-ˋˏ [In which Paige Bueckers was never supposed to fall for Natalia Auriemma— her coach’s daughter, the girl who showed up to practices with headphones on, cleats still muddy, and eyes that looked through people like she was always ten steps ahead. It was meant to be a joke. A dare. Flirt with the coach’s daughter. Make her blush. See if the icy soccer girl even could fall for a basketball star. But Natalia didn’t blush. She bit back. She challenged Paige in ways no one else ever had—never impressed, never fazed, always two seconds from walking away. And maybe that’s what did it. Now Paige is staying late after practice for a chance to run into her, catching herself scanning the bleachers mid-game, hearing Natalia’s voice in her head like a taunt she wants to obey. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But now Paige can’t stop picturing what it would feel like to have Natalia say her name like a prayer..] ˎˊ

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁!

Intro | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen |

Turned her head.

And there she was.

Natalia Auriemma.

Ponytail swaying. Jersey clinging to her like the whole field bowed to her movements. She wasn’t even facing Paige, but her voice carried—sharp, commanding, like she’d been born with a clipboard in her hand and a game plan in her bloodstream.

Paige slowed without meaning to.

She told herself she was adjusting her laces.

She told herself she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were traitors.

Natalia barked something to one of her teammates, clapped once, and jogged into position like she hadn’t just electrocuted Paige’s brain with her existence.

It was infuriating.

She didn’t look over. Not once. And that? That drove Paige insane.

Because Natalia had looked back. At the party. In the café.

Paige knew what that meant. She’d lived in the world of sidelong glances and practiced indifference since she was sixteen. You don’t look back unless something’s pulling you. You don’t look back unless you want to.

And yet here she was, being iced out like none of it happened.

Like Paige was just another face on campus.

She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket and started walking again, jaw tight, earbuds no longer playing anything she could focus on.

Halfway back to her dorm, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Messages Nika, Azzi, Ice , Aaliyah, Paige

nika tell me u saw nat in that braid

azzi u paused your jog. that’s wild

ice you’re cooked lmao

Aaliyah she’s the villain and you’re the golden retriever, it’s so romantic

Paige groaned out loud, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth.

She typed back:

paige she didn’t even LOOK at me nika that’s because she knows what she’s doing azzi exactly. that’s top-tier game. Aaliyah she’s playing chess ice and u brought uno cards

Paige rolled her eyes and tucked her phone away, smile fading a little as she climbed the steps to her dorm. The lobby was warm and smelled like floor cleaner. Her calves ached as she headed for the elevator, sweat cooling on her back.

Upstairs, her room was dark except for the bluish glow of her laptop. She collapsed onto the bed and kicked off her sneakers, then stared up at the ceiling like it had answers.

She didn’t know what this was turning into.

It was supposed to be a dare. A joke. Something to pass the time. Mess with the coach’s daughter. Make her fall.

But Natalia Auriemma didn’t fall.

She stood. Tall, in her own 5'3" kind of way. And Paige?

She was the one tripping.

She pulled her phone out again and opened Instagram.

Natalia had posted nothing.

But Mila had tagged her in a blurry sideline shot—Natalia mid-pass, eyes locked on something out of frame, expression sharp and unreadable.

Paige zoomed in before she could stop herself.

It wasn’t fair, how good she looked in motion. Like fire wearing cleats.

Paige stared for a moment longer than she should’ve, then tapped out a comment and deleted it before she hit send.

She was already in deeper than she meant to be.

And the worst part?

She didn’t want to climb back out.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

@paigebueckers

●○

○●

Liked by azzi35, nika.muhl  and 50k others 

paigebueckers  game day 😝

View All 413 Comments

@azzi35: carry us, blonde assassin 🔥

@nika.muhl posting thirst traps before tip-off is CRAZY 😭

@icebaby21 save some buckets for the rest of us maybe??? just a thought???

@livvyrose caption gave middle school energy but make it elite 😌

@mila.reyes wonder who's watching 👀

@tia.nguyen the smugness in that emoji is personal

@bricarter saw this and immediately pulled my hamstring

@lena.morales tall energy, small caption. Respect.

@natty10 Bold of you to assume anyone’s impressed 😇

↳@paigebueckers bold of you to be here so fast 👀

   ↳@natty10 I was bored. not blind.

      ↳@paigebueckers you sure you’re not just obsessed?

         ↳@natty10 obsessed with silence. Try it sometime.

@nika.muhl the way she folded you like warm laundry in public LMAO

@azzi35 i’m literally screaming

@icebaby21 get a gym 😭😭😭

@mila.reyes somebody’s gonna kiss after tip-off

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰ Natty10 replying to your post!

Natty10  “Game day 😝”? Bold caption. Deeply moving. Very poetic.

Paigebueckers you’re just mad I’m versatile can drop 20 and an emoji in the same breath 😌

Natty10  Not mad. Just concerned for the integrity of the 😝 emoji. It didn’t ask to be used like that.

Paigebueckers you looked at it though 😏 which means you looked at me

Natty10  Delusional. I was just checking on the mental well-being of my competition.

Paigebueckers oh, so you do think we’re competing 👀

Natty10  I think you’re playing a game I already won.

Paigebueckers careful. talk like that and I might start thinking you actually like me

Natty10  God forbid.

Paigebueckers so you don’t like me?

Natty10  Go focus on your little jump shots, Bueckers.

Paigebueckers you so looked at that pic longer than you meant to.

Natty10  One more 😝 emoji and I’m blocking you.

Paigebueckers worth it 😝

Tia was curled up diagonally across Natalia’s bed like it belonged to her, one hand scrolling her phone, the other wrist-deep in a bag of spicy chips that had already stained her fingertips red. She hadn’t stopped eating since she walked in. Her tongue clicked every now and then, and her occasional gasps of fake shock at whatever TikTok she was watching kept cutting through the low music playing from Mila’s speaker on the desk.

Lena sat cross-legged on the floor by the foot of the bed, a psych textbook cracked open in her lap. The page had been the same for at least fifteen minutes. Every now and then she’d flip it, just to keep up appearances, but her eyes kept drifting to the center of the room. To Natalia.

And Mila—Mila had claimed the edge of Natalia’s desk like she lived there. Sparkling water in hand, soft gold hoops catching the lamplight. She was the only one not saying much, but the way her head tilted and her brows kept twitching told Natalia she was clocking every detail.

Natalia herself was at the desk, laptop glowing in front of her, cursor blinking on an empty document. She hadn’t typed a single word. Her back was straight, posture tense, hands folded over her lap like they might give away the way her brain was buzzing.

The room smelled like lavender spray, warm electronics, and the aggressively chili-dusted chips Tia kept offering but no one else wanted.

“So, like, what’s the deal with that blonde girl?” Tia asked suddenly, voice lazy but loaded.

She didn’t look up from her phone. She didn’t need to.

Natalia didn’t answer at first. She let out a low, involuntary groan and leaned back in her chair, covering her face with both hands like she could physically block the question from reaching her.

“God. I don’t even know,” she said finally. Her voice came out tired, like she was already exhausted by the topic and herself. “She doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Classic basketball behavior,” Lena said without looking up.

Natalia dropped her hands and ran them through her hair, dragging her fingers down the back of her neck to force herself to breathe. “Exactly. They all walk around like they’ve already won something. Like the rest of us are just supposed to applaud and fall in line.”

“She is cute, though,” Bri muttered, balancing the ball on her foot and catching it with a smirk. “Like… that’s undeniable.”

“No one’s denying that,” Mila added smoothly, tapping the edge of her can. “She just gives off trouble, but like, really hot trouble energy.”

Natalia glared. “She gives off annoying energy.”

“Oh my God, you’re blushing,” Tia said suddenly, sitting up on her elbows. Her grin stretched slow and smug. “Wait—no—she’s blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” Natalia snapped, too fast.

“She is,” Lena said with a knowing smile, finally looking up from her book. “Confirmed.”

Natalia stood up, sharp and defensive, like the air had gone too hot too fast. She crossed the room and grabbed the ball from Bri mid-kick. “Can we not turn my life into an after-school special?”

Bri held up her hands like she was surrendering. “You’re the one making it spicy.”

“But we live for your drama,” Tia added, scooting higher onto the bed. “And this one’s good. Enemies to—”

“Don’t say lovers.”

Tia grinned wider. “...mildly intrigued teammates?”

“Don’t say anything.”

Mila raised an eyebrow. “You know, she did follow you into the kitchen at the party”

“She follows me everywhere,” Natalia muttered, dropping the ball onto her bed like it had betrayed her. She sank down beside it, dragging a throw pillow into her lap. “It’s like she doesn’t understand boundaries. I tell her off, twice, and she just smirks. Like she thinks I’m playing hard to get.”

Tia leaned over. “Aren’t you?”

Natalia launched the pillow at her. It hit her square in the face, and Tia cackled.

Lena’s voice softened. “Seriously though. If it’s making you uncomfortable—like really—just say the word.”

“It’s not like that,” Natalia said quickly, too quickly. “She’s not—creepy or pushy or anything. It’s not that.”

She exhaled hard. Pressed her palms to her thighs. “She’s just… persistent.”

“Persistent,” Mila echoed. “That’s a choice.”

“Distracting,” Natalia added under her breath.

“Uh huh,” Tia said, popping another chip into her mouth.

“She’s just…” Natalia paused, brows furrowed. “Tall. And cocky. And annoying.”

“You said ‘annoying’ twice,” Mila noted.

“Because she is.”

The room quieted. The heater kicked on in the corner. The music changed. A text buzzed on someone’s phone.

And then—

“You looked back,” Bri said, her voice light but devastating.

Natalia’s heart skipped.

She turned toward her, sharp and startled. “What?”

“At the party,” Bri repeated, nonchalantly. “When you walked away from her. You looked back.”

“I didn’t,” Natalia said. But her voice cracked just slightly.

“You did,” Mila said without flinching. “I saw you.”

Natalia froze. Her eyes dropped to her lap. She rubbed her thumb over the seam of the pillow like it could distract her from the heat rushing to her face.

It hadn’t meant anything. It hadn’t.

“I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t following me,” she said quietly. “That’s it.”

The girls didn’t press her.

But the air shifted.

And deep down, behind the hard lines of control she kept so carefully drawn, Natalia knew the truth.

She had looked back. They all saw it. And worse?

So had Paige Bueckers.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

They headed out just after five, the air sharp with the kind of cold that didn’t quite bite, but warned you it would. The girls pulled on their warm-up jackets and joggers, hoods up, music low as they cut across campus toward the field.

Natalia walked a little ahead, cleats slung over her shoulder, earbuds in—but not playing anything. She didn’t need hype music. She needed quiet. She needed control.

Behind her, the others chatted like nothing was bothering them. Tia was retelling some story that involved a failed keg stand, two traffic cones, and Lena yelling at a frat guy in Spanish. Natalia caught every other word, but didn’t join in.

Her stomach twisted—still.

You looked back.

She hated how true it was. Hated that she had done it. Hated that Paige knew it. That it probably made her feel smug. Victorious.

Like this was a game and Natalia had just made the first wrong move.

The field lights flickered on in the distance, casting long shadows across the turf as they approached. A few other players were already stretching by the benches, music pumping through a small speaker someone had brought. Cleats clicked against pavement and then turf.

As soon as Natalia stepped onto the field, her body switched gears.

Captain mode. Focus.

She dropped her bag, pulled off her hoodie, and started stretching, eyes scanning the rest of the squad. Bri jogged toward the far goal. Mila was adjusting her shin guards. Tia and Lena were already juggling again, laughing like they hadn’t just dragged Natalia through a full character arc in the dorm an hour earlier.

Coach blew the whistle and practice officially started.

Warm-ups turned into drills. Drills into sprints. Sprints into tactical rotations. Natalia called plays with short, clipped commands—sharp but clear. She didn’t miss passes. She didn’t drift. She didn’t flinch when cleats came too close. She led.

But her movements were tighter than usual. Angled. Like she was trying too hard to prove something.

“Reyes, push left!” she barked. “Lena, drop!” She clapped twice, eyes narrowing as the midfield fell into position.

By the time water break came around, her chest burned. Not from exertion. From effort. From overthinking.

“You okay?” Mila asked, passing her a bottle.

“Fine,” Natalia said, eyes still on the field. “We need to clean up the right side. They’re stacking too hard when we press.”

Mila gave her a look. “We’re not scrimmaging. It’s just drills.”

Natalia didn’t answer. She took a long drink and wiped her face with the bottom of her sleeve.

The team regrouped, and they kept moving—fast-paced, no room for error. No room for distractions. And yet—

Her mind betrayed her.

Just for a second, during a break in play, Natalia glanced up toward the hill by the gym.

A blur of movement. A tall frame. Light hair pulled into a high ponytail. Basketball hoodie.

Paige Bueckers.

Jogging past with headphones in. Not even looking at her.

Natalia’s jaw tensed. She turned back to the field.

She’s not watching you. She doesn’t care. And even if she did—it doesn’t matter.

This was her world. Her team. Her control.

She wasn't going to lose it over a girl with long legs, pretty eyes, and the emotional subtlety of a fire alarm.

Natalia clapped again, signaling a restart.

“Let’s go!” she shouted. “Focus up!”

Because she would.

Even if her pulse didn’t.

The second Paige laced up, slid on her practice jersey, and stepped onto the court, everything else went quiet. Classes, drama, pressure, headlines—they didn’t matter here. Here, it was just the ball, the floor, and her body doing what it was built to do.

But today?

Today felt different.

Her passes were just a little too hard. Her shots arced just a little too wide. Her head was half a second late to switch on defense.

“Bueckers!” Coach called out, blowing the whistle. “Dial in. You’re floating.”

Paige blinked hard and nodded, breath misting in the cold gym air. “Got it.”

But she didn’t. Not really.

Because no matter how hard she tried to lock in, her brain kept short-circuiting back to the kitchen from the night before. To the way Natalia had looked under that party lighting—sharp jaw, loose hair, that quiet, infuriating calm like she’d already figured Paige out and didn’t think much of what she saw.

It had gotten under her skin. Bad.

She dribbled back to the top of the key and ran the play again—harder this time, faster, forcing her focus. Her shoes squeaked against the waxed floor, echoing off the rafters, but it didn’t settle her the way it usually did.

Azzi set a screen, and Paige drove left. Finished the layup clean.

Better.

But even as she landed, even as the ball kissed glass and dropped through the net, the back of her mind stayed crowded.

With that voice. With those eyes. With the way Natalia had said, "I didn’t come here for company," and then looked like she almost meant it.

She grabbed a water bottle from the bench, swiping sweat from her brow.

“Okay, who’s she thinking about?” Nika said loudly, coming up beside her. “You’ve got the ‘I got curved but I liked it’ face.”

“I don’t have that face,” Paige muttered.

“You do. Right now.”

Paige glared at her.

Nika grinned. “You text her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t chase girls who act like they don’t want me.”

“Except you are.”

Paige took another drink and didn’t answer. She hated how obvious she was being.

Because it wasn’t about the chase. Not really.

It was about the fact that Natalia Auriemma had told her no and somehow it hadn’t felt like rejection. It had felt like a challenge.

And Paige loved challenges.

“Bring it in!” Coach yelled. “Let’s go, top of the key!”

Paige tossed her water bottle back down and jogged into the huddle.

She was the best. She knew that. She didn’t get rattled.

But when the ball hit her palms again and the play started— She still saw brown eyes in the corner of her vision.

And for the first time in a long time… She wondered if she was already in over her head.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

Practice ran late.

Her calves ached. Her hair was still damp at the ends, tied in a high knot. She’d thrown on a hoodie and leggings without thinking, earbuds in but no music playing, just the soft white noise of the walk helping her unwind.

It was gray out. Cold. The kind of early fall afternoon that tasted like burnt leaves and too many deadlines.

She didn’t plan to stop anywhere. But the coffee shop by the library had its doors propped open, and the smell—sweet, bitter, warm—wrapped around her like a hand on the shoulder.

Her fingers were freezing.

She ducked inside.

It was quiet—low music playing from behind the counter, only a few students at tables, half-asleep in front of laptops. Paige rubbed at her temple and stepped into line, only half-present.

And then she saw her.

Natalia.

Standing near the window, arms folded, waiting on a drink. Hair pulled into a braid today. Dark crewneck, leggings, one foot bouncing absently in a way that made Paige’s breath catch.

No party lighting. No loud music. Just her, in the soft gray afternoon light. And somehow, she still managed to look like a warning sign wrapped in perfection.

Paige turned just slightly. Not enough to be obvious.

But Natalia looked up anyway.

And saw her.

A beat passed.

No smile. No scowl. Just that unreadable, cool expression Paige hated and wanted to kiss off her face.

Then Natalia looked back at the counter like it didn’t matter.

Like Paige didn’t matter.

“Anything else?” the barista asked behind her.

Paige blinked. Realized she hadn’t even ordered.

“Uh, oat milk latte,” she said, distracted.

She stepped aside, and when her drink was called a minute later, she didn’t hesitate.

She crossed the café and stopped just close enough for Natalia to hear her without raising her voice.

“You’re following me now?” Paige asked, deadpan.

Natalia didn’t even blink. “This is the most popular café on campus.”

“Still feels personal.”

Natalia turned to face her, one brow raised, coffee cup tucked neatly into her hands like it was a shield. “Paranoia’s a side effect of ego. You should get that checked.”

Paige smirked. “You memorizing quotes for next time you walk away from me?”

“I’m just prepared,” Natalia said coolly. “You never know when you’ll run into someone who can’t take a hint.”

That landed. But Paige didn’t flinch.

She took a sip of her drink, then tilted her head. “Careful. You keep talking like that, people might think you’re flirting.”

Natalia stepped past her like she was done.

But this time—Paige turned with her. Walked with her. Matched her stride on the way out the door.

Natalia gave her a side glance. “You’re not good at quitting.”

“And you’re not good at pretending you don’t like attention.”

Natalia laughed—just once, dry and low in her throat. “I don’t like yours.”

Paige grinned. “You keep saying that. And yet…”

They reached the sidewalk. The wind picked up, tossing leaves across the pavement. Natalia stopped just outside the door and turned to her fully.

“You want a headline, Bueckers?” she said softly. “Here it is: I’m not impressed.”

And then she walked away. Again.

But this time, she looked back.

Just once.

And Paige smiled like she’d won something.

Because she had.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

The coffee was already cooling in her hand by the time she turned the corner toward her dorm.

She didn’t remember most of the walk.

Just that the wind had picked up, and her hoodie wasn’t cutting it. Just that the leaves kept skipping past her sneakers in little bursts like they were laughing. Just that her brain was loud in a way practice hadn’t fixed.

She replayed it.

Paranoia’s a side effect of ego. I’m not impressed.

And the way Natalia said her name. “Bueckers,” like it was a challenge. Like she already had her pinned to the wall and didn’t care.

It should’ve pissed Paige off.

It should’ve made her roll her eyes, laugh it off, text Nika something petty about how Natalia “definitely has a superiority complex and probably organizes her playlists by GPA.”

But none of that happened.

She just… walked.

Past the arts building, past the glass steps where the theater kids always gathered. Past the quad, where the trees were already half-bare. Past the soccer field, empty now but still humming with yesterday’s cleats and commands.

She took another sip of her latte and winced.

Too cold. Too sweet.

She wanted something bitter. Something she could sink her teeth into.

You’re not good at quitting.

Natalia had looked back. For a second. And it shouldn’t have meant anything—but it did.

Because Paige knew looks. Knew when someone was curious. When someone was flinching. When someone wanted to run, but wasn’t quite sure where.

She knew the difference between indifference and self-preservation.

And Natalia?

She was trying too hard.

Paige stopped outside her dorm building. Swiped her student ID. Climbed the stairs two at a time because the elevator took too long.

Her room was quiet. Warm. A half-dried towel still hung on the back of the door from her post-practice shower. Her bed wasn’t made.

She set the coffee down, fell back onto the mattress, and stared at the ceiling.

This wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

It was just a dare. Just a game. Just a girl with a last name that came with warning labels.

But Natalia didn’t move like a warning.

She moved like a riddle.

And Paige—god help her—had always liked puzzles.

Her phone buzzed.

Nika.

n: u alive or did the tiny terror finally end you

Paige smiled a little. Typed back one word:

p: she looked back.

And then turned her phone off.

Because for the first time in a while, her mind wasn’t on basketball.

It was on a girl who said no like she meant it. And might’ve meant yes without realizing it.

Natalia didn’t look back.

She pushed through a crowd of dancers, elbowed past someone trying to hand her a vodka cranberry, and didn’t stop until she reached the hallway again—colder, darker, quieter.

It helped. A little.

Not enough.

Her jaw clenched. Her hands were tight at her sides, every muscle still buzzing from the three-minute interaction that somehow made her feel like she’d run suicides uphill. She didn’t like that Paige got to her. That she said things that weren’t even clever, weren’t even interesting, and still left Natalia unsteady.

Are you flirting with me, or just really bad at small talk?

God. That had been a moment. A slip.

Too much eye contact. Too close. Too long.

Natalia shook it off, dragging her fingers through her hair. Her heart was still racing, and she hated that. Hated that Paige had even followed her in there, let alone stood there looking like a question Natalia didn’t want to answer.

Because the truth was?

It would’ve been easy—so easy—to lean in. To give in. To say yes, to whatever it was Paige was offering with that mouth and those hands and that laugh that sounded like it had gotten away with murder.

But Natalia didn’t do easy. She didn’t do messy. Not with girls who played on her dad’s team. Not with girls who didn’t know how to shut up. Not with girls who made her feel things she didn’t have time for.

She turned the corner, spotted Mila near the back door, and made her way over like she hadn’t just been in the middle of something she couldn’t name.

“You disappeared,” Mila said, sipping from her cup. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Natalia said, a little too fast.

Mila studied her face. “You sure?”

“Yup.”

A pause. Then, “Was that Bueckers I saw following you into the kitchen?”

Natalia didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it. Didn’t need to.

Mila made a face. “She really doesn’t give up, huh?”

Natalia shrugged, arms folded over her chest now, grounding herself. “She’s not used to hearing no.”

“Most people aren’t,” Mila said. “But she’s taking it… weirdly well.”

Natalia looked away. Bit the inside of her cheek.

She didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit that this—whatever this was—felt different. Not just annoying. Not just some tall, hot distraction with a mouth full of confidence.

There was something else.

And Natalia didn’t like not knowing what it was.

She didn’t like the way Paige looked at her like she was something to solve. She didn’t like the way it made her skin feel too tight, too warm, too aware.

So she stuffed it down.

Wrapped it in ice. Buried it.

“It’s nothing,” Natalia said, half to Mila, half to herself. “She’s just bored.”

Mila didn’t press.

And Natalia didn’t explain.

Because if she said it out loud, it might start to feel real. And she wasn’t sure she could survive that.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰ Instagram!

@Natty10

Liked by bricarterrr, tiaontap  and 970 others 

Natty10  had to remind the room 💅🏽✨ good curls, better company ✨

Tagged lenamoral.es

View Comments 

@milarey10 we were the moment. actually every moment. 🔥

@tiaontap wait why do we look famous here ?? tf

@bricarterrrcaption should’ve been “don’t talk to us unless you’re 5'7 and emotionally available” 💋

@lenamoral.es delete this before my situationship sees it 😭

@azfudd11 okay queen of lighting + angles????

@paigebueckers1 you post this and expect people to act normal??? wild. ↳ @tiaontap: girl don’t start 💅🏽 ↳ @Natty10: 😶

@uconnsoccerupdates the captain said step aside.

@itsjustmila we need a print of this. no fr.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

By the time she got to her first class the next morning, Natalia had two things: a lukewarm coffee and a headache she refused to admit was from anything but dehydration.

The lecture hall was half full when she slid into her usual seat—second row, left side, close enough to pay attention, far enough not to be noticed. She set her bag down quietly, tucked her hoodie sleeves over her palms, and opened her laptop with mechanical precision.

Routine was good. Safe. Grounding.

Which would’ve worked perfectly—if her brain hadn’t been on a one-track loop of last night.

The kitchen. The stare. The way Paige’s voice dropped when she said, “I didn’t come in here for ice.”

Natalia shook her head, like that would actually shake Paige Bueckers out of her system.

“Morning,” a voice said from the next seat over. Tia, chewing gum and sliding her sunglasses up into her curls like the hangover didn’t even register.

“You look like death,” Natalia muttered.

“I feel like a goddess,” Tia replied, stretching out like a cat in her chair. “Anyway, you left early.”

Natalia raised a brow. “It was one.”

“That’s early for you.”

“I had practice.”

“Mhm,” Tia said, too knowingly. “And nothing to do with a certain basketball player in a white tank top making bedroom eyes across the party?”

Natalia’s jaw twitched. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Tia grinned. “Cool. I’ll pretend you’re not lying.”

The professor walked in and started loading the slide deck. Natalia straightened, forced her focus to the front, took a deep breath. Just take notes. Just exist.

But even as the screen lit up with bullet points about macroeconomic trends, she found her mind drifting.

Because Paige had followed her. Had stood there in that kitchen like she knew Natalia was something worth chasing. Like she wasn’t afraid to lose.

And that—that should’ve made Natalia roll her eyes and walk faster.

But it hadn’t.

It had made her stop. Talk. Look back.

She didn’t like that. She didn’t like her.

But even now, with lecture notes open and her fingers moving automatically, she could still hear that voice.

Still feel those eyes on her.

Natalia’s stomach twisted.

She hated distractions. And Paige Bueckers was becoming a dangerous one.

Nika blinked. “Because you are.”

“I’m not,” Paige argued, mouth full. “I read them. I just ignore them.”

“She told you to watch it, and your response was flirting.”

“That wasn’t flirting,” Paige scoffed, then paused. “Okay, it was a little flirting.”

Azzi raised a brow from across the table. “She say anything else?”

Paige hesitated, rolling the empty Gatorade bottle between her palms. “She said ‘have a good one, superstar.’”

Aubrey snorted. “That’s not flirting. That’s her verbally pushing you off a cliff.”

Paige shoved her lightly. “Shut up. You weren’t there. There was… a tone.”

“A tone,” Nika repeated. “God, you’re so far gone.”

“I’m not,” Paige said, but it didn’t come out convincing. Not even a little.

Because the truth was—yeah, okay, she might’ve watched Natalia walk away with just a little too much attention. Might’ve clocked the sway of her braid, the curve of her calf muscle, the way her hoodie sleeves were pushed up like she wasn’t trying to look cool—she just was.

And maybe Paige had waited around near the rec fields this morning. Just in case Natalia showed up. Just to see if there’d be another run-in. Another round.

But she hadn’t shown. Not near Paige, anyway.

Just ghosts and rumors and the burn of a girl who didn’t look impressed when most people would’ve melted.

“She’s so short,” Paige muttered now, almost to herself.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Nika asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just—she’s, like, 5’3. And terrifying.”

“Powerful things come in small packages,” Azzi said, sipping her smoothie.

Paige looked down at her food, suddenly quiet.

She didn’t want to admit that Natalia had gotten under her skin. That one barely-there look had stuck with her more than most full-on flirtations ever did. That being ignored by her felt more like a challenge than any defender she’d crossed up on court.

“So what now?” Nika asked, casually, like they weren’t sitting in the middle of a dining hall full of students pretending not to watch the drama unfold.

“I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “Play it cool.”

“You? Cool?” Aubrey snorted again. “You literally just called her terrifying because she’s short.”

“She is terrifying,” Paige muttered again, pushing her tray away.

But later—when they walked out of the dining hall and the breeze hit just right and Paige thought she saw that familiar braid across the quad—her heart sped up anyway.

Because apparently, there was something worse than Natalia Auriemma ignoring her.

Natalia Auriemma not being there at all.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

The house was already packed by the time they got there—music pulsing through the walls, windows fogged, red cups in every hand. The kind of college party where you couldn’t hear yourself think but that was half the point. No pressure. Just chaos. Just bodies and heat and something stronger than beer in someone’s lemonade jug.

Paige didn’t love these parties. But sometimes, they were good distractions. Good for showing face. Good for keeping the team loose.

Nika was the first one through the door, already tossing hellos, ducking under someone’s arm to swipe a beer. Azzi stayed close behind, eyes scanning the room like it was just another court. Aubrey had disappeared into the crowd in under ten seconds.

Paige followed slow, hands in her pockets, hood up.

She was halfway toward the kitchen when she heard it.

A voice that struck sharp, even through the music. A laugh that she recognized immediately.

Natalia Auriemma.

She turned instinctively—and there she was.

Back against the hallway wall in a dark green crop top and black jeans, boots scuffed like she’d kicked her way into the party. Her hair was down tonight, waves loose and wild around her shoulders, and her expression was a careful, practiced kind of bored.

She wasn’t alone, of course. Mila and Lena flanked her, cups in hand, already in the middle of some story that had Natalia smirking around the rim of her drink.

She looked good. Too good. Like trouble you forgot was trouble until it was already too late.

Paige almost backed off—almost—but she’d never been one to retreat.

Instead, she shifted her weight, grabbed a fresh drink from the counter, and made her way into the living room, just close enough for Natalia to see her if she looked up.

And she did.

Their eyes met across the crowd—Paige standing loose by the stereo, Natalia still leaned like gravity didn’t apply to her—and for a second, no one else existed.

No teammates. No dare. No last names or bloodlines.

Just the beat of the music between them and something sharp and electric under Paige’s skin.

Natalia looked away first.

Not because she was flustered. Because she wanted Paige to wonder if she was.

“Wow,” Nika said, suddenly appearing at Paige’s shoulder with a beer and a grin. “That was subtle.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Paige said, sipping her drink.

Nika nodded. “Exactly the problem.”

Across the room, Natalia whispered something to Lena, barely tilting her head in Paige’s direction.

And Paige smiled.

This was going to be fun.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

The music shifted—bass thicker now, the kind you feel in your chest before your ears catch up. Someone had turned off the main lights, and now the living room pulsed in amber and blue from the string lights hanging across the ceiling. Everything shimmered. Everyone looked better than they were.

And Paige still couldn’t stop glancing back at her.

Natalia hadn’t moved. She was still in the same spot, still holding court with her friends, still pretending she didn’t see Paige every damn time Paige looked over.

Except she was seeing her. Paige knew it.

Because every time Paige laughed too loud, or leaned a little too far toward Nika, or ran a hand through her hair like she wasn’t aware of her own angles—Natalia's eyes flicked back over. Just for a second. Like a dare. Like a warning.

And it was driving Paige insane.

“Go talk to her,” Nika said, slumped next to her on the couch, drink in hand. “This tension is making me physically unwell.”

“I’m not walking across a party to get ignored twice,” Paige muttered.

“Then stop looking like you’re in love with her from across the room.”

“I’m not in love with her.”

Nika raised a brow. “You sure?”

Paige didn’t answer. Just sipped her drink, too long, too fast. The liquor burned its way down like punishment.

Then Natalia moved.

Not toward her. Of course not. But through the crowd, weaving past a group of frat guys with that same sharp grace she carried on the field. Paige’s gaze tracked her automatically—she couldn’t help it—and then Natalia was disappearing into the kitchen.

Paige stood up without thinking.

Nika gave her a look. “So you’re just gonna accidentally wander into the kitchen now?”

“I’m getting ice,” Paige said.

“For your drink?”

“No. For my face,” she snapped, then shoved her cup into Nika’s hands and followed the path Natalia had taken.

The kitchen was a little quieter, the music muffled behind closed doors. Natalia stood by the fridge, back turned, flipping through the options like she actually cared about mixers.

Paige leaned in the doorway, heart thudding annoyingly hard in her chest.

“Running low on sarcastic comebacks, or just needed a refill?” she asked.

Natalia didn’t flinch. Just closed the fridge and turned slowly, one brow raised like she’d known Paige would follow.

“Ice is in the freezer,” she said flatly.

Paige let a slow grin curl across her lips. “I didn’t come in here for ice.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Natalia said, stepping around her to toss her drink into the sink, “because I didn’t come here for company.”

She brushed past Paige again—barely—but Paige caught the scent of her. Clean. Warm. Something like citrus and something like trouble.

Paige turned to follow. “You always this charming at parties, or am I just lucky?”

Natalia stopped.

Turned.

For a second, she looked Paige up and down like she was trying to figure out where the game ended and the player began.

“Are you flirting with me,” she said, voice low, unimpressed, “or just really bad at small talk?”

“I don’t do small talk,” Paige said.

Natalia tilted her head. “That obvious.”

They stared at each other, close now. Close enough that Paige could see the darker flecks in Natalia’s brown eyes. Close enough that something flickered—quick and almost invisible—in Natalia’s expression.

Then she stepped back.

“You should get back to your team,” Natalia said. “You’re a lot more fun when I’m not around.”

And with that, she walked away.

Paige stood in the kitchen doorway for a beat too long, pulse loud in her ears.

She didn’t chase her.

But she wanted to.

God, she wanted to.

Natalia had stopped trying to correct the narrative years ago. Let them think what they wanted. It kept people at arm’s length, and that was exactly where she liked them—out of reach and out of her way.

She liked quiet. She liked precision. She liked control.

And she definitely didn’t like basketball players with loud laughs and too-big reputations and the kind of blue eyes that looked through you like they were doing you a favor just by noticing you.

So when she turned the corner near the vending machines outside the athletic center and nearly ran smack into Paige Bueckers—all limbs and cockiness and six feet of “you’ve heard of me”—Natalia didn’t flinch.

She didn’t look up, either. Not immediately.

“Watch it,” she said coolly, the words flat and sharp, already sidestepping.

But Paige didn’t move.

She stood there like she owned the hallway, arms crossed over her chest, a lazy smirk curling at her lips. She looked like the kind of girl who’d never been told no and wouldn’t believe you even if you said it.

“Didn’t peg you for the vending machine type,” Paige said, tilting her head like she was just so amused by Natalia’s existence.

Natalia looked up then.

All the way up.

She hated that Paige towered over her—six feet tall, broad-shouldered, smug. She made Natalia feel like a civilian in her own building.

Natalia narrowed her eyes and gave her the slowest, most unimpressed once-over she could manage. “Didn’t peg you for the can’t-read-social-cues type.”

The smile flickered.

Barely—but it was there. A tiny crack in the performance. Paige shifted slightly, like she wasn’t used to being met with steel instead of giggles.

Good.

Natalia turned back to the vending machine, punched in her code without breaking eye contact, and let the bottle clatter down like punctuation. She grabbed it, popped the cap, and took a sip before brushing past Paige again.

She didn’t slow down. Didn’t break stride. Just threw the words over her shoulder like they didn’t matter.

“Have a good one, superstar.”

And she didn’t look back. Because she didn’t need to. She already knew Paige was still standing there—stuck between intrigue and irritation.

And that was exactly where Natalia liked her.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

Practice was a blur of heat and motion—sun baking down on the field, the air thick with late-season humidity and the sharp tang of freshly cut grass. The sound of cleats slamming into turf echoed like percussion, loud and fast and relentless. Coaches barked instructions from the sidelines. Whistles sliced through the chaos. Cones blurred at the edges of Natalia’s vision as she darted between them, sharp turns, tighter cuts, footwork automatic and lethal.

Sweat trickled down her back, soaking the collar of her practice tee. Her thighs burned from sprints, her calves screamed from constant stops and starts, but she didn’t let up. Didn’t miss a pass. Didn’t hesitate.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t allow herself to.

Because Natalia Auriemma was captain for a reason. Because perfection wasn’t a goal—it was the bare minimum. Anything less, and people talked. Said she got it from her last name. Said she was handed the armband. Said she only made starting lineups because of who her father was.

So she pushed harder.

She didn’t waste time. Didn’t soften. She led because that’s what was expected of her.

And she hated when people expected anything else.

“You good?” Mila asked, jogging up beside her during a water break, wiping her forehead with the hem of her shirt, cheeks flushed and hair curling from sweat.

Natalia didn’t answer right away. She took a long drink from her water bottle, throat burning. Her eyes tracked the midfielders across the field automatically.

“Morales is drifting left too early,” she said instead, voice sharp, professional. “Tell her to hold center until the pivot opens.”

Mila gave her a look. “That’s not what I asked.”

Natalia finally looked at her.

She gave a tight shrug. “I’m fine.”

But Mila wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been biting since we got here.”

Natalia let the words hang in the air, heavy as the sun overhead. She took another swig of water. Retied her braid, tugging it tight enough to sting at the scalp.

Because she wasn’t biting.

She was just... distracted.

Not because of her, obviously. Not because of a vending machine hallway run-in with six feet of attitude and those stupid cocky eyes and a voice that wouldn’t get out of her head no matter how many drills she ran.

Natalia’s jaw clenched. She shook her arms out, rolled her neck until it cracked.

She didn’t have time for distractions. Especially not ones that looked like walking temptation and talked like they could get away with anything.

She pulled her shin guards tighter, refocused her gaze on the field, and narrowed her thoughts to the only thing that mattered: the game.

And the next girl who didn’t sprint all the way through a drill? She was going to tear them apart.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

It was already dark when Natalia headed toward the gym. The field lights were still on behind her, casting long shadows over the grass, but the sky above had already slipped into that inky blue that meant the day was gone.

Her car was still in the shop. Transmission or something else she didn’t care enough to remember. Her dad had offered to drive her home after his practice wrapped, and she could’ve said no. Should’ve, maybe. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to walk. But something tugged at her.

Maybe it was routine. Or maybe it was something quieter.

She found her way through the back hallway of the athletic center, the one that always smelled faintly like rubber soles and wintergreen muscle balm. When she pushed the gym doors open, the air inside hit her like memory: warm, worn, and echoing with the squeak of sneakers on polished wood.

The lights were bright and a little too harsh. But the place still felt familiar. Safe, even.

She climbed the bleachers automatically, earbuds in, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She didn’t sit in the front rows. She never did. She liked being able to look down on it all. Observe without being seen.

She pulled out a protein bar, unwrapped it slowly. Her legs ached from the final scrimmage. Her back was tight. She stretched one leg out along the bench, toe rolling in her sneaker. The motion was lazy. Disinterested.

She didn’t mean to watch the team.

Didn’t mean to notice who was running the offense. Didn’t mean to recognize that unmistakable stride, all sharp turns and clean cuts.

But then her eyes caught on her.

Paige.

High ponytail. Shoulders dusted with sweat. Tank top clinging between her shoulder blades. Every movement efficient, powerful. Like she was dancing with the ball and daring anyone to interrupt.

Natalia’s jaw tensed.

Paige looked unbothered. Focused. In control. The way great athletes are when they forget they’re being watched.

It made Natalia’s stomach twist.

Annoying.

She looked down at her protein bar and took a too-large bite. Chewed too slowly.

She wasn’t watching. She wasn’t interested.

It was just muscle memory, she told herself. Just the way her brain always clocked the sharpest threat in the room. The girl with the most gravity. The one everyone else moved around like planets and pull.

That’s all Paige Bueckers was.

A challenge. A dare she hadn’t agreed to.

Natalia glanced back down at the court, just once, just to be sure. Paige was laughing at something one of her teammates said, head thrown back, hands on her hips, all that arrogant brightness wrapped in sweat and steel.

Natalia’s fingers curled into her hoodie sleeve.

She wasn’t going to lose to her.

She didn’t lose. Especially not to girls who made her look twice.

There she was.

Natalia Auriemma.

Shorter than Paige expected every time she saw her, but somehow still intimidating. Dark hair pulled into a tight braid, expression unreadable, stride confident. She didn’t walk so much as command the space, flanked by her teammates like a starting lineup of bad decisions. They weren’t in uniform, but you could still tell—soccer girls moved like they knew something everyone else didn’t.

Paige’s eyes flicked back to her table, quick and casual. But Nika caught it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Nika said, not even looking up from her apple slices.

“Think about what?” Paige asked, leaning back, playing it cool.

Nika raised a brow. “The look you just gave her. I saw that little ‘oh she’s hot’ blink. Don't do it.”

Azzi looked up. “Who?”

“Natalia,” Nika and Paige said at the same time, and Paige winced.

“Coach’s daughter Natalia?” Azzi blinked. “That’s who you were looking at?”

Paige shrugged, grinning now. “Didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to look.”

“You’re not,” Aubrey said, deadpan. “She’s like… a career-ending decision in cleats.”

“She’s not that bad,” Paige argued, already reaching for the straw again.

“She made that freshman from cross country cry in the parking lot just for calling her ‘Geno’s kid,’” Nika said. “She doesn’t flirt. She annihilates.”

“Okay, but… she’s hot,” Paige muttered.

“That,” Nika said, sitting up now with a smirk, “sounds like confidence.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “So?”

“So,” Nika said, “if you’re so sure of yourself, I dare you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make her fall for you.”

The table went silent. Even Azzi looked up from her phone.

“You’re not serious,” Paige said, though her grin was already betraying her.

Nika leaned in, voice low. “Dead serious. You’re Mister Big Shot. Everyone loves Paige Bueckers. Let’s see if the Ice Queen does too.”

Paige glanced back toward the other side of the room. Natalia was laughing at something Brielle Carter said, head tilted, teeth flashing—just for a moment. Then the mask snapped back into place like it had never slipped.

Off-limits, Paige reminded herself.

Dangerous.

She took a sip of her smoothie and smirked.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

Later at practice, they were running through drills and plays, sweat already clinging to their backs under the gym lights. Coach was pacing with that familiar scowl, whistle bouncing against his chest, barking out adjustments with no room for softness—not even for his star player.

Not even for his daughter.

Paige hadn’t seen Natalia yet, but the dare hung over her like a second jersey. Every time she missed a pass or felt someone watching, she caught herself glancing toward the doors. Stupid. She told herself she didn’t care. That it was just a joke. But her head wasn’t in the game, and Nika knew it.

“Focus,” Nika muttered, hip-checking her lightly during a water break. “You’re playing like your brain’s somewhere else. Or someone.”

“Relax.” Paige rolled her eyes, grabbing a towel. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not slick, Bueckers,” Nika said with a grin, already jogging back toward the court. “She’s probably not even watching.”

She was.

Natalia had shown up twenty minutes into practice, like she always did when her dad’s team was running late drills. She didn’t come close—she never did—but she sat on the top row of the bleachers with her earbuds in and a protein bar in her hand, pretending not to look up.

But she did.

Every time Paige hit a clean three-pointer or shouted a play with command, Natalia’s gaze flicked down, cool and unreadable. She watched like she was studying a pattern, like she was trying to find the space between performance and truth.

Paige caught it once—right after a drive and kick to Azzi that ended in a clean swish. She looked up instinctively and found Natalia’s eyes already there. Calm. Curious. Then she looked away.

Just like that.

Like Paige was a commercial break.

“Again!” Coach shouted, and they reset.

But Paige’s chest burned—not from the drills, but from the look. Or maybe the lack of one.

Because now the game had started.

And Paige wasn’t sure if she was still the one in control.

☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰

The locker room was humid with sweat, steam, and the overlapping sounds of showers turning on, sneakers hitting the tile, and music playing low from someone’s speaker. Paige peeled off her jersey with a grunt, dropping it into the laundry bin and letting her body sag onto the bench like the weight of the practice had finally hit her all at once.

“Well,” Nika said, flopping down beside her, “you survived your first day of flirting from forty feet away. Proud of you.”

“That wasn’t flirting,” Paige muttered, wiping her face with a towel.

“You’re right,” Nika said, cracking open a Gatorade. “That was failure. You didn’t even wave. You blinked at her like you had a cornea spasm.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Because… maybe Nika wasn’t wrong.

Natalia had barely reacted. Barely looked at her. And somehow, that had Paige spiraling more than if she’d laughed in her face.

“She was watching, though,” Azzi offered from across the locker room, tying her hair into a bun. “I saw her during shooting drills. She didn’t even blink when Coach yelled.”

“She never blinks,” Aaliyah added, passing by with a towel slung over her shoulder. “It’s unsettling.”

“She blinked at me,” Paige said suddenly.

Everyone turned.

“I mean—I think,” she added, quickly. “She looked. For a second.”

“You are so gone already,” Nika said, and everyone cracked up.

Paige sank lower on the bench. “Shut up.”

“Look,” Nika said, lowering her voice and tossing her now-empty bottle into the trash. “You’ve got two options. Keep letting her stare you into submission from the bleachers… or actually talk to her.”

“That would involve knowing where she is when Coach isn’t around,” Paige said.

Azzi raised a brow. “You know she eats lunch outside the rec fields, right? Same spot every day. With that scary girl with the tattoos.”

“Brielle,” Nika supplied.

“Yeah. Her. You could ‘accidentally’ run into her.”

Paige snorted. “That’s subtle.”

“Or,” Nika said, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder, “you could keep pretending this is a dare and not the beginning of your own downfall.”

Paige stayed quiet as the others filtered out, letting the noise fade and the moment stretch. Her skin still buzzed from practice, from that too-short glance across the gym. And she hated that she cared. That someone so closed-off, so off-limits, could already have this kind of pull.

She hated it.

And maybe she loved it.

She stood, slung her duffel bag over one shoulder, and caught her reflection in the locker mirror—flushed cheeks, messy braid, a spark of something dangerous in her eyes.

Tomorrow, she thought.

Tomorrow, she was going to say something.

Even if it killed her.