”

Paige rubbed a hand over her mouth to hide another grin. It had been a hard challenge, but Nika was being a bit dramatic.

The game itself had admittedly been entertaining as hell. Twin Cities FC versus the Washington Spirit always got nasty fast, mostly because their captains seemed biologically incapable of behaving normally around each other for more than five consecutive minutes. 

There had been shoving. Bewilderment. Screaming. A few dramatic flops that Nika was still furious hadn’t gotten called. And, okay, maybe Azzi had baited Nika into at least half of them. 

In her defense, Nika was extremely easy to bait. Paige was working with a small sample size, but she was pretty sure Croatians came out of the womb ready to commit mild acts of violence over sports. That Balkan temper activated faster than Caitlin Clark fans on Twitter when Paige was mentioned in MVP talks. 

Paige had watched the game from the sideline with Phee and a few of her other Lynx teammates. She spent most of the second half trying not to laugh every time the broadcast camera caught Nika and Azzi chirping at each other. 

“You know what the worst part is?” Nika groaned.

Phee sighed. “I feel like you’re going to tell us anyway...”

“She acts all smug after. Like she’s funny. She’s been like that since college.”

Paige hummed into her drink. Because Azzi was kinda funny. Even if she was her best friend’s nemesis, Paige enjoyed how Azzi played with a competitive fire that bordered on cocky. It was how Paige played too. And Nika. Maybe that was part of the problem; they were all too similar.

Nika narrowed her eyes. “Why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“That face,” she huffed, swirling her finger inches from Paige’s smirk. 

Paige shrugged one shoulder, entirely unbothered and happy to goad her twin on. “I’m just saying. You can only get so mad when somebody looks that good cooking you.”

Nika stared at her in betrayal while Phee let out a laugh so loud a couple people turned toward the booth. Paige could tell from Nika’s shocked expression that she may have taken it a step too far.

“You’re sick in the head,” Nika informed Paige flatly.

Paige grinned, completely unashamed, but still eager to stay off Nika’s bad side. “Okay, okay,” she chuckled, tossing her hands up in surrender. “You know I support you, twin.”

Nika sighed and dropped her head back dramatically against the booth. “I can’t believe this is the support system I have.”

Phee checked her phone and groaned, her lips pulling into a tight line. “Speaking of support systems, I have to go home and get some sleep. Mila is going to be up so early.” 

Paige laughed as Phee slid off the couch, grabbing her purse and jacket off the seat beside her.

“Tell Mila I said hi.”

“She likes you more than me at this point,” Phee muttered.

“That’s because I bribe her with candy all the time.”

“I know,” Phee huffed, shaking her head. “You are literally the reason I have problems.”

Paige accepted the quick side hug Phee leaned down to give her before she turned to Nika.

“And you,” Phee pointed before dapping her up, “need to stop acting like Azzi keyed your car.”

“She’d probably fucking enjoy it.”

“Goodnight, drama queen,” Phee chuckled. 

Nika flipped her off affectionately as Phee disappeared through the crowded VIP section toward the exit.

The booth settled into quiet for a moment as they watched Phee leave. Well. As quiet as a nightclub could be.

Holding her sweating glass in one hand, Paige stretched her other arm along the back of the booth, letting her gaze drift lazily across the crowd below while Nika continued muttering under her breath about missed calls and corrupt referees and apparently the moral collapse of professionalism in soccer.

Honestly, Paige only half listened. She loved Nika like a sister, but sometimes post-loss-Nika was like listening to a bad podcast with no pause button. Especially if she lost to Azzi.

Their feud started years ago. Nika and Paige went to UCONN, Azzi to UCLA. They didn’t cross paths much, at least, not enough to think there was time to become bitter enemies. Somehow, Azzi and Nika found a way. If Paige really thought about it, it made sense. The first time Nika and Azzi met was sophomore year when UCONN played UCLA in the national championship game. And maybe, Azzi took a dive in the box that led to a game winning penalty kick for UCLA. 

That was where it started but certainly not where it ended. Since then, the two had played countless times. In college tournaments, in subsequent national championship games, in the NWSL, in charity matches. And every time there was pushing and shoving, and cheap shots and swearing, and derogatory names mumbled under their breath. At least, that’s what Nika told her and Paige, ever the supportive friend, didn’t doubt her for a second. 

“And then,” Nika continued, drawing Paige’s attention back in, “she had the audacity to wink at me afterward.”

Paige smirked into her drink, trying not to choke on the sip she just took. “That’s kinda funny, bro.”

Nika whipped toward her. “Don’t act like you don’t hate her just as much as me.”

Paige opened her mouth to respond but stopped as a raucous laugh pulled her gaze away. 

A group of women had entered the VIP section, full of smiles and what Paige assumed must be postgame adrenaline. Security waved them through with immediate recognition of either their beauty or talent. She wasn’t sure which. 

Paige instantly recognized them too. Washington Spirit players. And right in the middle of them… 

Oh this is gonna be good, she thought with a wry smile. 

Paige slowly leaned back against the booth cushions, manspreading a bit further, eyes narrowing just slightly as Azzi stepped fully into view.

She was wearing black baggy jeans and a tiny red top. A silver chain reflected against her caramel skin and her hair was half up, half down in loose curls. 

Nika noticed Paige had gone quiet and followed her line of sight. Her entire face twisted in disdain when she recognized who was there. She drew in a deep breath like she was trying to fill herself with all of the patience she’d need to get through this encounter. Paige knew there wasn’t enough of that in the entire world. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Nika spat. 

Paige bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt, mostly to stop herself from smiling at the new development in their evening. 

“Absolutely not,” Nika muttered, sitting forward so fast she sloshed some vodka onto the table. “She’s stalking me now. She’s a legitimate psychopath, Paige.”

Paige made a vague sound of acknowledgment, but honestly, her attention had already drifted back. Azzi was laughing at something one of her teammates said, head tipped back, and it hit Paige square in the chest in that irritatingly familiar way it always did.

Azzi was hot. 

Objectively. 

Subjectively.

All-the-jectivelys.

The club lights caught the cross pendant around Azzi’s throat every few seconds, tiny flashes of sparkles against warm brown skin, and Paige’s eyes tracked the movement before she could stop herself. Her top was cropped just enough to show a strip of stomach when she moved, toned abs in full view. 

Throat growing dry, Paige quickly averted her gaze before she got caught staring. By Azzi or Nika. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which would be worse. Probably Nika. She was at least close enough to wrap her hands around Paige’s neck and squeeze. 

“She’s looking over here,” Nika complained, glaring back at the Spirit striker.

Paige took another sip, eyes slowly roaming across the club before settling back on Nika. “Maybe because you’re staring at her like you’re planning a murder.”

“That’s because I am planning a murder,” Nika scoffed. “Hers.” 

Paige snorted softly as Azzi’s group settled into one of the booths further across the VIP section. Azzi didn’t sit right away. She lingered near the edge of the booth, scanning the room while one of her teammates talked in her ear. Then her fingers tugged briefly under the chain at her throat, adjusting it.

Paige’s brain short-circuited for approximately half a second, gaze locked on her long, slender fingers and the way Azzi bit her lip in concentration at whatever story her teammate was telling. It seemed enthralling. 

She blamed the vodka.

“You know,” Paige said casually, finally dragging her attention back toward Nika before she got caught, “there’s only like two places around here people go after games.”

Nika looked horrified. “Are you defending her?”

“I’m just saying it’s not exactly shocking they ended up here.”

“Suprised she didn’t just stay in her hotel room cooking up another social media post. Fucking bitch.”

And, okay. Nika had a point there. The hatred might have started as a rivalry on the pitch all those years ago, but it had turned personal. The fire already burned between them, but Azzi was the one who threw the gasoline. Like a whole can of it. Maybe even two. Nika’s senior year, UCONN lost to UCLA in the national championship game, ending her season and collegiate career. Azzi, in the pure definition of pettiness, added a picture of Nika sitting on the field, knees to her chest, head in her hands, crying, to the end of her natty dump on Instagram. The picture was tagged—maybe next time. 

It got taken down shortly after she posted it, but the damage had been done. Nika was ready to board a plane to Los Angeles to rip Azzi apart, and Paige was ten toes down right behind her. Battling it out within the lines was one thing, but that had been a low blow and Paige was heated.

Paige nodded as her pulse ticked up a notch at the memory. “Yeah, that was trash, bro.”

She didn’t mention how Nika got her payback by purposely seeking out Azzi’s ex at a draft-party and posting a video of them making out on her story. That’s really where it reached the point of no return. 

“What a terrible human,” Nika slurred. “She probably has a fur coat made out of puppies.”

Paige laughed at the insinuation before taking a long sip of her drink. She flicked her gaze up to Nika, catching the way she clenched her jaw. The Croatian was clearly worked up. 

“I dunno, twin,” Paige sighed after a moment. “All that shit started in college. Maybe she grew up…” 

Nika narrowed her eyes. “Are you just saying that ‘cause she’s hot?” 

Paige leaned back against the booth cushions, very much trying to hide her amusement. 

Well.

Yeah.

Anyone with eyes could see that. 

Azzi was the kind of hot that made people walk into furniture. She probably got out of parking tickets just by smiling, and maybe even some petty crimes. Paige had spent years pretending she didn’t notice it quite as much as she did, mostly because Nika reacted to Azzi’s existence like a bull seeing red. 

Sighing, Paige let her eyes drift back across the room again, watching Azzi grin at something before finally sliding into the booth beside one of her teammates.

Then she shrugged.

“I mean,” Paige admitted easily, “she is hot.”

Nika stared at her like she’d just confessed to owning a Sophie Cunningham jersey.

“You are the weakest soldier I know.”

“Bro, all I’m saying is, aren’t you getting tired of keeping this grudge alive? Maybe she isn’t that bad if you both just gave it a chance.” 

“She tried to break my ankle like four hours ago.”

Paige winced. It didn’t seem like Nika had a penchant for forgiveness. Or even acting mature for two fucking minutes. 

“Okay, but in fairness, you almost ripped her jersey off near the sideline,” Paige argued. 

“That was tactical,” Nika countered in a bewildered tone. “She was going to break with the ball and they had numbers.” 

“That was literally almost assault, twin.”

Nika pointed accusingly at her, and Paige realized this was a lost cause. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side.”

“You just called my nemesis hot.”

Paige grinned into her drink, letting the warm and fuzzy feeling caused by the alcohol sloshing around in her veins smooth the edges of Nika’s harsh tone. 

“Multiple things can be true at once,” Paige mumbled under her breath. 

It drew a dramatic groan from Nika. Then she dragged both hands down her face.

“She might be hot but you ever notice how she’s always single? Bet no one can deal with that fucking attitude.” 

Paige didn’t mention that Nika also had a similar attitude and was also single. Things had already spiraled far enough and she was happy to live in the land of delusion with her best friend for a bit longer. 

After a moment, Nika shot Paige a look before abruptly shoving out of the booth.

“You know what? I’m leaving before I accidentally see her flirting with somebody and have to gouge my eyes out.”

Paige’s brows lifted slightly. It was barely eleven and they both had a rare day off tomorrow. “Already?”

“Yes, already.” Nika threw back the last of her drink that she didn’t need and took a step back, swaying slightly. “Some of us have emotional wounds to recover from.”

Paige laughed, but didn’t move to follow when Nika jerked her head toward the exit expectantly.

“You coming?”

Paige shook her head. “Nah, not yet. I’m meeting some people out.”

Nika sighed in annoyance, but she didn’t push. 

“Fine,” she muttered, leaning down to dap Paige up before pulling her into a tight hug. “But if she slide tackles somebody in this club too, don’t call me. I won’t help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Paige chucked, drawing back. “You good with your Uber?” 

Nika nodded. “Should be here in five. I’m gonna wait outside and get some fresh air. I’ll see you at brunch in the morning.” 

She shot one final, deeply offended glare across the VIP section toward Azzi’s booth before making her way toward the exit.

Paige watched Nika disappear into the crowd, then leaned back with a slow exhale, one arm curling behind her head while the other held her half-empty glass. 

After another sip, her eyes lifted across the VIP section and landed directly on Azzi.

Who was already looking at her.

Oh. 

Azzi sat tucked into the corner of the opposite booth, one arm draped along the back cushion while one of her teammates talked animatedly beside her. But Azzi wasn’t paying attention anymore. Or at least she didn’t seem to be. Her warm brown eyes were fixed straight on Paige, amusement already curling at the edges of her smile like she knew exactly what kind of trouble she’d just caused.

Paige smirked, and shook her head.

That, apparently, was enough of an invitation. Without breaking eye contact, Azzi slid out of the booth.

Oh fuck. 

Paige watched her weave through the crowded VIP section. The black jeans sat low on Azzi’s hips, exposing the upper half of her v-line. Paige tried very hard to focus on her curls instead. It wasn’t going particularly well, considering they landed softly on her collarbone and left Paige wondering what would happen if she sunk her teeth in there. 

Heart thundering against her rib cage, Paige shifted in her seat and pulled in a deep breath. 

Get it together. 

Heads turned as Azzi passed, which wasn’t surprising. The annoying part was how Azzi kept her gaze locked on Paige while she walked. Like nothing else was as important as watching Paige crack. And she was cracking. 

By the time Azzi stopped in front of the booth, Paige’s pulse was already beating way too hard despite trying to play cool. She wondered if Azzi could see it through the black collared shirt she was wearing. 

Azzi tilted her head slightly, curls brushing her bare shoulder. “You know,” she said smoothly over the music, “usually when people stare at me this hard, they at least offer to buy me a drink.”

Paige’s grin widened slowly, infinitely grateful Nika wasn’t here to witness the interaction.

“Thought about it,” she admitted, gaze dragging slowly down Azzi’s perfectly toned body before settling back on her perfectly pretty face. “But then I figured you deserved to work for it.”

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted. “Oh, is that what we’re doing tonight?”

Paige shrugged lazily, entirely too entertained by the little spark in Azzi’s eyes already. Playing indifferent certainly had its perks. “You’re in my city.”

“Oh it’s your city?” Azzi echoed.

Paige nodded once. “Yep,” she said, popping the last letter before licking her lips. She didn’t miss the way Azzi’s gaze dipped. “Last I checked we’re in Minneapolis. Means I can stare if I want to.”

Azzi laughed softly under her breath, the sound dangerous to Paige’s self-control.

“That confidence is crazy,” Azzi murmured incredulously.

Still, she stepped closer.

Paige spread her legs a bit further. It was out of habit. Not at all a reaction to the way Azzi had stepped into her space. Not at all an offering of sorts. 

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” Paige said coolly before taking a sip of her drink. 

Azzi watched, her eyes locked on the way Paige’s throat bobbed as she swallowed the cool liquid. 

“Mmm.” Azzi stepped closer, one hand reaching forward to pluck the glass from her grip. 

Paige let it go easily, watching the way Azzi’s lips wrapped around the straw, the way her cheeks hollowed as she pulled the last of the liquid into her mouth, the way her eyes twisted shut and her lips puckered as she swallowed the last sips of vodka.

“I see,” Azzi hummed, voice like velvet. She set the empty glass down on the table before leaning forward to place her hand onto the back of the booth beside Paige’s shoulder. “Does that shit work on all the girls?” 

Up close, Paige caught the faint smell of Azzi’s perfume underneath the lingering traces of sweat and expensive vodka. The effect it had on her body hit embarrassingly fast.

Azzi knew it too. It was apparent from the smug little look that settled onto her face.

“Works on the ones that matter,” Paige shot back, regaining some semblance of cool. 

That was apparently the correct answer and a coy smile tugged at Azzi’s lips as she climbed into Paige’s lap, sliding one knee onto either side of Paige’s hips. She glanced around theatrically before her soft brown eyes settled back on Paige, pupils blown wide. 

“So,” Azzi asked innocently even though they both knew she was anything but, “Nika done pouting yet?”

The club was packed. Azzi’s teammates sat fifty feet away and a who’s who of Minneapolis littered the VIP section, but Azzi didn’t seem to care. And Paige was way too many Dirty Shriely’s deep to really process anything but the beautiful woman sitting in her lap. Who could honestly blame her. Besides Nika.  

Blinded by the blissful fog in her brain and the weight of Azzi in her lap, Paige just chuckled, her hands shifting to Azzi’s waist. She stroked the skin peeking out from below the cropped top, relishing its warmth, as Azzi settled. The movement pressed them flush together, and Paige was sure now Azzi could at least feel the way her heart was racing even if she couldn’t see it.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Paige muttered, though she was grinning.

Azzi looped her arms loosely around Paige’s shoulders. “You love trouble.”

Paige hummed at the truth in the statement, blue eyes dropping to Azzi’s mouth for a second before meeting her gaze again. “It does seem to have a way of finding me.”

“Funny,” Azzi murmured, fingertips drifting behind Paige’s ear before trailing down the side of her neck, where they found the collar of Paige’s shirt. She absentmindedly smoothed it flat. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She found the cross pendant resting on Paige’s chest next, adjusting it even though it hadn’t actually needed fixing. Then her palm settled flat in the valley between Paige’s breasts.

They were in the middle of a crowded club, but Paige wasn't complaining. She was too turned on to recognize the alarm bells ringing.

Seemingly emboldened by the way Paige’s heart hammered against her touch, Azzi slid her hand further, fingers grazing a taut nipple through Paige’s shirt.

Jesus Christ. 

Paige bit her lip and sucked in a deep breath. It didn’t help settle her. She wasn’t sure anything could at this moment besides a bucket of cold water. 

“You tryna get in some real trouble tonight?” Azzi asked, voice soft against her ear. The words were almost swallowed by the crowded club around them, but Paige swore they rattled around her skull louder than the bass.

Paige laughed at the implication but she couldn’t deny the way it settled low in her belly. “It is my specialty.”

“I know.”

“Yeah?” Paige’s hand slid higher along Azzi’s waist, fingers pressing in harder before beginning to stroke back and forth. Two could play this game. And despite not knowing the rules, Paige was certainly enjoying it. “That why you came all the way over here?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Azzi shrugged one shoulder, but the smile threatening her lips gave her away. It was small but sinister.

For a second neither of them moved. 

The music pounded through the club. Lights flashed across the crowd below them and Paige suddenly felt hyperaware of every inch separating them. 

Which wasn’t much.

Some would even argue it was too much. That someone being Paige. 

“You look this good tonight just for me?” Paige asked, hopeful at the answer.

A soft laugh escaped Azzi and Paige tried to ignore the way her eyes sparkled when she tipped her head back. 

“That’s a terrible line.”

“Do I need a line?”  Paige arched a brow, a hint of challenge in her tone. “You’re the one who came over here.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped briefly to Paige’s mouth before darting back up. The movement was quick but not quick enough. Paige caught it, and apparently Azzi realized she had too because a faint blush immediately crept into her cheeks before she looked away.

“You looked lonely,” Azzi surmised, tone implying a casualness that didn’t exist.

“Lonely, huh?”

Paige smirked. They both knew it was bullshit. She could have any woman in the club if she wanted. It wasn’t lost on either of them what was happening. 

“Mhm,” Azzi hummed playfully, fingers returning to the collar of Paige’s shirt, and running along it until they found the baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “Thought you could use some company. Pretty confident I’d be better company than you’ve had all night.”

That was a direct shot at Nika. 

Paige knew it. Azzi knew it. Azzi knew Paige knew it. Paige knew Azzi knew it.

But Azzi’s legs were bracketed around Paige’s hips, one arm draped loosely across her shoulders and before Paige could defend her friend’s honor, Azzi’s fingers cinched in the hair at the base of her neck and it sent a jolt straight through Paige that settled right between her fucking legs. 

Willpower gone. Out the door. On vacation with no idea when it’d come back. 

She was fucked. 

Or at least that’s all she could think about. 

Paige’s hands had a mind of their own, sliding along the narrow strip of exposed skin beneath Azzi’s top before dipping lower to palm her ass through the soft fabric of her jeans. Azzi let out a soft moan that made Paige’s cunt throb. Somehow, she maintained enough composure to resist the urge to buck up into Azzi. 

This felt dangerous. 

Then again, most things about Azzi were.

The smile.

The confidence.

The history with Nika. 

The way she was somehow managing to make direct eye contact feel like fucking foreplay.

All of it. 

A pretty little bomb, wrapped with a bow, ready to detonate at any second. 

Azzi tilted her head slightly, studying her with a look that felt entirely too knowing.

“What?” Paige asked.

The coy smile widened because Azzi knew exactly the kind of effect she was having on Paige. The kind that had Paige thinking about what she tasted like. Tequila from her drink earlier? Maybe vodka and grenadine from the waning sips of Paige’s Dirty Shirley? 

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

A soft laugh escaped Azzi and Paige felt it more than heard it.

The lights swept across the room again, briefly illuminating Azzi’s face, and the faint smudge of lip gloss near the corner of her mouth.

Without thinking, Paige reached up.

Azzi went still as Paige brushed the pad of her thumb lightly against the corner of her lips, catching the smear and dragging it away.

“There,” Paige said, voice not entirely steady.

For a second, Azzi’s eyes tracked the movement of her thumb and Paige knew she had her. It was a look she’d gotten many times over the years from various women. None as enticing as Azzi, though. It was doing wonders for Paige’s ego. 

Smirk growing, she slid her thumb back along Azzi’s bottom lip, pulling it down, but resisting the urge to push into her mouth. Then slowly, she looked back up and met Azzi’s gaze. The soft brown was gone, instead replaced by wide, dark pupils, and a hunger that was mirrored in Paige’s own eyes. 

The expression on her face made Paige’s pulse kick against her ribs. The air between them was thick with tension. She was in trouble and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if she wanted to. Which she obviously didn’t. 

“Thanks,” Azzi whispered, before using her grip on Paige’s hair to pull her in. 

The kiss landed hard enough to steal the cocky response from the tip of Paige’s tongue. 

Azzi kissed like she played soccer: aggressive, confident, a little cocky about it. Same as Paige, which left them fighting to establish dominance. Azzi’s fingers tightened into the hair at the back of Paige’s neck, nails sliding and scraping against her scalp as Paige’s hands slipped lower and groped her ass.

Azzi made a soft little sound when Paige slipped her tongue into her mouth, and Paige felt it zip straight down her spine. The club blurred around them into bass and flashing lights and distant bodies moving somewhere outside the booth. But all Paige could focus on was the way Azzi kissed her, like she was staking a claim.

After a couple minutes, maybe even more because Paige had honestly lost track, Azzi pulled back just enough to breathe, lips pink and swollen. Paige leaned forward to chase her lips but a firm hand against her chest stopped her. 

Paige whined, not caring how pathetic it sounded. She’d had a taste and now it was all she could process. Unfortunately, the striker sent her a pointed glare that deflated Paige instantly.

“I thought,” Azzi started, a slight pout tugging at her mouth, “you were gonna tell her about us tonight.”

Paige groaned, dropping her forehead briefly against Azzi’s shoulder before pulling back to meet her dark gaze.

“Bro,” Paige laughed, “you literally took both her legs out with a slide tackle. You think tonight was the night to tell her?”

“First of all, don’t call me ‘bro’,” Azzi scolded in mock offense. “Second… did you not see her drag me down by my jersey in the first half?”

Paige snorted. “You provoked her.”

“I did no such thing.” 

“So you weren’t shit talking her in Croatian?” 

Azzi grinned proudly, which was really the only answer Paige needed. “I was just trying to be inclusive.”

Paige laughed again, unable not to. “You’re right, Az,” she admitted, really just hoping to move things along so she could get her mouth back on Azzi.

God, Paige had missed her.

They’d only been apart a couple of weeks—since Paige had played the Mystics—but still.

Unfortunately, the smugness that overtook Azzi’s face was immediate.

“Oh. I’m definitely telling her you said that.”

Paige pointed a warning finger at her, wagging it slightly. “Don’t even think about it. She’ll kill me.”

Azzi grabbed it, interlacing their fingers instead, and Paige felt the resistance seep out of her pores the way it always did when she had Azzi wrapped around her.

“She loves you too much to kill you.” 

“She might actually hate you more than she loves me, though,” Paige countered. “You were supposed to chill today so I could talk to her, Az. Not rile her up even more.” 

Azzi giggled, and Paige swore that sound alone had probably taken years off her life. 

Then Azzi kissed her again. Slower this time, but also a little bit meaner. It was a kiss clearly designed to ruin Paige’s ability to think and it was fucking working. Especially when Azzi shifted in her lap, grinding down enough to make Paige’s grip tighten. A sharp breath caught in Paige’s throat and Azzi smiled against her mouth, pulling back just enough for Paige to see the mischievousness flicker in her eyes. 

“You’re evil,” Paige muttered.

“And yet, you’re going to take me back to your house and fuck me anyway.”

“Oh, am I?” Paige shot back with a cocky smirk.

It was rhetorical, laughable even, that Paige even asked the question. They both knew exactly how this evening was going to end—breathless and sated, wrapped around each other in Paige’s bed. And at some point, God willing, Azzi’s legs wrapped around Paige’s shoulders, around her head. 

Azzi pulled back and let her eyes rake over Paige. Clearly liking what she saw, she traced a finger up Paige’s arm, sending goosebumps scattering across her skin, before her long fingers wrapped around Paige’s jaw and lifted her chin so their eyes met.

“Yes. You are.”

Then Azzi’s grip on Paige’s jaw tightened. She held Paige in place, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “Especially on if you want to see what I’m wearing underneath this.” 

Paige gulped, swallowing down the cotton in her throat. “Which one is it?” she asked hoarsely, eyes half-lidded. 

“Your favorite,” Azzi mumbled coyly into her ear, her warm breath spreading through Paige like wildfire. “The one I wore for your birthday last year.” 

Paige’s hand slipped under the waistband of Azzi’s pants, grinning with pure joy when she felt lace beneath her fingertips.

She could picture it now. Azzi in that lavender lingerie set, spread out on Paige’s bed, writhing with pleasure as Paige buried her face between her legs. It sent a flood of wetness to her already soaked boxers. 

“Mmm,” Paige hummed against Azzi’s lips. “Yeah, I think we should call an Uber soon, baby.”

Azzi rolled her hips again, slower this time, but definitely intentionally. 

“Fuck, baby,” Paige breathed against Azzi’s mouth as she lost the last functioning brain cell she had left.

All she could think about was getting her fingers in Azzi’s cunt. Or her tongue. Or her strap. Paige didn’t care, she was an equal opportunity employer. 

And Azzi? She just looked unbearably pleased with herself. She leaned back slightly, fingers tracing teasingly along the chain around Paige’s neck, a soft smile replacing the smug one.

“You know,” Azzi said gently, “you are gonna have to tell her eventually.”

Paige sighed dramatically already knowing where this was headed.

“Or I can just fuck you right here and cause enough of a scene it floods social media by morning and she can find out that way…”

Paige winced at the thought, picturing how wide Nika’s eyes would blow. And then the slew of curse words that would slip from her lips, likely trailing off in another language. Which would probably be good because at least Paige wouldn’t know how Nika was planning on killing her. Sometimes not knowing was better. 

In her defense, she had been meaning to tell Nika. For months now, actually. But every single time she tried to bring up Azzi, Nika would say something like “If Azzi Fudd has no haters left on earth it means I’m dead,” or something along those lines, and Paige would lose her nerve.

Which maybe made her a little bit of a coward. But she valued her life. So. Whatever. 

Azzi’s fingers slid to Paige’s chain, tugging lightly to pull her back to reality. “Paige.”

She was serious now, the playful banter dissipating and Paige knew why. 

“I’ll tell her, Az,” Paige promised, kissing along Azzi’s jaw before she could keep arguing. “I swear I’ll tell Nika soon.”

The attempt at distraction worked. Azzi giggled quietly when Paige’s mouth brushed her neck, settling her weight back down and titling her neck to give Paige more room to work.

“You’ll fucking tell me what soon?”

The blood drained from Paige’s face so fast, chilling in her veins and freezing her in place. 

One second Azzi was giggling as Paige kissed along her neck, warm and smug and entirely too comfortable in her lap, and the next Paige was staring over her shoulder at Nika standing beside the booth with wide eyes and her forgotten leather jacket dangling limply from one hand.

For one spectacular moment, nobody spoke.

Paige could only hope Nika permanently lost the ability to speak as her brain scrambled uselessly for literally anything helpful to say. It was to no avail. Every possible sentence immediately sounded incriminating. 

On top of her, Azzi had gone still too, though not nearly with the same level of panic. Probably not with any panic at all. Paige could practically feel the amusement simmering under her skin.

Of course she was entertained. It was yet another win to hold over Nika’s head. And Azzi wasn’t the one about to be murdered by her best friend. Although if Paige got murdered, Azzi’s chances of multiple orgasms that evening dropped significantly. So really, it wasn’t a great situation for either of them.

Then Azzi, because apparently self-preservation meant absolutely nothing to her, tilted her head slightly and looked up at Nika with a soft, innocent expression that would’ve been believable if Paige hadn’t witnessed the decade-long feud between them firsthand. 

“Sup Mühl,” Azzi said way too fucking casually. 

Nika looked physically unwell. Behind the bewilderment, Paige knew rage was simmering. A deep seeded, festering rage. 

Paige opened her mouth instinctively. “Nika—”

“No,” Nika cut in immediately, pointing at Paige without taking her fiery gaze off Azzi. “Absolutely not. Don’t even speak right now, P.”

Paige sank deeper into the booth cushions, wishing the couch could swallow her whole. 

Nika’s wide-eyed gaze bounced between them, visibly trying to process the image in front of her. Paige knew exactly how bad it looked. Azzi was fully straddling Paige’s lap, Paige’s hand still rested beneath the waistband of her jeans, both of them flushed and disheveled enough that there was absolutely no chance of talking their way out of this. 

Nada. Zero. Zilch. 

Nika drew in a deep breath, held it a few seconds, and then released it. She suddenly looked entirely too calm. It was unsettling. 

Finally, she met Paige’s gaze.

“You,” Nika said slowly to Paige, like each word physically pained her, “are making out with my opp.”

Azzi snorted from Paige’s lap, moving her hands from Paige’s neck to rest gently on her shoulders. “Opp is crazy, Nika.”

“Was I fucking talking to you, Fudd?” 

Apparently Azzi didn’t take too keenly to the finger Nika was pointing in her face because she laughed. It was low and cold, a sound Paige had never heard but that made her chest cinch. This might be the worst possible position Paige had ever been in. And she’d found herself in some cataclysmic ones over the years. 

“Still pissed you lost, Muhl?” 

Nika’s eyes grew impossibly wider and Paige really really wished she had the power of invisibility and could nope herself right the fuck out of there. Even missing out on the chance to fuck Azzi would be better than having to sit through a scolding from Nika when her hands were still down Azzi’s pants. 

Oh shit. 

That certainly wasn’t helping the matter. 

Paige quickly withdrew her hands, not missing the way Nika’s gaze flicked down and cataloged the movement. Luckily, she seemed to be more interested in the bait Azzi was dangling in front of her. 

“You literally slide tackled me into another dimension tonight.”

“Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. I got the ball.”

“You got a yellow card!”

“And yet,” Azzi replied smugly, “we still won.”

The strangled sound that left Nika’s throat nearly made Paige laugh. Nearly. Despite the fluidity of her body from the alcohol and its longing for Azzi, it seemed her body also remembered Nika could probably snap her neck before she even saw it coming. 

Unfortunately, Nika’s brain was working faster now, piecing together details Paige really wished she wouldn’t piece together. Paige watched the exact moment her eyes dropped to the way Paige’s thumb was absentmindedly rubbing against Azzi’s side. Then Nika clocked how naturally Azzi was tucked against her chest, how comfortable they looked together, how neither of them seemed remotely awkward.

And then came the look. The one Paige recognized instantly. One she knew all too well. 

Absolute horror.

“Oh my god,” Nika whispered, eyes widening further as she moved her finger between the two in shock. “How long?”

Nobody answered fast enough. Which was apparently answer enough.

In Paige’s defense, she simply could not bring herself to say years. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue, but they were stuck. Call it self-preservation. 

“Paige!”

“Okay,” Paige started carefully, because she suddenly felt like she was diffusing a bomb with her bare hands. Honestly, that might be a more relaxing experience than the one she was currently embroiled in. “Before you react—”

“Before I react?” Nika repeated incredulously. “How long have you been fucking Azzi Fudd behind my back?”

The way she said Azzi’s name with so much disdain felt like a knife to the chest. A couple people at a nearby table glanced over briefly, curious at the sudden yelling.

Paige lowered her voice. “Can you maybe not announce that to the entire club?”

Nika ignored her completely, still staring like she was debating if her entire friendship with Paige had been a lie. “How long?”

Paige hesitated. Which, again, was apparently a mistake because it gave Azzi a chance to open her fucking mouth. A beautiful mouth, but a problem for Paige nonetheless. 

Azzi turned, leaning comfortably against Paige’s chest and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Nika,” Azzi said, inviting her to the couch across from them with a flick of her wrist. In the VIP booth that Nika had booked and paid for that evening. “Grab a drink and we can all talk like adults. For once.” 

Nika looked like she might actually combust. Honestly, at this point, Paige genuinely couldn’t tell whether Nika wanted to scream or cry. Probably both and maybe the thoughts were just so conflicting it was making her brain short circuit, which was why Paige and Azzi were still alive. 

Paige finally let out a helpless laugh, rubbing a hand down her face. “Okay, baby, you are not helping.”

Silence followed. Nika blinked once, then again, much slower this time. Finally, she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh before looking back at Paige. 

“Baby?”

Ah.

Right.

That sounded bad.

Nika had been around long enough to know Paige didn’t do pet names. At least not with random hookups. The only time she’d used any sort of term of endearment in front of Nika had been in college, when she’d dated Brooke for a couple of years.

Azzi, meanwhile, looked absolutely delighted. Chuffed, if you will. She shifted slightly in Paige’s lap, practically radiating smug satisfaction while Paige mentally drafted her own obituary. The only thing worse than Paige fucking Azzi Fudd, would be actually liking Azzi Fudd.

“Are you… like not just fucking?” Nika asked carefully, like she was scared of the answer. “Like… are you… dating?” 

By now the outrage had softened into confusion. The question hit differently than Paige expected. Suddenly the issue wasn’t just the hooking up or the secrecy or even the rivalry. It was the fact that this might be something serious. Something that mattered. 

Paige felt Azzi glance at her briefly before she answered.

“Kinda?” Paige said cautiously.

Azzi immediately scoffed, looking offended. “Kinda?”

In all of the romcoms Paige had watched over the years—which was a lot because Nika fucking loved them—none had prepared her for being trapped between her best friend and girlfriend. There was no winning. And literally, Paige’s favorite thing to do was win. 

She blew out a shaky breath, remembering the night a few months ago when she had nervously confessed to Azzi that she wanted to be exclusive. 

It certainly hadn’t started out that way. They’d met two years ago at an ESPY party. Paige beat Azzi for Best Championship Performance and had sauntered over to her at the bar, wearing a custom Louis Vuitton suit and a smug little grin. Her intention was to gloat, to rub it in a little bit so she could tell Nika all about it.

And she had gloated and she had rubbed it in, and the interaction had confirmed that Azzi Fudd was the terrible little shit she and Nika always thought she was. But Azzi Fudd was also hot, and Paige apparently liked it when a woman was mean to her, because suddenly she was eating Azzi out in the back of a limo, and they were hate fucking in Paige’s hotel room, and she’d woken up in the morning with Azzi’s head between her legs already halfway to an orgasm. 

She thought that was that. It was easy enough to chalk up to a drunken night where two people that hated each other fucked. Until she got a “You in my city?” text from Azzi a few months later when the Lynx were in DC playing the Mystics. Followed by an address. 

Paige had debated whether or not to go. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see Azzi, sober at least. And she also wasn’t entirely convinced Azzi hadn’t sent directions to a crack house. But then she remembered how Azzi tasted. How she felt writhing underneath her. How she sounded—so breathless and needy and whiny—when she came. And Paige figured one more time wouldn’t hurt. 

The next time, Paige happened to be staying in the same hotel as Azzi at New York Fashion Week. A month later it was a Nike event in Los Angeles. Two weeks after that, Azzi was in Minneapolis for a game. 

Every time was more of the same. They’d fuck and then one of them would leave. Part of Paige did feel guilty keeping it from Nika, but it was a small part. There was really nothing to tell. No feelings involved. Just two people who didn’t particularly like each other, doling out mind blowing orgasms.

Except, it didn’t stay that way. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about hate fucking, and just became fucking. Then it became more than fucking, and Paige knew Nika would implode but she was honestly already in too deep.

And as much as Paige knew it was risking life and limb to admit to Nika, this was serious. It did matter. 

“Okay, yes, we’re dating.”

Nika stared at both of them like she was trying to keep herself rooted in place, hands shoved in her pockets because if she stepped forward there was no telling what she’d do with them. 

“When did this start?” she asked weakly.

Paige grimaced. Unfortunately for her, Azzi looked thrilled by the question.

“When did we start fucking?” Azzi asked sweetly. “Or when did we actually start dating?”

Nika’s soul visibly exited her body.

Paige grabbed Azzi’s thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. “Okay, chill,” she warned, though not unkindly. “You did not need to say it like that.”

Nika dropped heavily onto the edge of the booth beside them like her knees stopped functioning altogether.

“I hate both of you.”

Azzi leaned slightly toward Nika, curls slipping over one shoulder. “To be fair, you hated me before this too.”

“That’s true,” Nika grumbled immediately before grabbing the almost empty bottle of tequila from the bucket of melted ice and taking a big swig.

Then she pointed the bottle accusingly at Paige. “But your girlfriend being so fucking smug right now is making this significantly worse.”

Azzi grinned wider. “I’m trying really hard to be normal actually.”

“Shut up, Fudd.”

That finally broke Paige. She laughed hard enough her shoulders shook, because the entire situation had become so catastrophically stupid that there was nothing else to do anymore.

Nika looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “You’re laughing right now?” 

Paige’s heart rate had ticked down a few notches now that it seemed Nika wasn’t planning on killing either of them. At least for the moment. Maybe she did love Paige more than she hated Azzi. 

“I never planned for this to happen, Nika,” Paige said exasperatedly, before blowing out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you. Whatever you want to know I’ll tell you.”

Nika rubbed both hands over her face before groaning toward the ceiling. She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. 

“You know what?” she huffed. “I’m too drunk for this shit.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek to stop smiling. Nika stood again, grabbing her jacket before pointing firmly at both of them.

“I’ll see you at brunch tomorrow.” Then, more aggressively, she added, “Both of you.”

Azzi saluted lazily from Paige’s lap. “Can’t wait.”

Nika made it approximately two steps before whipping around one final time.

“And by the way,” she snapped, pointing directly at Azzi now, “that was a shit tackle and you know it, Fudd.”

Azzi looked deeply unrepentant and Nika’s eyes immediately cut toward Paige.

“Tell her it was a shit tackle, Paige.”

Paige inhaled slowly because this, right here, was the actual trap. She could already feel Azzi watching her, waiting to see which side she’d pick. Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she honestly wished it’d break free. At least then they’d have to call an ambulance and she wouldn’t have to answer, right? Although the two of them would probably start arguing about who got to ride in it with Paige to the hospital and she could only imagine how that would go... 

“Nika, I—”

Azzi grabbed Paige’s jaw before she could finish, kissing her hard enough to completely derail the sentence. Paige laughed against her mouth, one arm tightening around Azzi’s waist automatically as Nika let out the most exhausted groan Paige had ever heard in her life.

“See you tomorrow, Nika,” Azzi hummed against Paige’s lips, waving her hand dismissively. 

“My best friend,” Nika muttered while walking away, “is fucking my opp.”

Paige didn’t have it in her to fight, instead grabbing Azzi’s hips and pulling her in closer.

She probably should’ve felt more concerned about the impending doom waiting for her at brunch. There was a very real chance Nika would spend the rest of the night drafting a list of crimes she’d like to commit against both of them.

“Later” ended up meaning the last possible minute.

Not after practice, when Paige had spent twenty full minutes pretending to re-tie a shoe she’d already tied twice, waiting for Azzi to look her way. Not after dinner with half the team, where KK kept kicking her under the table every time Azzi laughed at something she said. Not even later that night, when Paige had typed and deleted more drafts than she cared to admit, each version somehow sounding worse than the last before she finally locked her phone and left it face down on the nightstand.

Later became the next morning, in the parking lot, with Azzi’s bag in the back of the Bronco and New York waiting on the other side of the drive.

Which was an unfortunate time to have a conversation they had both been avoiding for the better part of two days.

Azzi slid into the passenger seat with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, curls pulled back low at the nape of her neck. She looked tired, and Paige suspected she wasn't the only one. Sleep had come reluctantly the night before, interrupted by the same thoughts circling back around no matter how many times she tried to put them away.

“Morning,” Azzi said.

“Morning.”

That was it.

For the first few minutes, Paige let the GPS fill the silence. She backed out of the lot, checked her mirrors twice, and kept both hands on the wheel like she was taking a driver’s test. Azzi buckled in and angled her body toward the window, coffee balanced carefully in the cupholder between them.

The silence felt unfamiliar. The last week had been full of easy conversation, the kind that made hours disappear without either of them noticing. This morning, every mile seemed to stretch a little longer than it should have.

After what felt like forever, Azzi finally exhaled through her nose, soft and controlled. “Paige.”

Paige’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “Yeah?”

“We should probably talk.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, too fast. “Yeah, I know.”

She merged onto the main road, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere except at Azzi. There were a few different ways she had imagined this conversation going, most of them at two in the morning when her brain was being deeply unhelpful. In some versions, she apologized and Azzi laughed it off. In others, Azzi told her she’d read everything wrong, and Paige got to spend the next three hours trapped in a vehicle with the knowledge that she had invented an entire vibe in her own head.

That second option felt more likely by the second.

“I’m sorry,” Paige said, before Azzi could get there first. The words came out rougher than she wanted, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “About the other night. I – I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Azzi turned her head then. Paige could feel it even without looking.

“You didn’t.”

Paige let out a short laugh, but it didn’t have much behind it. “I definitely did.”

“No,” Azzi said, quieter this time. “You didn’t.”

The certainty in her voice made Paige glance over, just for a second. Azzi wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t giving her the easy out, either. Her face was calm in a way that made Paige nervous.

Paige looked back at the road. “I just don’t want you thinking I’m some idiot who can’t separate training from… whatever.”

Azzi’s mouth pressed together briefly. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“Well, that’s generous.”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

Azzi wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, letting the warmth settle into her palms. “I’m sorry too.”

That caught Paige off guard. “For what?”

“For letting things get… blurry.”

Paige swallowed. Blurry was one word for it. There were other words she’d been avoiding because they felt too honest, and honesty had a way of making everything harder.

Azzi turned her coffee cup slowly between her palms.. “I should’ve been more careful.”

Paige’s stomach tightened. There it was. Careful. The word settled between them, carrying more weight than it should have. She looked back to the road, jaw working once before she answered.

“Right,” Paige said, nodding once. “Yeah. Totally.”

Azzi glanced at her. “Paige.”

“What? No, I get it.” Paige tried to sound casual, but the sentence came out too clean, too practiced. “I probably misread some stuff. That’s on me.”

“You didn’t misread it.”

The Bronco seemed to go quieter somehow, even with the hum of the road underneath them.

Paige kept her eyes forward.

Azzi looked back down at her coffee, thumb worrying at the cardboard sleeve. “That’s the problem.”

For a moment, Paige didn’t say anything. The relief was immediate. It settled beside the disappointment rather than replacing it, leaving her with the strange ache of getting exactly the answer she'd hoped for and dreading it at the same time.

“So…” Paige said, slower now. “You are interested.”

Azzi’s silence answered before she did.

“Yes,” she said finally.

Warmth moved through her before she could stop it, but the rest of Azzi's expression was enough to remind her the conversation wasn't over.

“But I can’t cross that line,” Azzi said.

Paige nodded again, smaller this time. “Because I'm your client,” she said, already knowing the answer before the words left her mouth.

“Because you’re my client,” Azzi confirmed. “And because you’re not just anyone. You’re Paige Bueckers. People watch you breathe and turn it into a headline.”

Paige drummed her thumb against the steering wheel. She wanted to argue. Unfortunately, every version of the argument she came up with fell apart almost immediately.

“And I’m trying to build something,” Azzi continued. “I’m not on a team staff yet. I don’t have the kind of reputation where I can afford for people to question why I’m getting opportunities. I’ve worked too hard for someone to decide I’m only around because of who I’m involved with.”

“Involved with,” Paige repeated before she could stop herself.

It was a ridiculous thing to latch onto. Azzi was explaining why this couldn't happen, and somehow Paige's brain had skipped straight past all of that to the part where Azzi had casually described a version of reality in which it could.

Azzi gave her a look.

“Sorry.” Paige rubbed her thumb along the steering wheel. “Wrong thing to focus on.”

Azzi looked out the window before she continued explaining herself. “If people found out, they wouldn’t treat it like two adults making a choice. They’d make it about access. About favoritism. About whether I was using you. Or whether you were getting special treatment from me. And even if none of that was true, it wouldn’t matter.”

Paige hated how reasonable it sounded. She hated it more because Azzi sounded like she’d already convinced herself.

“I wouldn’t let people talk about you like that,” Paige said.

Azzi’s expression softened, but it didn’t change her answer. “You can’t control what people say.”

Paige went quiet because she knew it was true. 

Outside, the morning unfolded in shades of gray. Traffic gathered at intersections, brake lights blinking red through the haze.

Then, because apparently she had no self-preservation left, she said, “I don’t have to be your client.”

Azzi turned toward her fully. “Paige.”

“What?” Paige said, the words coming faster now. “I’m serious. If that’s the issue, then we stop. I can work with someone else. You’re not obligated to train me.”

Azzi's gaze lingered on her. For a second, she looked genuinely caught off guard. Then her expression softened in a way that made Paige wish she'd kept her eyes on the road.

“I’m just saying, there are ways around it.”

“Are there?”

“There could be.”

“And what would that look like?” Azzi asked. “You stop working with me after one week and then suddenly we’re seen together? You don’t think people would connect that?”

Paige didn’t answer.

“Or worse,” Azzi said, “they assume something was already happening before I was training you.”

The frustration in Azzi’s voice wasn’t loud, but Paige heard it anyway. It wasn’t aimed at her. That almost made it worse.

“I don’t care what people assume about me,” Paige said.

“I care what they assume about me.”

That stopped her.

Paige's mouth closed around whatever argument she'd been about to make. For the first time since Azzi had gotten into the car, she stopped looking for a way around the problem and listened to what she was actually saying. 

Azzi wasn't rejecting her because she wasn't interested. She was protecting the thing she'd fought to build after basketball stopped being an option.

Paige still had the version of her life she'd always imagined. The game was still carrying her forward, still offering her opportunities she had spent years chasing. Azzi had been forced to start over long before she was ready. Somehow, she'd taken all the pieces that remained and turned them into something meaningful, something entirely her own.

The thought settled heavily in Paige's chest.

And Paige, so caught up in wanting more time, more conversations, more of whatever this was becoming, had basically asked Azzi to put all of it on the line.

Her shoulders eased.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You're right.”

Azzi looked at her then, something in her expression softening.

Paige cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. That was selfish.”

“I don’t think it was selfish.”

“It was a little selfish.”

Azzi didn’t argue this time.

They drove for a while without speaking.

The silence that settled between them felt different from the one that had filled the first part of the drive. Less uncertain, perhaps. The conversation they'd been avoiding was finally behind them, but knowing where they stood didn't make it any easier to sit with.

Paige reached for her coffee and took a sip.

The face she made afterward was apparently dramatic enough to catch Azzi's attention.

“Bad?”

Paige looked down into the cup as though it had personally offended her.

“It's cold.”

A laugh escaped Azzi before she could stop it.

“You bought it like an hour ago.”

Paige considered this information for a moment, glancing between the road and the coffee in her hand.

“Well, in my defense, I was a little distracted.”

The smile Azzi tried to suppress only made Paige's own harder to fight.

Then Azzi looked down at her hands again. “I don’t want this to mess up us working together.”

Us.

Paige shouldn’t have caught on that word, but of course she did. “It won’t,” she said, and meant it as much as she could. “I still want to train with you.”

Azzi nodded, though she didn’t look fully convinced. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Paige glanced over briefly. “You’re the best person I’ve worked with in a long time. I’d be stupid to give that up just because I…” She stopped herself.

Azzi waited.

Paige shook her head, eyes back on the road. “Just because things got complicated.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Azzi gave a small nod and looked back toward the road ahead.

Paige hated how grown-up she sounded when she added, “And I respect what you’re saying. I don’t want to make your life harder.”

The line seemed to find a crack in Azzi's composure. It was small enough that Paige might have missed it if she hadn't been looking at her, but it was there all the same.

"Thank you," Azzi said.

Paige nodded.

It should’ve felt like the right thing because on paper, it was the right thing. Paige knew that, yet, disappointment settled under her ribs and stayed there.

A few exits passed. The conversation didn’t fully recover, but it didn’t die either. They talked about safer things after that — the week at UConn, Geno’s practice schedule, which players Azzi thought had the quickest first step, whether KK was always that unserious or if she’d turned it up for company. Paige said yes before Azzi even finished the question, and that got an actual laugh out of her.

The sound made Paige ache a little.

By the time Azzi’s head leaned against the window, Paige had already turned the music on low. Frank Ocean again. Azzi’s eyes stayed open this time.

A while later, Azzi spoke without looking over. “I meant what I said.”

Paige glanced at her. “About what?”

“Being interested.”

The admission landed harder than Paige had prepared for, and she found herself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Azzi kept her gaze on the blur of trees beyond the glass. “I just need you to know it’s not because I don’t feel it.”

Paige wanted to say something smooth. Something easy enough to make the moment less weighty. Instead, all she managed was, “That definitely makes it worse.”

Azzi’s smile was sad at the edges. “I know.”

The rest of the drive passed in pieces. And when they finally pulled into the city, the goodbye was easy in all the ways that mattered and awkward in all the ways that didn't.

They lingered beside the Bronco longer than necessary. Azzi reminded her to keep up with the shooting drills she'd sent over, and Paige made some comment about needing constant supervision that earned a reluctant smile. There was a hug somewhere in there too, brief enough to pass as casual and long enough to make getting back into the driver's seat feel like a mistake.

They promised to stay in touch, though Paige suspected that was the sort of thing people said when they didn't know what else to say at the end of a goodbye.

Then they went their separate ways.

**************

January arrived faster than Paige expected.

Training camp started in a way that could only be described as an absolute frenzy. Most mornings began in darkness, players filtering into the facility carrying coffees the size of small children and looking varying degrees of awake. By the time practice ended, she was usually too tired to think about much beyond food and sleep.

Which suited Paige just fine.

One of the best parts about basketball has always been its ability to demand complete attention. There was always another detail to refine, another weakness to address, another hour available to anyone willing to stay after everyone else had gone home. By the second week of camp, her days had settled into a rhythm that felt familiar enough to disappear into. 

Lift. Practice. Recovery. Film. Repeat.

The afternoon weight room sessions were usually the quietest part of the day, at least as quiet as a room full of professional athletes dropping barbells with music blaring through speakers could be. 

Conversations came and went in fragments, scattered across the room between sets.

Paige was halfway through a set of split squats when she heard Rickea say, with complete conviction, "I'm serious. The league knew exactly what they were doing."

A few racks over, Tash looked unconvinced. "They hired somebody for player development."

"They hired an absolute baddie for player development," Rickea corrected.

The resulting eye roll from Tash was visible from twenty feet away.

Paige lowered the dumbbells to the floor, fully intending to stay out of whatever conversation was unfolding. That plan lasted approximately six seconds.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Rickea continued.

Tash laughed. "You don't even know this woman."

"I’ve heard enough."

"Right, I’m sure."

Paige shook her head and wiped a forearm across her face before looking over. "What are you two yapping about?"

“New development coach.”

Paige looked between them. "Wait. What new development coach?"

"Are you not listening?" Rickea asked. "The one they just hired, bro."

That answer provided exactly zero useful information.

Tash sighed at the blank look on Paige's face before deciding to give her the additional context Rickea seemed to forget to give. "Unrivaled's bringing somebody in to work with player development. Shooting, skill work, film breakdowns, stuff like that. From what I heard, coaches can request time with her for their players, and she's available to anybody in the league who wants extra work."

Paige nodded in understanding. “See, ‘Kea. Was that so hard to explain?” 

Rickea responded with a chuckle. “It’s not my fault you’re out of the loop.” She added, "Apparently she's really good," 

Tash looked up from adjusting the plates on her bar. "That's usually how jobs work."

"No, I mean really good. Like, everybody's been talking about her."

"Everybody?" 

"Everybody."

The confidence with which Rickea said it suggested she had either heard this information from a reliable source or had decided to become the source herself. Paige wasn't entirely sure which possibility was more likely.

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

"No, didn’t catch that."

"How old is she?"

Rickea frowned as she thought about it. "I don't know exactly. Mid-twenties, maybe. Younger than a lot of people expected."

Paige grabbed her water bottle to take a sip, still trying to seem like she was casually  listening as Rickea continued.

"She's worked with some pretty big names too. Steph Curry was one of them."

That got her attention and something in Paige's stomach dropped. 

It was an immediate, instinctive reaction, the kind that arrived before logic had a chance to weigh in. Her mind supplied a name almost instantly.

She dismissed it just as quickly.

Steph Curry was one of the most recognizable athletes on the planet. Plenty of people worked with him. Plenty of women in their twenties were building careers in basketball development. The fact that her brain had landed on Azzi said considerably more about her than it did about whoever Rickea was talking about.

Even so, she found herself looking up.

"Steph, huh?"

Rickea nodded.

"That's what I heard. Apparently she started doing private consulting a few years ago."

"How does somebody in their twenties end up consulting Steph Curry?"

"Probably because she's really good."

Tash laughed. "So you’ve said about a hundred times. We know who’s going to be booking those extra training sessions."

"I'm just telling you what I heard."

Paige took another drink, choosing not to say anything in this moment in fear that her tone might give her mental spiral away. 

Rickea kept talking. "I heard she was like a top recruit in high school, but then injuries or something like that happened and she moved to coaching."

Something in Paige's chest tightened.

She reminded herself that there were thousands of former athletes whose careers had ended because their bodies stopped cooperating. Thousands who had pivoted into coaching, training, consulting, or development afterward. There was no reason for her mind to begin connecting dots that didn't belong together.

Even so, she heard herself ask, "Where'd she play?"

Rickea looked annoyed by the question. "No idea."

"That's a pretty important detail."

"I didn't ask for her life story, Paige."

Tash shook her head. "That's because most of your interest in this woman appears to be aesthetic."

"Bro, oh my God. Just because I called her a baddie does not mean that’s what I’m interested in. Stop trying to make me seem gay."

The look Tash gave her suggested she wasn't particularly interested in helping her case. "I'm just commenting on what everybody else is already saying."

"Sure you are."

"I am."

"Mmhm."

Rickea pointed at her.

"You're annoying."

"That's not a denial."

"It's not a confession either." 

Paige huffed a laugh as the two of them continued bickering, though her attention had already begun drifting elsewhere.

Rickea kept talking, elaborating on the rumors she'd heard and the details she only half remembered, but Paige found herself less interested in what was being said than in how neatly each piece seemed to fit beside the last. Any one of them would have been easy to dismiss. Basketball was full of former players whose careers had taken unexpected turns. It was full of consultants, trainers, analysts, and development specialists who had built impressive résumés behind the scenes.

The problem was that every new detail seemed to narrow the field instead of widening it. 

Paige tried to tell herself it was a coincidence.

She tried to tell herself that Rickea was working from secondhand information, that half the details were probably wrong, and that there were plenty of people in basketball who fit a similar description.

The argument lasted all of thirty seconds.

The bathroom looked nothing like it had three weeks ago when she started work on it. Back then it had ugly yellow linoleum curling at the corners and a sink that looked like it had survived several wars and maybe even a small fire. Now, the walls were wrapped in perfect hunter green wainscoting with a new walnut vanity sitting on the marble floor tile Paige had spent the better part of the week laying on her hands and knees.

Her lower back was already threatening mutiny but stopping wasn’t an option. She was behind schedule already thanks to a supplier mix-up and a client who decided to add on the half-bath renovation last minute. 

Rich people loved saying things like “while you’re already here.”

Like timelines weren’t real and Paige wasn’t already booked out twelve months. 

Her phone rang, muffled from the back pocket of her jeans, and Paige immediately recognized it. Azzi had her own ringtone, mostly because after the third time Paige accidentally ignored her wife’s calls while elbow-deep in insulation, Azzi dramatically informed her she could be dying on the side of the road and Paige would never know. 

The ringtone itself was nothing like the original one Azzi had picked out. The first time the chorus to LOVER GIRL started blasting from Paige’s phone in the middle of her workday, she nearly fell off a ladder trying to shut it off. It wasn’t quick enough, and when she mumbled “Hey, Az,” into the phone, her employees doubled over laughing. 

Now a much more acceptable instrumental version of their wedding song played when Azzi called, but her employees weren’t subtle about playing LOVER GIRL whenever Paige walked onto a job site.

Technically speaking, Paige could ignore calls from subcontractors. Clients, too, if they were particularly annoying. But she’d learned very early on that no matter how busy she was, ignoring a call from her Azzi was rarely worth the consequences. Especially because Azzi only called if she really needed something.

Although, if Paige was being honest, their definitions of what constituted “really needing something” varied wildly.

Paige, for instance, wouldn’t necessarily classify a spider on the ceiling as an emergency worthy of summoning her home in the middle of a workday. Azzi, on the other hand, absolutely would.

In Azzi’s defense, it had been a pretty massive spider. And it had been on the vaulted ceiling in their living room, which meant Azzi couldn’t even attempt to reach it herself without climbing a ladder and risking a broken neck. So Paige had driven home with her extension ladder, vacuumed the thing into oblivion while Azzi supervised from a safe, respectable distance, and then accepted her reward in the form of several grateful kisses and a very convincing promise to “make it worth her while later.”

Which she had. Very thoroughly. So honestly? That emergency had worked out pretty well for everyone involved.

Paige laughed to herself at the memory and wiped her hands down the fronts of her dirty jeans before fishing her phone from her pocket. A streak of grout smeared across the screen as Azzi’s contact photo lit up the display.

It was one of Paige’s favorites. Azzi was grinning into the camera in an old Big Buckets shirt with paint on her cheek and sunglasses shoved into her curls while holding up a drill she absolutely did not know how to use properly.

Paige’s chest cinched a little. Five years together, three of them married, and somehow her wife still managed to knock the wind out of her on a regular basis.

“Hey baby,” Paige answered, pushing herself upright with a groan as her knees cracked in protest.

“Hey, P.”

Just hearing her wife’s voice softened Paige. Even though she knew the call was inevitably going to end with Azzi asking for something. 

“How’s work?” Azzi asked.

Paige glanced around the construction zone, taking in the open tool bags, sawdust coating nearly every surface, and the sound of a drill going in the kitchen.

“Busy,” Paige laughed, dragging the back of her wrist across her forehead to wipe a bead of sweat. “But what else is new?”

Azzi laughed too and Paige smiled automatically at the sound. 

“Everything okay?” Paige asked after a second.

“Yeah…” Azzi answered, though the word trailed off strangely.

Paige’s brow furrowed immediately. She knew that tone.

“What’s going on, baby?” she asked, softer now as she stepped away from the bathroom doorway and leaned against a cabinet sitting in the hall waiting to be installed.

There was hesitation on the other end. Finally, Azzi exhaled.

“There’s something wrong with the shower head.”

“With the shower head?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirmed, somehow sounding guilty about it. “It’s not really working.”

Paige tipped her head back toward the ceiling with a sigh that wasn’t entirely annoyed. Mostly just tired, as one more thing was added to her to-do list.

“Okay,” she said slowly into the phone. “I can take a look when I get home later.”

“Well…” Azzi hesitated again. “I have a last-minute photo shoot and I kinda need to shower.”

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course she did.

“Can’t you use the guest bathroom?” she asked, already mentally calculating how much grout she still needed to wipe before it dried permanently.

“You know I don’t really love the water pressure in there.”

Paige closed her eyes and sighed internally. The thing was, Paige normally would’ve dropped everything without much complaint. She would’ve. She fully understood the term “happy wife, happy life”. But this project was already running behind and drying grout waited for no one. Not even WNBA royalty who didn’t like the water pressure in the guest bathroom.

“Can I send Nikki to take a look?” Paige asked carefully.

Nikki was the first employee Paige hired, back when Big Buckets Home Repair became Big Buckets Remodeling, a transition that still occasionally made a heady mix of disbelief and pride flood through Paige.

And even though Paige refused to take Azzi’s money—or her “investment” as Azzi tried calling it—Paige still had Azzi to thank for the business growth. 

It started after Paige taught Azzi how to fix a few things around the house one offseason. Nothing major, just swapping outlets, patching drywall, installing new blinds. Simple things.

Somewhere between nearly electrocuting herself trying to replace a light fixture and proudly changing out a bathroom faucet entirely on her own, Azzi had looked over at Paige one night and said, “You know you’re actually really good at explaining this stuff, right?”

Azzi spent the next week insisting Paige should make videos teaching women basic home repair because she could do it without being condescending about it. And she was hot so they’d pay attention. Paige immediately refused because she had approximately zero interest in becoming whatever the hell an influencer was.

Then Dijonai called saying she needed some shelves hung in her living room. That turned out to be a big fucking setup.

Paige showed up with her tools only to find a full camera setup in the living room, Azzi sitting cross-legged on the couch trying not to look too pleased with herself, and Dijonai laughing so hard at Paige’s shocked face she nearly doubled over. 

Paige had sighed and dropped her toolbox in defeat, threatening divorce before they were even married. But of course, she’d filmed the stupid video. 

The first one barely got any traction. A few thousand views maybe. The second one, unfortunately, exploded.

Paige still maintained it went viral because the actual repair was useful and extremely informative. Everyone else insisted it was because she happened to be wearing a cutoff shirt while replacing fence panels in the blazing sun and the internet collectively lost its mind over her glistening arms and sweat soaked shirt.

Judging by the comments on the video, her friends were probably right. Azzi reposting the videos and adding #imsolucky as her own commentary probably hadn’t helped.

Things spiraled quickly after that. Suddenly Big Buckets Repairs had millions of TikTok views, and her YouTube channel subscribers skyrocketed. The comments were full of women saying she made home repair feel “approachable” instead of intimidating, and contractors arguing about whether she was “qualified enough” while simultaneously thirsting after her in the replies.

Paige’s friends found the whole thing deeply entertaining. They’d screenshot the especially suggestive comments and send them in the joint group chat aptly named “family fc” with Gabby and Sarah where they collectively roasted Paige. To the point where Paige tried to figure out how to turn the comments off completely. 

Azzi found it significantly less entertaining once Paige’s comments section started looking like the world's biggest lesbian convention. That quickly led to one very serious household rule: no more filming in cutoffs.

Paige argued that was discriminatory. Azzi argued she enjoyed their relationship remaining intact.

Azzi won. Obviously. And Paige teased her but secretly loved that the comments on Azzi’s reshares became more possessive. Or that she’d occasionally catch Azzi watching those specific edits late at night.

Still, the videos DiJonai filmed, edited, and monetized brought in enough extra income business that Paige could finally afford help. First Nikki. Then a few months later another employee. Then another. Until suddenly Big Buckets wasn’t just Paige running herself into the ground six days a week anymore.

Now, she had ten employees, an office manager, a few company vans, and a waitlist booked out nearly a year in advance. There was a new website, too, courtesy of Azzi’s graphic designer. 

But the logo stayed exactly the same. The graphic designer had said it was important for brand recognition but Paige later discovered an email from Azzi that basically said in more or less words: don’t you dare touch it.

Nikki had been there through the ups and downs of the expansion, and Paige trusted her implicitly. The suggestion made sense, and it wasn’t the first time Paige had sent Nikki in her place for these little emergencies that popped up. 

A few seconds of silence before Azzi answered quietly. “Well… I was really hoping it would be you, P.”

Suddenly all the pieces clicked together so fast Paige laughed out loud in the middle of the hallway.

Oh.

Ohhh.

She pressed her lips together, fighting a grin as heat rushed up the back of her neck.

The shower head wasn’t broken.

Hell, Azzi probably didn’t even have a photo shoot.

This was the game.

Their game.

The one they’d been playing in one form or another for years now, since that first ridiculous service call when Paige walked into Azzi’s kitchen and completely changed the trajectory of both their lives. Somewhere along the way, fake household emergencies had evolved into foreplay.

Not intentionally at first. Well… probably not intentionally. There was no telling with Azzi. 

It started soon after they officially got together, when Azzi claimed the bedroom door was jammed and she was trapped inside, only for Paige to come home and find her girlfriend stretched across the bed wearing black lace lingerie and an absolutely feral smile.

Another time it was “the landscapers cracked the living room window,” which turned out to just be Azzi sitting innocently on the couch in nothing but one of Paige’s old work shirts with a smirk that instantly made her wet.

Then there was the “suspicious sound the garbage disposal was making” that ended with Azzi bent over the kitchen island while Paige messily ate her out because apparently there was no actual emergency. 

The specifics changed.

The outcome never did.

Paige usually ended up driving back to work an hour or two later, flushed, smiling like an idiot, and trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t thinking about her girl spread out underneath her.

The guys she employed were completely oblivious, thankfully. As far as they knew, Paige just really cared about maintaining her house or didn’t want to piss her wife off. Nikki, unfortunately, was not oblivious at all.

She always took one look at Paige strolling back onto the job site with pink cheeks and a dazed little smile and immediately got a knowing smirk on her face that made Paige want to walk directly into oncoming traffic.

Knowing what Paige knew now meant there was absolutely no fucking chance she was sending Nikki home to deal with her very clearly horny wife.

Paige leaned back against the hallway wall, suddenly very aware of the sweat sticking her shirt to her spine. It had, depressingly, been nearly two weeks since she’d had her mouth on Azzi, which was almost a new record for them.

Azzi was in season again, Paige was juggling three open jobs at once, and lately it felt like they were just two exhausted people trying to coordinate extremely conflicting calendars well enough to occasionally have sex before passing out.

Quite frankly, it was ruining Paige’s quality of life and she wasn’t going to turn this opportunity down. 

“Ohhh,” Paige dragged out slowly into the phone, grinning now as she ducked her head toward the floor. “I see. Yeah. Um…”

Her brain immediately betrayed her by supplying approximately twelve different scenarios for what could be waiting at home. Each one equally enticing and endless in possibility. 

Maybe Azzi would be naked already.

Maybe lingerie.

Maybe just one of Paige’s button downs and nothing underneath.

Maybe she’d tell Paige to get the toolbox…

Jesus Christ.

Paige scrubbed a hand over her face as her cheeks flooded with heat. God, she was so easy for her wife. Who could honestly blame her, though. She was married to Azzi Fucking Fudd. 

“Can I have like… fifteen minutes to finish wiping this grout?” Paige asked, trying and failing to sound remotely professional. Wiping the grout was going to take twice that long, but she was feeling optimistic. 

Azzi hummed softly on the other end, clearly pleased with herself now that Paige had caught up.

“I guess I can wait a few minutes.”

Paige outright grinned this time.  “Okay baby. I’m gonna be outta here as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting…” Azzi drawled.

The words slid straight down Paige’s spine and settled in a pool of liquid between her legs. Then the line disconnected before she could shoot back a cocky remark.

She stared at her phone for a solid two seconds before muttering, “Holy shit,” under her breath. 

Suddenly the grout became the least important thing in her entire day even though the whole bathroom renovation timeline revolved around it.

Paige shoved her phone back into her pocket and walked quickly down the hallway, trying very hard to arrange her face into something that didn’t immediately give away the fact that she was about to leave her employees on a very busy jobsite to go home and fuck her wife.

Unfortunately, she suspected she was failing miserably.

The ranch house they were remodeling was massive. She and her team had already gutted most of it over the last two months;  new hardwood floors stretched through the open-concept living space, kitchen cabinets were being installed, and the smell of sawdust and fresh paint hung thick in the warm afternoon air. Sometimes, it still astounded her how far her dad’s small business had come. It made her smile to think about how proud he would be of what she’d done with what he’d left her. And it always felt like one of the ways to keep him and his memory close.

Paige found Nikki standing on a small step stool near the stove wall, leveling an upper cabinet with laser-focused precision. Her short hair was tucked under a backwards hat, a measuring tape clipped to her belt.

She glanced over when Paige walked in.

“What’s up, boss?” Nikki asked, pausing after taking in her appearance. “You look… weird.”

“I do not,” Paige shot back defensively. 

Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “You absolutely do.”

Paige ignored that and jerked her head vaguely toward the bathroom. “I need a hand wiping grout.”

“Okay.” Nikki set down her level without question and hopped off the stool. “Thought you said it was too tight in there for two people.”

“I did,” Paige muttered.

They walked together, their work boots thudding softly against the paper-covered hardwood floors. Paige grabbed a sponge from the bucket while Nikki leaned against the doorway watching her for a second.

“What’s the rush?” she finally asked.

Paige crouched back down and focused very hard on the grout lines of the tile floor instead of on the heat creeping up her neck.

“Azzi called,” she said casually.

Nikki hummed. “And?” 

Paige scrubbed exponentially harder than necessary at a tile corner. “And she needs me to come home.”

Nikki’s expression didn’t change, but Paige could physically feel the judgment radiating off her.

“What happened?”

Paige cleared her throat. “The shower head isn’t working.”

There was a beat of silence before Nikki slowly raised an eyebrow in recognition.

“Oh,” Nikki said, nodding once with immediate understanding. “The shower head. Right. Right.”

Paige’s face went fully hot. 

“Don’t start,” she warned weakly.

Nikki pressed her lips together attempting professionalism for approximately half a second before losing the battle entirely.

“You know,” she said cheerfully with a smug grin, “I can just finish this up on my own.”

Paige looked up from her knees, hope coursing through her. “Are you sure?”

“I mean…” Nikki drawled, crossing her arms. “If the shower head is such an emergency, you wouldn’t wanna keep wifey waiting.”

Paige groaned and dragged a wet hand down her face, not even caring if some grout smeared. “Bro.”

Nikki burst out laughing and the worst part was that Paige genuinely had nobody to blame but herself. Years of mysteriously disappearing in the middle of workdays only to return looking dazed and suspiciously happy had painted a pretty clear and damning picture.

“She said the water pressure in the guest bathroom wasn’t good,” Paige muttered defensively.

Nikki just stared back, blinking slowly, her arms crossed. 

Paige sighed. “Okay, yeah, saying it out loud makes it sound so much worse.”

“Little bit.”

Paige shook her head, though she was grinning now. So her wife wanted a middle of the day quickie. Fucking sue her. She pushed back to her feet. 

“Alright. The grout just needs one more wipe before it hazes over,” she instructed. “Then let it sit another hour before sealing. The plumbing fixtures are all labeled in the garage.”

Nikki nodded easily. “Got it.”

Paige moved down the hall to the working kitchen sink and scrubbed her hands thoroughly beneath the faucet, trying to remove the stubborn grout from her fingers and underneath her nails. 

Behind her, Nikki leaned against the kitchen island with a wide smirk still plastered across her face.

“You know,” she said casually, “normal people just text each other nudes and wait until after work.”

Paige nearly choked. “Jesus Christ, Nikki,” she laughed. Then she turned to meet her green eyed gaze. “Also… have you met my wife?” 

“Good point,” Nikki laughed. “Alright, get out of here. I’ve got this covered.”

Paige grabbed her keys off the counter and pointed at her threateningly. “Buy yourself and the boys lunch on the company card,” she called over her shoulder, hoping it would buy her some goodwill and maybe Nikki wouldn’t tease her relentlessly when she returned. If she even came back… 

“I love being bribed for my silence,” Nikki teased. 

Paige shook her head, laughing under her breath as she headed toward the front door. She hadn’t made it outside yet before Nikki yelled after her, “Tell Azzi I said hi!”

Paige stumbled slightly on the porch steps, catching the railing to steady herself.

“Mind your business!” she shouted back without turning around before tugging the door shut behind herself.

Nikki’s cackling followed her all the way across the driveway. As Paige climbed into her truck, flushed and grinning like an idiot, she had a feeling Nikki was absolutely planning on tormenting her about this for the foreseeable future.

Whatever. 

It would be worth it. It had been a while since Azzi pulled this move; months maybe. Maybe even closer to a year, if Paige really thought about it.

Which probably explained why she felt borderline manic with excitement.

Paige drove home with absolutely zero regard for the speed limit. She kept catching herself grinning at red lights like a complete idiot, her fingers drumming impatiently against the steering wheel while her mind ran in approximately twelve different directions at once. 

There was something wildly unfair about having to drive twenty minutes home while actively imagining your wife waiting for you half naked somewhere inside your house.

Especially when said wife looked like Azzi Fudd.

Paige adjusted in her seat with a muttered, “Let’s fucking go,” at the car in front of her rolling entirely too slow through the suburbs north of Seattle.

Finally, she turned onto their street. The neighborhood they’d moved into after their wedding sat far outside the city. More trees, bigger lots, fewer people trying to parallel park Teslas on the narrow streets and leaving no room for Paige’s truck. It also meant getting out of the house Azzi bought with Mark. Something Paige never outright protested when she moved in after they’d dated for a year, but Azzi knew her well enough to know deep down, it bothered Paige. 

The house itself had been rough when they bought it. Not structurally because Paige would never allow that. But aesthetically, it was deeply, deeply disturbing. 

Paige had called it offensive, but Azzi loved it immediately because it had space. Space for family, friends, and a future they were only beginning to talk about out loud back then. In Azzi’s mind, Paige could make it whatever she imagined. Which was obviously true, but Azzi had no concept of timelines or budgets or the logistics behind the stunning projects she’d work up with Paige's interior designer behind her back. 

The house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac wrapped in soft gray cedar siding Paige installed herself over the course of one very miserable rainy month. Warm light glowed through the massive front windows her wife insisted they install as she turned into the driveway, illuminating the flower beds Azzi swore she was going to personally plant before quickly realizing gardening required both patience and manual labor. It turned out she preferred yelling encouragement from the rocker on the front porch while Paige and Nika dug holes. 

Paige whipped into the driveway a little too fast, skidding to a halt as adrenaline buzzed through her veins. She barely remembered to throw the truck in park before clamoring out.

The cool afternoon air hit her flushed skin as she jogged toward the front door she’d finally replaced a few months earlier. The stunning, solid ipe door cost a small fortune. Not to mention the number of people it took to hang due to the sheer weight of it. But the “vibes” reminded Azzi of their honeymoon in Turks & Caicos, and really, who was Paige to deny her wife that memory. Especially because every time Paige walked through that front door, she was also flooded with memories of their honeymoon. The honeymoon where they didn’t leave the villa, or really the bed, for the first two days. 

So, yes, their bank account was $20,000 lighter and Paige had tweaked her back installing it, but the thought of Azzi laid out bare beneath her in that stunning villa, coming undone on Paige’s fingers and tongue and strap whenever she came home was certainly worth it.  

Halfway through unlocking the monstrosity of a door, her eyes snagged on the unfinished trim. She still hadn’t caulked the far corner. Or painted the second coat. Or fixed the tiny gap near the top hinge.

Whoops.

Paige sighed. She’d been meaning to finish it for weeks, but there had been much more important things to focus on lately. Especially with Azzi on the road again and their time together more limited; there was enough going on that the trim could wait. 

Paige shoved the front door shut and immediately kicked off her boots on the entryway rug.

The house was suspiciously quiet.

Usually there was music playing somewhere, or the television murmuring in the background, or Azzi wandering around talking to herself.

“Az?” she called, emptying her pockets onto the foyer table. 

“I’m up here!”

The sound floated from the second floor, unmistakably coming from their bedroom. Paige’s stomach immediately flipped in anticipation.

Oh, she was absolutely getting laid.

She grinned to herself as she jogged toward the staircase, taking the steps two at a time despite the fact that her knees loudly objected to the decision. Construction had officially wrecked her joints years ago, but frankly, that sounded like future Paige’s problem.

Current Paige had much more important priorities.

By the time she reached the top floor, her heart was thumping hard enough she could practically feel it in her throat. She pushed open the bedroom door half expecting to find Azzi sprawled dramatically across the bed wearing nothing but lace and the smug little smile she got whenever she successfully derailed Paige’s entire workday.

That wasn’t the case. Her breath caught anyway.

It didn’t matter how many years had passed or that Paige saw her every day. Azzi still had an unfair ability to knock the air from Paige’s lungs without even trying.

Azzi was sitting on the edge of their bed wearing one of Paige’s old Big Buckets shirts—the first one with a faded logo stretched across the front—and a pair of tiny black athletic shorts that barely counted as clothing. Her curls were piled messily on top of her head and she looked soft and warm and entirely too pretty sitting there waiting.

Paige’s brain short-circuited before snapping back into focus.

“So should I go check on that shower head, baby?” she asked, voice rougher than before.

Before Azzi could answer with anything more than a smirk, Paige crossed the room and grabbed her face gently between both hands, kissing her hard enough to tug a startled little sound from her throat. Azzi laughed softly against her mouth for all of two seconds before Paige kissed her again, deeper this time, and guided her backward onto the mattress.

God, she missed her wife like this. She made a mental note to make time for work breaks more often.

Paige climbed over her carefully, one knee pressing into the bed beside Azzi’s hip as she kissed her, slower now, savoring it properly. It was like re-centering herself, after a week of rushed kisses and exhaustion and collapsing into bed, too tired to do much besides mumble “love you” before passing out in each other's arms.

Azzi’s hands slid into Paige’s hair immediately, nails scraping against her scalp in the way that always made Paige melt a little.

“Hi,” Azzi murmured against her mouth.

“Hi,” Paige breathed back before kissing her again.

Her hands slipped beneath the oversized t-shirt, palms smoothing over warm skin and soft muscle until she reached Azzi’s chest. Paige groaned quietly into the kiss when she realized there was no barrier between her hands and Azzi’s nipples. 

“Fuck baby,” Paige muttered reverently as she cupped Azzi’s breast in her hand. Five years and counting and she still loved every square inch of Azzi’s body; more and more with each passing year, in fact. 

Azzi laughed softly again, though it broke into a shaky inhale when Paige’s thumb brushed over her nipple.

Paige could have lived off that sound alone.

They kissed for another minute, both of them getting lost in the embrace. Paige was already thinking about peeling the shirt off her wife and marking her chest up when Azzi mumbled something against her lips. 

“P?”

“Mhm?” Paige mumbled distractedly against her neck.

Azzi’s fingers threaded gently through the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck.

“Can you go grab the strap for me?”

Paige eagerly nodded, practically tripping over herself getting to their closet.

It wasn’t due to lack of coordination, although years of construction injuries and one very unfortunate ladder incident had definitely taken a toll on her. Mostly, she was distracted by the mental image of Azzi waiting for her, flushed and needy, in one of Paige’s shirts.

The toolbox sat exactly where it always did, shoved beneath a pile of clothes in the back of their closet. At some point over the years, storing the strap in an actual toolbox became a running joke neither of them committed to intentionally but loved all the same. Paige certainly enjoyed the euphemism she could subtly drop when they were in public. 

Paige sank to one knee beside the bench and flipped open the metal lid, smiling to herself and wondering what excuse she’d need to make up to justify taking a three hour lunch break when she strolled back into work.

But then she stopped. There was something else inside the box this time, and suddenly the entire world tilted sideways.

The pregnancy test trembled slightly between her fingers as she picked it up carefully. Her heart seized so hard in her chest it actually hurt.

Two faint pink lines. She’d seen enough of these over the past year to know what this meant. 

For a second Paige genuinely forgot how breathing worked. Her lungs constricted as she stared down, tears already welling with tears. 

“Azzi…” she whispered.

She pushed herself upright so fast she got dizzy—it was definitely from how fast she stood up and not that her wife was pregnant—and walked back into the bedroom in a daze, clutching the test in one hand while her pulse thundered violently against her ribs. 

Azzi was sitting exactly where she left her, though now there was something nervous tucked into her expression. Paige stared at her wife, then back down at the test in her hand.

“Is this…?” Her voice cracked halfway through the question.

Azzi nodded, eyes already glassy.

“I have my official bloodwork at the clinic tomorrow,” she said, smiling so big it nearly made Paige’s heart explode. “But I just wanted to be able to surprise you.”

Paige stood there for a second completely stunned.

They’d been trying to get pregnant for nearly a year.

Months of appointments and hormone shots and medications and disappointment carefully hidden from the outside world behind brave smiles. Paige knew how hard it had been on Azzi’s body. Knew how many nights she’d held her afterward while Azzi pretended a negative pregnancy test didn’t hurt as much as it did.

But they had wanted this so badly. To become parents. To build their family.

“Holy shit, baby,” Paige breathed.

Then she laughed as the enormity of it crashed into her all at once and her brain genuinely didn’t know what else to do. But the laughter transformed into something shakier as tears burned behind her eyes.

Azzi laughed too, a watery little laugh that also dissolved into crying almost instantly. It completely destroyed Paige, and she crossed the room in two quick steps, pulling Azzi into her arms.

“You’re pregnant?” Paige whispered into her mess of curls, still awestruck as she looked down at the test in her hand.

Azzi nodded again, tears slipping freely down her cheeks even as she smiled brighter than Paige had ever seen her smile before.

“Yeah, P,” she whispered back. “We’re pregnant.”

Paige’s free hand slid instinctively to Azzi’s stomach as she kissed her, palm flattening protectively over the thin fabric of the oversized t-shirt. Azzi made a soft, broken sound against her mouth that made Paige’s heart clench all over again..

“I love you so much,” Paige whispered against her lips. “I’m so fucking proud of you baby.” 

She kissed her once more before pulling back just enough to look at her properly. Emotion hit Paige so hard she physically had to sit down.

She sank onto the floor between Azzi’s knees, still clutching the pregnancy test in one hand while the other remained against Azzi’s stomach. Azzi laughed softly through her tears and stroked her fingers through Paige’s tousled hair.

Paige looked up for a second, completely wrecked by how beautiful her wife was, before gently sliding Azzi’s shirt up and pressing a kiss against the soft skin of her stomach.

“Hi little one,” she mumbled.

Her voice cracked on the words but Paige just smiled against the soft skin and kissed Azzi’s stomach again.

“It’s your mama,” she whispered, planting another kiss there.

Azzi’s stomach was still flat and toned beneath her mouth, but Paige suddenly found herself imagining all the ways it would change over the next several months.

Stretching. Softening. Swelling with their child. The thought only made her love Azzi more.

She’d always dreamed about becoming a mom. About playing basketball in the driveway and teaching her kids to work with their hands, just like her dad did with her and Drew. And that dream was coming true, but all Paige could think about was Azzi becoming a mom. 

She imagined her wife wrapped in her favorite pink silk robe, pacing in the nursery with their little bundle of joy, singing lullabies. She’d be terribly off key as always but it wouldn’t matter. That baby would still think she hung the moon. So did Paige. 

And then the thought of Azzi returning to basketball flashed in her mind. Paige in their stands, their daughter or son draped in a way-too-big Fudd jersey, watching her ball out. Their baby’s first steps happening on the Storm court, dribbling a basketball before their second birthday, surrounded by a million aunties. 

In all the dreams Paige had of her future as a kid and young adult, they were never this sweet. She never could have imagined that she would get to share her life with someone as incredible as Azzi.

Paige pressed more kisses there as the thoughts flooded through her mind, calmed by Azzi’s fingers combing slowly through her hair.

Finally Paige looked up at her.

Azzi was staring down at her with tears clinging to her lashes and so much love in her expression it made Paige’s chest ache.

“You’re gonna be the best mommy, Az,” Paige whispered thickly. 

Azzi’s composure crumpled at that. She reached down, grabbing Paige by the front of her shirt and pulling her back onto the bed so they could kiss again.

The two of them stayed tangled together on the bed for a long time after that. Eventually though, somewhere between slow kisses and whispered holy shits and Azzi’s second orgasm, Paige pulled back slightly with a sheepish grin on her face.

Azzi frowned. “What?”

Paige hesitated. “Well…” 

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Tell me,” she demanded. 

Paige winced and then pulled in a deep breath. “Is now a bad time to mention that I lost a bet to Nika a while back and technically promised I’d name my first kid after her?”

Azzi stared at her. “No.”

Paige rushed in before she could get fully shut down.

“I gotta stay true to my word,” she argued. 

Azzi sighed. “No.”

Paige started spiraling.

“It’s really not a huge deal, Az,” she continued confidently. “Like imagine a little girl named Nika Bueckers-Fudd. That’s deadass kinda a strong name actually.”

“No.”

“Okay but what if it’s a boy? We could probably get away with Nico.”

“Still no.”

Paige gasped softly. “Wow. So you hate my best friend.”

“I do right now.”

Paige laughed, ducking her head to Azzi’s shoulder as she grinned helplessly against her skin. She started kissing her neck, hoping to wear down Azzi’s defenses. 

“Okay. Okay,” Paige mumbled against her neck. “I can probably negotiate her down to like… middle name territory. We'll be fine.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard Paige was fairly certain she saw her soul leave her body for a second.

“You are not naming our child after Nika because you lost a bet.”

Paige lifted her head again, trying to be serious. She pressed her lips together to try and stop smiling and failed completely.

“We can talk about it later or somethin’, baby,” she said, still trying to sound reasonable despite the fact that she absolutely was not being reasonable.

Azzi stared at her for one long suffering second before her expression softened helplessly around the edges.

Paige opened her mouth, preparing to launch into more nonsense arguments about honoring sacred betting traditions and emotional loyalty and whatever other bullshit her brain could come  up with, but Azzi grabbed her face and kissed her. Hard enough to shut Paige up immediately. Which, to be fair, had always been an extremely effective strategy.

Paige melted into the kiss with a muffled little laugh against Azzi’s mouth while her wife smiled victoriously into it.

“I love you so much,” Azzi said firmly against Paige’s lips after a minute. “But absolutely fucking not.”

Paige laughed softly, one hand settling against Azzi’s stomach again, still unable to believe this was real. 

Somewhere downstairs, her boots still sat abandoned in the foyer by the unfinished trim around the front door that still needed paint. There would always be projects waiting for her to fix. Walls to repair. Floors to refinish. Something cracked or outdated demanding her attention. But as Azzi pulled her closer and smiled against her mouth, Paige realized she’d finally built the one thing she used to think only existed for other people.