Twenty Seven

The night air outside the arena was crisp, the kind of cold that nipped at your skin but didn't quite bite. I followed Paige as she guided me through the parking lot, her hand warm and steady in mine. She didn't say much, but that was Paige. She had this way of filling the silence with her presence, like words were unnecessary when she was around.

"Where are we going?" I asked as she led me toward her car. Her black SUV stood out under the fluorescent lights, shiny and spotless, like everything she touched had to be as perfect as her jumper.

"You'll see," she said, flashing me a small smile over her shoulder. Her dimple made a brief but glorious appearance, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach gearing up for another lap.

Once we were in the car, Paige turned the heat on, her fingers deftly twisting the dials. "Buckle up, baby girl," she said, her tone playful yet commanding.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. She smirked at that, and I swore I saw her glance at me out of the corner of her eye as she pulled out of the lot.

The ride was quiet but not uncomfortable. The city lights blurred as Paige drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console between us. Every so often, her thumb would tap against it, like she was thinking about something but didn't want to say it just yet.

"Good game tonight," I said, breaking the silence. "You really turned it up in the fourth."

Her lips curved into a half-smile. "It's easier when you're watching," she said, her eyes still on the road.

I rolled my eyes, though my heart wasn't exactly cooperating. "Flattery, huh? Is that your post-game ritual?"

"Only when it works," she shot back, and I couldn't help but laugh.

We pulled into a quiet spot near a small lake I didn't even know existed. The water reflected the moonlight, creating a serene, almost magical vibe. Paige turned off the car but left the heater running, the low hum filling the space as we sat there for a moment.

"This is... unexpected," I admitted, looking out at the view. "Do you bring all your dates here?"

Her brow quirked as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes meeting mine with a mischievous glint. "Jealous?"

"Curious," I corrected, though I couldn't help the smirk tugging at my lips.

She shrugged, her gaze softening as she looked out at the water. "Sometimes I just need to breathe, you know? This place helps."

Something about the way she said it—quiet, almost vulnerable—made my chest ache. Paige wasn't the kind to share a lot, but when she did, it always felt significant.

We talked for a while, the conversation shifting from the game to random things: music, movies, the ridiculous antics of the team. Paige told me about how Nika and Ice once tried to prank Coach during practice by swapping out her whistle for one that made duck sounds. "Didn't end well for them," she said, her laugh low and warm. "Coach made them run suicides for twenty minutes straight."

I was laughing so hard I had to clutch my stomach. "And you just stood there and watched?"

"Obviously," she said, her grin wide. "Someone had to document it for posterity."

Her stories made me forget the cold outside, forget everything except the warmth of her laughter and the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.

At some point, the conversation shifted again, growing quieter, more intimate. Paige reached out, her fingers brushing against mine. It was a small gesture, but it felt big—like she was testing the waters, waiting to see if I'd pull away.

I didn't.

"I like this," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her thumb grazed the back of my hand, sending a shiver up my spine. "What?"

"This," I said, gesturing between us. "You. Us."

Her eyes softened, the intensity of her gaze making my cheeks heat. "Me too, Inds."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was heavy, charged with unspoken things. And then, slowly, Paige leaned in.

The kiss was different from last night—slower, deeper, like she was trying to memorize every detail. Her hand cupped my jaw, her thumb brushing against my cheek as her lips moved against mine. I melted into her, my hands finding their way to her hoodie, clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

When we finally pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, her breath warm against my skin. "You have no idea what you do to me," she murmured, her voice rough and low.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage. "I think I'm starting to figure it out."

The drive back was quieter, but it wasn't the kind of silence that begged to be filled. It was comfortable, like we were both content to just exist in the same space. When Paige pulled up outside my apartment, she turned to me, her hand resting on the steering wheel.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes saying something else entirely.

"Definitely," I said, my voice soft but certain.

She leaned over, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to my lips before I got out of the car. As I walked to my door, I could feel her watching me, her gaze warm and steady.

When I finally got inside, I leaned against the door, my fingers brushing against my lips as a stupid grin spread across my face.

Paige Bueckers was going to be the death of me. And I was okay with that.