Liz

-

2029, LOS ANGELES, CA

The blue eyes of Paige Bueckers rise high on a billboard ten feet tall, embellished with yellow and purple and palm trees. They shine with a demand, watching over the passing cars like God from above. No matter where you’re at, her eyes seem to follow your every breath, digging themselves underneath layers upon layers of your skin. Paige lowers the car window, resting her elbow where the warm breeze of June tingles. The weight of being watched crawls up her spine and she shifts in the leather seat where her thighs begin to stick. Carefully she tilts her head upwards, staring into herself. For a split-second the billboard stares back, knowing each private sin of her mind. As if it was all laid out on the front lawn. She holds her breath, rolling the window back up - her dad would be so mad for letting the AC escape.

The roads wind and curve above the coastline, cliffs smoothed by centuries of waves rising steeply from the ocean. The sun sets orange and pink warming Paige’s shoulder even through the windows. The same sun that warmed people for centuries before her existence. Paige had read somewhere that there was a time when the sun setting caused dread - there was no guarantee that tomorrow morning it would rise again. The golden hue might as well be the last rays of light the Earth will be blessed with. Now people know better, that by God’s design the sun will return and it will keep doing so till the end of time, centuries and decades after Paige and LA and basketball.

Paige’s hand tightens around the steering wheel as she trails the car in front, pushing up the sunglasses threatening to slide off. Every sunset reminded her of that ancient fear, a similar one buried deep in her spine. Each day came with the same threat and temptation, the looming dread of something awful about to happen, something that Paige hadn’t felt since Dallas - the sense of losing control.

“Where are we going Paige?” 

A girl huffs on the passenger seat, nearly forgotten. She crosses her legs, and then again. She had always been impatient. Hesitating, Paige takes off the sunglasses, blinking until her eyes adjust to the golden light above the Pacific ocean. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty lil heart out,” she hums with the car engine. Before the girl beside her can protest, Paige’s hand lands gently on the smooth, soft thigh. She’s so warm it only makes Paige’s palm more clammy. But the girl doesn’t mind. She leans her head on the seat with a satisfied smile, staring into the horizon.

“I’ll never get tired of these sunsets.”

Her voice settles somewhere in Paige’s heart. It smooths over the sharp edges of her thoughts. No fear could compare to the melody of her words. Even when she can’t relate to the girl speaking them.

Summers in LA are made of the stuff of dreams and movies that Paige grew up watching. Shade of the palm trees and the salt water in the air curling the blonde strands by her neck. Sunsets over the west coast. Paige could imagine a life built on the thrill of this, a legacy as the saviour of the Sparks and sandy feet and squeals of children. She could almost feel it at her fingertips, all she had dreamed of. Paige was so close to it - if it wasn’t for the sudden snowfall that changed everything. When did it ever snow in California? The sour taste of Amarelle cherries keeps tingling on Paige’s lips, no matter how many fruits she bit into. 

Suddenly the girl’s hand lands on the back of Paige’s neck, grazing over the thin hairs falling out of her bun. Her thoughts are quickly disrupted as she makes a turn, hoping the girl would dig her nails in just a little bit. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t come. The strokes remain gentle and sweet, as always.

“I love you,” Paige murmurs, choosing to enjoy the touch though it’s not quite right. No matter the distractions, this is the life she chose. And there’s power and control in that, in choosing something. Even if it didn’t fulfill you completely, because at the end of the day, what would? Paige is grown now. She could build a decently happy life just like this - and that is fine.

“I love you too,” the girl replies, moving with the car as it jolts with the breaks, parked by the coast with no others to surround it. No media, no people, no distractions. God knows it’s what Paige needs.

The couple walk along the water, the warmth of the sun already fading. Waves crash into the sharp cliffs in a neverending cycle. They both huff with the labor of walking on the pale, shifty sand, the wind covering their footprints behind them. The girl leans her cool arm closer to Paige, the wind much colder than either could have expected.

“You’re not gonna offer me your flannel?” The girl seems to joke. Paige knows better. She can hear in the tone that she will mope about it later.

“We’re almost there,” Paige sighs. Before the girl can protest she nods forward where the beach narrows, a white canopy of draped fabric decorated with an array of flowers in tones of yellow and orange. A table set for two and a heater in the corner.

“See?”

“Oh,” the girl sighs, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to take it in. She loosens her grip, nearly tripping over her feet.

Paige’s mouth twists into an arrogant grin. She might struggle with other parts of a relationship but this she is good at. She knows it. That speechless face beside her only made it better.

“Woah,” the girl lets out, letting the blonde lead her to the table as she scans the sight.

“When did you have time?” She asks when Paige pulls out her chair, covering her bare shoulders with a light blanket. The fabric blows in the howling wind with her long hair, the vanilla of her perfume intruding Paige’s nose.

“Baby, I always got time for my girl,” the blond sits down, the candles quickly going out with the breeze.

“But why?” The girl chuckles, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. There’s something in her shoulders, an unease? Or perhaps the cold.

“I need a reason to spoil you now?”

The girl hesitates, looking at the spread on the table. A charcuterie board, fresh bread, a range of fruit with the most expensive wine she had ever seen. Her chest tightens, eyes gazing over it as her brain scrambles for a reason.

“Are either of us gonna drink that?” She asks, tilting the bottle to view the label better. Chateau Palmer, 2017.

“Thought we’d be adults for once.”

The girl laughs, putting it down carefully. “You’re pushing 30, P.”

“Don’t remind me,” Paige groans. “Still feel 17.” Reaching over she opens the bottle for the pair, careful not to get any on her brand new shorts. It’s a struggle, but her companion doesn’t offer any help. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she knows better. Paige Bueckers doesn’t need it from anybody.

“I always do until I’m around an actual 17-year-old and I realise, like, wow I’m definitely not 17,” the girl says, letting Paige fill her glass. A slow smirk plays on her lips.

“I woulda had such a crush on you at 17.”

“God no, I was so nerdy,” the girl complains, covering her embarrassment by the blanket blowing all around her.

“I’m into that.” It’s not really true. Paige was always reaching out of her league even back then.

“No you’re not,” the girl says. They don’t argue, it’s the truth. She looks out into the horizon, where the turquoise waves flip onto themselves repeatedly, white foam disappearing into the sand stretching out as far as eyes can carry. A slight concern weighs her brows down when she looks at Paige again.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Shuttering at the taste of the wine, Paige sets down her glass. She doesn’t think much of the frown on the girl’s face, she looked disappointed half the time. Paige had learned to block it out.

“You moved all the way out here just for me. I owe it to you.”

The girl sits up, abruptly dropping all softness of her features. The gentle frown from before hardens, fine lines carving into her forehead. The ones that always knew trouble. “Owe it to me?”

Paige is stunned, not entirely sure where she went wrong as usual. She knew better not to ask either, better to try to fix it. “Well, yeah. Not in a bad way, I just had to do something for you, you know.”

The girl’s nostrils flare like always with the disappointment Paige brought her. There always seemed to be a little, but at times it grew unbearable for reasons the blonde never quite understood. The girl’s tolerance had been particularly low recently. Paige had told herself reasons why: moving, missing her parents, Paige barely home. She had never bothered to ask though. 

“Babe-”

The girl stands from her seat, setting the blanket on the chair carelessly. Paige’s eyes follow as it slides onto the ground, rolling in white sand. As the silence stretches, she gets the nagging feeling that there’s something she should be saying, but she’s unsure. Not like she was good with words anyway. So instead she lets the sounds of the tides take over, but it doesn’t satisfy the girl.

“So you don’t actually wanna be here? It’s just ‘cause you owe me?”

It takes everything for Paige not to roll her eyes, tired of this game they had been playing since coming to LA. No matter what Paige did, it was somehow wrong, or not enough, or too much. She squeezes her eyes shut, deep breaths attempting to replace her desire to simply blow up.

A fig rolls over the plate when the girl sets down her fork, clinking against the silverware.

“Grace,” Paige sighs, reaching for the girl’s hand, the rings on her fingers catching the final light of the day.

“It’s just,” Grace starts, hesitating for a moment. Squeezing her hand encouragingly, Paige begs for more. It felt as if no matter what, they would never truly understand each other. Paige had come to terms with it years ago, but Grace still struggled with the hurt of the past.

“I’ve told you countless times I don’t need all this,” she waves around at the table. The pride Paige felt just moments ago is suddenly disappearing, sinking deep into the waves. “These grand gestures. I just want you.”

Paige stutters. “I thought you’d like it. It’s just something special.”

For some reason it seems to be the completely wrong thing to say. Grace’s hand is pulled back on impulse, leaving Paige’s fingers clammy and tingling.

“But I don’t want special! I want normal. I want you to be home when I get off work and cook me dinner, I wanna take a bath with you, I want you to be there when I wake up and when I go to bed and I want you to sit down and help with the wedding planning,” she speeds up, each word coming more rushed than the one before. 

Paige’s jaw tightens, eyes threatening to water. All the work, the discipline, the reflection, pointless in a matter of seconds. The sensation tightens around her throat, suffocating her. It seemed nothing would be enough for Grace. Not because she was ungrateful, but because she knew the blonde too well. She saw through her - that their love didn’t stem from the irreversible, life-altering passion Grace longed for. It never had.

“I’m sorry,” Paige is quick to submit, letting the frustration roll over. It’s easier to accept you’re the bad guy than blow this up again. 

She runs a clammy hand over her face, eyes aching suddenly. She could be better - needs to be. Grace is the choice she made years ago, when she crawled to her and begged to get her back, when she got down on one knee. That choice can not be shaken by just one kiss. Right?

“Are you?” Grace hisses, crossing her arms. Paige stops herself from spitting the same poison, though the words linger at the tip of her tongue - the ones that could break Grace apart.

“I really am. Baby, please believe me. The move has just been so overwhelming and the new team and everything. I’m sorry. Ion want you feeling alone.”

No amount of words will change the truth Grace knows. With the realisation she turns, taking long strides toward the car.

Paige swallows, accepting something she already knew. She looks at the table, and the tropical flowers set in a vase, the filled glasses and empty plates. The wind bites at her ankles as the sky darkens. She tugs at the golden crucifix by her heart. The sun has set.

The car ride is anything but comfortable, Paige too tense to even turn on music. She lets the car engine lull them into a restless silence. They’re shielded from passing faces drenched in laughter and muffled joy only present in the optimism of early summer. At a red light Paige follows the pedestrians crossing the street, blinking the watering of her eyes rapidly away. Grace curls herself further on the passenger side, as far from her fiance as she’s able. It was moments like these Paige wonders why she ever said yes to the proposal. It was clear their house was built on a flimsy, cheap foundation. Paige was determined to make it work, to change, but was she?

“So do you wanna have a movie night then, or…?” The voice is careful, barely audible over the traffic. Honking, fast breaks, the bass of some 90s song playing too loud.

“No,” Grace answers. Life would be so much easier if they could just fight and scream and fuck and it would be dealt with.

“Oh,” Paige nods slowly, pressing her back into the leather to distract herself from the trembling of her voice. “Gotcha.”

A sigh, filled with the years of dedication and work they had both put into this fills the car, Grace’s head tipping forward into her hands.

“Maybe tomorrow, my mood’s just ruined now,” she murmurs into her palms.

“I can’t tomorrow, I got practice,” Paige answers, hand tapping the steering wheel nervously. “And the day after I got that Calvin Klein event.”

Grace rolls her eyes in frustration, causing Paige’s jaw to tighten as she waits for the bomb threatening to go off. The timer seemed to close in on 0:00 with every word she spoke.

She waits for it, yet it doesn’t come. With careful courage, she opens her mouth.

“Grace,” she starts, biting her cheek. “I’m really trying to be good to you. And I don’t think I’m doin’ a bad job.”

The corners of Grace’s lips turn into a frown as she listens to the sincerity of Paige’s words, playing with the ring on her finger. She doesn’t have an answer.

“I’m really trying, okay?” Paige’s eyes flicker from the road to her fidgeting fiance.

“I know,” a small voice answers, turning her head away just as a warm tear rolls down her cheek. “I know you are.”

She remains quiet, spotting a pair of teenagers head over heels for each other talking on the curb, kissing between every sentence. 

“It’s just, not enough sometimes.” 

Paige hates the silence that follows, causing the words to echo in the confined space. She shifts in the leather seat, biting her teeth together to keep the thoughts in - those of Lana, and the shouting matches she preferred a million times over to the sad, hurt tone of Grace’s voice whenever she cries.

-

Lana stands there like a prop, countless hands of strangers landing all over her body to adjust every detail. Flash. Fingers dig into the band of her skirt, smoothing over the fabric. Flash. She stares into the mirror with a blank expression. Blinking her eyes, she adjusts to the flashing light.

“Too much flash,” the photographer groans, waving his hands around and causing havoc on the set.

“You’re perfect,” a man coos into her ear, tilting Lana’s head by her chin. Words she had heard from strangers’ mouths a million times before, but not like this. The man’s earring dangles with the shifting of his head, a dreadful decision caused by some sort of quarter life crisis. Martin? Marcus? Matt? Lana couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Can we try a different lip?”

At once fingers crowd Lana’s bored face. Brushes swipe, lipglosses are layered on, whispered conversations pick at her pale complexion. Lana knew better than anyone that at her best she was a mere ornament to other people’s desires. That hadn’t changed since Dallas. She just did it with more grace now as a favor for her husband.

“Let’s accentuate those beautiful eyes a little more,” the photographer hums, eyes scanning her from head to toe. She gives him the tilt of her lips she always did, the one men begged for. But the man, in his late thirties, already greying by the look of his well kept beard, merely looks away. Something pushes at her ribs, digging into them. Her feet shift with the weight of annoyed restlessness.

With an empty face Lana fixates on the flimsy table lined with food that was already cold when it arrived, the chicken lacking any flavor to it. She manages to ignore the tens of touches all over, tugging her clothes, brushing through her hair, making her perfect. She was promised a quick gig, but this was anything but.

“Don’t we look nice,” Marc’s chipper voice causes the hands to come to a halt, the people pulling back with polite nods for their creative director. He doesn’t get the same warmth from his wife.

“I’ve been here for hours,” Lana whispers angrily as he approaches, not softened by the man she loves. Her brows stay low on her face, fixed even when he leans down for the usual kiss on the cheek.

“Maybe I’m just not right for this shot.”

The sly amusement on the man’s face tips Lana’s frustration off. She bites her teeth together with a familiar annoyance of not being taken seriously by the men in her life. But then again, what woman was?

“That can’t be true Alisa,” Marc walks over to the photographer, skimming through the pictures on the screen. Lana doesn’t care to peek at them. “See, these are good.”

“Okay, so can I go home then?”

Marc chuckles, waving the crew off. “Why so grumpy?”

Wordlessly, Lana walks off the set, heels clacking with each determined step to get away. Before she can slam the dressing room door shut, Marc’s hand stops it and slides in, closing the door behind them softly.

“Baby, you can’t throw a tantrum in front of my employees,” he hisses quietly. The top digs into the back of Lana’s neck, sharp edge cutting her porcelain skin.

“You keep talking to me like that I’ll do worse,” Lana spits, kicking her heels off and shredding layers of clothing without any care for them, letting them scatter around the carpeted floor. All the way until she’s in matching nude underwear, 

“What’s wrong with you?” Marc asks gently. It’s not meant the way Lana takes it, leaning over the vanity and rubbing her face clean of the layers of makeup packed on her skin. Under it all her own skin comes through, pale and reddened by irritation.

“I didn’t even want this gig,” Lana complains, makeup wipes turning black and beige as they pile onto the table. “I had a day off.”

“I thought you liked doing this stuff, honey.”

“I thought getting married meant I don’t need to work again. Like you promised.”

Marc sighs, placing a hand on her bare hip when she reaches her. Lana abruptly slaps it off without a single glance at his direction. There was a thunderstorm inside her, had been all week. Marc didn’t know what to do with it, all he wanted was to see his wife happy. Little did he know just letting her win made her even more irritable. She craved a good fight.

“I know,” Marc sighs. “I’m sorry baby, the model cancelled last minute. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I have a million things to do at home after this. And now I’m just a placeholder for some other girl.”

“That’s not how it works," Marc whispers, eyes fixed on the reflection of his wife, bare-faced and beautiful.

“- And I just needed today off. And everyone was annoying me on purpose, they kept changing my hair and the clothes and the makeup.”

Marc crosses his arms. There are people struggling, starving, and here is his spoiled little wife complaining about the dream life of thousands of women. It would be hard for anyone to take it seriously. “You’re right. Sounds exhausting.”

Lana turns finally, eyes locked on Marc suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all,” Marc answers, though the amusement on his face says the opposite.

“You’re the most annoying man I ever met,” Lana huffs, pushing Marc off as she walks past to wrap a robe around her half naked body.

“How about I make it up to you? I got that event tomorrow, should be nice,” he coos, walking over and untying the robe she just tightened, letting it fall open and brushing his strong, sure hand against Lana’s abdomen. “You can wear that black dress I got you.”

His hands drift to Lana’s backside, squeezing affectionately. Men could be so stupid, Lana could feel herself being handled and it only made her angrier. As she’s about to completely flip, a sudden knock interrupts the pair.

“Coming!” Lana pushes Marc off, the robe barely hanging on her shoulders.

“It’s just me baby, open up,” a deep, familiar voice carries through.

Sliding the door open Lana finds a bald headed man, leaning against the doorframe with a bouquet of pink roses. The suit pants he’s wearing sit a little too tight and could use some ironing. Yet Lana couldn’t be happier at the sight.

“How’s my little bird?”

The hardness, the frustration and the pit in her stomach suddenly dissolve, an elated smile taking over as she squeals with excitement, jumping into his arms.

“Johnny,” Lana breathes, tightening her grip on his shirt. She melts into him, like she did all those years ago, basking in the scent of his cheap cologne and the smell of home. Flashes of the past, of glitter and poles and snorted lines play in Lana’s mind. Somewhere behind her Marc sighs repeatedly, his usual patience not stretching to the man embracing his half-naked wife. Still, Lana holds on just a little longer to the one piece of Dallas she has left.

Marc clears his throat causing the two to slowly let go. Lana’s expression softens, letting her gaze land on her old friend, with a few fine lines now decorating his small forehead.

Johnny grins with ease, swinging his head towards Marc. “You got your beautiful wife working on a day like this?”

“Johnny,” Marc smiles politely, offering his hand. He shifts uncomfortably when Johnny grabs it with a loud slam.

“Put some clothes on. I’m taking you out to dinner.” Johnny demands, smacking his lips with a gum in his mouth, skimming through the rack of clothing for the photoshoot. Marc still rubs his hand, the sting vibrating up his arm.

“Johnny, sorry,” the man hesitates, nostrils flaring. “We got plans.”

With a pointed look, Lana’s eyes narrow, her mouth tightens into a straight line. All while Johnny plays oblivious to this, his hands flopping open eyeshadow pallets lined on the vanity. Her brown eyes flare, flames flicker in them like a warning - startling enough to make any man fold.

Marc’s jaw tightens for a second, only softening with effort. “She gotta be home by 9. We got a big day tomorrow.”

“Yes boss,” Johnny turns with a smirk, leaning his hand against the vanity. “Put your clothes on Alisa.”

With no hesitation Lana drops the robe on the floor and begins to undo her bra. It’s not like Johnny hadn’t seen her naked before - in fact he had seen more than most. He had seen the rock bottom and the withdrawls. There was no reason to play shy. He knew the girl from before she ever stepped on a stage. Lana had revealed more of her soul to him than to most people.

“Hey, whoa,” Marc’s brows rise in horror, quickly wrapping the robe around her bare, pale chest. “Let me and Johnny leave first. We’re leaving.”

Practically dragged out of the door, Johnny’s attempts at hiding his amusement are feeble. He pushes sunglasses over his deep-set eyes, biting his tongue.

“I’ll wait outside in the car princess,” he waves and they’re both gone.

Throwing on the first dress she can, Lana hops on one leg to put heels on. Lazily she runs her fingers through the curls, not lingering over the vanity to cover her red skin. She doesn’t mind with goodbyes or smiles, leaving the set too quick for anyone to spot her. Parked by the street she easily spots Johnny in a navy blue convertible, arm resting on the side and a cloud of cigarette smoke clouding him. When Lana approaches, he reaches over to open the passenger side door, patting the seat beside him.

“Daddy’s strict huh?” He laughs before inhaling deeply.

“Daddy’s jealous,” Lana points out, taking the cigarette from his hand and puffing it twice before passing it back. Some passing people make disgusted faces, as if they don’t have vapes in their hands. Typical Americans.

“Didn’t you quit?”

“Post shoot cigarettes don’t count. I’m perfectly good otherwise.”

Johnny huffs out a laugh. “Oh yeah, you’re a real angel.”

He checks the mirror before merging into the crowded lanes by countless storefronts. Stubbornly the buildings give way, the air cooling and the roads widening with the drive.

“He good to you?” Johnny says over the sound of traffic and the hum of air. Lana pulls down her sunglasses as the golden rays of the sun inch below the coastline, blinding her.

“Yes,” Lana simply says, looking out into the sparkling waves in the distance. More than any man she had ever known, really. She exhales. “He wants to have a baby.”

Johnny wipes his mouth, throwing the cigarette bud somewhere onto the road carelessly. “Uh oh.”

“Yes. Uh oh,” she admits, pushing sunglasses down to her eyes. She grabs a bottle of water from the expensive leather purse sitting on her lap, digging through it restlessly.

“You gonna do it?”

Finally, Lana pulls out a packet of pills, shaking them in the air. “No. Not yet.”

Johnny snorts, seagulls screech, the sun scorches their skin. The girl swallows the pill, her lifeline, her secret. “And what would that baby do all night while you’re out drinking or too lazy to cook or clean?”

The words ring cruelly in her ear, causing her head to snap. Echoes of Paige’s voice still at the forefront of her mind wrap its claws around her neck. An irrational frustration grows with the howling wind as she eyes Johnny.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She spits out, the sunglasses hiding her ice cold gaze.

“Ion mean it like that” Johnny yells over the breeze, one hand on the wheel. He’s seen worse from her. “You’re strong. About the strongest lady I know. But I just can’t see you enjoying it.” 

She swallows, dry lips turning into a pout. She could do it, she could be a good mother, to raise someone better than her. It’s just that she didn’t want to. Maybe that’s what Paige meant too. Not about what she is able to do, but about what’s best for her. Though she had never really understood what was best for Lana. 

The car comes to a halt at a red light. Lana tries to ignore the boys in a yellow Ferrari beside them, eyeing her hungrily when the nagging feeling of being watched in a completely different way swoops deep in her stomach. Slowly lifting her gaze, she’s met with the ocean blue eyes of Paige Bueckers, ten feet tall above her on a billboard. Of course.

Lana sinks in her seat, pushing the glasses deeper onto her head. Like it might hide her from her line of view. Her eyes stay fixed on her lap. It’s not enough, Johnny’s already chuckling.

“You two got a weird way of finding each other,” He nods towards the picture. Lana’s shoulders nearly lift into a shrug but give up halfway, as if it doesn’t affect her enough to finish. The red light remains like a warning, leaving the two trapped under the shadow of the billboard.

Lana looks back to the shore, but the blue waves only remind her of the stare coming from above.

“You seen her?”

The question lands too clean. It digs into her very bones. She shifts on the seat. Lying to Johnny was not something she could easily do. Instead, she keeps her eyes on the horizon. At last the light turns green, and the tires carry them far from Paige’s demanding face. The only image she had seen of the blonde in weeks. Lana’s stomach churns. Dallas Paige would’ve been knocking on her door an eternity ago. The radio silence since their kiss made her uneasy.

“Does Marc know?”

“Know what?” She asks calmly.

He keeps pressing. “About Paige?”

“What is there to know? She was a client I had.”

Johnny steps on the gas, running a large hand over his bald head.

“But you’ve seen her here?”

“No,” she blurts out, taking off her sunglasses, struggling to adjust to the light. His eyes flicker over curiously. “I mean yes. Yes. A little bit.” Her words come out clumsy, the accent suddenly thick and heavy again. She stutters out a breath, blinking rapidly. “I went to a game.”

Johnny’s mouth twists into a smile, an amused chuckle escaping him. “Goddamn that girl was head over heels for you.”

Lana’s nails dig into her palms. She crosses her legs restlessly, waving a hand as if the breeze wasn’t blowing her with cool, coastal air.

Johnny’s blue eyes travel to the girl, the one he had built up from rock bottom. A sort of pain flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Instead he reaches over and pets Lana’s hair, just once, making a wish for her.

The pink roses sit in the backseat, petals flying off as the car accelerates. The silence of the drive bothers neither of them, though Lana can’t seem to get comfortable. As they park the sounds of LA only become a distant hum, the cliffs cocooning them into a nest of golden white sand. Lana kicks off her heels, letting her feet sink into the warmth with each step, Johnny trailing behind with the flowers in his hand.

The water bites her ankles as she lets the waves wash over them and the golden anklet there. Shivers climb up her legs all the way to her spine, forcing her eyes shut to rid her mind of the intrusive thoughts of Paige’s mouth.

“God she’d love it here,” Johnny murmurs from somewhere behind. This is how they did it, year after year. Without looking each other in the face.

“She always wanted to go to the coast,” Lana answers, her voice getting buried in the sound of the waves breaking against glistening rocks. “She felt trapped in Dallas. Always.”

“We should’ve just left.” Johnny's voice softens in an unfamiliar way. Lana swallows, feeling a knot form at the base of her throat that made it hard to breathe. The salt sticks to her tongue, brown eyes blinking rapidly to stop them from watering. 

“Can’t change it now Johnny,” she says blankly. Somewhere in the far distance a child’s laugh echoes along the Pacific. Her mind flashes with imagery of the good times - it felt like yesterday yet entire lifetimes had happened. She would have never known at the time that it was Dallas she ached for years later.

“Guess not,” he sighs, handing over the flowers. “She’s somewhere else now.”

“She’s nowhere,” Lana mutters, letting her finger brush over the soft, delicate petals. “She’s dead.”

LA begins to dim, the sun giving out its last signs of life as it sparkles over the coast. A tear rolls down her cheek, falling directly on a single rose. The petal is so gentle it folds from the weight.

“Remember that one birthday she had to work?”

Sniffling, her mouth twists into a smile. “When the security guys couldn’t get those creeps to leave but she dragged them out by their ears?”

“She was so mad at me for making her work,” Johnny chuckles, looking at the ground. “Lexi had spirit.”

The last rays sparkle the brightest. Lana opens her mouth to speak, and closes it again. 

“She was the sun,” she finally gets out, the words trembling. 

She throws the flowers into the waves, watching them float into the nothing that Lexi had become. She could just remember the feeling of endless possibilities that had disappeared with the realities of adulthood. Lana waits for the familiar pull that only seemed to exist in Dallas, the one that lurked in dark corners and followed her every move, trying to reach for the way Paige used to feel. It’s only fragments, a voice in the hallway, the sound of her groan. It’s all there is.

“You ever think of going back?”

She stares into the horizon, sinking deeper in the sand with each wave washing away.

“To Dallas?”

She exhales with purpose, letting the wind mess up her hair.

“It doesn’t exist anymore Johnny - Whatever you miss- we miss. There’s no Lonestar, or Lexi, or anyone. There’s nothing to go back to.”

The roses ride wave after wave, the bunch slowly breaking apart and each flower going their own direction, some orbiting each other deeper into the ocean. Eventually, they all disappear into the tides all on their own.

-

Lana’s jewelled fingers wrap around the stem of a cocktail glass as the tattooed bartender slides it forward. Her eyes linger on his, the blue of his gaze stirring something within her. She’s used to playing these games, letting the flimsy strap fall off her shoulder while batting her lashes.

“Let me look for my card,” she hums an octave higher than normal, feeling his stare fix on her cleavage. Clumsily, Lana digs through her purse.

“Don’t worry sweet thing,” he says, the southern accent reminding her of the clients she used to serve. “I got it.”

She feigns shock, giggling just to please the man. This used to get her as high as the coke. The starved eyes, needy hands on waists, words drenched in lust.

“Thanks,” she winks, quickly making her way out the second she gets away with it. The rooftop bar is filled with people on a hot, June evening. Their chatter carries all the way down to the street, the music being swallowed by loud laughs and gossip. With every step Lana takes more heads turn. She lets the fabric hike up her thighs, putting bounce in her walk. Angry wives tug at the sleeves of their ogling husbands yet Lana feels nothing.

“How much was it?” Johnny asks, looking at the exaggeratedly large fruity drink in her hands, lounging in the shade of a paper umbrella.

“It’s on the house,” Lana grins, wrapping her lips around the straw.

“God you still got it,” he sighs, eyeing her. Not in the hungry way other men did. More in a way that he saw the best and the worst and still loved her. “All these men would kill for you. The women want to be you.”

“Stop Johnny,” she shakes her head, waving him off with her hand. The movements come clumsy from the countless drinks already in her system.

“Marc is the luckiest man in the world,” he shakes his head, finishing his whiskey. He hadn’t even crossed Lana’s mind.

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” Lana blurts out, devoid of any emotion as she sucks on the pink straw.

Johnny chuckles, drunk, clumsy and loud. “You don’t need to bullshit with me.”

“Who says I’m bullshitting?” Lana asks innocently, lifting her brows. 

A sudden tap on her shoulder forces her attention elsewhere. A buff man already grey and certainly rich grins down at her, cleaning his throat. She stares through him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, preparing herself for a cheesy line she had heard countless times. Somehow this made men want her more.

“I don’t usually do this,” a lie, certainly. “but you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” 

His compliment almost tickles the parts Lana’s itching for. She tilts her head, leaning forward to accentuate the dress barely covering her chest. His eyes drop inches below, widening with his imagination. So predictable, so boring.

“Is that it?” The words come off blunt, slightly amused. Yet, she pushes further, her heel pressing into the man’s calf in an attempt to chase something. It never comes. 

“Baby, let me take you out,” the man stutters, words like a plea.

Lana tilts her head again, as if to ponder it over. The hopeful face of a man past his prime nearly makes her feel bad. Nearly. Usually she’d make them work a little harder, but right now her mind feels like a tunnel. “Sorry,” she sighs, leaning back and pushing her left hand forward. “I’m married.”

He doesn’t back down, puffing his chest like it might make her swoon. “Of course you are. But I work in private equity, sweetie.” 

Her attention peaks, suddenly inching closer with a rise of her eyebrows. The arrogance washing over his face shows he sees it well.

“I could show you so much-”

His words become nothing with the laugh that cuts through them. A swish of blonde long hair and suddenly Lana’s mind is gone, squeezing the bench tightly. Her eyes hunt the crowd towards the direction of the sound, heart galloping against her ribcage. She sees it, the blonde pony swishing in the air, the broad shoulders. Her stomach drops, the feeling she’s chased all this time arriving quicker than expected. Brushing the man’s hand off her, she cranes her neck, reaching for a better view..

She thinks she sees her, a bright red drink in her hand. She’s nearly getting up from the seat when the feeling evaporates. The spark in her abdomen turns into an empty void. She bats her eyes rapidly, her drunken mind taking long to process the reality that it’s just someone else. The man is still talking, slurring and tripping over words. 

“So whatchu say?”

Lana’s chest heaves. With effort and reluctant eyes, she snaps her gaze back to the guy, suddenly incredibly bothered by his existence.

“I say bye bye,” Lana snaps. The startled man furrows his brows, shocked by her sudden coldness. She doesn’t seem to notice, carelessly spinning back on her seat to her companion and the emptied cocktail glass. She checks the phone lying on the table, skimming through the notifications from her husband.

“You’re still cold,” Johnny smirks. The flimsy table tilts with Lana’s elbow hitting it carelessly.

“I’m not cold. I’m slavic.” She stares at the black screen. Maybe if she thinks hard enough it will happen.

“You okay?” Johnny asks, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the screen.

Feeling caught, Lana’s cheeks flush pink. She sits back up, shoving her phone into the purse filled with lipgloss and perfume.

“I need a drink.”

“You’re in a bad mood,” Johnny points a finger towards her. “You need a bag.”

“Oh shut up Johnny,” she scrunches her nose in disgust. “You know we stopped that.”

“I know,” he sighs, watching the remains of his empty glass swirl around before tipping it desperately into his mouth. “I didn’t pay for all that rehab for nothing.”

Lana’s lips flip onto a pout, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Hey,” Johnny reaches over, tapping her hand. “This used to be your favourite part. All these eyes on you, all these guys.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “The guys are boring now.”

Johnny leans back observing, unsure whether to keep his mouth shut. He begins to speak but quickly shakes it off, only irritating her more.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

Lana shifts forward, tapping the table impatiently.

“I don’t wanna offend you,” he shrugs, leaning his elbows on the rattling table.

“Please, like you could offend me,” she rolls her eyes. 

Johnny kisses his teeth, leaning back to give her some space.

“It’s not the guys, it’s you. Somebody ruined it for you.”

For a second she feels lost, like they’re two people having separate conversations. But then it clicks, and the alcohol in her breath is making her nauseous. She glances over her shoulder, pretending to look for something, slender fingers playing with the thin stem of the glass.

When she turns back her eyes glisten. She purses her glossed lips, clearing her throat to delay the moment.

“She was always so strange,” her voice is barely audible, smaller than was typical for her. Like saying it out loud would make it true. She tilts her head, refusing to meet Johnny’s sympathetic eyes. 

“Whatever, who cares,” Lana mumbles with frustration. “It’s done. It’s been done. But definitely now it’s done, over for good. She stopped looking for me.”

Johnny doesn’t seem at all shocked by this drunken revelation. “That’s getting under your skin?”

“No,” Lana’s words come quick, defensive. “It’s just weird.”

For once the silence that follows feels uneasy, between them. With a loaded sigh, she climbs down from her seat.

“We need more drinks.”

-

The room spins. Or seems to at least. Lana’s entire world feels like a cruise ship stuck in a storm, swaying from side to side. The echoing sound of her heels causes a headache. Her bra digs into her armpit. The nude satin dress, too tight around her ribs, the sheer fabric making her appear nearly nude. Usually she would love an outfit like this. But she feels bloated, and the satin clings to her sweaty skin.

She’s swallowed by dread when she sees the room, high ceilings and white walls, stylish people lingering in small groups by tall tables without a single seat. Lana could already feel her knees growing weak, the lack of sleep deepening the grey under her eyes.

“I should’ve worn that skirt,” Lana whispers leaning into her husband, stumbling like a baby deer over her legs. Like a magnet, she pulls in gazes from around the room. Hopeful smiles surround her, people eager to make small talk or to just catch her eye. She doesn’t bother returning them.

“No, the dress is way better,” Marc hisses, yanking her arm to pull her along. He had been in a mood all day. Jealousy didn’t suit him in the slightest. Still, there he was - jaw tight and snapping at every word coming from his wife’s mouth. He runs his hand over Lana’s waist, fixing the tight fabric. It would be sweet if Lana wasn’t so on edge.

“Champagne?” 

The drink still fizzles when Marc thanks the waiter, handing one of the glasses to Lana. The taste in her mouth turns sour as the sharply sweet smell makes its way into her nose. Carelessly she pushes it against the grey cotton of his shirt, nearly spilling it over.

“You drink it.”

He pushes it back, slightly harshly.

“If you don’t want it then at least hold it and pretend you’re fine,” he whispers, waving quietly to someone behind her. “See, I told you they got oysters.”

“I’m going to vomit if I have to put an oyster in my mouth.”

“Shh,” he hushes. Something he only did when angry at his misbehaving wife.

Lana can feel the looks burning into her back, men with wives ogling after her as usual. It didn’t matter she looked a mess - no mascara and a smudged red lip on her frowning mouth, frizzy hair from the hot shower this morning. She knew it was beauty like this that made men weak in the knees. It felt achievable even to lesser men. This way she was just at their fingertips, just how she liked it. Marc didn’t mind this, he knew who he married. Yet today his hand wraps around her just a little tighter, claiming her as his the moment they step in the room.

“Where are you going?” Marc questions the second Lana pulls him towards the tall wall at the back, lined with mirrors.

“I need to fix my lip,” she yawns, pushing his hand off. He’s quick to return, digging his fingers harshly into her side.

“It looks fine.”

“I need to fix my lip,” Lana repeats, rolling her eyes.

He trails behind, frustrated eyes keeping a close watch. She doesn’t care, letting the sound of her heels attract even more attention as it bounces off the blank walls. Leaning over with her mouth parted, she dabs the lipstick carefully on.

“Are you done?” Marc huffs impatiently.

“Marc!”

In the reflection a man approaches them, pulling Marc into an awkward hug. She doesn’t bother to turn around, not even for the compliment.

“Lana, don’t you look stunning,” he grins, opening his arms wide for her. The girl brushes fingers through her frizzy locks. Just managing to raise her hand, she waves it lazily.

“Hey,” she spits, knowing it was pushing Marc’s buttons. Her eyes remain on the reflection staring back.

Slightly flustered, Marc pulls the man into a conversation. Something about the stock market. Nothing she would ever care about. Lana smooths over the fabric of the dress, deciding that she was right - she should have worn the skirt. 

Lifting her gaze from the nude pumps her stomach drops. The floor disappears from beneath her legs and for an instance she’s freefalling through space, all the way to the deepest pits of hell. With wide eyes, she stumbles, catching herself by the grace of the cocktail table beside her.

The mirror reflects a beaming, champagne sipping and wide shouldered Paige, clad in a matching linen set. She waves her hands around, explaining something animatedly. The group surrounding her leans into every word coming from her lips.

Lana rubs her eyes to rid them of the image, surely just a mirage of the badly slept night. The blonde’s sudden disappearance had caused her to go insane. How embarrassing. She repeatedly blinks, adjusting to the light again. She’s still there, laughing carelessly. Lana’s frozen. Paige seems so unbothered.

At once Paige’s story comes to a clumsy stop. The sentence slows, losing its thread. Her ocean eyes drift towards the mirror to the reflection of a red-lipped girl. Their eyes lock. 

The tall room shrinks suffocatingly. It feels more like a prison, a cage too cramped for them both. Lana’s ears go red. The hardness on her face softens. People around Paige lean forward expectantly, waiting for the story to continue. Lana waits too, for a gesture, a smile, a nod. 

When an older lady pokes the blonde’s arm, her bright eyes flicker away without lingering. Shaking her head, she laughs off the interruption. With ease Paige picks up the conversation, never looking back. The Paige she knew in Dallas would have never averted her gaze.

She swallows sharply, exhaling through her nose and yanks the glass from Marc’s hands, startling the two men.

“Give me this,” she breathes, downing it all with a few long sips.

“Alisa,” Marc whispers, brows lifting with horror. “Not here.”

The brown, tired eyes staring back flare with a warning. A danger Marc knew to avoid or he might truly be in trouble. He lets it go, harshly parading his wife around the room like some sort of prize.

With each boring conversation she sips more champagne. Every how are you and great weather pushes her towards another glass until a welcomed buzz runs through her system. Even then her eyes scan across the room of strangers, looking for one blonde engraved on her brain. Before she realises, she’s taking notes of her every move - who she speaks to, how often she laughs, the way she’s becoming the gravity of the room. Everybody wants a piece of Paige Bueckers.

Lana’s on her fifth glass when thick heels clank against the hardwood floors. A tall, devastatingly beautiful woman causes everyone’s heads to turn.

“Oh gosh, I’m so so sorry,” her voice echoes across the gallery. She hurries past everyone, past Lana too, into the arms of the blonde. 

“I’m so late.”

Paige’s cheeks flush, gaze flickering to Lana for the first time since the mirror. It only lasts for a fleeting second. When she turns back there’s a grin on her lips. She’s wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her in for a peck. Nothing like the one Lana and Paige shared just weeks ago. Still, envy sits heavy in her abdomen. Not because of Paige. But because of how easy it looked. That was never enough for Lana.

She reaches for another glass when Marc’s hand grips her wrist. She doesn’t need to look to know he’s disappointed. She lets it go, eyes fixed on the stranger. She’s all limbs, blending in with the group of people without effort. She knows exactly when to laugh, when to be quiet, how to put Paige on a higher pedestal. 

Lana jumps at the sudden yank on her arm. Marc blinks at her demandingly.

“Are you okay?”

Staring back she waits a beat too long to answer. “Yes, fine.” The words come sharp, bothered. Not unusual for a woman like her. Her eyes flicker to the couple 10 feet away and the firm hand that brushes along the woman’s spine. Suspicious but unbothered Marc turns back. Spotting another coworker he drags his tipsy wife after him. 7 feet away. Paige still doesn’t look. 

“Oh, Alisa,” an older man Lana can’t seem to remember the name of smirks, leaning forward for a hug. She grimaces, feeling herself cocooning into her shell. Ever so aware of the blonde’s whereabouts she feels her stomach flip.

“You look more beautiful every time,” he winks, nodding her over. With a determined gleam and a slight buzz Lana’s frown flips into a smile. Being ignored like this would not continue, not for long.

“Oh stop it,” Lana waves, giggling loud enough for the sound to bubble in the air. It’s what they always fell for. Paige would recognise that sound in a heartbeat. Yet her eyes remain fixed forward. So stubborn.

“I’ll keep telling ya, if you ever get tired of Marc you know where I’ll be.”

Lana’s eyes drift to the wife, unpleased and groaning at the remark. She brushes it off easy, she never cared much whether men were taken or not. She wraps her arms tight around the guy, desperate for the burn of Paige’s gaze. It’s not there.

“Oh, I’ll remember that,” she murmurs into his ear, pushing further on purpose.

A sudden screech causes half the room to snap their heads towards the sound. Lana too jumps back.

“Marc,” Antonio screams. The tall androgynous man in a linen blouse and painted nails waves them over. Lana freezes. Her eyes lock on the broad back where Paige stands, pretending not to notice. The cage shrinks even further. She doesn’t move.

Lana can’t help it when she’s being pulled over, a firm grip on her wrist forcing her movements. Only when the group of people make space for the couple does she feel the weight of Paige’s vicinity. She stands opposite. 4 feet away. This close Lana can see the tight line of her lips. It’s too close.

It’s a big scene, the flamboyant man getting under Lana’s skin. He jumps excitedly, hugging them both. Yet Lana can’t help but keep her eyes on the blonde, pushing for a glance back. She just needs to be noticed. Paige’s eyes remain stubbornly on the ground, as if there’s nothing more interesting than her brand new shoelaces.

“Alisa, you look fabulous. It’s giving messy french girl,” Antonio grins, running his hand over her hair. The empty void in Lana’s stomach deepens. She needed to find a way, something that would cause a reaction.

“Messy?” She teases, letting her voice rumble with mischief and seduction. “No no, never messy.” The group laughs, even the girl beside Paige. This sets something off, a tingling in Lana’s spine.

“I’m not even French,” she rolls her eyes. Giggles erupt everywhere yet Paige is stuck on the floor and her shiny leather shoes.

“Silly Americans, you think this is a French accent?” They all howl. Marc’s hand rubs Lana’s back. This is the woman she married, the funny center of attention who could charm anyone. 

“Guys, everyone. This is Marc and his gorgeous, Ukrainian wife, Alisa,” Antonio introduces the pair, flailing his hands around them. “Marc is one of the creative directors for Calvin Klein.”

Lana’s still trying to find her footing when hands are being thrown her way for shaking. She offers smiles too politely, even accidentally introducing herself to someone twice.

“Marc, nice to meet you.”

Her ears perk up. Over her shoulder she catches a glimpse of her husband’s hand sliding into Paige’s. The rings on her fingers, the hauntingly familiar golden chain tugged into her shirt, a sweet smile. Irritatingly sweet.

“Paige,” she answers. For a second she fears Marc will remember her from that one night out. But even when his eyes narrow with focus, he shrugs it off. Elated, Lana’s posture straightens. With her shoulders pushed back and a well played confidence she reaches for the blonde’s hand just as unbothered. Paige seems to shrink in response, exasperatedly gulping air.

“I’m Alisa.”

Lana’s voice is smooth, the sound rising higher than naturally. Her acrylics scratch along the blonde’s palm which Paige offers before her mind can catch up. The blonde hairs on her arms rise. The warmth of her fingers spreads all the way to Lana’s toes causing the room to tilt. She grips just a little too hard.

“Yeah, uh, Paige,” the words are hushed, as if they’re sharing a secret, whispering into each other’s ears. The blonde’s face flushes pink, something familiar sparking between them. Flashes of Dallas, glitter and snow take over her mind. For a second Paige isn’t there at all. She’s back at Lonestar watching Lana under the flashing lights.

It’s Grace’s laughter that pulls her out of the vision. The grounding force someone like Paige needed. Not the thunderstorm standing in front of her. She pulls back her hand too abruptly, fighting to break free from Lana’s spell. But before she can Paige feels her nails on her neck, pulling on the gold chain to tug it out of her shirt. She hates herself for the way it makes her feel.

“Nice cross,” Lana mumbles. She’s tipsy, blinking slowly and her accent more distinct than usual. Her slender fingers brush against the crucifix, heavy eyes flicking back and forth to Paige. It takes all her discipline not to join Lana’s game. There were no winners in this one, Paige had learned that years ago.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, forcing the words out with an embarrassing struggle. Lana doesn’t appear half as affected, yet she flexes her fingers before turning, gaze lingering on the blonde. Paige can’t tear herself away. The sight of her like this, the dress making her look near naked. The fabric clings to her body obscenely, causing Paige’s pulse to stutter. Cold sweat trickles down her back as she forces her eyes shut, pushing out the thoughts rummaging her brain.

“Hi, I’m Grace.”

The girl’s voice is so earnest, so curious that guilt nearly snaps Paige in half. She’s leaning forward, eager to know more about this beautiful, funny stranger. When Lana sees her, really sees her, her movements stop mid action.

“Grace,” she hums, feeling out the name and the familiarity of the word. She blinks once, twice, Grace standing there with her hand extended.

It takes a beat too long for Lana to come out of it. When she does, the unease on her face melts into a charming grin.

“Grace, beautiful name,” she coos, enveloping Grace’s hand with two of her own. “Wow, look at that.”

Lana pulls at the girl’s fingers, feeling it before her eyes dare to flicker down. The gold band and the two carat diamond decorating Grace’s hands. Grace blushes, letting Lana study it. The champagne and something familiar bubbles in Paige’s gut. She puts the glass down. The lights seem too harsh, the walls too snow white. Every word becomes a blur as she struggles to catch up with her mind. It was too much.

“Oh thank you,” Grace giggles, wide eyes shimmering. Paige is unsure whether it was the guilt or embarrassment over Grace’s naivety that caused it, but she felt like she might be sick any second. 

“We’re taking it slow with the wedding plans,” she adds, still allowing Lana to hold onto her. “Well, I am. This one is barely home.” She elbows her fiance.

The moment Lana’s brows rise and her chestnut eyes lift to the blonde Paige knows it’s neither of those things. Clumsily she leans into her fiance, tugging at her linen shirt for more air.

“I see,” Lana’s gaze drags back, locking on Grace hungrily. She breathes in her features. Green eyes, long lashes, dark brows and a soft smile.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lana says, still holding onto the girl’s hand. “If she’s ever bad to you, you come straight to me.”

Stunned, Paige clears her throat, her composure crumbling even worse the minute she sees it - the goosebumps rising along Grace’s skin. Oh God, she’s right in her trap. She’s too naive to spot the danger. Paige’s stomach drops.

There’s a giggle, a familiar flustered look on Grace’s face. The same one she got whenever Paige touched her. The blonde wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. It only seems to rile Lana on. Of course it does. 

Lana leans forward, running soft fingertips up Grace’s arm all the way to her long neck. Shamelessly she brushes her finger behind Grace’s ear, every shiver from the girl only pushing her deeper. 

“Pretty,” she sighs, ever so carefully holding the dangling, shimmery earrings between her fingers. The image makes Paige’s stomach stir, the smile on Lana’s lips, Grace’s doting face - the tenderness of the touch.

“I love your lipgloss too, where-”

“Babe, did my package come today?” Paige abruptly asks, though her eyes are not even on her fiance. They remain on Lana when both girls turn to her, a sick satisfaction on Lana’s face.

“What package..?” Grace questions, brows furrowed in deep confusion. 

It’s a feeble excuse. Both girls stare at her so intensely Paige has to look away. She’s fixed on the light wood of the floor, tempted by the sight of Lana’s ankle in her peripheral vision. When her gaze lifts she sees the entire, silenced group of people all staring at her.

“Why are you standing all the way over there?” Marc suddenly asks, reaching over for his wife. “Come here.” At last Lana’s gone, feet away from her and most importantly, Grace. Relieved, Paige leans in and kisses the top of her head, the image of Grace’s hands in Lana’s replaying over and over.

“Nevermind babe, it’s fine,” Paige murmurs, hoping the scent of her fiance’s hair might hide the smell of cherries. Still, Lana haunts every moment. The lilt of her voice bubbling in the background of boring conversations, the sight of cherry red lips in her peripheral vision. At first her appearance was only irritating - now it was beginning to drag Paige underwater.

With a tug on her sleeve, Paige resurfaces. Her head snaps impatiently. Slightly startled, Marc’s eyes widen. 

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt. You just look so familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” He asks carefully. Paige only stares until Grace elbows her for a response.

“Oh, I play basketball for the Sparks,” she awkwardly nods.

“Ohh, for the WNBA?”

“Yep.”

“Alisa watches that sometimes!” Oh.

Across the group Lana’s eyes widen, her smooth exterior cracking just for a moment. “I do not.”

Marc snorts. “I catch you sometimes. I don’t know why you try to hide it.”

Paige nearly trips over her own feet. She knows Lana never cared about basketball - not at all. Not when it extended beyond her. What irritates her most isn’t Lana, but the way she still dug her way into Paige’s life. It made no sense. Years had passed. Entire lifetimes had been lived between then and now. Yet the tight reins Paige had been holding onto were beginning to slip, leaving the skin of her palms raw and bloody.

“Excuse me.”

On the verge of splitting open she rushes off, leaving behind countless confused faces - all but one.

Long legs take long strides to the buffet table, not registering the shrimp and bruschetta laid out for service. She can’t make sense of what’s happening. Everything’s too loud, too sharp, too close, too hot-

“Hungry?”

It’s too much. That voice is somehow the last and only thing she wants to hear. She can’t answer. can’t even turn around, facing forward.

“I’m just looking for a drink. They only got this crap?”

Lana steps beside her, swirling the champagne in her glass around. She sips it, seemingly unaffected compared to the blonde digging fingernails into her palms. The heat radiating off Lana's arm itches against her, even though she’s inches away. It makes Paige dizzy.

“You forgot how to speak?”

Paige exhales loud, forcing air through her nostrils. Whatever control there was had slipped the second Lana stepped in the room. 

“Ever think I don’t wanna talk to you?”

Lana lets out a single laugh, pushing her arm snug against Paige. “Now now, no reason to be so rude.”

Paige moves further, every cell of her being fighting against it.

“What do you want?” She whispers, staring straight ahead.

The smug smile on Lana’s lips drops. She turns, leaning into the buffet table.

“You disappeared.” The words aren’t sad or regretful. Just annoyed.

“Been busy,” Paige huffs, piling shrimp onto her plate mindlessly. Realising she hates shrimp, she begins putting it back one by one with an immense fury.

“With your fiance apparently,” Lana says loud enough to make Paige lift her gaze. Her blue eyes land on hers. First warning. Lana knew this well enough.

“Stop. This ain’t some joke,” Paige stutters at the sight of her. It kills her not to clean up the smudged red lipstick by the corner of her mouth.

“Shh,” Lana hushes amused, nodding toward the group. “You need to be a better actor or sweet little Grace is gonna realise this isn’t quite right, hmm?” 

Dragging her eyes back to the group, she finds Grace standing a little further from the group, not quite fitting in. She swings back and forth, sipping on champagne until her eyes find Paige’s, lighting up in an instance.

“Don’t talk about Grace,” Paige whispers, smiling stiffly back.

“You’re acting like I forced you to kiss me,” Lana says hurriedly, covering her mouth as Grace closes in on the pair

“Don’t leave me again,” Grace hurries over, clasping her hand on Paige’s. The blonde pulls it back, wiping it on her pants. “Could you get me some shrimp?”

With trembling hands, Paige begins to pile shrimp onto a plate once more, leaving Grace and Lana with their eyes locked. With a smile, Lana stretches her hand forward, bringing it to the back of the girl’s neck. By the time Paige turns back, Grace is more flustered than before, blushing profusely. 

“I was gonna say earlier, your hair-” Lana lets her fingers dig through her locks, brushing through all the way to the ends. The girl bats her eyes, glossed lips parted, just as affected as the men in the audience used to be. It made Paige furious, she hates how easily Grace folds for Lana. Worst of all, she understands exactly why.

“Fuck, so stunning,” Lana lets her voice rumble, hoarsely carrying itself to Grace’s ears. She visibly melts, enough to lose all train of thought.

“Th- thank you,” Grace stutters. After lingering Lana finally lets go and grabs her empty glass.

“Nice to meet you both,” she smiles politely. As if nothing ever happened, Lana walks off. Her eyes linger on Paige over her shoulder, until she ends up in the arms of her husband. Grace, far too flustered to notice, begins to giggle.

“Oh my gosh,” she covers her mouth, leaning closer to Paige still staring after someone else. “Was she flirting with me?”

Paige doesn’t answer. She barely hears it, fixed on the view of that nude dress and the way it hugs the curves of Lana’s waist. Grace’s words turn into a distant mumble.

“That is seriously the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” Grace says, looking after her. “Right?”

There’s a beat, a moment where Grace’s words fall for deaf ears. It’s all worsened by the ease which Lana seems to operate, making the room bend for her.

Paige nods thoughtlessly, quickly altering it to a shake of the head. “Not my type.”

Grace snorts. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Paige’s eyes finally break free, glancing at the sweet girl beside her. Fuelled by guilt, she leans down and kisses her cheek.

“But that was pretty hot right?” Grace whispers, wrapping her long arms around Paige’s neck. Her lips tickle against the blonde’s ear, nose brushing against the warm skin there. Misreading Paige’s odd behaviour for lust, she presses flush against her fiance.

“You like watching two beautiful women flirt for you like that?”

Paige’s throat goes dry, a desperate cough coming out. Yet the girl doesn’t budge, breathing into her earlobe. The blonde is far too distracted to feel anything.

“I think I need to go to the bathroom,” Grace winks. The intent doesn’t quite reach Paige, whose  eyes follow the way Marc’s hand lingers on Lana’s hip.

“Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“Come with me.”

Before she can stop it from happening, Grace is dragging her through a tall, dim corridor decisively. Only then, bundled underneath flashes of Lana she recognises the meaning a minute too late. Grace is already pulling her into a bathroom, locking the door behind them.

“What are you doing, honey?”

Grace has that look in her eye, the one Paige knows well. The girl gulps for air, chest heaving with the spark Lana ignited. Her hand slides up Paige’s arm, feeling the broad frame, her soft face. She tilts Paige’s face and presses her lips on hers.

Paige stumbles slowly backwards, eyes wide open as she kisses back. Her palms land on the cold ceramic of the sink behind her thighs, clinging onto it. Grace, already humming with every kiss, gets on her tiptoes and opens her mouth further. Conflicted Paige tries to get into it, shutting her eyes at last. But with the darkness comes images of Lana, the ones that haunted her sleep. 

“You liked that, huh?” Grace giggles, bumping her nose into Paige’s.

Paige’s exhale shakes as she pries her hands from the ceramic, unsurely wrapping one around her waist. She lets her thumb brush against the fabric of her skirt, unable to shake the pressure in her chest. She felt disgusted in herself. In all of this. In Lana, most of all.

“Paige?”

“Oh,” Paige hums surprised, shutting her eyes tightly like she was supposed to before kissing. “I just like you, baby.”

By the sound of Grace’s whimper it seems to be the correct answer, her mouth attacking Paige’s neck. She lets out a heavy breath, staring at the pitch black tile like a black hole opposite of them. It’s so dark she can almost see their shape reflected from it, but it’s blurry and contorted. Why, why was she thinking about a damn wall or space or anything when there was a girl she loved sucking on her neck?

In a desperate attempt she grabs Grace’s hair and forces her mouth back to hers, slipping her tongue out. It meets Grace’s, warm and wet and pleasant enough. The girl melts into her, pressing her chest into her. Her fingers slip down, reaching Paige’s hand by her skirt and yanking it below the waistband. This makes the blonde lose her rhythm, quickly turning the kiss clumsy, tongues in all the wrong places at all the wrong times.

“Sorry,” Paige pulls back to whisper. Without beating herself up, she slips back in with her mouth wide open. The second her lips close against Grace’s, her teeth sink into the slippery tongue fighting for access into Paige’s mouth.

“Ow,” she jumps.

“Fuck, sorry,” Paige pulls back, nostrils flared with frustration. 

“It’s okay,” Grace giggles easily, only glad her tongue isn’t bleeding. “Relax, baby.”

she kisses along her neck, slower this time. Finding her pulsepoint she sucks, hard enough to make Paige’s shoulders tense up even more. She didn’t want to go to a game with a damn hickey, she wasn’t 19 anymore. It drives her crazy, the arousal that’s just at her fingertips but blocked by the repeating visions of Lana touching on Grace, making her laugh, the sway of her hips, her puckered lips, Lana, Lana, Lana, Lana-

“Wait, gimme a sec-” Paige whispers, unable to stop imagining her. It’s like she’s in the room, petting Grace's hair and urging the girl to keep going. Better yet, it’s as if Grace is her - Lana’s perfect tongue licking along Paige’s ear. It’s only then her boxers dampen.

“Wait, babe,” the blonde huffs. Still no stop. At last, Paige pushes Grace off on the verge of blowing up. “Stop.”

Grace stumbles back, eyes burning hopefully and quickly dimming. Paige wipes her mouth, like it might rid her of the disgust she felt for herself and the puddle between her legs.

“I just need a second,” she murmurs, staring at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Grace asks softly, studying her fiance with a pout.

Paige’s vision feels blurry, her heart beats so loud at first she thinks it’s an earthquake. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” she mumbles, mind skimming for an excuse. “I just wanna wait till we get home.”

Paige doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to face the excitement withering away from Grace’s face. She doesn’t want Grace to see the horror in her own eyes, the awful realisation that it’s not Grace who she wants right now.

“My tummy hurts,” Paige lies, really putting on the act by furrowing her brows and placing a hand on her stomach. “Ouchies.”

“Aw baby,” Grace immediately coos, stepping closer and rubbing on her stomach too. “I get it, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige sighs, finally daring to meet her eyes. She looks sad. This is exactly what she craved, rendezvous in public bathrooms, passion so strong it couldn’t be contained. Paige couldn’t deliver it.

“Don’t be,” Grace smiles, giving her lips an easy pick. Paige purses her lips back against her.

“I love you,” Paige hums. That part is true. It’s the decision she had made, to love her.

“I love you too,” Grace murmurs, letting go of Paige’s hand. “Wanna get back?”

“You should go first, I need to pee,” Paige says, turning around and beginning to wash her hands for no reason, scrubbing the soap between her fingers.

“Okay, I’ll be with Antonio,” Grace says, smacking Paige’s butt on the way out. When the door closes Paige finally lets out the dizzying breath she’d been holding. Her knuckles turn white as the ceramic as she holds onto it, glaring into the image of herself. For a second she considers shattering it, letting blood ripple all over the white linen on her. She dreams of taking a sharp shard and digging it deep into her muscle, into her bones to rid every part, memory and neuron that Lana had infiltrated. 

Outside the door, past the thick brick walls of the long corridor Lana studies the painting opposite her - a blonde angel barely visible for the intense light coming from an unknown source. The longer she stares, the clearer her contorted, painful face appears. The edges blur into a pure white, clear as snow.

She picks at her cuticles, restless hands looking for something to do or itching for a drink. A silent hiss spills from her lips when blood spills, stinging across her finger. Mindlessly, she takes it in her mouth, letting the metallic taste mix with her spit.

Averting her eyes at the sound of a lock, Lana watches the bathroom door open and Paige stumbles out. Their eyes meet immediately, at last locking for a moment that nears satisfactory. Lana lets her hand fall back beside her, watchfully waiting for the blonde to move. 

With a decisive sigh, Paige tears her eyes away, desperate to get away. But Lana feels the endless void return the second her blue eyes are out of view, the dread of not being wanted. She knows better, she’s too grown. Watching Paige Bueckers walk away without a word, a look, nothing - it doesn’t sit right.

Paige is already past her when she blurts: “Your fiance is really cute, is that the same girl you were with in Dal-”

With a sharp movement Lana’s back hits the cool brick hard. The smirk on her face falls. There’s a thud, a firm hand on her, a tension teetering on the verge of exploding. Lana wasn’t one to get scared easily. But Paige’s eyes, black and lowered, look angrier than ever gazing down at her. Suddenly she feels small, nothing compared to the blonde before her. There’s no escape. For a moment Lana thinks that she should scream, the sound of her blood rushing booming in her ears.

Paige is furious, clenching her face so hard that her jaw is turning sharp enough to slice through her. Her laboured breathing becomes heavy, nostrils flaring with each exhale. Lana sobers up at once. Paige’s hand presses into Lana’s left hip, causing the girl to jump. Paige had been intense, explosive, jealous, but never dangerous. At least before. She leans down, breathing cool, minty air into Lana’s face. All she can do is bat her eyes and let the brick dig into the arch of her spine.

Cold fingers slowly grab the light fabric of Lana’s dress. Lana is almost about to reach and push the hand away, but Paige’s other hand comes to her wrist as if reading her mind, pinning it against the wall. A room full of people just a few feet away, anyone could walk in at any moment, but Lana can’t say a word, knowing her voice would tremble a little too much. All she can do is look up at the blonde towering over her and wait.

Paige inches downwards, parting her pink lips ever so slightly. The need builds suddenly, the burning in Lana’s throat that can only be put out by the taste of her spit, the one glistening just inches away. Her brows furrow, and mouth falls open. Fear blurs into something heavier, Paige’s fingers digging into her skin painfully. 

“You think it’s a joke?” Paige suddenly speaks, her lips just inches away. Lana can only stare down at her mouth, distracted,

“Look at me.” The demanding voice snaps Lana’s eyes upwards, into the darkness emitting from Paige’s. The blonde holds Lana’s dress in a fist, gathering the fabric and letting the hem rise with it, revealing a smooth, silky thigh. It trembles. Lana’s eyes nearly roll back, if it wasn’t for those lips.

“You think that’s a joke? Touching some other woman like that in front of me? Flirting with her, looking at her like that?”

The words don’t process right away, Lana’s mind struggling to keep up with her body. When it hits her, Paige is already inching closer, the sharp tip of her nose pressing against Lana’s. It wasn’t Grace Paige felt jealous over. The realisation makes Lana tremble in her heels.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Paige tilts her head, her fingers grazing Lana’s outer thigh leaving fire at its wake. Lana can feel how she’s losing herself, submitting to this version of Paige she never knew a little too easy. There’s a burn between her legs she can’t stand, bucking herself closer. Just a single touch, one graze would be enough. Her eyes turn watery, tears threatening to spill for the sheer need of Paige’s fingers where she needs them most.

The blonde’s eyes flutter shut, nose grazing Lana’s cheek, then the corner of her mouth as her fingers squeeze her inner thigh. Lightheaded, Lana inhales with effort, stomach flipping with each exhale. A silent whine comes out, beyond her control. She shuts her eyes, wetting the glossed lips with her tongue. Sound of cutlery and distant chatter carry all the way from the gallery. But here, in this hallway, all they can hear is heavy breathing. 

“You want this so fucking bad, huh?”

Lana can’t help herself, nodding against Paige’s nose, grazing her lips against the ones just inches away, barely getting a sense of them. She needs it more than anything, more than water, more than she ever had before. The blonde struggles too, savouring the feel of Lana’s milky skin. With each moment she can feel the control slipping, the reins becoming looser. It’s terrifying enough to cause her grip on Lana’s thigh to loosen.

With a stuttering breath she listens to the frustrated sigh coming from the girl, the way she pushes her front flush against Paige. It’s nearly pitiful, the desperation, the act she had put on for tens of people before. Paige had seen her do this for countless men, the way she’d melt into them with such ease it nauseated her.

But for Grace? She showed the soft touches and careful lingers, the ones Paige thought belonged only to her. The ones that made her feel like she was the only person in the room, in the entire world - the once that made her fold as fast as Grace did. Turns out there’s nothing special there, that she can manage it with anyone. Dozens before her, maybe even hundreds. 

Fluttering her eyes open, she stares at the woman pressed into the wall, a million thoughts running through her head, none of them enough. Her touch on Lana’s thigh softens and finally halts.

“You don't even care who it is, huh?” Paige mutters bitterly. There’s a beat, a moment when the blonde lets go. Lana opens her eyes, startled by the coldness in the blonde’s words. “You’d let anyone do this to you.”

Blinking rapidly, Lana’s legs still shake when the humiliation settles uneasily in her core. The shame makes her face as red as the lipstick on her lips. 

“Wouldn’t you?”

Paige doesn’t want an answer, and she doesn’t wait for it. Before Lana can comprehend, the blonde is gone, and so is her touch from her thigh, and the embarrassment rushing through Lana. A sudden cold, reminiscent of winters in Chicago, covers her thigh, exactly where Paige’s hand left its mark.

-

-

2026, DALLAS, TX

The firm, pebbled rubber is oddly hot in Paige’s hands as she alternates the ball between them. Left, right, left right. The way she’s done countless times. It’s just her - no audience, no team, just the ball and a basket and Paige’s swift feet. Bright red numbers glaring down at her from the scoreboard, reading 0-0.

The smell of her childhood gym overpowers everything else, taking her back to being barely 10-years-old, her dad’s whistle somewhere in the distance when it was time to make a play. Here the time doesn’t run, but Paige knows it has to be now. She throws the ball all the way from the logo, watching it fly. It swishes through the net like a dream. The buzzer light goes, but there’s no sound. No shift on the scoreboard. It’s just as before. 0-0.

Wondrously, a second ball materialises directly into Paige’s hands. She throws again. Nothing but net. Still no point. Just as she’s about to shoot a third time something stops her. A howl of the wind. Cool blow breathing down her neck. The air shifts into a winter night, the lines on the maple court disappearing under pure, white snow. 

Suddenly it’s everywhere, covering all of the court untouched. At once, Paige’s toes ache and stiffen from the cold, her breath an abstract cloud of fog reappearing with each exhale. The weight of the ball is gone from her hands. So is the hoop. Looking down, Paige sees her shirt covered in glitter just as white as the snow. She tries to wipe it off, over and over. None of it even shifts, sharp against her palms and cutting into her skin.

A laugh bubbles across, carried by the howl of the wind. Lana’s laugh. Paige’s ears perk up, eyes drawn to the single door out of this place. From underneath she can already see pink and purple light and smoke hizzing low and heavy. Before she can finish her thought Paige is already standing by the concrete, heavy bass and incoherent chatter of crowds booming from behind it. She tries the handle but the door only clicks, locked. Like a miracle Paige finds a key from her pocket slipping it in easily. It fits, and turns just like it’s supposed to - but the door doesn’t open, no matter how perfectly it seems to match the lock. Frustration growing she yanks on it, tugging on the handle desperately. To her shock it unlocks from the inside, sliding open finally.

Behind it there is a red velvet curtain. Paige slips through it, the door shutting behind her with a loud slam. She bumps into a group of people at some sort of club, haunted by that one laughter she’s chasing. The crowd won’t move, stiff and unwilling to give way for Paige who drags her sneakers in the snow. In the back of her head she can feel eyes boring into her scalp. She really shouldn’t be recognised. Her cold hands fly to her neck, fingers itching for the cool metal. The nervous habit of playing with her cross is in vain, there’s no chain around her neck. Funny, Paige can’t remember the last time she took the cross off.

As she keeps struggling further in the snow, gorgeous girls in tiny clothes and long legs wrapped around poles surround her. Engraved with beautiful details only to their long necks, for they’re missing faces like someone forgot to finish them off - like something from a horror movie. Paige knows they’re there without having to look, their heels digging into the snow. They all spin identically, nonexistent eyes staring at Paige. She pushes deeper in the crowd that’s seeming to slowly allow her through a winding path. She feels herself growing antsy, where is her chain? Where is Lana?

At last, lying in a bed of fur coats there’s Lana. Lovely as ever, half nude and running her hands along the soft fabrics all around her. Just as Paige lets the relief in, a man crawls in, shaking snow off his shoes. Paige can’t explain. She just senses it. The upcoming danger, the impending doom that sits heavy at the bottom of her gut, a bite of an unchewed apple getting stuck in her throat.

“Lana!” Paige yells but the girl won’t hear. The man inches closer. Paige tries to run but is blinded by headlights so bright she doubts her irises will ever recover. Her body jolts so hard she feels it in her chest, a sharp pain slamming into her knee spreading throughout her body. Blinded by the lights, she only sees the white pure snow disrupted by trickles of blood red drops dirtying the pure, untouched canvas. The moment Paige tilts her head upwards the laughter echoes in her ears again, and even still the moment the mattress shifts and she’s back in her bedroom among the scent of clean cotton and the lilacs in the vase.

A clumsy hand rubs tired eyes, pushing the heavy duvet off her overheating body. The cool air is like diving into fresh water after sunbathing too long. Paige kicks her leg off the bed, the claustrophobic sensation of the girl warm as the sun pressing into her side, clinging in fear of the blonde slipping away. It’s too late.

Paige pushes her off, careful not because she cares but because she doesn’t need Grace waking up with her. Paige liked her quiet mornings, the silence of the house only filled with a single pair of footsteps. She makes breakfast for one, scrambling eggs with peppers, sweats hanging low on her waist. The nausea hits in waves, a pounding in her head as a reminder of what occurred last night. If it wasn’t for the practice she had sworn to go to and a team she would give her life for she’d still be in bed, dreaming of whatever greasy food her body craved at the minute.

The sourdough toasting causes rumbles to rise from Paige’s stomach as she stares at her phone screen - the blank conversation, the empty page that might grow into anything. She leans into the counter staring at the contact. L is all she wrote out for a name in an effort not to get caught. As if that made it any better. Paige had officially become the asshole she fought so hard not to be.

Hi

Paige’s finger hovers over send. It would be the final dive into the depths. Final game over. She looks over to the cookie jar on the counter, half empty now. Her mother’s recipe. Jesus. She closes the app, reading through ESPN instead. The words turn to gibberish, she can’t pick up a single headline before she’s returning back to the blank texts.

Did you get home safe?

“Your eggs are burning,” a soft voice drifts from the living room, gentle eyes still tired.

Paige jumps, urgently closing the app and tossing her phone into her pocket to stir through the eggs to get them unstuck from the pan.

“Just a little brown,” Paige murmurs, turning off the stove.

The girl tiptoes over wearing an old blue UConn shirt she stole from Paige, pressing her lips on the blonde’s bare shoulder. 

“Good morning babe,” she hums, wrapping her arms a little too tight around Paige’s torso. 

“Mornin’” Paige answers, feeling her throat tighten.

“Hungover?” Grace giggles, nuzzling her nose against Paige’s ear. Paige chuckles nervously as she slips away to the fridge for anything to drink.

“Clearly,” Paige answers, pouring the orange juice down her throat straight out of the carton.

“Stop, you know I hate that,” Grace scolds as she walks over.

Paige swallows. It was too early for this. Her head was killing. She didn’t need to be scolded like some teenager.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she grunts, putting the carton back in. The girl goes quiet, walking around the island and sitting down. Her green eyes follow Paige as she prepares a plate for herself, never looking up.

“Will you be fine by tomorrow? You know my pa-”

“I know your parents are coming, Grace,” Paige spits. The words come rushed and harsh. Maybe it’s the headache pounding between her ears.

“Fine,” Grace huffs, going quiet again. It has been like this for months now. The harder Paige grew, the more sensitive and fragile Grace became. The harder she tried the further she pushed Paige who felt far away at this point. On another planet.

“Sorry,” Paige says. It’s all she can say. She doesn’t care to explain and she can’t be better. It’s against her nature she’s found.

“It’s okay, I know you’re tired,” Grace excuses, always forgiving her far too easily. “Well, my dad wanted to go to a nice restaurant tomorrow. Around eight? They’re really excited, y’know. My mom loves seeing us together-”

The words blur into the background as Paige eats standing up, back facing her girlfriend. Her eyes are stuck on her phone, trying to choose the right words. Each of them seem corny, too needy. If there only was a way to reach out without seeming so desperate. Paige couldn’t think of a single one - the only thing she knew for certain was she had to send that text. She wanted to swim in Lana, to be consumed and to consume her the same. To cross that threshold. It had become impossible to resist the temptation.

“Paige? Are you even listening?”

Paige darkens her screen, flipping the phone away.

“Yeah, sure,” she glances over her shoulder. The disappointed expression she sees breaks her heart. Paige hated being the cause of that.

As Grace jumps off the seat, Paige nods the girl over. Obedient as always she makes her way around the island even with a pout on her lips. The blonde pulls her in, lifting her onto the marble counter.

“Paige, I need to go shower,” the girl whines but melts into her anyway the moment Paige kisses her long neck. Her hands run along the girl’s soft thighs, squeezing them. It had been well over a month since Paige had touched Grace this way, immediately making her putty in her hands. Paige knew it was overdue, that only this would get the sad look off the girl’s face.

“Paige,” Grace giggles, scratching along Paige’s back. There are no goosebumps, no jolt in her stomach. 

The blonde pulls back, kissing her girlfriend before lifting her back down.

“Go shower,” she smiles, smacking the girl’s butt as she hops away suddenly joyed.

“You should come with me,” Grace teases, giggling her way into the bathroom. But Paige is already far away with the device on her hands staring into the bright glare of the screen. 

What did u put in that drink? My head kills

She presses send, still tasting Lana in her mouth. The house quiets again, the weight rolling off Paige’s shoulders.

-

There’s an ache in Lana’s feet and a blister blooming at her heel from the new boots she bought, causing her to hiss as she rubs the pain away. She leans her back against the couch that was already here when she moved in, stretching her legs along the beige carpet. With her brown eyes glued to the TV the glare washes out her pale skin as night falls outside the dirty windows. She curls her knees to her chest, resting the bowl of cereal between them where bruises are beginning to form blue and purple.

“Okay,” Lexi pants, brushing through her blonde hair urgently. “I’m off.” 

She’s dressed uncharacteristically in all black, pulling on stiletto boots. Off to see some French man with more money than either of them could imagine. They both know what she’s off to do. No reason to mention it.

Lana lifts her eyes from the tv, eyeing her best friend.

“You’re trying to be classy now?” She asks. The words come out clumsy. 

Lana hated it, the way she could live in this country all her life and yet never reach the subtle intricacies of the English language. No matter how hard she tries, she never comes off quite right. She was never funny the way she intended, and somehow always rude. She wasn’t a cold person. There was warmth in her and humor beyond sarcasm. It was English - the language just didn’t quite fit in her mouth.

“Oui,” Lexi grins, eyes dragging to the TV blasting in the background as she smooths over the black dress. “What on earth are you watching?”

“I put it on for you,” Lana mumbles, mouth full of cereal. She swallows it, pointing her spoon to the screen not caring about the milk dripping all over the floor. “Isn’t this what lesbians watch?”

“Haha, how funny,” Lexi groans, strutting over and kissing the top of Lana’s head. A loud roar bursts from the TV.

“Stay safe,” Lana tells her friend strutting towards the door, eyes locked elsewhere.

“I wi- Lana!” Lexi whines, looking over her shoulder. “Is that my cereal again?!”

Lana shrugs, waving her off. “You can make that French man buy you more.”

“I told you not to eat it.”

Lana rolls her eyes, finishing her last bite defiantly. “I will get you more next week.”

“Next week?” Lexi hits the back of Lana’s head, something her mother used to do. She jumps with the sting.

“Tomorrow,” Lana groans, rubbing over her head.

Lexi’s about to argue, knowing her friend far too well. But time ticks away.

“I need to go,” Lexi huffs, fixing her hair one more time, eyes glancing towards the game. “Isn’t that your blondie? Paige?”

The camera closes in on Paige Bueckers at the free-throw line, letting the ball spin between her hands before she takes her first shot.

“Aren’t you late?” Lana reminds her, watching as she scrambles. “You look hot, go make some money.”

“Okay, love you!” Lexi waves, rushing out the door. Lana never said it back. In her family they never said words so meaningful so casually. It wasn’t a greeting, it was a declaration. She did love Lexi, there was no need for her to remind the girl at every moment.

“And Paige Bueckers with 32 now leading the Wings to another playoff victory. It’s looking up for the young player in her first WNBA playoffs.”

Lana watches, eyes dragging to the jersey number five. She didn’t understand much about the sport, and didn’t need to. Paige Bueckers was good. Really good. She could hear from the endless praise coming from the mouths of commentators, the way the crowd reacted to her. Suddenly the blonde seemed a million times more powerful.

Lana opens the text from Paige left unanswered. She didn’t mean for her number to be used in such a casual way. It was just in case the blonde needed her. Replying could be dangerous. It might cross some sort of imaginary line between Lana remaining a mere concept to her turning into a real character in Paige’s story.

Nothing unusual. Americans are all bad drinkers.

She sends it anyway, putting the phone down beside the bowl with only a spoonful of milk left. Maybe it’ll be a good thing. Maybe they both need a friend right now.

Oh u think u can drink more than me?

The notification lights up her screen soon after, causing Lana’s mouth to spread into a subtle smile as she’s already typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

Please. I’m Ukrainian. American drinks are mostly juice anyway.

-

The tall room stirs in an organised manner like a banquet hall might, the orderly chaos of waiters and customers performing their nightly routines. Cutlery and glassware play melodies, real crystal of the wine glasses harmonising with the sounds of the room. The polite discussions, the pleasant jazz, loud laughter from table number four where birthday celebrations continue according to the flaming candles being blown out by an older gentleman. His wife dotes and fusses, insisting on cutting him a piece of his vanilla bean cake. The pair move with a harmony only decades of marriage and life together can create. Still, the man leans over towards the stunning young waitress, letting his eye linger on her backside when she walks by.

Paige cuts into her steak, eyeing the couple. It was a restaurant she only went to any time Grace’s parents came to town, her dad obsessed with the lobster. If it had been up to her she’d be having some barbeque, ribs and coleslaw, preferably at home in her pajamas. Alone. It seemed she never got to be alone anymore. Even in her own house that she paid for.

“So I told the guy he needs to place an offer tomorrow or the place will be gone.”

Mr. Miller loved talking work. He came from a long line of real-estate agents, focusing on the more luxurious side of things - no studios or anything south of Dallas. Only the finest for his clients. That’s how Paige had met Grace, looking for a new home with the help of Mr. Miller and his intern daughter, trying to follow in his footsteps. Mr. Miller essentially sold Paige her first house and in return she ended up making love to his daughter before the papers were even signed. It’s funny, Paige doesn’t even know when they ended up becoming more. In the rookie year chaos Grace sort of slipped in, suddenly calling Paige her partner and living in that very house she sold.

Paige laughs along with the table, Grace’s hand on her knee holding on like she might slip from her grasp. The blonde’s not sure what the joke was, her mind somewhere else. Her eyes are locked on the expensive red velvet the chairs are lined with, transforming in her mind into the heavy curtains from her dream some nights ago. It was just a faint memory now, the images becoming hazy. But the velvet she remembers, the way it lined every wall and door like a labyrinth. 

Nostrils flaring, Paige’s phone lights up on her lap. Tilting the phone slightly, her eyes drop to the screen.

When are you playing your next game?

She bites on her lower lip to stop the smile from forming as she already types back.

Tomorrow. You gonna watch?

No. Just need to know when to avoid my TV.

A quiet chuckle spills from Paige’s lips. Before she can reply, a picture pops up. Lana flipping off a pair of boots on the ground, long nails decorated with rhinestones. It must be taken in her apartment, other shoes piled next to them. Paige zooms in on the background for any hints or clues. She needed to know more - to know everything.

These shoes are making my feet bleed

U got new nails

Another picture, now of Lana’s small hand to show off the brand new acrylics, grabbing a bottle of water. Paige sits up straighter, trying to push the images certainly not appropriate for right now out of her head.

I like them

You haven’t come to see me

There’s a chill that runs from her spine causing goosebumps to rise at her arms against the linen of her shirt. 

U miss me?

“Well the marble you have is great quality, right Paige?”

Paige’s eyes shoot up from her lap to the expectant faces surrounding her, confusion all over her expression. There’s a moment, a beat too long until Grace chuckles and wraps an arm around Paige’s wrist. 

“It’s so nice,” Grace smiles, answering for her girlfriend.

Paige drops the phone screen down onto her lap, feeling it buzz against her thigh. She can already feel Grace tensing up, squeezing her tighter than necessary. The phone buzzes again, the sweet girl beside her glaring at it.

“Sorry, talkin’ bout some deal with Nike,” Paige apologises, turning her phone on do not disturb - but not before she sees the text back.

I miss your money.

-

The burning in Lana’s back informs her of the countless preying pairs of eyes digging into her skin. She didn’t have to do much, the slight lean against the empty table and the vape between her lips enough to draw the attention of men everywhere. Lana’s dark eyes are on the stage though, watching Lexi crawling half naked over the platform, cash flying at her like snowflakes that drift with a peaceful grace.

Lana digs out her phone, wiping her burning nose. She doesn’t hesitate when the texts open. The coke always made her a little too courageous. 

When are you coming to see me?

“How much?” A guy barely in his twenties judging by the startled look on his face asks, tapping Lana on the shoulder.

“Ugh. No,” Lana shoos him off, not caring about hurt feelings or pleading eyes, her gaze locked on the lit up screen. He might as well be air. She watches the three dots appear in the bubble, heel tapping against the wood impatiently.

If u miss me u could just call me

Lana’s tongue flicks over her glossed lips. Texting was fine, Lana had decided so. But calling felt a million times more intimate. Like letting a stranger know where you held your spare key. Besides, it’s not like Lana missed her - or anyone for that matter. She wasn’t a misser. People come and go, that’s life. But she preferred Paige’s company over these men tonight, and most nights. 

Before Lana gets the chance to reply, another message pops up.

Or u miss what I did to that pussy?

The girl giggles, partly covering her mouth. Here is world famous Paige Bueckers sending her dirty texts. Just the thought made Lana’s stomach flip, reminded of last time. In all honesty Lana never really enjoyed sex. It had become so transactional even in her own life she couldn’t separate between the performance or the act itself. The show of it all is what she lives for, to be on display like that for the sake of someone else’s pleasure. With Paige it had been strange though, different. Sex with her seemed like something else.

If you keep talking like this I’m gonna have to charge 5 bucks a text

“Lana,” The bald-headed man calls from beside the stage, whistling her over like some tamed animal looking to obey its owner. In a way Johnny did own her, he would tell who Lana would entertain, whose bed she would keep warm. In return Johnny kept her safe, he fed her and kept her well. In some way they loved each other, or more so the exchange between the two - the one that kept money in his pocket and coke in Lana’s drawer.

“What now,” Lana rolls her eyes. At least Johnny never scolded her attitude. He knew it’s what drew the men in. With dragging steps the girl walks over, the scent of cologne nauseating her.

“Why did you turn that boy down?” Johnny hisses, nodding towards the scrawny boy sipping a margarita. “His dad-”

“I don’t do father and son. It’s creepy,” Lana interrupts the man, sipping on a vodka soda.

“Lana, baby, listen.” Johnny holds the girl still, trying to meet her restless gaze, which seems unable to focus on a single thing for more than a few fleeting seconds. “I owe his dad a big favour. No weird shit. Just him.”

Lana senses the desperation in Johnny’s voice and the way his fingers dig into her bare arms. Her brown eyes flick towards the boy, awkward and avoiding everyone’s gaze. A sense of pity washes over, only for a moment.

“I’ll eat him alive,” Lana groans. “Get Dolly.”

“Dolly’s home with her boyfriend,” Johnny complains, digging through his pockets for cash. He slides it into the band of Lana’s panties, lingering with his touch at her hip. 

“Right,” Lana rolls her eyes. It never made sense to her - trying to maintain a relationship in their line of work. There was no world in which it worked, not even childhood fairytales. The cash tickles against her back as she looks over again. “He’s over 21?”

“Yes, but Ion think there’s much uh, experience,” Johnny mumbles, the pair watching the guy pulling at his pants to hide his arousal over Lexi on stage.

“Jesus, the things I do for you,” Lana puffs her vape one more time before handing it to Johnny. “You owe me.”

-

The floral tones of Grace’s perfume intrude into Paige’s nostrils as the girl leans into her neck, sprawled over her lap. The movie playing on the TV is just a lull in the background, the real cause for Paige’s rapid heartbeat right on her phone. Her heart beats so loud she fears Grace might be able to feel it, her head pressed against her chest. 

“Can you play with my hair?” Grace asks in a whiny tone Paige hated - a tone that told her how much the girl really needed her. Paige wasn’t in a place for that sort of pressure in her life, she didn’t want to be needed. Not by her at least.

“I already did,” she murmurs, the words slurring off as she anxiously keeps opening the text left on read. It had been an hour and 12 minutes since Lana read it, yet there was no answer. Paige’s leg bounces up and down, the restlessness beginning to take over again.

“More,” the girl whines straight into her ear. Paige feels sick, her head elsewhere.

“Not now,” Paige huffs, sitting up so Grace is forced off her.

She looks up confused, pausing the movie.

“You don’t like it?”

Paige could see that look she knew so well, the one threatening a long, late night talk about feelings. She was so sick of talking about her feelings all the time, or listening to Grace’s. Didn’t they have anything else to talk about?

“S’ not that. I’m just thinkin’ bout the playoffs,” Paige lies, rubbing her tired face. Now that there was some space between them Paige could feel herself able to breathe better. The tightness in her chest remains, the rope tying around her heart.

Just as Grace is about to lean in, Paige stands up, sweats hanging low on her waist.

“I’ma go for a run,” is all the blonde says before slipping away from Grace. An hour and 13 minutes.

The nausea chokes down her neck, a sharp knot at the edge of her bobbing throat. A cool wind doesn’t bring the relief Paige hoped for, the humidity still weighs down on her like a heavy curtain. It doesn’t take long for her back to drip with sweat as she pulls her hood up, staring at the steady rhythm of her steps against the pavement. Every minute that passes without a vibration against her thigh is worse than the next. Her stomach drops with every breath.

Paige runs faster as her thoughts accelerate from fears to vivid images flashing through her head - Lana tangled with a man, naked and vulnerable like she was with Paige. Giving far too much to the men who only care about getting themselves off. Just using her as if she’s not even a person, like she’s just a concept, a pet, an object. The thought made Paige sick to her stomach. It wasn’t that she needed Lana to be hers. She was only worried that something would happen to the girl. That the men wouldn’t treat her with the respect Paige did, handling her like the fragile swan she was.

How many sex workers ended up hurt in their jobs? Or worse? Maybe there was safety in the club but up there in the motel room Lana was all alone. And what about when she got home? Paige was certain some of these guys were crazy, the types to follow a girl home. Lana was the exact type to attract men like that. So how could they be stopped? Who kept Lana safe?

Somehow she ends up back at her car, speeding along with a simple destination and adrenaline in her veins. Paige could see it vividly in her head, the blood on the white sheets, the fear in Lana’s eyes. She presses down on the gas, her chest aching with anxiety.

The usual half an hour in traffic is cut in half by Paige’s reckless driving. Her knuckles turn white against the steering wheel as she approaches the building she had come well acquainted with surprisingly fast. The Lonestar waits for Paige in the horizon under the dark sky sparkling with stars.

The sound of Paige’s laboured breaths fill the car as the engine stops, nostrils flaring with each exhale. She had no plan, no idea how she’d find Lana - only a determination that caused everything else to become a blur in a matter of seconds. Paige unbuckles her seatbelt, hand already on the handle when there’s a buzz. That expectant vibration against her leg. She stops, digging through her pockets for the device. Her dry eyes burn as they land on the screen, lighting up with a notification.

What I don’t miss is that ugly hat. The rest of you can come.

Relief washes over Paige, bright and ecstatic like a childhood Christmas. It hits her all at once, the aches of her chest washing away with the wave. She drops the phone onto her lap, smiling like an idiot. Like she wasn’t just sick to her stomach speeding through red lights. No blood drawn, no feathers ruffled. Lana safe and sound, surrounded by all these men and still texting her. Paige starts the car, driving off with the windows open, letting the air blow her blonde hair all over. As long as Lana was safe, Paige would be okay. As long as she kept texting.

-

“There’s chicken in the freezer, and I made burritos too, but you need to warm them up on your own okay? There’s some salad too and if you run out of food you can call my mom and go over there to eat.”

Grace has been fussing for what feels like hours, going through every nook of the house with Paige. She felt like a teenager being left alone for the first time. Grace’s warmth and maternal instincts had grown into full mom-mode in only a matter of the seven long months they had been dating. Paige stares at the wall, Grace’s words turning into incoherent mush. She might have felt offended if she didn’t feel so invisible. She wasn’t some incapable child. Paige had taken care of herself since before she should have - and taken care of others too. It’s what she prided herself on. Grace got her so wrong.

“I did your laundry but remember to take it out of the dryer,” Grace says, closing the fridge. The cold air flutters against Paige’s freckled face as she nods. Paige never felt so humiliated, so out of control. This was her apartment, her food in the fridge, all hers. But Grace somehow seemed to be everywhere.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” Paige huffs, trying to hide her annoyance. She throws herself on the couch, pulling out her phone to cancel out the noise of the girl pesting her. Grace follows, pulling the device from the blonde’s hands.

“I’ll miss you baby,” she says, straddling Paige suddenly. The only thing Paige feels is the restless need to reach for her phone again.

“Yeah, miss you too,” Paige mumbles, ignoring the way Grace’s lips land on her pulsepoint, lingering there. Thankfully Paige didn’t bruise easy. “But it’s only a few days.”

“Already miss you,” Grace breathes into her ear, grinding her hips down. Paige knows exactly the meaning, practically feeling the girl purring and getting wet on her lap. God, it used to drive Paige crazy. Now she barely felt a tingle.

“What will you do without me?” The girl hums, pulling Paige’s idle hands to her hips. Paige’s tongue feels frozen, unable to utter a word - so she pulls on Grace’s dark locks and brings her mouth to hers. For a moment Paige thinks she can do this, her fingers already unbuttoning the girl’s jeans. With her eyes closed and the heavy breathing between the two Grace might as well be Lana, and these might be the very lips Paige has fantasised about ever since she met her.

“God, I need you,” Grace whines, her touch grazing over Paige’s shoulders.

“Been too long,” Paige huffs, seeing glitter and red velvet and smelling the smoke the moment she shuts her eyes.

“Need you to touch me baby,” Grace pleads, scared the fleeting moment might pass far too soon like it seemed to with Paige. Just as Paige’s big hand on Grace’s hip dips into the band of her jeans, the floral tones of Grace’s scent take over, bringing Paige back to her living room and the couch she never got to pick out herself. The moment she hesitates there’s a sudden ring of Grace’s phone and it’s over. Saved by the bell.

“Fuck,” Grace pants. “My Uber is here.”

“Shame,” Paige mutters, wiping her lips dry of the girl. Suddenly sober, the relief she feels when the weight of the girl is gone from her lap overwhelms her senses. Paige is already reaching for her phone, not bothering to walk Grace to the door.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few days. I love you,” Grace murmurs, walking over and kissing Paige’s forehead. 

“I love you too,” Paige says the words without feeling their weight. “Safe flight, ok?”

And then she’s gone with a slam of the door. The silence of Paige’s apartment rings like a symphony in her ears. Her fingers are already sliding over the letters on her screen, leaning into the cushions of the couch. She exhales. Finally.

What u doing thursday?

-

By Thursday evening Paige had already imagined the night a dozen different ways since Monday. In her mind it was hard to visualise the ethereal details of Lana’s face, turning her into a blurry outline of a human being. The details were elsewhere, in her scent, the way her skin felt, how electric Lana made the air around her. In Paige’s imagination she had become a feeling, an allegory, a mirage of Paige’s darkest fantasies. This made the missing part so much worse. Paige missed her terribly when she wasn’t in her line of view. It made everything insecure and uncertain, like she was just a creation of a tale, a made-up character. When Lana was gone, Paige feared she was never real. That she’d never lay her blue eyes on that porcelain skin, or imprint the details of her expressions into her brain.

These thoughts churned through Paige all day, the uncertainty of Lana even showing up. It was risky, the nice hotel filled with prestigious guests for the launch party of Paige’s new shoe with Nike. Suits and ties, champagne, shaking hands with strangers had become a new normal for her. All the business talk went straight over her head even worse than usual tonight. Thankfully no one seemed to notice when she retreated upstairs into the suite far too big for her considering she could just drive home anyway. She considered it, inviting Lana into her home. But the idea of the floral scent seeping into her skin was nauseating enough. She had to be kept pure.

A knock on the door has Paige scrambling to her feet, the buttoned shirt half undone to her abdomen as she pulls on the handle. It’s a relief like no other, the proof that Lana is still real and not a figment of her imagination.

The girl leans against the doorframe, pulling expensive sunglasses to her forehead with a sigh. Without a word of greeting, she walks past Paige pushing the cropped fur jacket off her shoulders onto the hardwood floors. It’s funny, she almost looks like she belongs there in the midst of the expensive fabrics and rich warmth of the fancy room if it wasn’t for the platform heels decorating her small feet. 

It was odd to see her like this, there was no glitter on her black dress, no boots running all the way up to her thighs. Just plain, tight clothing to show her figure and freshly washed hair left unstyled, subtle makeup on her face with lips painted a vibrant red. Paige had never seen a sight so beautiful, nearly stumbling as she picks up Lana’s jacket and hangs it neatly on a hanger.

“Isn’t this nice,” Lana hums with her back to Paige, running the very same nails Paige had already seen in pictures along the soft curtains. “I didn’t know there were places like this in Dallas.”

Paige’s chest aches, it breaks her heart how much Lana must not know or get to see. She would give it all to her, if Lana only allowed it. 

“You’d be surprised,” Paige answers, carefully closing in on the girl. She follows Lana to the window, allowing just a few inches of space between her front to Lana’s back. Close enough to feel the heat of a Dallas fall to radiate off her. Close enough for vanilla and cherries. It was hard to comprehend this was the same girl she had been texting this past week constantly.

Lana cranes her neck, looking over her bare shoulder at the taller woman.

“Why do you look so nice?” She asks. When her doe eyes meet Paige’s she feels herself slipping in deeper, stuttering over words.

“I don’t always look nice?”

Lana doesn’t answer, sliding between Paige and the curtain and throwing herself on the king-sized bed, barely taking up a third of it. As if it’s her hotel room and Paige is the guest. The girl rolls to her back, dress hiking further up her pillowy thighs. It’s impossible not to stare.

“Drink?” Paige asks, suddenly thirsty. She walks to the stacked minibar, grabbing a bottle after another.

“That’s bad vodka,” Lana says, leaning against her elbows. “Is there gin?”

Nodding, she grabs the bottle and a pair of glasses off the tray on top. “Gin and tonic?”

“Mhm,” Lana hums. No please. No politeness. Just Paige serving her happily in this humongous suite.

The girl scoots herself up the white sheets, yanking the snug dress back down and eyes locked on the blonde, handing over the fizzing drink. She leans against the mahogany headboard, taking a sip. 

“We could’ve met at the motel,” Lana says, a little amused, shifting as Paige’s weight tips the mattress. The blonde gulps half her drink at once.

“I had an event for this thing I’m doin’,” Paige explains, wiping the condensation onto her black pants.

“What thing?” Lana asks, putting the glass down on the bedside table. Her lipstick is staining the rim.

“I’m getting a new shoe,” Paige shrugs, doing the same with her empty cup.

“With who?” Lana asks, fixing her bracelet absentmindedly.

“Nike.”

Suddenly the girl sits up further, turning her knees in Paige’s direction. 

“Nike?” The wide eyes and her elevated voice make it clear Paige finally caught her attention.

“Yea,” Paige grins, watching Lana’s lips tilt into a wicked smile.

“They’re paying you well?”

“A good amount.”

Lana leans in, her bare ankle grazing Paige’s leg. “Why haven’t you come to the club? I could help you spend some.”

Paige chuckles. “I’ve been busy.”

Lana’s brow lifts, a dramatic gasp leaving her mouth. “With another girl?” It’s just a joke, but there's an outline of guilt that ghosts Paige. Just out of reach. Something she knows she should feel.

“Well you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“So you liked my services last time?” Lana teases, rolling over to her stomach. Paige’s blue eyes linger on the flimsy neckline of the dress, Lana’s breasts threatening to spill out as she leans forward, hair thrown to the side.

“A lot,” Paige breathes, her tongue wetting her lips. “I think you liked mine too.”

Lana rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing to like. You pay me.”

Paige grins. “I remember, trust ma.”

Lana shifts, kicking her heels in the air. For a moment Paige swears she arches her back, pushing up her hips enough to cause electricity to run into Paige’s abdomen.

The girl glares at her. “I’m a great actress,” Lana teases.

“That wasn’t acting,” Paige huffs, still tasting her vividly in her mouth. Paige’s nostrils flare when her eyes travel to the one forbidden place she needed a bite of - Lana’s lips.

“I’m just that good,” Lana grins, dropping her leg to rest it over Paige’s.

“No one’s that good,” Paige murmurs, her voice turning hoarse with need. The heat in her ears seems to crawl downwards her back as her fingers work on another button of her shirt.

For a small moment Lana’s dark eyes glance at Paige’s bare abdomen, the muscles contracting underneath the band of her black sports bra. Licking her lips, Lana climbs up to her knees, flipping her head away with a dramatic sigh. The black fabric shifts with the sudden movement, the red panties peeking out between her legs.

The repeated sigh distracts Paige’s accelerating thoughts. When she looks up, there’s a deep pout on the girl’s face.

“Lana?” Paige asks, sitting further up.

“I said you look nice maybe fifteen times already,” Lana rolls her eyes, dramatically huffing.

“I think that was once,” Paige corrects her, amused. Another huff.

“Wow, I guess you think I’m ugly then,” the girl sighs, biting down on her lower lip to kill the smirk threatening to form at the corner of her mouth. Affection courses through Paige like a wild horse, causing her heart to gallop.

“Lana,” she mutters, voice softening as she reaches for the pale, delicate wrist. She pulls it back, still avoiding eye contact with the blonde.

“C’mere mama,” Paige finally coos, grabbing her face so small in her big hand, Lana defiantly batting her eyes towards her. “You look fine as hell, you know that.”

Lana rolls her eyes, unimpressed by this. It’s all a play, but Paige will gladly take part and act out her role. 

“All those other girls at the club? You smoke em,” Paige praises, low and rumbling. “So fucking stunning.” She runs her free hand down to Lana’s waist, feeling the thin fabric of the dress. “Did all this for me?”

“You wish,” Lana fights feebly, unable to help the slight flush growing on her round cheeks.

Letting go of the sweet face in her hands Paige wets her lips.

“Get up,” Paige orders. “Gimme a spin. Lemme see that body.”

There. Finally Lana’s eyes flash with a win she’s been craving for, climbing clumsily over Paige’s lap onto the floor. Every touch, every accidental graze is like fuel to the fire burning within Paige, anticipation growing each second.

Lana stumbles on the floor in her heels like a baby deer before finding her balance, spinning on the black platforms until her back is turned to Paige, peeking over her shoulder at the girl. The room seems to spin with them, every curve of Lana’s body more tempting than the next. The flimsy fabric of the dress is ruthless, clinging to each and every inch of her body - luckily Lana is perfect. There’s not a single flaw in Paige’s eyes.

“Goddamn,” Paige hums, feeling wetness gather in her boxers at the sight of her. “C’mere.”

Bubbling with giggles, blooming with life, Lana tiptoes further, grabbing hold of the pillar at the foot of the four-poster bed and spinning around it.

“I said come here,” Paige commands, unbuttoning the rest of her shirt and leaving it wide open. 

Laughter like windchimes plays melodies in the air as the girl tiptoes to the further post, pressing her soft cheek against it.

“Come get me.”

Paige rushes up, white shirt blowing around as she runs after the laughing Lana. Just as her hands try to reach, Lana jumps to the bed, crawling over it like a leopard. Breathless, Paige grabs Lana’s cold ankle the moment she’s getting off, dragging her forcibly against the soft linen the dress gathering up past her thighs to her hips with the sudden movement. She pins Lana between herself and the mattress, gripping her waist tight.

“You freak, help!” Lana laughs, attempts of pushing the stronger girl off her feeble. She’s completely helpless like this, chest heaving with adrenaline.

“Ain’t no one coming to help you,” Paige grunts, the arousal growing with Lana’s resistance. She hooks her thumbs around the dainty fabric of the hem of the dress, pushing it all the way up to her stomach. 

“Stop,” Lana giggles, buzzing with the same sudden need. There was no denying that Paige overpowering her so easily had Lana’s core throbbing. It had been a while since she had someone like this, who loved the play as much as she did.

“Thought you want me to take what I want,” Paige reminds her, the words still ringing in her ears from last time. Lana squirms, kicking her legs. Shifting her weight, Paige presses her stronger thighs on top of them to keep them in place.

“Never said that,” the girl underneath pouts, a slight whine to her voice enough to drive Paige insane.

“You didn’t?” Paige’s hands caress her inner thighs, moving upwards against her milky skin to her lower stomach, fingertips teasing by the band of the red thong.

“No,” she hums but bucks her hips closer anyway. A loud gulp makes her throat bob, nipples hardening against the black dress.

“You want me to stop?”

Lana’s face shifts, eyes flicking between Paige’s face and her hand so close to where she needed it. Her mind is a battlefield between her pride and submitting to get what she wants - no, needs. Both options seem horrific.

“No,” Lana whispers, eyes widening with her softening tone.

A winner's smirk appears on Paige’s face. It looks natural on her.

“That’s what I thought,” Paige hums, brushing a finger lightly over the fabric of her panties. The girl shutters.

“You gonna beg?” The blonde asks, sitting up on her knees that push the girl’s legs further apart. Her eyes draw to her center and the wetness seeping through her underwear.

“No,” Lana huffs, bucking her hips again.

“Stop. Beg.”

“No.”

Fuck Paige loved this.

“Beg or I’m not gon’ touch you,” Paige hisses, though the idea breaks her heart. “And I can see you wanna be touched real bad.”

Lana huffs and whines, eyes burning as she tries to helplessly squirm. Anything to regain her pride. Anything so she doesn’t have to say that single word.

“Paige,” she whimpers, remembering the effect of it last time. It’s enough, she’s won this battle, Paige’s eyes turning dark.

“Shit,” she hums, pushing the panties to the side. Her breath stutters at the smooth, glistening skin of her cunt underneath. She’s even wetter than last time. Paige would remember, she’s been replaying it in her head like a prayer, like a spell.

“You’re so wet,” Paige groans, slapping her fingers against Lana’s pussy soft at first. When there’s no refusal, or safeword, she does it a little harder, feeling the girl jump underneath her.

“Fuck you,” Lana hisses, her words at war with her body. 

“You wanna cum?” Paige asks, her brows rising, pressing the girl deeper into the soft sheets.

Lana exhales heavy, plump lips parted as she nods.

“Then be good and I might let you,” Paige murmurs, eyes locking on Lana’s face as if to memorise her. Every breath and blink, the exact diameter of her blown out pupils.

Her brown eyes soften the moment Paige’s fingers make contact with the small peak at her center. Blood rushes straight to it, making Lana lightheaded and dumb just for a moment, body giving up control far too easy. With her legs forced open, she’s unable to do anything but lie there and feel it all, the way Paige’s skilled fingers rub from side to side in her folds, the wet sounds filling the room quickly. Lana bites down on her lip, doing everything to keep her face from contorting with pleasure, to keep in the moans.

“Stop that,” Paige’s free hand grabs her cheeks again, pushing them together. Lana’s eyes are low and heavy, staring up at her as though she’s barely comprehending her words. “Remember last time? Don’t want no acting, ma. Lemme hear you.”

Lana’s face softens, brows lifting and mouth opening wide to let out a soft moan. Paige could cum in her boxers just from those sounds alone, spreading Lana’s wetness all over her folds. Her body seemed to remember so fast, to obey its natural instincts instead of sticking to the well-practiced motions of before. It was better than any praise Paige could hear, to see her vulnerable and naked like this, giving in so fucking easy.

Lana’s trembling hands travel down between her legs, yanking on Paige’s wrist suddenly.

“Hands off,” Paige says sternly. “Use your words.”

Lana’s back arches with frustration, brows furrowed deep onto her face. The discomfort of it was apparent, a surprising contrast to the way she was so open about all things related to sex. “Inside” she hisses, blinking her eyes slowly.

It works like clockwork, the desperation in her voice. Paige’s two fingers drop down to her entrance and without warning slip in. Lana gasps loud, her hands finding Paige’s open linen shirt and tugging on it. Paige doesn’t care about the price tag, or the fear of it getting destroyed by her. She doesn’t care about much right now but pleasing the girl underneath. To conquer her this way.

“Oh shit,” Paige hisses, the tightness against her fingers throbbing around her. With learned confidence she curls them against the spongy tissue, careful at first. 

“Ah,” Lana’s eyes roll back, finally kicking her legs free from Paige’s hold and wrapping them around the blonde’s back, heels clacking together. 

“Use your words,” Paige moans, pulling her fingers back to see them glistening under the warm hue of the expensive lights. She slams them back in, curling again.

“Oh- Paige,” Lana whimpers, letting her pretty eyes fall shut.

“I said use your words,” Paige leans down, kissing the sweet spot behind the girl’s ear now. When she feels her shudder, she knows she’s got her right at her mercy.

“Feels fucking good,” Lana cries out, Paige’s thumb flicking in her folds as her fingertips reach for one spot in particular. She feels it, a softness. Paige presses down on it, the girl’s legs suddenly shaking.

“Right there huh?” Paige asks arrogantly, repeating the movement harder. Again, and again. Lana can’t speak, red lips wide open, her pink tongue peeking out, covered in the spit Paige wanted so desperately to taste. She had never wanted to kiss anyone so bad.

“Huh” Paige repeats, thrusting her fingers in and out of the girl. 

“Right there,” Lana’s voice shakes, uncharacteristically weak as she takes what Paige gives her, eyes shut tight and whiney moans erupting from her throat with each curl of Paige’s fingers. A warm wetness trickles down Paige’s wrist, spilling onto the expensive bed sheets. But Paige’s eyes are locked on Lana’s perfect mouth.

“Want you tasting my spit,” Paige groans, thumb rubbing sloppily against Lana’s clit. Her body reacts, throwing back her head.

“No kissing,” Lana pants even in her state of euphoria.

“Nah, I wanna-” Paige hesitates. “Let me spit in your mouth, ma.”

There’s no hesitation, no need to think it through. Just Lana’s pink tongue coming out of her mouth, taunting the blonde girl fucking her. In a moment of desperation, Paige lets the warm glob gather at her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, it spills from her tongue down onto Lana’s, watching as it lands against her perfect mouth.

“Swallow,” Paige grunts, trying to hide her arousal but the word comes out shaky. Lana’s too far gone, fucked too stupid to notice. Her painted lips shut in a pout, the girl swallowing with a gulp.

“Good girl,” Paige coos, the sight enough to get her core pulsing.

“Don’t stop,” Lana whines, letting go of the linen and reaching up to wrap her arms around Paige’s neck, pulling the girl flush against her. Paige feels dizzy, feeling Lana’s hardened nipples on her skin as her fingers continue working, slipping in and out tirelessly.

“I’ma get you there baby, don’t worry,” Paige moans. Lana shifts underneath, her leg landing between Paige’s thighs with all the squirming. Bucking her hips her soft thigh presses between the blonde’s suit pants, where her wetness pools untouched.

“Oh my God,” Paige whispers, feeling a strange urge to press back. 

“I’m close,” Lana cries out, the stretch of Paige’s fingers growing more intense as she throbs and pulses around her. She’s too gone to consider the mess she’s making, wetness squirting out with each curl of Paige’s long digits against her walls.

“I can feel it,” Paige grunts, fighting herself from locking Lana’s thigh between her legs to grind down on. It’s strange, an urge she hadn’t felt in years. In forever.

“You gon’ cum for me?” Paige asks, pressing herself against Lana’s leg as she fucks her.

“Mhm,” Lana moans, brows lifting as the throbbing grows more and more intense at the verge of her peak. Paige can’t take it, the feel of her pussy on her fingers, the leg squirming and trembling against her core. She feels confused, at the edge of total loss of control.

“No,” Paige’s movements stop, pulling her fingers out as she sits up, sweat trickling down her back.

“W-what?!” Lana’s eyes shoot open, her core visibly pulsing around nothing now.

“I dunno if you deserve to cum,” Paige pants, an excuse to give herself a break before getting too enthusiastic. 

The girl sits up, on the verge of crying or yelling at the blonde with the burning need between her bare thighs. Paige pulls the shirt off her shoulders, watching Lana speechless and trembling and completely fucked out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She asks, genuinely mad. Good. Paige was getting mad too, irrationally so. She almost lost all her control because of the temptress in her bed.

“Take that dress off.”

“No,” Lana argues, licking her lips angrily.

“Guess I’m not helping you then,” Paige spits, climbing off the bed and pulling off her suit pants, grateful that the black fabric of her boxers doesn’t show how she’s dripping into them.

“Then don’t,” Lana hisses, eyes lingering on Paige’s form, the faint lines of muscles built from years of discipline.

“Or you could just take off the dress,” Paige murmurs, walking to the side of the bed and petting Lana’s sweet, flushed face. She kisses her teeth, a small smirk growing on her lips, “Might as well be wearing nothin’, it makes you look like a slut.”

“Yeah?” Lana pulls Paige down on the bed, the wood of the bedframe cool against the heat of her back. “I think you like sluts.”

Paige shakes her head. “Nah, I only like one.”

It seems to be the right answer, for Lana’s hands pull the flimsy dress over her head onto the floor, leaving her only in the red satin of her thong. Paige’s chest heaves, blinking rapidly at the sight to take in every detail. How did she miss it the first time? The songbird tattooed over Lana’s ribs.

“You’re cruel,” Lana says, sitting there nearly naked, watching Paige leaning against the pile of pillows behind her.

“You don’t mean that,” Paige coos softly, eyes staring at the girl’s pink nipples.

“Then help me,” she whines, tilting her head to the side, her hair following with the movement.

“Help yourself,” Paige nods at her own lap. In a matter of seconds Lana is on her, but not the way she intended. Instead of hovering over her thigh, the girl pulls off her panties and sits her wet cunt onto Paige’s abdomen, against the contracting muscles. She’s soaked, causing a mess Paige could never get sick of.

“Shit,” Paige hisses, looking up at Lana rolling her hips against her body, using her to get herself off. A soft moan spills from the girl’s lips, tongue darting out to wet them and messing with the lipstick. She looks completely fucked out, shamelessly chasing her own peak rubbing her pussy against Paige’s abs. 

“Just like that,” Paige praises, gripping the girl’s ass hard enough to bruise. She gasps, reaching behind her back and grabbing Paige’s muscular thigh igniting that fire from before. Suddenly it hits her, how out of control she is - underneath Lana with a burning in her core, being used as a means to get off. She could feel it all slipping away from her. She needed to do something.

Reaching upwards, Paige’s hand wraps around Lana’s neck - not hard, but just a reminder of the one really in charge. The girl doesn’t seem to mind, grinding herself down faster with her free hand gripping Paige’s wrist. Her brown eyes open, full of lust and need as she moans, chasing eye contact.

“Don’t fucking stop,” Paige huffs, regaining her control. Lana nods, words coming broken between whimpers.

“You think I’m a slut?”

Paige bats her eyes, a knot tightening inside her. “Look at you, ‘course you are.”

Something in the girl seems to shift in response to the humiliation, movements turning sloppier, moans becoming more guttural. Her head lulls forward, small hand digging into the one around her throat and prying the thumb from her skin, dragging it to her lips. For a second Paige thinks it’s only a dream when Lana latches on, sucking enough for her cheeks to hollow. She never considered this an option, the second best thing to the one thing she needed.

Her mouth is wet, warm and lovely, the sensation of her tongue circling the finger going straight to her core. Suddenly Paige feels a jolt, edging her climax with just the mere feeling of Lana’s mouth. Her lipstick is everywhere now, making a mess all over Paige’s fingers and her pale skin.

“Fuck ma, I need you to cum.”

“Mhm?” Lana whines, letting Paige feel out every inch of her mouth as she grinds her hips sloppy and fast, the muscles in her abdomen tightening with each roll, perky breasts following the movement.

“I’ma need you to,” Paige groans, fighting every urge to let the ecstasy wash over her.

With a muffled moan, Lana’s movements become erratic giving Paige the permission to follow right after, both of their whimpers and grunts filling the room. Paige feels out Lana’s perfect tongue, running her thumb against it as saliva pools between the girl’s teeth, imagining how it must feel, how that perfect mouth must taste.

As the girl’s movements come to a halt, in that post-climax haze she crashes down into Paige, her face buried in the empty space between Paige’s neck and shoulder. Paige must be on the verge of insanity when she wraps an arm around Lana, petting up and down her spine, fingers studying each vertebra. Only then does she come to a realisation about their situation - there was no shower beforehand, no cash upfront, no laying out the rules or following after the rigid steps of their last time together. They had unraveled completely on their own.

Lana’s ribs flare against the blonde beneath her with each laboured breath, hot exhales tickling Paige’s neck. Paige doesn’t dare move or make a sound, imprinting the way Lana’s weight presses into her. It doesn’t last for long, Lana rolling over and wordlessly walking to the shower.

-

Prepared to see her gone, Paige is surprised to find Lana wrapped in a white robe at the center of the bed as if she might as well own it. The silence twists in her gut as she dries the ends of her blonde hair dripping down her back. There hadn’t been a single word since. It’s just how Lana operated. She doesn’t bother lifting her gaze, eyes glued to the device in her hands. Even with the blank expression she took Paige’s breath away, stripped down and bare like this.

What seems to get her attention is Paige digging her wallet for a stack of cash and leaving it on the neatly organised vanity. Lana cranes her neck, batting her eyes approvingly. It’s all Paige gets.

“What time is it?” Lana asks, stretching her arms above her head.

“Late,” Paige murmurs, watching the girl’s every breath thinking of any excuse to make the moment stretch out. The minute Lana would be out of sight the visions will come back, the dreams of blood and snow and awful men doing awful things to her. She sits down on the left side of the bed, Lana refusing to scooch from her rightful spot in the middle, bare thighs pressing together.

“You hungry?” Paige suddenly asks. She doesn’t dare watch Lana’s face, preparing herself for the stern no hanging on the girl’s lips.

“Sure,” Lana hums, reaching over Paige to leave her phone on the table and grabbing the folded menu beside it. Heart stammering, Paige feels the pressure of Lana’s shoulder snug against her side, holding the pamphlet so they both can see. 

“Wow, lobster,” Lana points at the price. “Look at that.”

Paige’s neck bobs, eyes locked on the curve of the girl’s button nose. “You can get it if you want. Can get anything.”

“Maybe I want steak,” Lana blurts out, grabbing Paige’s arm and wrapping it around her waist so casually it startles the blonde. She doesn’t seem to recognise the effect she has on Paige, the way Paige’s chest tightens as she curls up against her.

“Why are you so quiet?” Lana asks, a slight smirk on her face. “You don’t eat meat?”

Paige huffs, furrowing her brows. “I look like I don’t eat meat?”

Lana shrugs. “I thought lesbians don’t eat meat.”

“I eat meat,” Paige argues, fingers pressing into the girl’s side. She doesn’t seem to mind. She watches Paige make the call, staring blankly with her pretty brown eyes as the blonde orders, too nervous to meet her gaze. When she’s done, Lana shifts, lying sideways on the bed with her bare legs on Paige’s lap. Her weight still burns on Paige's side, the wonderful dream of her curled up there far too short.

“What do you get out of it?” Lana asks suddenly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Out of what?” Paige asks, studying the soft pale skin of her calves.

“Sex.” The bluntness of the words is startling.

“Oh,” Paige chuckles, heat rising up her neck. “I get stuff.”

Lana leans against her elbows, kicking her manicured toes back and forth. “But why don’t you want me to touch you?”

Paige’s brows furrow, looking at the confused face of the soft-cheeked girl. “It’s not just you. Ion want anyone touching me.”

“Then what’s the point of sex?” Lana asks, tilting her head. The robe is loosening, revealing a bare shoulder.

Paige blinks at the girl, a little amused. “Y’know I came right?”

“Pfft, that’s not possible,” Lana leans back, pressing herself into the sheets. 

“You don’t believe me?” Paige asks, big hand wrapping around Lana’s boney ankles.

“No.”

“I did cum,” Paige argues. “Ion need to be touched to cum.”

“That’s impossible. Maybe you just think you’re cumming.”

“I know when I’m cumming,” the blonde fights, watching Lana close.

“That is so strange,” Lana puffs, shutting her eyes. Carefully, Paige drags her fingers to the girl’s small feet and presses into the bones and muscles. She follows the way Lana’s face softens, a content sigh leaving her parted lips.

“Is this extra?” Paige teases.

“It should be,” Lana murmurs, but her tone is answer enough. There’s a silence more comfortable than before, Paige massaging her lovely feet, carefully avoiding the blister. At least that part of the texts was true.

“Where are you from Paige Bueckers?”

The question shakes the blonde. It seemed so personal, so out of Lana’s realm of care. 

“Minnesota,” Paige hums, feeling the soft arch of her foot.

“Are your parents religious too? They raised you to be like that?” It almost comes off as an insult.

“They are. But I think their relationship to faith is different. I found a lot of it on my own when I got hurt.”

“What do you mean?” Lana asks blankly, eyes still shut and goosebumps rising on her calves.

Paige shifts, feeling the strange, pulsing pressure in her knee. The constant reminder of what she had been through. 

“I fucked up my knee pretty bad a couple times,” Paige hums, reaching for Lana’s hand and bringing it to the scar on her skin, now faded but still undoubtedly there. The girl feels for it, long acrylics scratching Paige.

“You couldn’t play?” Lana asks, eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah, I got really down,” Paige explains, surprisingly comfortable in Lana’s quiet presence. “God helped me through it.”

Lana blinks her wide eyes, trying to understand. “Don’t you feel like that takes credit from all the work you did to get yourself back from it, though?”

Paige’s hand toys with the silver chain hanging off her neck. “I guess I don’t see it that way. I still worked hard and was resilient, God just blessed me with it.”

The girl stays quiet, watching the profile of the blonde and the way her hair begins to curl as it dries. 

“Stop staring,” Paige murmurs, nostrils flared.

Lana’s lips twist into a smile as her eyes flicker elsewhere.

“You know, if you wore some makeup you could date a man. You’re pretty.”

The words cause such a reaction Paige misses the compliment at the end, brows rising with amusement.

“Sorry?”

Lana shrugs. “You’re too pretty to be a lesbian.”

“What does that have anything to do with me being gay?” Paige laughs it off, completely shocked

“I’m just saying, maybe eventually you meet the right guy.”

“I would rather die,” Paige snorts, startled by how little Lana seemed to understand. “You think I can just choose?”

“Maybe this is unpopular to you Americans but yes, it is a choice,” Lana hums. For a second Paige thinks she’s joking, but the blank expression says otherwise.

“You think I can choose to like a man? Attraction isn’t a choice, Lana.”

“And I think it is,” Lana answers. “I pretend to be attracted to men for a job.”

Paige looks over, aching to diffuse the sudden tension between them. There’s only one way she knows how. With sudden movements she climbs over the girl, pinning her to the mattress and kissing her neck feverishly, at the very spots she learned made Lana give in so easily.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna do the fucking if I gotta date a man?” Paige teases, biting on Lana’s earlobe. The robe seems to fall open, Lana’s naked body pressing against the blonde’s as she giggles, weakly trying to push her off. Just as Paige is slotting her knee between the girl’s thighs, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

Face dripping with frustration, Paige climbs up and lets in the food, unable to miss the server’s widened eyes locked on the girl on the bed, tightening the robe around her. A feeling that Paige hadn’t felt in a long time trickles down her bones, seeping into her bloodstream. It couldn’t be described as anything but possessiveness. When the door shuts with a slam the relief is so great Paige has to take conscious effort to soften her shoulders, a sense of pride filling her watching Lana gleam at the food, already stealing fries off Paige’s plate. It was Paige who made her cum, who rubbed her feet, who fed her and would take care of her - buried deep down was the hope that if she kept this up long enough Lana would realise it’s much better than the life she was living now.

“It’s good?” Paige grins, walking over to the foot of the bed where Lana sits on her knees, reaching over for a bite of the caesar salad Paige ordered as a side for herself.

“I’m eating all of this,” Lana says with her mouth full, not caring much about manners or appearing ladylike. Paige had never been so attracted to anyone. Like a glimpse of the real person under all the layers of performance.

“Eat as much as you want,” Paige sits down, chewing on the perfectly greasy fries. “I’ll order more too if you want.”

“You’re trying to make me fat Paige Bueckers,” Lana jokes, cutting into her perfectly medium rare steak. 

“Tempting,” Paige adds, unable to take her eyes off the girl. “Would look just as sexy.”

The words slip out, revealing a little too much of how deep Lana had dug herself into Paige’s heart in such a short while. But the girl doesn’t react or seem to care, sipping on her ice cold diet coke.

They barely talk, eating their feast in silence. Uneasy with the quiet, Paige turns on the TV for some background noise, letting some reality garbage play. The scene is oddly domestic, a sense of ease between the two of them. Maybe it was the texting, or the way things escalated today, but something had shifted. For Paige at least. This was more than intrigue now. Far more.

“I’m never eating again,” Lana huffs, crawling back towards the headboard and letting the pillows swallow her once the plates are nearly cleaned up by the pair.

Paige laughs, finishing the last of her fries. “I thought you were gonna eat it all, little lady. C’mon.” A third of the steak sits on the porcelain plate, untouched, red juice oozing out of it.

“I lied,” Lana sighs, patting the spot next to her. An invitation, a rare one certainly.

Paige makes her way beside the girl, the show getting increasingly more interesting as she watches. It must be late, 2am at least, and the exhaustion was beginning to wear her down. Lana felt it too, yawning in her robe. It would be any minute now, she would get dressed and with a quiet goodbye, she would be gone again. And Paige would be terrified once more.

“You lie a lot?” Paige asks half-heartedly. The girl beside her shifts, her warm leg rolling over hers and cheek pressing into Paige’s chest. 

“Mm, it’s my job Paige Bueckers,” the girl whispers, the words slurred with exhaustion. With stuttering breaths Paige shifts enough to look down, watching the miracle curled up on her. The long lashes pressing into Lana’s flushed cheeks, mouth parted to make way for her slowing exhales, the freckles on the tip of her nose. This couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe Paige was still in that dream that she had been replaying every time she closed her eyes, trapped for eternity. It would be okay, she thinks. If it was like this she could bear any nightmare or terror her mind conjures. Anything for a little piece of this heaven.

“Don’t lie to me,” Paige hums, voice barely audible in the quiet mumble of the TV. But Lana’s far away, sleeping peacefully. And for the first time in a week Paige sleeps soundly too, knowing that the girl was finally safe, protected from the terrible world outside. Paige was a blessed person. It didn’t matter if Lana didn’t believe. By proxy she would be blessed too. God wouldn’t dare hurt someone Paige cared for so deeply.

In the early morning sun, Paige is startled awake but not by the nightmare this time - instead it’s the sunbeams pouring through the curtains that force the blonde’s eyes open. Still in her robe, her foot reaches for the girl but she’s not there. There’s no weight on the mattress, no soft breathing to listen to. Sitting up, Paige sets the glasses from the bedside table to the bridge of her nose. Lana’s bags are gone, and so is the pile of cash from the vanity, remnants of a white thin line clumsily cleaned off it. She could be anywhere now and Paige would never know. Only a single note left behind.

Thanks for the steak. See you at the club Paige Bueckers. - L

-

-

2026 DALLAS, TX

It still shocked Paige how well she had settled in Dallas, Texas. It would be a lie to say she was overcome with excitement when she found out that it would be her home for the foreseeable future. You see, Dallas is more than cowboys and close-minded conservatives. Paige knew that now. She loved it, being at the cross-roads of southern hospitality and rich culture. It suited her - the way her skin tanned golden and the darkness of her roots blurred out to a light brown under the beaming sun. 

Just as much she loved the women, the warmth that came only with being raised under such weather. She loved the way they giggled in her quiet presence. It didn’t take more than a subtle nod toward their way to get the blush to rise to their cheeks. It didn’t take them being gay either - some would tell sparkly-eyed tales of their devoted boyfriends waiting at home, how they never felt this way toward a woman before. Paige hated admitting the ego boost this gave her, the idea of getting them in her arms easy like child’s play. Paige, it seems, was born to conquer - not just in basketball. 

It seemed however, that someone was trying to conquer her now. An enigma, a cool blur of snow in the scorching Dallas summer. She had never met someone so cold, someone who just looked through her rather than at her. The rush gave Paige a stomach ache, the thought of Lana’s mercurial temper, all the secrets she must hold under the icy front. Paige was so used to the ease she felt with women. Lana was an entirely new thing. A concept more than a person. She can’t have been older than 23, yet she seemed beyond her years. Eternal in a way.

Paige’s phone vibrates against her leg deep in the cotton-lined pocket of her shorts. She still stares somewhere into the distance, beyond the hardwood floor of Arike’s and Lala’s apartment, eyes focused on something no one could see but her.

“Yo, your phone,” JJ shoves Paige’s knee, making her jump. The girl beside her laughs, bringing the beer bottle to her lips. “You good P?”

“Shit, sorry,” Paige murmurs, digging it out, jaw tightening instinctively.

“Is it-”

“- my dad. I’ma just call him tomorrow,” she sighs, throwing the device screen down onto the glass table.

They hear the sound of heels clacking against the pale wood before Lala even turns the corner, emerging from their bedroom shaking her head impatiently.

“How is it that I’m always waiting on her?” She groans about her fiance, crashing onto a chair with a creak of leather. “I’m the one doing a full face.”

“Ay don’t look at me. I’m on schedule,” Paige grins putting her hands up, causing the short-sleeved buttoned shirt to rise up a little, showing her tan lower abdomen. She had spent hours putting her fit together when she heard the plans.

“That’s why you’re my favourite child,” Lala smiles back, causing JJ to clear her throat.

“And you too.”

The phone buzzes again against the glass, the rhythmic vibrations causing the whole table to shake making the sounds much louder. Jaw tightening Paige quickly pushes the device between her thigh and the couch instead, ignoring the looks from her friends.

“So,” Lala starts, swaying her wine glass carefully so as to not spill on her brand new carpet. “Are they gonna think y’all some freaks for going back again?”

Myisha snorts, holding some fruity cocktail in her hands when she returns from the kitchen. “I’m telling you, that one girl gon’ have her day made when she sees me.”

The girls laugh but Paige feels somewhere else, stuck in the empty space between reality and the rushing of her mind. The thought of seeing Lana again made her stomach churn - whether this was good or bad she didn’t know. But she really needed to see her. It had only been days since the lapdance, yet it had brought her more pleasure than any other girls had in years. The mere weight of her on Paige’s lap had been enough.

“Is she forreal?” Lala’s acrylics press on Paige’s arm. When she looks up, she sees the expectant expression on the woman’s face, like she’d been waiting for an answer for a while. 

“Oh, uh,” Paige mutters, raising her brows. “Who knows man.” 

“You alright?” Lala whispers now soft and low. She had a soft spot for the rookie - well she wasn’t a rookie anymore but to Lala she always would be that lost girl in Dallas crashing on their couch because she didn’t want to be alone in a new city.

Paige shakes her off convincingly enough.

“Y’all gotta hype me up. I look sexy, right?” Myisha spins around, Lala hissing when the bright orange liquid threatens to spill over. It was humiliating seeing Myisha so convinced she had any sort of impact on a stripper who saw hundreds of people weekly - even more so when Paige realised these were her exact thoughts when it came to Lana. It was different in her case though. Lana had actually remembered her.

“Sexy,” JJ grins. Paige merely nods, hiding her laughter behind the bottle of beer.

The impatience built up to a halt, making Paige far too antsy to sit still. When fidgeting didn’t help, she couldn't help herself from standing up and pacing around, pretending to take part in the conversation between her friends. Something about old pets or something. At last, Arike appears in the same exact outfit she had been wearing all day.

“Finally,” Myisha groans, downing the syrupy concoction in a single sip.

“Yeah, uh, babe don’t go in the walk-in,” Arike chuckles. “I gotta fold all those clothes.”

“Fine,” Lala rolls her eyes but kisses her fiance either way. It filled Paige with envy, that sort of unconditional love that took work and dedication. She had found out she wasn’t made for that. Maybe someday.

-

While it may not be fashionable to say, Lana loved her job. She had always loved performing, the pressure of feeling every pair of eyes solely on her. Controlling the crowd came easy as breathing to her: When to let them wait and lean in, and the moments it was time to let them have what they wanted. She loved meeting strangers from even stranger places and getting wrapped up in them knowing they would still be strangers tomorrow - and they would be long gone.

To herself she wasn’t icy at all. It’s funny, back home she never quite fit in with her family - her warmth seemed too much in the cold, crooked house. Yet out here, the heat was so scorching she barely let out any warmth at all. The sun just seemed too bright, drowning her in its light. Only in the night she got to play this part.

Lana had grown to love it, the fact that she walked the streets of Dallas swallowed by the crowds. That when the sun would rise she’d be gone, that the performance ended and she could go home and not be Lana anymore. She could call her mom and tell her tales of the “restaurant” she waited tables for, she could count the cash and buy new shoes and eat Lexi’s cereal. The blonde had become her best friend, yet she didn’t even know her real name. None of them did.

Skipping toward her in thigh high boots, Lexi beams with excitement, wrapping her clammy hands around Lana’s arms.

“They’re back,” she grins giddy as ever, swaying her long hair in the air. Lana’s brows furrow as she looks over her shoulder, the jewels on her silver bodysuit digging into her boobs painfully.

“Who?” She asks, bewildered to think of a single client she’d be so excited to see.

Lexi rolls her eyes, squeezing tighter. “The girls. From the Wings?”

Lana leans against the bar behind her, searching the crowd quietly. The thud of her heart seems to match the bass-heavy music as she wraps her lips around a straw.

“Remember, Myisha?”

Lana groans, though her eyes still search. “You need to stop talking about her. I’m thinking you’re a lesbian.”

Lexi laughs, her blue eyes creasing with joy. They had always been like the moon and the sun, really.

“So what if I am,” she jokes, feeling up Lana’s waist. 

“Creep,” Lana teases, pushing her best friend off. As Lexi stumbles back, crashing into some older gentleman, Lana's eyes finally spot something. A certain blonde, almost impossible to find from the crowd with a baseball cap pulled deep into her head. 

“Oh hey ladies,” the man grins, but Lana’s long acrylics are already wrapping onto her friend’s wrist, pulling her. 

“So sorry, so busy,” Lana pouts sarcastically before disappearing into the crowd.

“What the hell?” Lexi giggles, wiping her nose.

“I’m getting you to that lady, lesbian,” Lana groans, elbowing people to her right and left unashamed, ignoring the hungry looks she can feel peeling the outfit off her.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Lexi clasps her hand with Lana’s. “You coming too?”

“Yes, Dolly stole all the good customers,” Lana complains. The journey across the room seems to be endless, but Lana’s brown eyes are determined. It was busier than it had been for months. Which always meant good money. “She’s not stealing them too.”

Paige feels nothing but relief the moment she’s rid of her vibrating phone, leaving it gladly with the bouncer this time. The excitement seems to swallow her the minute she slips through the red curtain into the dreamland. Even the heavy mass of people moving like a current didn’t bother her.

“Oh wow, it is busy,” Lala says over the noise, running her tattooed hand over her braids. 

“Oh man,” Myisha groans, standing on her tiptoes to look over the heads of people. “She’ll never be free in this crowd.”

The same thought rushes through Paige. Yet the mere thought of peeking just a glance is enough to drag her in deeper. The space is humid from the packed people, the air feeling thick as car pollution in Paige’s lungs. 

“Bro, you need to chill,” Arike laughs, pushing Myisha and Paige forward to lead them towards a bar. Lala gasps from somewhere behind when the girl on stage flips upside down on the pole, long legs in the air and back arched.

“That’s hot,” Lala elbows Paige, pointing towards the spotted light. “Right?”

She barely looks, nodding her head agreeably. Having to pretend interest drained her, especially when her mind seemed so occupied, and her stomach flipped every moment she saw a short brunette.

“Well hello there,” A high-pitched voice gleams and suddenly tan hands are being wrapped around Myisha, blonde waves swaying in the air. “You only came to see me now?”

The fact that Lexi seemed to not only remember, but care for Myisha’s presence causes brows to rise all around the tight, abstract circle the group has formed. A tactic to sell her services no doubt, but it comes off so genuine Myisha’s eyes soften at the sight.

“Sorry. Been busy winning some games baby.”

Even the shock of what’s occurring in front of her eyes isn’t enough to bring Paige down from her thoughts, heart racing when she looks around only to see a tray that seems to be floating, balanced on a single slender arm over the heads of people, at risk of spilling drinks any moment. The second the carrier stumbles, Paige reaches over and grabs hold of it.

“All these people are starting to piss me off,” Lana grunts, raising grumpy eyes up at the blonde. They widen with recognition, the annoyance quickly melting off. “But you saved me,” she tips her head. The words are sweet but the tone blunt, unreadable.

Paige stares for a beat too long. It’s as if she hadn’t seen Lana in weeks, like she had been starved. It’s only the second Lana begins to smile she realises she’ll be outed to all her friends as the freak who came here on her own just for a stripper.

As if sensing the panic, Lana licks her lips and just like that her eyes don’t seem quite focused on Paige. Like she couldn’t care less about the tall blonde standing before her. Like she probably doesn’t.

“Hi ladies,” she says, bordering on sweet. “We’ll take care of you tonight, would you like that?”

Paige is too busy trying to stand on her two feet that tremble with the sight of Lana, somehow looking better than she could’ve ever hoped for. She can’t take the fact that it’s not just for her, but for everyone else too.

“Yes please,” Lala smiles, pushing along the speechless Paige still holding the heavy tray as they’re being pulled in further into the depths of The Lonestar. Lexi’s arm is still wrapped around Myisha’s when they finally get seated to a wide table lined with a leather couch and some chairs covered with red velvet.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” Lana grabs the tray at last, avoiding eye contact with Paige. Her fingertips brush against the younger girl, but it doesn’t seem to affect Lana the same. She doesn’t seem affected by much. Not the same way the other Dallas girls did. 

The weight of the trey still strains her biceps as Paige sits down on the velvet, eyes locked on Lana handing everyone their drinks. Lexi and Myisha seem in a world of their own, the blonde already laid out on her lap. The jewels off Lana’s bodysuit jangle and clink with her movements, finally turning to the blonde.

“There you go gorgeous,” she says coy as ever. Paige’s stomach drops, fingers wrapping around the ice cold glass. The drink smooths the dryness in her throat, but it doesn’t bring down the way her cheeks have turned bright red

The room hisses with a smoke machine and the howling of men in the front row leaned over to watch a tall, black haired girl toss herself over the stage. Lana struts over slowly, sitting herself half naked on Paige’s armrest ever so cool and casual. Her bare thigh grazes against her arm, making Paige’s hairs rise and breath to tremble. She tips the drink down her throat, already reaching for a new one, ignoring the heat radiating off Lana’s body.

“So you had fun last time?” Lana asks, low and hoarse, leaning her elbow on Paige’s shoulder as if she’s nothing but furniture. JJ chuckles, eyes flickering between the stage and her friends.

“The best time,” Arike grins. “Especially this one.” She nods towards Myisha, slipping cash into Lexi’s bra. Paige stays quiet, licking over her liquor drenched lips and staring up at the girl sitting as if on a pedestal. 

“Did she behave tho?” Lala lifts a brow, pointing to Arike. Lana’s lips twist into a smile barely visible, a secret for only Paige. She shivers, bothered by how easy it seemed for her to be so affected when Lana didn’t appear bothered by her proximity in the slightest. She needed proof or something. Of what, Paige wasn’t exactly sure. A sign of some sort. A look, a shiver, a real smile - no performance.

“Of course she did,” Lana waves her hand around. “You’re stunning. She better behave always.”

Lala waves the girl off. “Talk about you, lil thing. I walk in some heels but those boots are insane.”

Lana kicks her legs back and forth, the colourful lights making the silver glitter sparkle. Even with the thick platform she was small compared to Paige. She couldn’t believe Lana existed with no one to protect her, fragile almost. The bones of her elbow dig into the muscles of Paige’s shoulders enough to ache as she leans deeper, but Paige doesn’t dare to grimace.

“Oh I’ve worn these for years,” Lana smiles. “It’s the new ones that are hard to walk in. We usually cut the bottoms to give them a little grip,” she flings her legs up to show how worn out they are, nearly knocking Paige’s drink into her lap. Slightly amused, she puts the drink down, forcing her hands into tight fists instead of letting in the urge to touch the pretty bird on her shoulder.

“You would look great in those,” Arike leans into her fiance, kissing her cheek.

“You’re free to borrow them,” Lana jokes, her long hair tickling Paige’s neck. Her nostrils flare, swallowing every syllable that comes out of her mouth thick and accented. God she just hopes the others can’t see how insane she’s going. Unable to help herself, her fingertips graze against Lana’s calf. She doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I have a question,” Lana asks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Who is the weakest link here?” 

Everybody turns to look at Myisha. Lana laughs. A real genuine laugh. God. 

“Okay, take her out of it.”

For a beat they all look at each other before each of them turn to Paige, sitting red-faced and legs spread, leaning her face into her hand.

“Ay yo,” she laughs, covering her mouth. “It be your own family.”

The women all laugh but Lana’s eyes finally drag to the blonde, meeting the blue irises already staring. The floor gives out from underneath her, seeing the dark eyes flicker to her lips for a moment.

“Good to know,” Lana winks. “Let me get another drink for you then.”

Suddenly she’s off, the sting still on Paige’s shoulder aching through her body. With a low whistle Arike laughs and shakes her head.

“I think she got a favourite,” she waves her drink after Lana. Paige blushes earnestly, pulling the hat deeper into her head.

“Shut up.”

“Hey beautiful,” a girl with long limbs and loose curls taps Paige on the shoulder, smiling that warm Texas smile. Oh, this one was from Dallas for sure. Paige recognised it right away. “You want a dance?”

For a second Paige’s eyes drag along her body, taking in the lilac bra and the belly button piercing, but it doesn’t do anything for her. Before she can answer, a loud grunt of shock interrupts the conversation.

“Get your own customer Dolly,” Lana demands, shooing the taller woman away. For a moment they stare at each other, but Lana doesn’t seem inches smaller at all. She stands tall as ever, the icy cold stare telling her off.

“I mean it Dolly. I had her first.”

“Fine,” Dolly rolls her eyes, taking long strides into the crowd looking for her next client, but not without casting a seductive look at Paige over her shoulder.

“Bitch,” Lexi mutters under her breath, before strutting back to Myisha.

“Slut,” Lana rolls her eyes, placing down a whole bottle of vodka and a bunch of shot glasses. Paige can barely speak, let alone breathe. The thought of Lana getting territorial over her making the air around them grow hot.

As if she isn’t flustered enough, Lana flashes Paige a look she doesn’t quite recognise - before flinging herself over and straddling her. With each leg on both sides of Paige, she presses her back flush into the velvet as her pulse peaks. Lana’s perfume drowns her out, hands digging into the armrests. Her friends laugh somewhere in the distance, but it’s just a quiet hum in the background as Lana’s dark eyes stare the blonde down. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this with a crowd.

Like reading her mind, Lana reaches for the bottle.

“You want a shot, gorgeous?”

Wordlessly, Paige nods slowly, batting her eyes stupidly. God she had missed her, genuinely. Isn’t that awful?

Rubbing her glossed lips together, Lana brings the bottle to Paige’s mouth. Without needing direction Paige’s pink lips part, holding eye contact as if it wasn’t killing her inside. Tipping the bottle, ice cold vodka spills in..

“Swallow,” Lana teases, causing Paige to nearly choke as she does. It burns all the way down her stomach. As Lana is reaching back to give up the bottle, Paige’s hand grabs her delicate wrist and forces it back.

“Now you,” she orders, the booze entering her bloodstream already. She’s forgotten about her friends, the dancer on stage, everybody but the miracle on her lap. They might as well have been in that private room again. God, Paige wanted to go back tonight. She wanted to see how Lana looked when the performance was off and when those clothes hit the floor. She wanted to see her at her mercy.

“I need some cash first,” Lana quirks a brow. Eyes still locked Paige digs into her pocket, pulling a hundred out and handing it to her.

Lana laughs, tilting her head again. “You can give it yourself.”

Licking her lips, the blonde brings her hand up and gently as ever inches the bill into Lana’s bra. She shuts her eyes, as if enjoying it, jaw tensing. Paige doesn’t need to know the girl better to see it’s an act. She’s not a man after all. She knew what made a woman tick or get the chills. And it wasn’t an awkward touch to the armpit.

“It’s a lot just to get me drunk,” Lana teases, grabbing hold of Paige’s bicep to balance herself.

“Drink,” Paige hums, lifting the bottle to the girl’s wide open mouth. She pours slowly, dragging out the moment as long as she can, squeezing her own thigh hard to keep herself grounded. It doesn’t work, she can feel herself floating away, eyes dropping to the plump, lips pressing together and swallowing. She can feel her throat growing dry, hungry for a simple taste of them.

“Paige, careful,” Arike says lightheartedly, but there’s a subtle warning in the words.

Lana runs a finger along Paige’s sharp jaw, tilting up her face. “Did you hear your friend? She said careful.”

“I heard,” Paige mutters, drunk off a million things all at once. Suddenly her hat is being pulled off, Lana looking at it in her hands. Feeling exposed, Paige runs her hands over her hair.

“You don’t have lice, no?” Lana asks, causing laughter around the group. Paige laughs too, feeling the tension in her ease.

“No ma’am.”

“Good,” she hums and puts it over her head, it pressing loosely against her brown locks much too big for her head. Awfully abruptly the girl gets up, leaving Paige’s torso burning and her shirt covered in glitter.

“C’mon, we’re not getting paid to sit around,” Lana nods Lexi over. She obeys immediately, leaving Myisha leaning forward. To some rap song the girls begin to dance, pressing their backs together. In a swirl of blonde and brunette their hairs mesh together, gold and silver bodysuits like two parts of a set. There’s no clear line where one girl starts and the other girl ends with the way they dance together - so hypnotising even the men by the stage begin to turn their heads towards the pair.

Paige is folding over too, somehow more than Myisha. She still feels the weight of Lana on her thigh, eyes dragging to her round ass where the acrylics slowly graze at the pale skin. The muscles in her legs tighten by instinct.

“If you want us to kiss it’ll cost some money,” Lexi winks at Myisha who’s already digging through her wallet. Reaching for the cash Lexi flips her head back, wrapping arms around the brunette’s neck. Lana’s face gets serious, eyes dropping low the moment she leans in and presses her glossed lips on Lexi. There’s no feeling in it, she barely even opens her mouth. Still Paige can feel the burn deep in her abdomen, wondering if she tastes like cherries and vanilla - or like the strawberries of her vape. The smile across her lips drops to a look much darker, biting her cheeks leaving dents

“Lana!” A loud yell by a man interrupts the wonderful moment, coming from a slender guy in a suit leaning against the wall by the entrance. Lana’s eyes don’t even bother to turn towards him.

“I’m in the middle of something,” she rolls her eyes, running her hands along Lexi’s waist. Impatiently the man snaps his fingers, signalling for Lana to come over the way you would a dog. He can’t be older than 30. Suddenly Paige’s stomach flips with a nauseating dread, similar to all those times she lost control over the ball and turned the game over.

“Don’t care. Come here.”

With a groan, Lana pulls back and walks slowly just to drag out time. The only way she could protest. Paige stares desperate to catch her eye, to see a glimmer of anything resembling a need for help - but there’s nothing other than annoyance.

“Where were we,” Lexi smiles crookedly, keeping the party going. Paige is elsewhere, staring over her shoulder towards the entrance, watching the heated discussion between the man and Lana until she’s led off by her lower back.The old dread of childhood crawls its way along Paige’s spine, like when she was a child and her dad didn’t come home on time.

Paige’s leg bounces up and down, a restless habit. For a moment she considers leaving, blue eyes low and looking through everything in her line of vision. Time blurs and Lana still isn’t back. The lack of clocks made Paige suspicious. How long has it been? Only five minutes? Or maybe it had been a day since she arrived. It was impossible to tell. Lana’s absence had disrupted all sense of time. It seemed to drag on and on, one rap song melting into another until they all started sounding the same. Drinks keep appearing and Paige drowns them one by one, her heartbeat a deafening drum in her ears.

“Hey, I’ma go look for a bathroom,” she slurs to her friends, all of them preoccupied by Lexi making jokes and pouring drinks. Quietly she slips away, only feeling the alcohol rushing to her head now that she’s standing. Paige’s legs feel weighted down but still she moves across rooms, through curtains and crowds, through time it seems. Each room looks the same, the men like carbon copies of each other. Her chest tightens each moment that passes with no sight of her. Everything saturated with the flashing lights makes Paige’s head spin. It felt like a dream she’s had before, a bad sense gnawing inside.

“Oh hey again,” a voice soft and warm causes Paige to stop. Struggling to focus her eyes on the figure, she feels a gentle hand on her arm. “Where you headed?”

“Uh, nowhere,” Paige murmurs, feeling caught, finally recognising the girl from before trying to pick her up in a lilac set. 

“Well, maybe I can help. Or take you to a private room?” She leans in to whisper. She smells like cigarettes and some floral perfume making Paige push her hand off gently. Looking past her shoulder before she can even react, Paige finally sees her. The spinning seems to stop, the room straightening out at last at the sight of Lana guiding an older gentleman towards the exit, hand wrapped in his.

Without a word, Paige pushes past the girl as if she doesn’t exist. Lana leans in, laughing superficially and running her manicured hand along the man’s arm. Paige is pulled towards the wall like gravity, leaning her shoulder against it - she just wants to watch. That’s all.

The man’s face is lined with wrinkles that would soon be carved into his skin, hunched and squeezing Lana’s cheek as if she was a child. She looked so small next to these men, wide-eyed and flushed pink. The sickening feeling tiptoes back into Paige’s throat. There was no one looking out for Lana. She could never make it just on her own with all these men.

“Just one kiss,” the man leans in, puckering his lips. Playing it off Lana turns with a smirk.

“No kiss, remember?”

“C’mon, a goodnight kiss. Just this once.”

Suddenly the man grabs hold of Lana’s face, leaning in to take what he wanted. Before Paige could react, Lana pushes the man off, all amusement dropping from her face now.

“No.”

The man about to argue goes quiet, Paige is already striding towards them with her jaw clenched.

“Dude, you heard her,” she says, wrapping an arm across Lana’s waist. Her words sound more pointed and clear now. Determined to make their point come across. She stares the man down, feeling Lana tremble a little against her.

“Just walk away.”

At last the man slouches with defeat, staring back and forth from Lana to Paige, back to Lana again.

“Bitch,” he mumbles before slipping through the red velvet.

“Asshole,” Lana murmurs. “Didn’t even tip me.”

All the bad Paige had been feeling is suddenly melting away just at the sound of her voice. Her hand remains on Lana’s waist. God it felt good there. When the words finally register, Paige digs through her pocket and slides out a bill towards the girl.

“For what?” Lana asks, looking at it suspiciously.

“You said he didn’t tip.”

Without permission this time, Paige pushes the bill into Lana’s bra, blinking slowly.

“You’re drunk,” Lana says bluntly, still not pushing the hand off. 

“I’m a good customer,” Paige grins, as if she hadn’t just spent the last however long spiralling into madness.

“A good customer is a rich customer,” Lana says, wiping her nose to the back of her hand.

Paige snorts, eyes locked on the girl to make sure she wouldn’t disappear.

“How you know I’m rich?”

Lana huffs. “I looked you up Paige Bueckers.”

Paige’s knees nearly give out at the sound of her name, low and heavy on Lana’s lips. She swallows, tightening her grip. Paige needed more of that, more than she’d needed anything in her life.

“You’re famous,” Lana grins.

“I told you I play,” Paige hums, voice weaker than she’d like.

For a moment they stare at one another, eyes flicking back and forth to take everything in. Men walk by, heads turning for Lana but her gaze is locked on something much different.

“You came back,” she blurts out, bringing a hand to Paige’s chest. Whether to keep her at arms length or just to feel her, Paige can’t quite tell.

“It was a good dance,” Paige mumbles, ears burning up. “And my friend wanted to see Lexi again.”

Lana tilts her head. As if she knows Paige better than that. 

“That’s all you came back for?”

Paige swallows. Before she can answer Lana takes a step back, hip leaning to the side.

“Lexi’s been talking about your friend a lot.”

“That’s cute,” Paige replies.

Shaking her head, Lana looks to the floor. “No, it’s silly.” She pulls out a baby pink lipgloss from her bra and puts it on perfectly without a mirror. “Do you want your ugly hat back?”

“Yo, it’s not ugly,” Paige laughs.

Lana looks at her pointedly. “It’s ugly. But you’re famous so I guess you have to hide somehow.”

Hooking a finger on the belt hoop of her shorts, Lana drags Paige after her into the familiar tunnel lined with doors. Now that she was with Lana, Paige felt much more grounded to reality. Like she had purpose again. Or maybe she had sobered up.

“Come in,” Lana orders, closing the door behind them, The room is exactly how she remembered, what she had been fantasising of - and with the door closed it seemed the tension building up in Paige barely fit inside the walls.

“Sit down Paige Bueckers.”

Spellbound, Paige leans into the leather couch, legs spread and stomach flipping as she watches Lana turn on some R&B song she could faintly recognise. She stares, head tilted to the side. The girl is folded over a locked drawer in the mirrored sidetable, pulling bills out from her boots and bra. Something about it seemed intimate in a way Paige couldn’t explain - the mundane nature of the act.

“I have your hat,” Lana says, pointing to the chair in the corner where it sits waiting. 

“You want me to put it on?”

Lana looks over her shoulder, brows furrowed. A clear no.

“You look better without it,” she states, nearing a compliment. “You want a drink? Or something else?”

Paige knew what she wanted. Something she didn’t get last time. She can’t even remember the last time a girl took over her existence this way - entirely. 

“A drink’s good,” Paige murmurs, throat drying at the sight of Lana’s bare legs.

“Just a moment,” Lana mutters, digging through the drawer until she pulls out a small ziplock bag filled with a pale powder. Paige freezes, watching the girl set it down on the table. She shifts on the seat, too slow to look away when Lana’s turning back.

“Do you want some?” She asks.

Shaking her head, Paige looks at the hands on her lap. “No, thanks.”

There’s a beat where neither of them move. Lana huffs.

“You’re judging.”

“No,” Paige lifts her eyes back up. “No, just… Not used to it.”

Lana snorts. “You can’t tell me you’re famous and never see coke.”

She’s right. Paige had seen it plenty of times - more so since she came to the WNBA. But she tries her best to stay out of it. It wasn’t something she had any type of interest in. Her body was the machine she worked with - she had to keep it oiled up. Surely Lana knew better than to destroy hers.

“Do you want me to not do it in front of you?” Lana asks.

“Go ahead,” Paige says, smiling reassuringly. The thought of Lana leaving her sight was much worse.

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

With that, Lana spills some of the powder all over the table, creating thin white lines out of it. Curiosity takes over, Paige’s eyes locked on the methodical way the girl prepares it, rolling up a bill and leaning down. It’s not like in the movies - there’s no big reaction, no throwing her head back in ecstasy. It’s oddly controlled, the way she comes back up with her eyes shut and pressing on her nostrils. Still, it’s the most real reaction she’s seen on Lana’s face since she’s known her.

Just as methodically, Lana cleans it up and shuts the bag deep in the drawer, back turned on Paige as she prepares a drink. Ice, vodka, some sort of soda and a lime. The ice tinkles against the glass as she stirs it, taking a sip before bringing it to Paige.

“Thank you,” Paige hums, a million questions stirring in her head. The cushions of the sofa shift from the weight of Lana tucking herself in the corner, nearly black eyes looking over to Paige.

“Drink,” Lana orders.

Paige looks at her, bringing the glass to her lips before setting it back down on her lap.

“Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” Lana asks absentmindedly, brushing her fingers through her tangled hair.

“That.” Paige nods towards the mirrored table. Lana doesn’t even look.

“Oh, right,” she murmurs, fixing her bracelets. “Sometimes.”

Paige blinks her eyes away and finally takes a sip.

“You been doing this for long? Dancing?”

“A while.”

Needy for more, Paige shifts her weight a little closer towards her.

“How long you been in Dallas?” She asks.

Lana shrugs. “A few years.” Another vague answer.

“You ever thought about doing somethin’ else?”

“Ugh,” Lana groans, throwing her head back. “This is so boring. Questions are boring.”

Before getting the chance to say sorry, Lana’s turning up the song and walking towards the pole in the corner of the room. She swings around it, her hair flying after her long and beautiful. 

“Don’t you wanna do something else?” Lana asks, landing on the floor on her knees with the pole between her legs. “Don’t you want a dance?”

“Sure,” Paige says suddenly flustered, downing the drink quickly. It’s much stronger than she’s used to. Lana crawls her way towards the couch, bruises already forming on her knees. There’s a look in her eyes Paige can barely steer away from. Tattooed in her brain already. Still the frustration eats away at her - the mystery of who Lana might be behind all this.

“I just wanna know you,” the words come out slurred, the booze giving her audacity beyond the boundaries. Lana slows down, achingly making her way to the blonde, running her hands up from Paige’s ankles towards her knees, and finally thighs.

Inching her way upwards from the floor, Paige leans forward this time. Eager to feel Lana’s front press against hers, for her to cover the shirt in glitter and perfume. The girl smiles, leaning in and breathing heavy and hot into Paige’s ear. 

“You don’t pay enough,” Lana whispers, the words lingering on her tongue. A shutter runs through Paige as she tilts her head back to look at her this close. Lana’s mascara is smudged under her eyes, but she doesn’t look tired - maybe from the coke. She smells faintly of cologne, making Paige’s chest tighten. But her plump lips are slightly parted, tongue darting out to lick over the pink gloss. God, Paige just wanted a taste.

“You look up all your customers?” Paige asks, voice hoarse and eyes heavy.

“No,” Lana shakes her head, her voice softening too to a faint whisper. “Just the interesting ones.”

Paige grins. “I’m interesting?”

“Interesting enough,” Lana hums, finally letting Paige pull her into her lap. She straddles the blond, pressing herself flush against her. “Now tell me, what do you want Paige Bueckers?”

The air sizzles and crackles between them, faces only inches apart. Paige’s big hand roams her thighs unashamed as she gathers the courage to say the words. Lana’s nails graze against the back of her neck as she presses in somehow tighter, so little in Paige’s big arms.

“I’m not a first-timer anymore,” Paige murmurs. It takes a while for the meaning to register with Lana. She bats her eyes, nostrils flaring.

“What about your friends?” Lana whispers. Paige isn’t quite sure if she’s teasing or genuinely trying to talk her out of it.

“They’ll be fine. I’ma just tell them I went home.”

Lana still stares, studying every microexpression. Like she’s not quite sure.

“You know I got the money, Lana.”

Something in the girl shifts causing her to get up, pulling Paige with her too.

“So there’s a motel we can get to through the back that we use, you just need to get your things, phone and stuff and wait for me there, got it?” 

Lana’s pushing the hat from before on Paige’s head, rushing her out the door. It’s all so fast Paige can barely comprehend - the way she’s handed back her phone, Lana wrapped in a fur coat and a vape between her lips already waiting and dragging her through rooms she’d never seen into an alley and again into a strange building from a side entrance. The alcohol rushing through Paige’s veins makes her nothing but a passive passenger of the situation, like watching it unfold from the sideline. All of it seems so automatic from Lana. Practiced. Paige doesn’t really breathe until they get to the room - dingy and dark and not even close to what she’d actually want to give Lana.

“I have some rules,” Lana states, throwing the fur coat carelessly over a dusty chair in the corner. The coat was probably the most expensive thing she owned, yet she regarded it with such disinterest it almost came off as distaste. “Come here.”

Paige, still stuck by the door, is led again by her belt loops to the bed, sat down by the smaller girl. Lana grabs a creaky, wooden chair from a vanity and brings it over by the bed, opposite to Paige. Sitting on it, she puffs her vape before putting it down on her lap. The smell of strawberries is overtly sweet, but at least it covers the cologne scent coming off her.

“I’m paid in advance, I recommend one hour to be enough for someone with no experience. This is your first time, yes?”

Paige’s eyes are locked on Lana’s chest, threatening to spill over the bodysuit from the way she’s leaning forward. Playfully, Lana brings her fingertip to the blonde’s chin lifting her gaze.

“Focus Paige Bueckers. Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” Paige swallows, stomach stirring. There should be guilt, fear even. Paige can’t feel any of it. “It’s my first time.”

“Good,” Lana tuts, dropping her hand. “So no extras for first-timers either.”

“Extras?” Paige asks.

Lana shrugs. “Fetish stuff, no rope or slapping or whatever. No butt stuff.”

Paige’s ears heat up hearing how casually she spoke of such things. Everything about it was as unsexy as it could be, but Paige still felt the dampness in her boxers grow.

“Got it,” Paige murmurs. Lana looks at her for a while.

“We should have a safeword. If either one wants to stop,” she leans back, crossing her legs.

Paige chews on her cheek, trying to get her brain to operate normally. “Cherries?”

Lana smiles. “Cherries.”

The smile drops a little too fast, Lana’s dark eyes studying every inch of Paige. So much it’s making her uneasy.

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

A little offended, Paige huffs. “What makes you think I can’t?”

“I just get a feeling from you,” Lana hums, puffing her vape. The thick smoke fills the air between them, blurring her outline.

“A bad feeling?”

“Not bad,” Lana answers. “I’m not sure.”

Paige hesitates. “I wouldn’t do anything to you.”

“I know that,” Lana replies right away. “It’s not a feeling like that.”

“It can, just be a lot, okay? So if you need to stop, let me know.”

Paige grins. “You sure think highly of yourself.”

Lana winks, an easy grin growing on her face too. “I’m a professional.”

Paige’s gaze drops to her mouth where her lips glisten. Soon she’d know what they taste like, what the weight of them feels against her mouth. It’s embarrassing the things she would do just for that.

“Okay,” Lana stands up. “I shower first. Then you shower after me while I get everything ready.” She doesn’t ask for Paige’s opinion, it’s simply how things are done. How she’s always done them.

“Right,” Paige says, her stare following the girl shredding jewellery all over and finally disappearing into the bathroom. She considers digging her phone out. She’s not drunk enough. The guilt of the sight of the notifications would eat her alive. Instead, she lies down on the bed, feet hanging off the edge and listening to the hum of the shower, imagining the water dripping all over Lana’s body.

She’s done quickly. After all, she’s a professional. Soon she emerges in a baby pink silk robe and bare foot holding a bag full of lotions and perfume. No more smelling like cologne. The relief of it releases the tension Paige has been holding, softening her shoulders at last. Her eyes wander the way the silk clings to her damp skin, tightened around her waist to give her shape. Catching her stares, Lana giggles and grabs Paige’s chin.

“Go shower or I’ll start without you.”

It’s enough to get Paige scrambling, unbuttoning her shirt before even reaching the bathroom. It’s already humid and hot, steam covering the mirror under the harsh, fluorescent light. Paige should be tired, but the adrenaline courses through her like before a big game. All her senses seem heightened. The water feels too hot. The air too thick. The thought of Lana out there getting herself ready just for her making her woozy.

When she comes out Lana is sitting on the bed, scrolling through her phone like a friend she might have over laid out on the couch. Except Lana’s barely covered by the robe, the lazy knot letting it fall off her chest showing a pale pink lacy bra. The scent of her perfume overpowers the dingy smell of the carpet. For a second Lana’s completely unguarded, chewing on her bottom lip until she notices Paige standing there, in her shorts and a sports bra, holding her shirt awkwardly.

“Are you done?” Lana asks, putting her phone screen down on the nightstand and sitting up, tightening the rope around her. Paige nods, throwing the shirt over the pile of fur on the chair. There was still some glitter on Lana’s oiled up skin from the bodysuit and the boots that had dug into her calves. Now she was barefoot, white pedicured toes sitting pretty at the foot of the bed. Paige liked this sight much more.

Lana’s brown eyes seem a little more sober as she gets up and takes slow, quiet steps towards Paige on the beige carpet. 

“Still sure?” Lana asks quietly, hips swaying as her finger slips into Paige’s belt loop.

“Yes,” Paige answers, feeling the girl yank her closer. The air shifts the moment Lana sits Paige down on the foot of the bed, undoing the messy knot of the robe.

“I have one more rule,” she hums, brushing her hair all to one side.

“What’s that?” Paige asks, goosebumps running down every finger and toe, eyes locked on the dainty hands working on the tie.

“I don’t kiss on the mouth,” Lana says, finally letting the robe fall open revealing a teasing sliver of her abdomen. It’s almost good enough to get Paige to ignore the words.

“Wh- what?” Paige stutters. Her eyes flicker back up to the girl’s face. All she’d been thirsting for tonight was a taste of Lana’s lips. She couldn’t bear the thought of getting everything but the one thing she needed. “I’ll pay extra.”

Lana grins at her desperation, the sense of knowing she was in control with someone who wanted her this bad.

“No kissing,” Lana repeats, bringing a hand to Paige’s hair and undoing the slicked back bun. The blonde locks fall down to her shoulders, wavy from being tied up all day. “Tell me our safeword again.”

Paige’s heart gallops against her ribcage, the mere feel of Lana’s nails against her scalp brushing through her hair making her crazy already.

“Cherries,” she struggles out, closing her legs to cross them for any relief. Lana chuckles, her hands slipping down to her knees and pushing them back open. 

Dripping with restraint and control, everything Paige does not have, the silk slips off her body. Her skin is nearly translucent, pale and milky as she climbs in to straddle Paige. The mattress dips with her weight.

The air heats up, enveloping Paige with the fruity smell of her perfume. She can’t help herself, bringing her hands to Lana’s cold thighs. 

“I can kiss you other places tho, right?” It almost comes off a plead as her hands rub up and down, muscles tensing with the feel of soft skin.

Lana hums with permission, rolling her hips into the girl underneath. Paige is glad she doesn’t have a dick now, because she knows she’d be completely bricked.

With a sigh of relief Paige’s lips attack Lana’s neck, leaving a trail of spit all the way to her pulse point. She feels the blood rushing underneath her lips, fighting the urge to bite.

“No marks,” Lana says softly, continuing to brush through Paige’s hair.

“Mm,” Paige murmurs, kissing along her jaw, nuzzling her nose into the delicate skin - determined to find the spot for Lana, the one that made her melt. Before she can, Lana yanks on Paige’s hair to kiss her neck instead. Paige feels like putty, listening to the sounds of her wet mouth wandering along her skin, button nose brushing against her ear. The jolts rush straight to the core, Paige’s hand squeezing Lana’s thighs tighter in response.

Eager for more, Paige’s nostrils flare as she runs her hand along Lana’s spine. It’s there where she feels something. A goosebump, just one, and then all of her back at once. It’s enough to give Paige the confidence to pull Lana back by her hair to work on her perfumed skin again. 

“Mmm,” Lana moans, controlled and nice - but not real. Something that maybe the men in these rooms accepted. But not Paige. Finally, tilting her head Paige reaches a spot behind Lana’s ear, burying her mouth in the tiny space. Whatever she does seems to work, for the girl sitting over her trembles and lets out a laboured breath.

Paige is pushed back by a hand on her chest until she hits the hard mattress, dragging down Lana with her. The taste of her skin is lovely, but it’s not enough. In the midst of the heat, her lips chase after Lana’s. They hover over, breathing in her air until she moves away, kissing along Paige’s ear. It seemed like a cruel joke, there were no rules with Lana unless it came to the things Paige wanted. 

Disappointed, Paige tests her again. A slow drag of her nail up Lana’s spine leaving goosebumps in its trail. A stuttering breath in her ear. She would find all her weak spots eventually. She could feel her own composure slipping - all she wanted was to see where the performance ended and the pleasure began. Paige was determined to find that point.

Lana shifts her weight to the side, a hand running down the middle of Paige’s torso, slipping underneath her shorts. In a panic, Paige reaches down and grabs the wrist, ears burning.

“What’s wrong?” Lana asks, her chest heaving.

Paige hesitates before replying. “I don’t like to be touched.” She drags the hand out, placing it carefully on her stomach.

Lana sits up on top of Paige, leaving the blonde lying flat underneath her.

“At all?”

She can’t look straight in Lana’s eyes, opting out for scanning across the crackling paint of the stained ceiling.

“Down there,” Paige admits, embarrassed.

For a moment Lana stares down, her weight resting on Paige’s thighs, eyes flicking back and forth till her brows tilt to a deep furrow. 

“Then what are you paying me for?” She asks, confused.

Paige’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, throat itching uncomfortably. “Uh, I’m more of a giver.”

Lana snorts. “So you pay me money just so you can what? Get me off?”

Heat inches its way from her neck to her cheeks when Paige shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“You pay me money and get nothing in return?”

Paige sits up, her front itching for the heat of Lana’s skin against hers. She wraps a big hand around Lana’s waist, pulling her in by her back.

“Oh, I get plenty in return,” Paige murmurs, lips wrapping around her collarbone. Another shiver. Lana can’t help her curiosity - it was rare for a customer to actually intrigue her at this point.

“You are very strange,” Lana mutters, not as authoritative as before.

“And you’re really sexy,” Paige admits, tilting her head up to look at her. Under the harsh light that doesn’t blur a single detail, Lana’s cheeks flash pink only for a moment. Paige takes the sign, flipping the girl with a thud onto the creaking bed. 

“That’s better,” Paige hums, hovering over her.

“Is it?” Lana grins, the cross on Paige’s neck hanging against her burning chest.

“Mhm,” she replies, kissing the sweet spot behind her ear again. Her slick lips graze against her earlobe, soft and hot. “So, you gonna let me fuck you?”

“Yes,” there’s a strange lilt to Lana’s voice, making it gentler than before. The tension in Paige reaches a boiling point, her patience long overdue with the permission. Her rough hands graze over Lana’s ribcage, feeling each bone like she might never again. The laboured breaths hide something Lana doesn’t want to reveal, the arousal dripping in her core.

It takes all of Paige’s self-control not to be rough and fast but letting the moment linger. She needed her soaked, she needed to know Lana was affected by her. That she wasn’t just a customer. That as much as Paige had been thinking about Lana, the girl had been thinking of her too.

“Spread your legs,” she mumbles, kissing the top of her bra. The girl shifts, the rough cotton of the blanket underneath with her. Paige glances down, watching the pale pink lace barely cover her up. Biting her lip so as to not make a sound, she drags her hand across her stomach down to the thin fabric.

“Oh,” Lana’s eyes shut tight, voice slightly flat. Maybe the men loved to pay for this - a woman getting off on the least amount of effort. However for Paige, this was the opposite of what she wanted. She wanted the real her. She just had to find a weak spot.

Hooking a finger around the band of the panties, she pulls them down slow and deliberate. Pulling back her blue eyes study Lana’s face, finally getting to look at her up close, undisturbed. The slight freckles on her cheeks, her dark brows and the nearly invisible beauty spot by her mouth. The slight gap between her front teeth beneath the prominent cupid’s arc. As if sensing her stare, Lana’s eyes flutter open meeting her gaze. 

“That feels good,” Lana hums as Paige’s hands squeeze the insides of her thighs. But her breathing is too steady, there’s no squirming or arching of any kind. Suddenly, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand straight to her core. 

Paige’s composure stutters when she feels her, the wet folds and the silky skin.

“Oh God, yes,” Lana moans, shutting her eyes again. “I need your fingers inside.”

“You do?” Paige asks, leaning back to watch her fingertips glisten in the light.

“God, yes please,” she groans. It’s too loud, too much. Paige’s fingers hover over the bud at her core, circling it gently. Another loud moan.

“Shh,” Paige hums, leaning down and kissing her ear in an attempt to soothe her. It doesn’t work, Lana won’t let go of the performance - too focused on every sound, every breath, every twitch being perfect. It’s what most people paid her for.

“Slow down ma,” Paige whispers, licking her lips. “Can I try something?”

Confusion washes over Lana, who looks so gentle and vulnerable suddenly underneath Paige. She runs a hand across Lana’s jaw softly stroking before sitting up and scooting over to the headboard.

“C’mere,” Paige taps the spot between her legs. “Back on me.”

Lana wasn’t used to taking such commands, she wasn’t used to much of any of this. But Paige was a customer - a good one. It was Lana’s job to make her happy no matter what.

Suspiciously, Lana crawls to the spot between Paige’s legs. The skin of Lana’s back burns hot against hers, tanned and glowing from the sun. Paige’s fingers inch along her back to the clasp of her bra, pulling it off her slowly. The AC made it too cold causing Lana’s nipples to harden immediately. 

“Just lean on me,” Paige whispers, pulling the girl flush against her. “Try and stay quiet.”

Her hands are wrapping around Lana, grazing against the small, perky peaks on her chest. She circles the nipple, breathing hot air along the back of her neck. Paige’s legs wrap around Lana’s ankles, pulling them wide apart. Just the thought of what a sight she must be right now is making the air too heavy to breathe.

Both of Paige’s hands caress every part she can reach, all but one. With each stroke the girl seems to melt further into her, her cold skin pressing closer. It’s not enough. Paige’s fingers stretch further to her knees, slowly trickling down to the silky skin of her inner thighs. The moment they close in on her core, Lana’s hips buck subconsciously. There.

Trying again, Paige’s fingertips play along the sensitive skin right by her center. A breath that stutters, just a tiny bit, and quickly regains its natural rhythm. Glad Lana can’t see the stupid smile on her face, she lets herself finally where she’s been wanting to go for far too long.

“Mh,” Lana hums, clearing her throat the moment Paige’s fingers dip into her folds. She’s soaked, dripping onto the cheap sheet underneath them. Achingly slow, Paige feels her pussy out, imagining it in her head as wet as it feels. She kisses Lana’s shoulder in an attempt to kill the groan threatening in her throat. The girl in her arms goes stiff in her muscles, fighting the inevitable submission.

“Relax,” Paige murmurs hoarsely. “Don’t gotta show off with me.” Her free hand squeezes Lana’s breast, pinching the nipple between her fingertips.

“Mhm,” Lana nods, too weak to speak as Paige plays with her pussy so slow there’s a tremble in her legs she hasn’t felt in a while. Her long digits gather the wetness, bringing it to her clit and rubbing sloppy circles slowly, speeding up with each second. Lana’s hips buckle again, back beginning to sweat and stick to the girl behind her.

“Oh God,” Paige hisses to herself, breathing in the scent of Lana’s hair as she feels the wetness spread all over. Unable to control herself she rubs from side to side, sloppy and fast causing Lana’s breath to stutter and a small, weak sound to come out of her mouth.

“Does that feel good, ma?” She whispers into her ear, taking the earlobe between her teeth and pulling.

“Yes,” Lana is breathless, chest heaving unevenly. Her hands that have dug into the blanket underneath drag to Paige’s thighs, squeezing the muscles. There had never been a moment where she’d felt so vulnerable with a client before. Where the pleasure threatened to expose the performance. The line of it feels blurry now, a deep throbbing inside her risking for her to lose the one thing she needed to keep - control.

“That’s it,” Paige groans, reaching her other hand down and spreading her wide apart. “I know that pussy gotta be so pretty.”

A whimper involuntarily spills out, nails digging into Paige’s skin enough to leave marks. Her cheek presses tightly into the back of Lana’s head as she glances over, watching the girl’s back arch as she rubs tighter now - more precise and focused. Lana begins to tremble with breathy, high-pitched sounds so sexy Paige thinks she might cum already. She groans into the girl’s ear, eyes falling shut from the feel of her soaked cunt.

“Oh-” Lana cries out, suddenly tensing again. Her legs tremble, threatening to shut. But Paige’s ankles don’t budge, keeping her wide open. The back of Lana’s head tilts against Paige’s shoulder, eyes rolling back into her head. The look of it alone causes Paige to feel herself throbbing. There’s no performance, no bullshit. Paige knew better than anyone when a woman was about to cum. The relief of knowing she’s the one to make this happen for Lana felt like a victory. No one else. Her.

“Oh, sh-” she can’t even finish a sentence, the pressure of Paige’s fingers flicking back and forth bringing her to her peak. Paige doesn’t need to ask and she doesn’t need to say, the arch of her back saying enough when Lana finally spills over the edge, bucking her hips uncontrollably. Paige moans with her as if she’s getting off too, the real sounds of her breaking voice music to her ears.

“Fuck,” Lana huffs, eyes shut tight and clammy body flush against Paige. There’s a proud grin on Paige’s face that she hides, still rubbing her pussy to memorise every inch of it.

“Atta girl,” Paige praises, nuzzling her nose into the bare skin of her back. “Did that feel good?”

“Compliments are extra,” Lana snaps back, her voice a trembling mess. Paige grins, breathing into Lana’s ear. She doesn’t need words to know.

“Ion think my hour is up.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall she’s proven correct, still half an hour until she’d have to give Lana up. The girl doesn’t answer, still trying to recover in her arms.

“Maybe I can ask sum questions. Bet you’re more honest now.”

“I am not, Paige Bueckers,” Lana huffs, shifting weakly.

Grinning, Paige whispers into the girl’s ear.

“Can I eat your pussy then?”

Lana doesn’t answer right away, sitting up and combing her fingers through the lengths of her hair that had become more of a birdsnest.

To push her a little, Paige reaches and scratches Lana’s back. Like a cat she arches into it. Really Paige wanted to taste her, but more than anything she wanted a chance to see her up close. She needed to know her, every inch.

“Or is that extra too?” Paige asks, in her element now that she regained control.

“It’s not,” Lana murmurs, glancing over her shoulder. “You don’t need to ask. Most men just take.”

Licking her lips, Paige watches Lana roll over on the bed, laying down naked under the unforgiving light. Somehow she was still perfect.

“I’m not a man,” Paige reminds her, watching the girl’s body hungrily. 

Lana grins. “I like it more when clients don’t ask,” she teases.

“Noted,” Paige huffs and suddenly pins the girl tightly against the bed, it creaking with the shifting weight. 

With an open mouth she leaves a trail of spit along Lana’s neck, biting on one of her breasts before latching to the dark pink nipple stark against the pale skin. Lana shudders, quickly losing the act again. Whatever control she had tried to gather melts away as quickly as it built up. A smugness washes over Paige.

Kissing downwards, Lana’s legs open on their own by some instinct. At her hip, Paige bites gently before running her lips down her thigh, past her knee, to her calf and ankle until she drops down on her knees onto the floor, pulling the smaller girl to the edge of the bed with ease. Lana jumps, grabbing the sheet with the sudden movement. The carpet burns against Paige’s skin but she doesn’t care, eye to eye finally with what she wanted the most.

“I was right,” Paige groans, wetness spilling directly into her boxers. 

“About what?” Lana asks, letting Paige maneuver her legs over her shoulders.

Paige grins, looking up with eyes as dark as Lana’s. “You got a pretty pussy.”

At last she leans in, licking along to the right of Lana’s slit, then to the left of it. Her legs tremble again, rolling her hips in desperation.

“Chill,” Paige orders, only frustrating the girl more.

“Paige Bueckers,” Lana challenges, lifting her head off to yank on Paige’s hair. Before she can, her wrists are pinned down by her side.

“I said chill,” she says darker now, kissing just an inch to the top of her clit. She’s dripping visibly now, a drop spilling out just to tease Paige. Whatever composure Paige hoped she had is gone. Darting out her tongue, she licks along Lana’s entrance where the wetness is gathering. She gets a quiet gasp in return and Lana’s hands digging into her head.

“Keep the hands off,” Paige murmurs, pushing them away.

“Don’t tell me what to d-”

Lana can’t finish, Paige spreading her lips apart and kissing along her folds, her tongue not wasting any drop. A choked moan makes its way out of Lana’s throat. Paige’s mouth is warm and slick, face getting buried into her cunt. With a struggle Lana forces her eyes open, catching the sight of the blonde between her legs moaning into her pussy like she’s close herself.

Paige’s eyes roll back in ecstasy, noticing the struggling Lana gripping onto the violet sheets beneath her. Paige barely notices the way her own legs tense and grow tired from drowning in Lana’s taste, circling her puffy clit with her tongue. 

“Mmh,” Lana whimpers, biting on her lower lip to keep quiet. She’s bright red and shaking, rolling her hips forward. It’s not enough, Lana is squirming so bad suddenly she flips onto her stomach nearly rolling off the bed. Paige dodges her legs last second, too turned on to be amused by Lana’s head hanging off the edge.

The girl whines at the loss of contact, bucking her ass into the air. The sight of her bent over the foot of the bed makes Paige groan out loud. This was better than any dream or fantasy that she had dared to have.

Throat drying Paige leans back in, kneading her ass as she laps her tongue against the soaked folds at her core. With a gasp, Lana grabs hold of the blanket, not bothering to lift her head back onto the bed. Paige is completely buried in her, sucking on her clit while her sharp nose protrudes the tight, pulsing entrance.

Lana’s completely at Paige’s mercy, pushing back against her face. The sounds coming out of her mouth make Paige’s core throb, the knot deep inside her beginning to tighten. It wasn’t common for her to cum like this, just from giving. But something about this girl made it possible, a dizzying wave of ecstasy pulsing through her.

“Say my name,” Paige moans against her cunt. “C’mon, say it.”

Lana fights it - or tries to. It doesn’t get very far, the sound of her name coming out with a broken moan.

“Paige.”

In that moment she wins. She knows it. It feels just like the standing ovation after a game that went overtime. It's what does it, causing the knot to snap in Paige as she caresses Lana’s thighs and dives in deeper. The moans of her climax vibrate into Lana’s core, causing the girl to fall apart too. 

-

Usually winning feels better afterwards. This doesn’t feel like the victory she wanted, there’s no closeness or a sense of a wall crumbling down. Not a word exchanged since the moan still echoing in her head. Just a silence until small feet tiptoed to the shower, leaving Paige in bed with a throbbing headache and a nauseating stirring in her stomach, the guilt finally catching up with her now that there’s no distraction but her and her stupid head. The hour of owning Lana wasn’t enough - it could never be.

“You’re quiet,” Lana points out, back turned on Paige as she gets dressed shower-fresh.

“So are you,” Paige answers blankly. 

Another beat of silence. Lana pulls a cropped white t-shirt over her head to pair with the tight jeans she’s wearing. It was odd seeing her dressed so casual - a girl you might walk by on a busy street and not note as special.

“I like to shower right away,” Lana explains, turning to Paige. Her eyes study the girl, the sunken expression and the way she fidgets with her zipper.

It’s not an act she likes to repeat. Matter of fact she avoids any sort of thing like this. When the hour was up that’s where it ended. She could go home and stop being Lana. But the confusion in Paige’s blue eyes is so pitiful she can’t help but bend a rule or two. So, the girl crawls back into bed, pressing her leg into Paige’s. She feels the weight of it pressing back.

“This is nice,” Lana blurts out clumsily, reaching over to the silver cross dangling from her neck. “Are you religious?”

Paige clears her throat, turning to the girl beside her. Even with all the smudged makeup and messy hair she still took her breath away, in such a mundane way it broke Paige’s heart.

“Yeah, my faith is really important,” Paige answers, studying the girl. Lana quirks a brow with a smile she tries to hide.

“What?”

“You’re a lesbian. That’s not a sin?” Lana asks, dropping the cold metal.

“Not with the God I believe in,” Paige explains. “A lot of it is just stuff people made up to be assholes.”

Lana snorts, looking away.

“What? You don’t believe?” Paige questions.

“No,” there’s no hesitation, no softening of the blow Paige feels. She couldn’t even imagine that, a world without God.

“In anything?”

Lana shrugs, grabbing the vape from her pocket and puffing. “Not really. I think it’s silly.”

Paige’s jaw tightens. Still she reaches over to puff the vape too. Blowing out thick smoke, she leans back, looking over at the slightly flickering overhead light.

“I feel like life is too much of a blessing for there not to be someone looking out for us.”

“I’m sure it’s easy for someone like you to believe,” Lana tuts her tongue.

“Easy?” Paige sits up, feeling frustration tightening her shoulders. “It’s never been easy.”

They share a look that seems to stretch longer than necessary. Finally Lana looks to the dusty curtains.

“If there is a God he’s not good,” Lana says, like she knows this as sure and steady as the air she breathes.

“Don’t say that,” Paige argues, hating the way the tension spills out with her words. A shrill comparison to the cool, monotone voice.

“There’s so much suffering and war and death. My parents’ home is being bombed by Russia right now, killing kids. There’s no way that a God who lets that happen-” she takes a breath. “Who lets innocent people suffer and still gives so much to some people,” Lana points towards Paige. “A God like that can not be good.”

“That’s not how it works tho, you don’t know what I’ve be-”

The buzz of a phone cuts through the air, silencing both of them. Instinctively, Paige looks towards the table where hers sits far away in another world. But Lana’s already digging hers out of her pocket and rising from the bed.

“Hey,” she answers, all the temper from her previous speech gone. Paige’s chest rises with the frustration rushing through her. How could Lana get it so wrong? She chews on the inside of her cheek, focusing on her breath. Deep down Paige would be lying if she said she never wondered about some of those things herself.

“Okay, I’ll see you. Goodnight.”

Lana hangs up, grabbing her fur coat clumsily, letting Paige’s shirt fall off onto the carpet. A sickening dread fills Paige’s existence watching the girl pack her things. For a moment she had dared to dream they’d stay in this room for the night at least.

“I should get going. You should go home too Paige,” there’s nothing behind the words, no emotion to cling to.

“Right,” Paige mumbles. Sensing the disappointment, Lana turns back to watch the girl leaning back on the bed, rubbing the cross between her fingertips. It’s not just pity entirely when she walks over and brushes her fingers through the blonde lengths.

“I like your hair like this more,” Lana mumbles, letting her touch linger.

Paige meets her gaze, trying not to let it show how badly she’s affected. Sighing, Lana leans down. In a moment somewhere between the alternate universe of The Lonestar, and the real world waiting outside, she presses her lips against Paige’s forehead with a soft smack.

“I’ll see you, okay?” Lana hums, not giving Paige a moment to utter a single word out before she’s slipping out the door, gone like a ghost. Only the burn of her lips proof of last night being reality.

Paige is not sure how long she sits, replaying the moments in her head trying to make sure which parts were performance, genuine, real or a fantasy. It seemed impossible to separate them all. Brain all tangled up she finally gets up to put on her shirt, buttoning each button with tired hands and eyes locked on the phone still lying flat against the maple. She’s almost expecting it to buzz but it doesn’t, nausea gnawing at the back of Paige’s throat. She knew she couldn’t avoid it forever. Reaching for the device, she spots a white tissue folded neatly underneath.

If you ever need a break from being famous

- Lana

The tangled handwriting spells out a phone number. Even if Paige wasn’t sure where the club ended and the real world began, she had at least done something right. It wasn’t just a number, it was access. It was the fear of her disappearing forever gone with a single note. Maybe not a win, but like getting to the free throw line.

-

Paige’s key fumbles in the lock. Somehow she always picked the wrong one first. Finally finding the perfect match she slides it in, giving the slight push the door always needed. She shuts it quietly behind her, glancing into the kitchen. The clock on the oven reads 5:32 am. She can’t remember the last time she was out that long - maybe the time they won a National Championship? There hadn’t been many victories of that caliber to celebrate since.

The apartment is pitch black, perfect temperature to Paige’s liking. She kicks off her shoes, sobering up with each step she takes. The silence is an eerie backdrop to the thumping of her heart as she makes her way deeper. The fatigue of the day was only hitting her now that she was home, drenched in the smell of clean cotton and folded laundry and the cookies neatly piled into a jar. Suddenly starved, Paige grabs one letting the flavours ease the rumbling of her stomach.

With the cookie between her teeth, Paige reaches over to shut the jar when the lid slips from her hands, hitting the floor with a loud slam. Cringing, Paige tiptoes over to grab it.

“Mh, Paige?”

A gentle sound emerges from the couch beyond the kitchen island. Cursing to herself, Paige brings the cookie down from her lips back to the counter. She hears the flick of the light switch by the couch before the hue of the table lamp warms up the darkness.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Paige mutters. Her voice is breaking with each word, strained from the long day. 

There’s shifting and long arms stretching before the tired face emerges from behind the back. Grace covers her face as she yawns, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“What time is it?” The girl murmurs, still in her day clothes. Like she had no intent of falling asleep at all.

“Late,” Paige answers, looking everywhere but her. Grace bats her long lashes, chasing the blue eyes. There’s no use.

“I’m sorry for today, I was just really tired from work and I think I’m getting my period,” Grace says.

Paige’s eyes remain on the floor of their living room, throat tightening as the woman gets up.

“I made cookies,” she forces a smile. She can’t hide behind it, her voice has always been her weak spot. 

“They’re good,” Paige murmurs, shifting her weight back and forth. One more word and she thinks she might be sick. “Thanks.”

“I used your mom’s recipe,” Grace leans against the armrest.

“I noticed,” Paige mutters, biting her lower lip. She could still smell the club on her. The booze. Lana.

Grace hesitates, like she’s too scared to say the wrong thing.

“I waited for you to come home.”

Paige sighs, rubbing the ache on her forehead away. “I told you not to. You knew I was going out.”

They both let the silence stretch. Grace swallows. “Did you have fun at least?” The words tremble.

“Yeah… yea,” Paige nods her head, still looking to the floor. Carefully with slow steps, Grace walks over in the socks too big on her feet borrowed from Paige, bringing a hand to the blonde’s face. 

“I missed you,” Grace hums. “I really did baby.”

She’s close, so close she might easily smell Lana’s perfume or more on the blonde. With panic, Paige backs away, beginning to pull off clothes all over the floor.

“I need to shower,” she murmurs, slipping into the bathroom leaving the wide eyed girl behind.

-