#hates

Hares Dream

Vikki Yeates

A/N This chapter is packed with moments you’ve all been asking for—media drama, Mia’s birthday planning, fan reactions, and more. I’ve been reading every single one of your messages (even if I don’t always reply), and I truly appreciate the love and ideas you send my way. Thank you for being patient and sticking with this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

WC 5k

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WNBA Season Opener

After days of sweat, bruises, and endless drills, the day had finally come—the Miami Sol’s season opener. The air inside the arena pulsed with life, every seat drenched in orange and yellow like a sunrise burning over the ocean. Fans roared, stomping the bleachers, waving signs with Paige’s name scrawled in bold letters.

Paige stood at the edge of the hardwood, taking it all in—the deafening chants, the blare of the horns, the smell of popcorn mixed with fresh varnish on the court. Her heart drummed against her ribs like it wanted out.

Somewhere up in the stands, Mia was bouncing in her seat, a tiny Sol jersey hanging past her knees, clutching a foam finger twice her size. Next to her, Azzi sat cool and composed—at least that’s what she wanted the world to think. Paige knew better. Azzi’s knee would be bouncing, and her eyes would never leave the floor.

“Eyes here!” Coach Strode’s voice cut through the noise like a whip. The team circled in, sweat slick on their forearms, game faces locked in.

“We’ve bled for this,” he barked, pacing like a man possessed. “You think those extra suicides were for nothing? You think those 6 a.m. lifts were just cardio? No. They were for this. For this moment.” He jabbed a finger toward the court. “Vegas thinks they can walk in here and push us around. Show them who the hell they’re dealing with.”

Paige felt the circle tighten, the heat of her teammates pressing in, the weight of the moment settling heavy and sweet. She stole one last glance toward the stands—caught a flash of Azzi’s dark hair, Mia’s bright grin—and for a split second, everything else disappeared.

The whistle blew. Tip-off was next. 

First Quarter

The ball soared into the air at tip-off, and Cameron Brink leapt like a skyscraper, slapping it straight to KK Arnold. The game exploded from there. Vegas came out swinging—A’ja Wilson hit two mid-range jumpers before Paige even got her hands on the ball.

But when she did, the crowd roared. Paige cut through the lane like lightning, took the hit from Chelsea Gray, and still banked it in. And-one. She slapped her chest, grinning as the foul was called.

Mia’s squeal cut through the noise, even from across the arena. Paige couldn’t look—game face on—but she felt it in her bones. Her little girl was watching Mama do work.

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Second Quarter

The Aces tried to suffocate the paint, but Cameron was a wall, and Georgia Amoore nailed two clutch threes to keep the Sol alive. Every bucket was a war. Elbows, sweat, bodies crashing to the floor.

Timeout. Paige grabbed a towel, chest heaving. Coach Strode’s voice thundered, but all Paige heard was the echo of Mia’s laughter filtering down from the stands. Azzi was holding her now, whispering something in her ear. Paige wanted to run up there, scoop them both into her arms, and never let go—but she had a job to finish.

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Third Quarter

Miami clawed back from eight down. KK turned into a menace on defense, ripping the ball from Jackie Young and throwing a perfect dime to Paige for the lead. The crowd erupted. Azzi was on her feet now, clapping, shouting—Azzi never shouted.

Paige smirked. That one was for you, Mommy.

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Fourth Quarter – 10 Seconds Left

88-88. The scoreboard glared like fire. The arena was chaos—horns blaring, fans on their feet. Vegas had the ball. One shot could end it.

Paige bent over, hands on her knees, lungs burning. Sweat dripped into her eyes, but through the blur, she found Azzi in the stands. Azzi, standing tall with Mia on her hip, worry etched across her face.

Paige raised her hand and curled her fingers—a signal only Azzi would understand. Let her come.

Azzi’s eyes widened. For a second, she shook her head. The protective look was all Mommy. But then—she exhaled and set Mia down.

Mia bolted, jersey bouncing, foam finger dragging behind her. Security hesitated, but Azzi followed closely, flashing a quick pass and a smile that stopped anyone from saying no.

The timeout buzzed. Paige jogged to the sideline, crouched low, and opened her arms. Mia launched herself forward, tiny arms wrapping around Paige’s sweaty neck. Paige buried her face in Mia’s curls and just breathed.

“You having fun, baby girl?” Paige whispered.

Mia nodded hard. “Mama, you’re winning!”

Paige grinned, kissed her cheek. “Not yet. But Mama’s about to.” She pressed their foreheads together. “You watch me, okay? This one’s for you.”

Azzi reached them then, hand on Mia’s shoulder, eyes soft as velvet. For a heartbeat, Paige and Azzi just looked at each other—the noise fading, the world narrowing down to three people and one promise. Paige brushed her fingers over Azzi’s hand, just for a second, before pulling back.

“Go with Mommy, bug. Mama’s gotta finish this.”

Mia skipped back to Azzi, still grinning. Paige stood, rolled her shoulders, and stepped back onto the court.

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Final Play

Vegas inbounded. Clock at 10. Paige shadowed Chelsea Gray at the top, heart pounding. Nine… eight… then it happened—Rickea Jackson jumped the passing lane, snatching the ball clean.

“GO!” she screamed.

Paige was already flying. Rickea fired a bullet pass across the court. Paige caught it, took one dribble, two, rose up at the arc—time slowing like the whole world held its breath—

BANG.

The buzzer screamed as the ball ripped the net. The arena exploded. Orange and yellow confetti burst from the rafters. Miami Sol 91, Aces 88.

The arena was chaos. Orange and yellow confetti rained from the rafters, the scoreboard screaming the numbers that would live forever in Paige’s memory: SOL 91 – ACES 88.

Her teammates tackled her in a storm of arms and laughter, Cameron screaming in her ear, “YOU’RE INSANE!” KK was hopping like the floor was lava, Rickea fanning her with a towel like Paige had just fainted. Paige barely heard any of it. Her eyes were already scanning the stands.

Azzi was on her feet, clapping, grinning so hard it made Paige’s chest ache. Next to her, Mia was shaking a foam finger like it could take off. Paige caught Azzi’s gaze, gave the smallest nod, and mouthed, Send her.

Azzi hesitated for half a second, then bent down and whispered something to Mia. The little girl’s eyes went wide, and then she was off—tiny sneakers pounding the aisle steps, the oversized jersey bouncing around her knees. Paige’s heart nearly burst as she crouched low, arms open.

Mia launched herself into her mama’s arms like a cannonball. Paige caught her, spun her around, and pressed her face into the warm curve of Mia’s neck, breathing in baby shampoo and popcorn.

“You see that?” Paige whispered against her ear, voice shaking from more than adrenaline. “Mama did that for you, baby. For you.”

Mia giggled, wrapping her small arms tight around Paige’s neck. “You’re the best, Mama.”

“I love you so much,” Paige murmured, kissing her cheek again and again until Mia squealed. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

By then, Azzi was there—smiling softly, eyes shining, like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Paige handed Mia over, their fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Go with Mommy, baby girl,” Paige said gently. “I’ll find you after.”

Azzi nodded, squeezing Paige’s hand once before taking Mia back up the tunnel—just in time. The court was already flooding with cameras and microphones.

“Paige!” A reporter shoved a mic toward her. “Incredible buzzer-beater! Walk us through that last play—what was going through your mind?”

Paige laughed breathlessly, running a hand through her sweat-damp hair. “Honestly? Just… make the shot. My teammates trusted me, and I wasn’t about to let them down.”

“Was that the play Coach drew up?”

“Not exactly,” Paige said with a grin. “But sometimes you gotta improvise.”

Another reporter elbowed in, phone already recording. “Paige, the little girl we just saw—who is she?”

Paige froze for half a beat, then straightened her shoulders. The noise of the arena faded in her ears, replaced by the sound of her own heartbeat.

“She’s my daughter,” Paige said clearly, voice steady.

The reporters erupted all at once, voices overlapping.

“Your daughter?!” “How old is she?” “Why are we only seeing her now?”

Paige lifted her chin, calm but firm. “For her safety and privacy. This job… it comes with a lot of eyes, and I wanted to protect her as long as I could.”

“Can you tell us her name?” another reporter pressed.

A smile tugged at Paige’s lips, slow and proud. “Mia,” she said simply. “Her name is Mia.”

Cameras flashed like fireworks. Paige didn’t flinch. For the first time all night, she felt like she’d scored something bigger than a win.

Locker Room 

The locker room was pure chaos—music pumping, the sound of laughter bouncing off the walls, and the sharp scent of victory filling the air. Paige sat on the bench, towel around her shoulders, still buzzing from the last play. Ninety-one to eighty-eight. Her shot. The roar of the crowd still echoed in her head.

She was lacing up her shoes when KK’s voice cut through the noise.

“Yo, make some noise for Mama Paige!” KK yelled, throwing both hands up like she was leading a pep rally.

The entire locker room erupted—clapping, whistling, and a couple of players stomping on the floor. Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Y’all are doing too much,” she mumbled, though her smile gave her away.

“Too much?” Rickea grinned from across the room, scrolling through her phone. “Girl, you’ve been trending since halftime. Hashtag MamaBuckets. Look at this.” She spun the screen around, showing Paige a clip of her game-winning shot with a caption: ‘Mama Paige clutch for her baby!’

Cameron leaned against her locker, smirking. “Kinda cute, though. You hit that shot like somebody had bedtime to get home to.”

“Don’t start,” Paige warned, tossing her towel at her.

“Oh, I’m starting,” Georgia jumped in with her Aussie accent, wagging a finger. “You had the whole arena crying like it was a Disney movie. Hit the shot, point to the stands—what was that? A love letter?”

“Exactly!” KK hollered. “You saw her look up, right? All dramatic, like ‘That one’s for my family.’” She fanned her face like she was wiping fake tears. “Mama Paige, MVP of my heart!”

Paige shook her head, cheeks warm. “Can I get dressed in peace, or y’all gonna keep doing play-by-play commentary on my life?”

“Go see your crew, Mama Bear,” Rickea said, grinning. “Before your little girl comes in here to drag you out.”

Paige laughed, grabbing her duffel. “You’re lucky I like y’all.”

Paige slipped her phone back into her duffel and gave her teammates a final wave before heading out of the arena. The adrenaline from the buzzer-beater still buzzed through her veins, but the thought of seeing Mia and Azzi again beat every cheer, every headline, every question.

Outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a calm after the storm. She spotted them by the SUV—Mia bouncing on her toes, her pink headphones still snug over her ears, while Azzi leaned casually against the passenger side, scrolling through her phone. Paige couldn’t help but smile.

“Mama!” Mia squealed as soon as she saw her, ripping off the headphones and bolting forward. Paige scooped her up mid-run and spun her around, both laughing like the arena noise never happened.

“You see that shot?” Paige teased, pressing her forehead to Mia’s. “That was for you, baby girl.”

“I screamed so loud!” Mia announced proudly. “Like this—AHHHH!” She demonstrated at full volume, making Paige laugh so hard her cheeks hurt.

Paige grinned at Azzi as she set Mia back down. “She screamed, huh?”

Azzi smirked. “She almost broke the headphones. I was this close to filing a noise complaint.”

Paige chuckled, that familiar flutter sparking in her chest as they all climbed into the car—Mia chattering nonstop from the backseat about the game while Paige drove and Azzi lounged in the passenger seat, shoes kicked off, legs curled comfortably.

Halfway home, Mia leaned forward. “Mama?”

“Yeah, baby?” Paige glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

“When can I play on your team?”

Paige chuckled. “Gotta get a little taller first, bug.”

“Mommy says I’m already tall.”

Azzi smirked without looking away from the window. “Tall for a five-year-old, maybe. You’ve got time.”

“By then, Mama’s gonna be old,” Mia said with the brutal honesty only a kid could get away with.

Paige gasped dramatically. “Old? Excuse me, superstar? Mama’s got at least ten more years of buckets left.”

Azzi bit back a laugh, glancing at Paige with that playful spark in her eye. “If you keep hitting game-winners like tonight, maybe.”

The car filled with laughter and soft music as the city lights blurred by. 

The house was quiet when they walked in, a stark contrast to the roaring arena. Mia had fallen asleep in the backseat on the way home, her little headphones still snug over her ears, music faintly thumping.

Azzi scooped her up effortlessly, her voice soft as velvet. “Come on, bug. Bedtime.”

Paige trailed behind, watching Azzi carry Mia upstairs like she’d done it a thousand times. She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips—Azzi, in that moment, looked like everything Paige never knew she needed.

In Mia’s room, Azzi lay her down gently, sliding off the headphones and brushing her curls back. “Sweet dreams, baby,” she whispered, tucking the blanket to her chin.

 Paige lingered in the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh, scrolling through highlights from the game.

Footsteps padded back in. Azzi appeared in the doorway, hair falling around her face, holding a throw pillow like a weapon.

Paige arched a brow. “What’s that for?”

Azzi didn’t answer—she launched it. It smacked Paige in the chest.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Paige grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it back. Azzi ducked, laughing as it sailed past her and hit the wall.

“Paige!” she shrieked, diving behind the armchair.

“You started this!” Paige lunged, catching her wrist and pulling her onto the couch. Azzi squealed, kicking and laughing as Paige pinned her down just enough to tickle her sides.

“Paige—stop! No, no—” Azzi’s voice broke into breathless giggles, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she squirmed.

“Say you surrender!” Paige teased, relentless, her grin wide as Azzi writhed beneath her.

“Never!” Azzi managed between laughs, cheeks flushed, hair a wild halo.

Then something shifted. Paige stilled, both of them catching their breath, faces inches apart. Azzi’s laughter faded into a quiet hum of something electric.

Paige didn’t even think—she kissed her. Just a soft, warm press of lips that made everything else disappear.

Azzi kissed back, slow and deep, before pulling away with a teasing smile. “Goodnight, champ.”

And just like that, she slipped off the couch and headed for the hallway, leaving Paige staring after her like she’d just lost a whole new kind of game.

Paige’s alarm blared at 6:00 a.m., but she was already staring at the ceiling, brain replaying one thing on loop—the kiss. She got up before she could overthink it and threw on her practice gear.

By 7:00 a.m., the gym was alive with chaos. Music thumped through the speakers, sneakers squeaked, and the trash talk was ruthless. Rickea was shimmying mid-drill. KK was pretending the basketball was a microphone again.

The Next Morning

“Paige, why do you look like you ain’t slept since 2005?” KK teased, spinning the ball like a show-off.

Paige smirked. “Because I didn’t. Let’s hoop.” She grabbed a ball and started warming up, drowning herself in the rhythm of the game.

The next two hours were sweat, speed, and shouting. Every shot she made felt like shaking off the nerves from last night. Every layup, every pass, every whistle—until practice finally ended and the team collapsed onto the bench like survivors of a war.

Rickea plopped down next to Paige, scrolling on her phone with that look. The drama look.

“Uh… P?” Rickea said slowly. “You been on Twitter yet?”

Paige groaned, chugging from her water bottle. “Please tell me this ain’t another meme of me falling in that game last week.”

Rickea turned her phone. “Nope. It’s this.”

#WNBAItGirlMom was trending. Paige froze.

The first tweet? Paige got a whole kid and didn’t tell us? Mother of the Year.

Another: Paige juggling a W season AND being a mom? I can’t even juggle my rent.

Paige’s heart thudded. She snatched the phone—then her breath caught when she saw the photo that had everyone spiraling: Azzi at the game last night, Mia on her lap, both of them laughing like they belonged on a magazine cover.

The caption read: So THIS is the other mom? They kinda cute tho 👀

The comments? Chaos.

Tell me they’re not giving family goals.

Azzi Fudd? The Azzi Fudd?? Paige really pulled a fashion queen?!

I ship them harder than UPS.

Paige’s ears burned. She was about to hand the phone back when Rickea scrolled again—and Paige saw it.

A viral tweet from some wannabe influencer: Imagine being Azzi Fudd and your entire relevance is dating Paige. Couldn’t make it big in the real fashion world, so now she’s clout chasing in Miami.

The replies were worse:

Her designs aren’t even that good. Y’all just hyping her ‘cause she’s pretty.

Paige deserves better.

Name one successful runway show she’s done. I’ll wait.

Paige’s stomach twisted so hard it hurt. She slammed the bottle down and muttered, “Not today.”

Rickea whistled low. “Fans don’t play.”

Paige stood, jaw tight, already reaching for her bag. All she could think was one thing: Azzi better not see this. Not before I do something about it.

Paige stormed out of the facility, the Florida heat hitting her like a wall. She tossed her gym bag into the back seat and slid into her car, heart pounding harder than it had in any game.

The engine started, but she didn’t pull out yet. She grabbed her phone, thumb hovering over Azzi’s name. Do I warn her? Tell her not to look?

Before she could type a word, her screen lit up with a text.

Azzi 💎: So… I’m famous now?

Paige froze. Her pulse spiked. She tapped the notification, and the full message loaded:

Azzi 💎: Twitter says we’re a “power couple.” Guess I should start practicing my courtside smirk.

A shaky laugh escaped Paige, but her chest stayed tight. She started typing: It’s just fans being fans. Ignore it—

Another text cut her off.

Azzi 💎: Ignore it? P, they’re calling me a clout chaser. Someone said I’m “irrelevant.”

Paige’s stomach dropped. She could practically hear Azzi’s voice in those words, soft but sharp at the edges, the way she got when something really cut deep.

Paige gripped the steering wheel like it owed her money. I should’ve checked on her sooner. I should’ve—

A third message popped up.

Azzi 💎: Am I just… embarrassing you? Because if I am, I’ll back off. I don’t want this to hurt you or Mia.

Paige’s throat closed. For a second, she forgot how to breathe. Azzi backing off? After last night? After that kiss? No.

Her fingers flew over the screen.

Paige: You’re not embarrassing me. Not even close. I’ll fix this, Az. I promise.

She hit send, tossed the phone on the passenger seat, and peeled out of the lot like it was a fast break.

If the internet wanted a fight, fine. But Paige wasn’t about to let anyone make Azzi doubt her worth—because last night proved something she couldn’t ignore anymore.

Azzi wasn’t just someone she kissed. She was someone Paige couldn’t lose.

Paige parked crooked in front of the practice facility and practically jogged inside, still gripping her phone like it might explode. She found her manager, Cory, in his office, scrolling through his laptop like nothing was wrong.

“Fix it,” she snapped, slamming her phone down on his desk. The Twitter thread was still open, comments piling up by the second. Power couple. Azzi Fudd? She’s mid. She doesn’t even hoop—why is she around Paige’s kid?

Cory blinked up at her. “Good morning to you too, Paige.”

“I’m serious.” Her voice cracked with frustration. “Take it down. All of it. Every tweet, every comment. I don’t care how. Just make it stop.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Paige… that’s not how this works. It’s the internet. We can report the worst ones, but we can’t erase the entire fanbase. This is part of being in the spotlight.”

She stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Part of being in the spotlight? They’re coming for her. She didn’t sign up for this, Cory. She’s not an athlete. She’s—” Her voice caught. “She’s Azzi.”

Cory softened a little, but his answer didn’t change. “We’ll flag the posts that are out of line, but the rest? It’s just noise, Paige. Don’t let it get in your head.”

But it was already there, loud as a buzzer in the fourth quarter.

By the time she walked out, guilt sat heavy on her chest. Azzi didn’t deserve this—not after last night. Not after that look in her eyes when she kissed Paige like she’d been holding her breath for years.

Paige hit the road again, but this time she didn’t head straight for Azzi’s. She pulled into a Target parking lot instead, grabbing her hoodie and pulling it low over her face like that could make her invisible.

She roamed the aisles, tossing things into a basket without thinking: Azzi’s favorite sparkling water, that overpriced candle she loved, the fancy chocolate bars Paige always teased her about. And flowers. Big, red, romantic flowers that made the cashier raise an eyebrow.

An hour later, she was standing outside Azzi’s door, hands full, nerves tighter than a double knot.

She knocked. Once. Twice. The door opened, and there was Azzi—hair in a messy bun, wearing one of those silk robes that made Paige forget how to breathe.

“Paige?” Azzi blinked at the bags in her hands. “What is all this?”

Paige swallowed, heart pounding. “An apology,” she said simply.

Paige stepped inside, her arms aching from the weight of the bags. Azzi raised an eyebrow at the sight of them, but said nothing, just walked toward the kitchen with that graceful, unbothered stride that always made Paige stare.

Paige set the bags on the counter, pulling things out one by one. “I, uh… brought some stuff. You like those chocolates, right? And the sparkling water you—”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone was soft, patient. The kind of voice that made Paige stop mid-sentence every time.

Paige glanced up. “Yeah?”

Azzi leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely, silk robe catching the morning light. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did.” Paige swallowed, the words heavier than she wanted them to be. “They were saying awful things about you online, Azzi. I—”

Azzi held up a hand, cutting her off. “I saw.”

“You… saw?”

She nodded, that calm expression never slipping. “Paige, it’s fine. People talk. They’ve always talked. It doesn’t bother me.”

Paige frowned. “How can it not? They were calling you—”

“Let them.” Azzi’s voice was steady, almost dismissive. “I know my worth. I make millions off my designs, I travel the world, and I do it all without caring what strangers think. They don’t know me. They never will.”

She said it so effortlessly, like she’d built armor around every syllable. Paige wanted to believe her. But then Azzi turned away to open a bottle of water, and in that split second, Paige saw it—the tiniest crack in her composure. The way her shoulders dipped just slightly. The way her fingers gripped the cap was a little too tight.

Paige didn’t call her out. She just stepped closer, setting the flowers on the counter, letting the quiet stretch between them like a safety net.

“I still hate it,” Paige murmured. “I hate that they said any of it. About you.”

Azzi glanced back with a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then don’t read it.”

Paige nodded, pretending to accept that answer even though every instinct screamed not to. Instead, she reached for the candle, sliding it across the counter toward Azzi.

“For you,” she said simply.

Azzi looked at the candle, then back at Paige. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Azzi’s smile deepened—small, but real this time—and she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Anyway,” she said lightly, moving around the counter. “We need to lock in for Mia’s birthday. It’s only a few days away, and I want everything perfect.”

The sudden shift made Paige blink. “Birthday? Oh—right. Yeah, of course.”

Azzi stopped and leveled her with a look. “Please tell me your calendar is clear. No games, no interviews, no surprises. I want you there, Paige. All of it.”

The way she said it—firm, almost protective—made Paige’s chest tighten. “It’s clear,” Paige promised. “Even if it wasn’t, I’d make it clear.”

Azzi softened at that but didn’t linger. She was already pulling out her laptop, opening tabs like a woman on a mission. “I still have to send the invites, confirm the caterer, and figure out entertainment. Mia wants a unicorn theme, and you know I don’t do cheap plastic decorations.”

Paige grinned, leaning against the counter. “You’re a little intense for a five-year-old’s birthday.”

“I’m a designer,” Azzi replied without looking up. “I don’t do mediocre.”

Paige laughed under her breath, then moved closer. “You know… I can help. Send the invites, call people, whatever you need.”

Azzi paused, eyes flicking to her. For a moment, Paige thought she’d refuse—Azzi was the type to take control of everything. But then she smiled, a real one this time, tired but warm.

“…Okay,” Azzi said. “You can help.”

Paige grinned like she’d just scored a game-winner. “Good. Because Mia deserves the best day ever. And so do you.”

Azzi shook her head with a soft laugh, going back to her laptop. “Just don’t screw up the guest list.”

Paige dragged a chair over and dropped down next to Azzi at the kitchen island, rolling up her sleeves like she was about to run drills. “Alright, coach me through this. What’s first?”

Azzi arched a brow at her, already typing on her laptop. “First? Guest list. Family, close friends, Mia’s little daycare squad. We keep it small—twenty people max.”

Paige’s eyes lit up like she’d just been told she could take the last shot. “Twenty? That’s… like, barely anyone.”

“That’s the point,” Azzi said calmly, her nails clicking against the keyboard. “It’s a birthday party, not a music festival.”

Paige leaned on the counter, grinning. “But Mia loves people! She’s the life of the party. You should’ve seen her last time at the Sol team dinner—she was holding court like a little CEO.”

“That was five people,” Azzi reminded her.

“Exactly,” Paige said, already scrolling through Azzi’s contacts. “Time to upgrade her audience.”

“Paige,” Azzi warned, but Paige was on a roll.

“Okay, so obviously my teammates,” Paige said, counting on her fingers. “And their kids—if they have any. Plus their partners, because you know they’ll want to come.”

“Absolutely not,” Azzi said flatly.

“Too late,” Paige sang, typing on her phone. “I’m making a list.”

Azzi pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” Paige said, flashing that grin that made Azzi’s chest tighten in the worst and best way.

Azzi sighed, closing the laptop. “Fine. But if we do this, it has to be organized. No chaos.”

“No chaos,” Paige repeated, nodding solemnly—while already adding emojis to a group text.

Within minutes, the “small” guest list ballooned: Paige’s teammates, their partners, a couple of coaches, two neighbors Paige swore Mia adored, and someone Paige referred to only as “DJ Rico.”

Azzi stared at the list in disbelief. “This is… forty people.”

“Forty-two,” Paige corrected with a grin. “It’s going to be epic.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed her. 

Azzi clicked through a few inspiration boards, her expression calm and controlled—until Paige leaned over and saw nothing but muted whites and golds.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Paige said, spinning the laptop toward her. “Azzi… these look like you’re planning a wedding in Paris, not a five-year-old’s birthday.”

Azzi tilted her chin. “I like elegant.”

“It’s a unicorn party,” Paige said, eyes wide with mock horror. “You can’t do minimalist unicorns. That’s… that’s against the law.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched. “There is no such law.”

“Oh, there is now,” Paige said, pulling out her phone. “Pinterest—watch and learn.”

Within seconds, her screen exploded with rainbow arches, glitter balloons, and cupcakes piled high with pastel swirls. She spun the phone toward Azzi like she was presenting evidence in court.

“This,” Paige declared, “is what Mia deserves.”

Azzi stared at the chaos of colors and sparkles. “That looks… aggressive.”

“It looks magical,” Paige corrected. “Unicorns. Rainbows. Maybe a glitter station. Ooh, face painting!”

“Face painting?” Azzi repeated, horrified. “That’s… messy.”

Paige grinned. “Exactly. That’s how you know it’s good.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, but Paige saw the crack in her armor. She was considering it. “Fine,” Azzi said finally. “Unicorn theme. But tasteful.”

Paige burst out laughing. “Tasteful unicorns? Babe, that’s not a thing.”

“It will be,” Azzi muttered, already typing “unicorn luxe aesthetic” into the search bar.

Paige snorted and leaned over her shoulder. “Unicorn luxe? Oh my god, you lucky i love you.”

Azzi side-eyed her but didn’t stop scrolling. “If we do this, we do it right. Custom cake, proper invitations—”

“And a bounce house,” Paige cut in.

Azzi froze. “No.”

“Yes,” Paige said, already adding it to her growing list. “A unicorn bounce house. With glitter.”

Azzi dropped her head into her hands. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Paige grinned, kissing the side of her head. “Nope. I’m trying to make Mia the happiest kid alive.”

Azzi peeked up at her, softening despite herself. “You really think she’ll like this?”

Paige’s smile gentled. “She’s gonna love it. And so will you.”

•Maybe I will take a while to upload the next part talking about my humble opinion on Alex's relationships and I take a while because I was doing my research, so yeah

(this is the first part talking about Louise and Alex and I edited this post a few times)

Before starting, I want to clarify a one thing:

- I don't want my account to become some kind of shit-talk-tuner (i love that account) but, yeah.. I have noticed that I received more notifications if I post something about Arctic Monkeys or anything else and I want to say that my account is not only about AM, but also personal things, but it's understandable if you're not interested.

_________________________________________

Well, getting to the point.

I think it was clear that Louise is an immature person and no matter what happens, they will not make me want to like her. On TikTok I have been in conflict with some AM fans because I don't like Louise (and I think on Tumblr too) but I want to say that I don't like her because she is hypocritical, racist, and some of those other things. No, I don't hate her because she is the girlfriend of my celebrity crush, my other celebrity crush is Cillian Murphy and unlike Louise, Yvonne really seems to be a good and reserved person. And I'm sure that many don't hate Louise for being Alex's girlfriend, but because she really is a shit.

Another thing is that in Alex's recent

(this one)

the girl said that Louise had taken the photo of her and it seems so hypocritical to me, because there is a lot of evidence that Louise is rude to AM fans.

by: user1284904o29q94

sooo, yeah... hypocrite.

Another thing that is more than obvious, the relationship between Alex and Louise is toxic.

I think I also said it, that their relationship doesn't seem serious and is just... (ahem, if you know what I mean, sex.) Not only that, I found out that around 2014/2015 Alex had some French groupies (groupie: is a person, usually a woman, who is a devoted fan of a musical artist or band, and who often attempts to approach them and establish a personal relationship, sometimes in the hope of a romantic or sexual relationship) who were friends of Louise. Although we know Louise was a fan of AM and Alex.. but that her friends also slept with him is simply.... questionable 🤷🏻‍♀️

And I am sure that Alex stayed with Louise because Louise was more his type and that is more than obvious.

In case you're wondering who the groupies (Louise's friends) are, they are Agatha and MMJ. That I saw that MMJ went to Louise's sister's wedding.

Not only that, explaining that the relationship between Alex and Louise does not seem sentimental, we realized that Alex wanted to distance himself from her because Louise's own sister said that they had broken up but it was for a while.

I think it's no secret that Alex is tied to that relationship and I don't know if I'm the only one who thinks Alex is depressed (for unknown and personal reasons)

I still have no idea how Alex and Louise met, but I will have to investigate it anyway.

And I don't know if Alex really supports Louise financially, because well.. Louise hasn't released any music and according to her she is a singer, but I don't know if she really has a job or what

WELL, WELL

Ending with this post and in conclusion, she is a bad person, Alex is probably depressed and is in a toxic relationship I NEED ALEX TO REALIZE THAT HE CAN BE ALONE ONCE IN HIS LIFE WITHOUT DEPENDING ON A ROMANTIC LOVE, BECAUSE THAT MAN CANNOT BE ALONE. And it's frustrating, but many will say “if he is with Louise it's because he loves her” Dude, absolutely not... he doesn't even look happy and they don't even live together... As I say, it is a toxic relationship.

Well, I think it's already clear..(later I will make another post talking a little more about what I think) in two days I will make a post but talking about the American version of Louise, Amanda Blank. (I promise)

I would do it in this post but I really don't want it to get too long and right now I'm very lazy.. so, that would be all.

(I don't know if you noticed, but I liked putting evidence this time, and I apologize for my mistakes, my language is not English)

Fucking dumbass