Chapter Text
If you asked anyone on the Oregon Ducks women’s basketball team about Azzi Fudd, they’d tell you she’s the People’s Princess.
Not because she wants to be. Not because it’s some fake persona curated for social media. But because it’s just who she is.
Azzi is the kind of star who never feels out of reach.
She remembers the practice players’ birthdays.
She knows the names of all of the workers in the athlete dining hall (which is why they let her get away with taking two extra breakfast burritos for Caroline and KK every morning).
She signs autographs until the security guard has to physically tap her on shoulder once Matthew Knight Arena has cleared out.
When freshmen are nervous, she notices.
When someone’s shot isn’t falling, she’s the first to toss them another ball and say, Again. I’ll rebound.
She comments on fan TikToks. Babysits Coach’s kids when he’s on the road recruiting. Makes the Deans’ List every term without question…
Off the court, she’s softer than people expect. Dry humor, sly smiles, always down to join her teammates for a TikTok dance or return from the bars early to curl up in bed and read.
She has the kind of laugh that sneaks up on her when she’s tired and makes everyone else laugh too. She hates being late. Loves routine. Texts her parents first thing every morning. Keeps her headphones on in public but always pulls one ear free if someone says her name.
On the court, she’s lethal. Her jumper is smoother than silk, her efficiency is regarded as the top in the country, her defense is scrappy, and her footwork is precise. She doesn’t play loud, but she doesn’t need to. She scores like she’s been there before, like pressure is just another rep. Eugene loves her. They were begging for a Princess to take over Sabrina’s throne after she got drafted to the Liberty. That’s who Azzi Fudd was: the Princess.
There’s a seriousness to her that comes from her dream to meet those expectations. Sabrina Ionescu is the reason she chose Oregon in the first place. She knows what winning a natty during that COVID season would’ve meant, and what it took away. Azzi carries that history quietly, like something fragile she’s been trusted with.
She wants to be great. Not flashy great. Not headline great. Just undeniable. The kind of player teammates trust with the last shot and the first hard truth. The kind of leader who never asks someone to do something that she won’t do herself. She’s reliable. Calm. Even-keel.
If you asked her how she handles being adored, she’d shrug and say she’s just doing her job. But if you watch closely, you’d understand why the name sticks. The People’s Princess crowned by everyone else.
Everyone sees it. Everyone buys in. Everyone, that is, except UConn star Paige Bueckers.
Paige doesn’t distrust Azzi’s game. If anything, she respects it too much. What she doesn’t buy is the ease. The way Azzi is loved without trying. The way rooms soften around her. The way pressure seems to slide off her shoulders like water.
To Paige, it reads as performance.
Not fake, exactly. Just… Polished. A version of herself that’s safe enough for everyone else to hold.
They’ve only met each other once, in passing during the Portland regional two years ago. Now, they were both entering their 5th years at their respective schools and the narrative from the jump was that it would come down to the two of them. Oregon or UConn for the national championship. Paige or Azzi for the number 1 overall pick. So, like any good competitor, Paige began to study up on Azzi Fudd, looking for her tell. The hitch in her rhythm on (or off) the court. The moment when her mask slips. Because nobody is that universally adored without paying for it somewhere, and Paige is convinced the cost for Azzi is being hidden.
She clocks the way Azzi’s jaw tightens just slightly when her shot stops falling. The way her smile comes half a second late after a bad call. Her deflection to teammates in post-game pressures after big wins. Paige notices that Azzi never talks about what she wants, only what her teammates need, what the program deserves, and what the legacy demands.
That’s the part Paige doesn’t trust.
Because she knows what it looks like to be hungry. To be angry. To want something so badly it consumes every fiber in your being. That’s exactly how she’s feeling as her final season approached and she still had no national championships to show for her illustrious career.
Azzi doesn’t know Paige sees her this way.
Or maybe she does, and that’s why Paige gets under her skin in a way no one else ever has.
Because being adored is easy.
Being seen is not.
____________________________
The SLAM shoot is the kind of thing no one technically says no to.
That’s how Azzi ends up in a Brooklyn warehouse in the summer at eight in the morning, hair half-done, decked out in her green and yellow uniform and the newest Sabrinas, holding a basketball that isn’t hers, and pretending her stomach isn’t doing something weird.
Four players. One cover.
Azzi Fudd. Paige Bueckers. Juju Watkins. Flau’jae Johnson.
The future of women’s basketball, according to the mood board plastered on the wall.
Juju arrives first, headphones on, USC hoodie up, already locked in. She gives Azzi a quick grin and a dap that’s easy, familiar. She’s always been like that. Intense on the court, effortless everywhere else.
“Crazy they got all of us,” Juju says, glancing around. “Feels big time.”
Flau’jae walks in next, her energy filling the room immediately. She’s laughing with her manager, talking with her hands, already charming the photographer before she’s even dropped her bag.
“Look at this lineup,” Flau’jae says, pointing at the mood board. “We gon’ break the internet.”
Azzi laughs, and thankfully relaxes a bit. Being around other “stars” is always nice. They all have that same shared understanding of the chaos that comes with the job.
Then Paige shows up.
No announcement. No noise. Just this weird presence.
Azzi’s busy talking about the demise of the Pac-12 with Juju, complaining about how much school they have to miss for the long flights to buttfuck Pennsylvania and New Jersey. She feels the vibe shift before she sees her.
Paige’s blonde hair is pulled back in a slick ponytail with a thin braid crown. Her face is bare, but her piercing blue eyes are brought out by the UConn navy travel sweat suit she’s wearing. She scans the room once, but when her eyes land on Azzi, they pause just a beat too long.
Azzi’s chest tightens.
Paige gives a nod. Professional. Neutral.
“Morning,” Paige says to the group.
Flau’jae grins. “We got Paige Buckets, Juju on that Beat, Big 4, and the People’s Princess in the same room?? Damn, they must’ve dropped a bag.”
People’s Princess, Paige thinks. Shit’s ridiculous.
Juju smirks. “Ain’t nobody callin’ me that, Flau.”
“Well then I guess your job this season is to get a cooler nickname,” she retorts as laughter fills the warehouse.
The stylist claps her hands. “Okay, ladies. This is big. SLAM wants edge. Confidence. Rivalry but respect. You’re not teammates, but you’re not enemies. You’re the moment.”
Azzi almost laughs at that.
They start with individual shots, then pairs. Juju and Flau’jae first. They’ve got easy chemistry. Trash talk turns into laughter. Paige and Juju go next, and it’s competitive but clean. Their mutual admiration is obvious in the way they square up.
Then, “Azzi and Paige.”
Of course.
They’re positioned back-to-back at first, arms crossed. Photographer barking directions.
“Paige, chin down. Azzi, eyes up. Perfect, ladies. Yep, hold that.”
Their shoulders brush.
Electric. Immediate.
Azzi keeps her face neutral, giving the camera what it wants. Calm. Composed. Royal.
She can feel Paige beside her, and hopes that the blonde doesn’t notice the goosebumps that have overtaken her arms. Paige doesn’t move away.
“Now face each other,” the photographer says. “Close. Like you’re about to check each other at half court.”
They turn.
Paige’s eyes are unreadable. It looks staged. Controlled
“You always look like this for cameras?” Paige murmurs, low enough only Azzi can hear.
Azzi doesn’t blink. “You always pretend you don’t care?”
Paige’s jaw clenches. There it is. Her tell.
“Green ain’t your color,” she mutters under her breath. Azzi’s cheeks reddened, a signal to Paige that she got what she wanted. Under her skin.
“Beautiful,” the photographer says. “That tension… don’t lose it.”
The camera shutters back to back to back.
Is this a sick joke?
The shoot director snaps Azzi out of it with the clap of her hands, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Alright ladies! That was all fun and games, but now we’re gonna get the real money-maker. All four of you line up. We’re thinking rainbow order, so Juju you’ll go on the far side since you’re in red, then Azzi in the yellow and green, then Paige in blue, and Flau’jae on the outside in purple.”
Azzi arches an eyebrow. “Rainbow?”
“Yeah,” the photographer interjects. “Visually, it works. Makes the frame pop.”
Juju smirks, her Kobe’s gliding towards the “X” on the floor. She glances at Azzi. “You’re next to me, Fudd.”
Azzi sets her shoulders, brushes a stray curl behind her ear, lifts her chin, and finally lets herself breathe.
Paige watches as Azzi exhales. Then she takes a step towards her spot next to the brunette and sees the tension come rushing back to her. She really does not like me, she thinks.
Flau’jae bookends the girls repping her LSU purple.
She nudges Paige slightly. “They do this rainbow shit for you, huh? Your fan girls are gonna thirst.”
Paige scoffs, “Chill on me bro. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” she winks.
Flau’jae grins. “You’re lucky you’re the only one of us that’s for the girls, otherwise we’d steal your whole roster.”
Azzi suppresses a smile. Paige notices the crack showing in her perfect princess posture. She can’t help but wonder, am I really the only one?
“I don’t have a roster, Flau.”
“Bullshit,” Juju’s voice booms from the corner.
“I’m being deadass. Ball is life.”
“Oh my god, bro don’t gimme that shit.”
The director claps again. “Alright, girls, we’re ready. Just act natural. We can start seriously with the rivalry and respect angle but we want you to have fun with this, too. So give us some smiles on my signal. Let’s go.”
The room lights up with flashes.
Azzi knows this photo is going to be everywhere. Posters in little girls’ bedrooms, walls in women’s sports bars, T-shirts at games, plastered across social media. It’s fun, it’s serious, it’s everything they are and everything the next generation will aspire to be.
After about five minutes of paparazzi treatment, the photographer leans back, grinning. “We got it.”
Azzi glances at the monitor. Juju on the left, edges crisp, the cardinal and gold popping as she flashed the ‘Fight On’ peace sign. Azzi looked sleek in her green and yellow, throwing the “O” with her trademark grin. Paige’s fingers lifted the “UConn” lettering on the chest of her navy jersey, a pose she’d grown very accustomed to whenever media days came around. On the right, Flau’jae’s bright white smile contrasted perfectly against her purple jersey while she flaunted the LSU “L”.
The shoot doesn’t end, so much as it dissolves for a little.
One second cameras were clicking and the room was filled with yelling and encouragement from the photographers and the girls, and the next people were scattering in every direction. Stylists packing garment bags, assistants checking call sheets, Juju complimenting the hair and makeup people for getting her right, Flau’jae freestyling with the video guy and posting a teaser on her story.
Azzi drifts.
That’s her thing. She goes still and lets the noise move around her. It’s a survival skill she learned early on. It came in handy at camps, at games, at events where everyone wants something from her but no one really wants her. She steps out of the main area behind a rack of clothes and moves to tug her hoodie back on, but fingers slower than usual.
Her hands are shaking. Not badly, but enough that she notices.
She presses her thumb into her palm until it hurts. Get it together, Fudd.
But she can’t stop replaying the day on a loop. Paige’s non-existent roster. The look in her eyes. The way her voice dropped. The satisfaction in that tiny defensive jab when it was just the two of them. “Green ain’t your color.”
It shouldn’t matter. It’s trash talk. They’re rivals. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.
But Paige hadn’t said that for the room.
She said it for Azzi.
When she steps back out, Paige is across the warehouse, leaning against a concrete pillar phone in hand. She looks infuriatingly relaxed. Why can’t I stop looking at her?
Paige looks up. Their eyes meet.
Neither of them looks away, and the noisy chaos of the room fades to nothing. Or maybe Azzi just stops hearing it.
Then Paige breaks eye contact first, glancing back down at her phone like nothing happened.
That, somehow, feels worse.
“Okay!” a production assistant calls out. “We’re moving locations. Elevator’s down, so freight stairs only.”
A collective groan ripples through the room.
Azzi ends up behind Paige by accident. Or fate. Or whatever the hell keeps putting them in each other’s orbit. The stairwell is narrow, concrete and echoing, every scuff of basketball shoes harsh. Paige trudges down unbothered. Azzi follows, hyper-aware of the space between them, or the lack of it.
She notices everything.
The way Paige’s shoulders roll when she walks. The faint mark at the nape of her neck where the ponytail ends. That she smells, clean? Like she showers after practice even when she’s exhausted. Azzi knows that without knowing how she knows it. Or why she wants to know it.
“You always this quiet, Fudd?” Paige asks suddenly. She doesn’t turn around.
Azzi nearly misses a step.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bueckers.”
“Yeah you do.” Paige glances back over her shoulder. “It’s like you wanna be invisible or something.”
Azzi scoffs. “You don’t know me.”
Paige hums. “I know patterns.”
They make their way down another flight in silence. Azzi hates silence.
“I think it’s an act,” Paige says finally.
Azzi stops. Full stop.
Paige keeps going for half a step before realizing she’s alone. She turns and sees that the brunette wasn’t following her anymore.
“What?”
“The People’s Princess thing,” Paige says, slower now. Measured. “I don’t think you’re fake.” Paige studies her like she’d study film with Geno; frame by frame, searching for the breakdown.
“But I think you’re hiding.”
The words land clean. They weren’t said as insult or with any edge, just honesty. Certainty.
Azzi feels something sharp twist low in her chest.
“Hiding what?” she whispers.
Paige shrugs. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
You don’t know anything about me,” Azzi says shortly.
“I know enough,” Paige says. “You carry weight you don’t let anyone see.” Paige’s voice drops. “And everyone just… lets you.”
Azzi’s heart is pounding now. “Why the fuck do you even care, Paige?”
Paige doesn’t answer right away. That’s worse.
“I can tell you’re different. On the court, yeah that’s obvious. I mean nobody’s form is as perfect as yours. But off the court, it just gets easier when you stop trying to be the perfect girl for everyone. Nobody is liked by everybody.”
For a second, Azzi can’t breathe.
She’s been admired. Celebrated. Projected onto. She’s been praised into a corner so often she barely notices anymore.
No one ever looks at her like this, like she’s unfinished.
Flau’jae’s voice echoes down the stairwell from above. “Yoooo. Are y’all fighting or flirting?”
Azzi snaps back into herself, heat flooding her face. “Neither.”
Paige smiles, “Speak for yourself.”
Azzi's brain short-circuits.
What the hell is she doing?
Paige fucking Bueckers just said that. Out loud. In front of Flau'jae. With that stupid, knowing smirk on her face.
Heat crawls up Azzi's neck, spreading across her cheeks like wildfire. She can feel it, knows that everyone can probably see it, and that makes it worse.
"I–" Azzi starts, but her voice comes out wrong. Too high, too affected.
Paige's smirk deepens, and Azzi wants to simultaneously punch her and pull her closer. It's a very confusing dichotomy given the fact that she barely knows this girl beyond what’s said in whatever stupid media story of the week that their names are linked together in.
Except now, standing in the stairwell with Paige looking at her like that, Azzi's starting to think the media has it wrong. It doesn't feel like a rivalry. It feels like a dare to do something.
"Y'all are wild," Flau'jae says, shaking her head as she starts down the stairs. "I'm not getting involved in whatever this is."
"There's nothing to get involved in," Azzi manages, finally finding her voice. It comes out cooler than she feels, and she counts that as a win.
"Whatever you say, princess." Paige's voice is low, meant just for her, and Azzi's stomach contorts. She knows that Paige says "princess" in an attempt to mock her, but it came out sounding a lot sexier than the blonde had probably intended.
Flau'jae catches up to them and leads the pack down the staircase, Azzi and Paige now side by side but not quite touching, though Azzi swears she can feel the heat of Paige's body anyway. She's hyperaware of every breath, every movement, the way Paige's arm swings just close enough that their hands almost brush with each step.
It's infuriating. Paige is fucking infuriating.
"Yo, what took y'all so long?" Juju appears at the bottom of the stairs, phone in hand, looking between them with raised eyebrows. "We're supposed to be at the second location in ten."
"Paige was being difficult," Azzi says automatically.
"Azzi was being dramatic," Paige counters, and when Azzi glances over, Paige is already looking at her, blue eyes bright with amusement.
"So, a normal day," Juju deadpans. "Cool. Let's go before the lighting guy has an aneurysm."
______________________
The second location is downtown, some rooftop of a converted building with exposed brick and string lights, definitely not conducive to a basketball photoshoot, but that’s above the girls’ pay grade. The New York skyline stretches behind them, the kind of backdrop that screams "we made it," which Azzi supposes is the point.
The new photographer, Marcus, is already setting up. "Ladies! Perfect timing. We're thinking dynamic shots up here. Some movement, ya know? Get that energy and competitive fire going. So just show me what y’all got, ok?"
"Competitive fire," Paige murmurs, close enough that Azzi can smell Old Spice Fiji deodorant (don’t ask her why she knows that). "That's your specialty, right Az?"
The nickname makes Azzi's pulse jump. "You don't know me well enough to call me that."
"Not yet." Paige's smile is slow, deliberate. "But I'm a quick learner."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. Exhibit A: I've learned you do this thing when you're nervous." Her gaze drops to Azzi's hands. "You flex your fingers. Like you're about to catch a pass."
Azzi immediately stills her hands, and Paige's smile widens.
"See? Quick learner."
"You're observant. That's not the same thing."
"Maybe I'm just good at paying attention to you."
Azzi is used to being watched. It comes with the territory. But the way Paige looks at her feels different than that. Like she isn't just seeing the princess everyone else sees, but something underneath. And that is fucking terrifying.
"Alright, let's start with pairs," Marcus calls out. "Flau'jae and Juju, you're up first. Paige and Azzi, you're next."
Not this shit again.
"You nervous?" Paige asks, suddenly right beside her.
"Why would I be nervous?"
"I don't know. You seem tense." Paige's voice is casual, but when Azzi looks over, Paige's eyes are doing that thing again, seeing too much. "Shoulders are tight. Jaw's clenched."
"Maybe you make me tense."
"Good tense or bad tense?"
It's a genuine question, and Azzi doesn't have an answer. Or rather, she has an answer she's not ready to give.
"I haven't decided yet," she says instead.
"Fair enough." Paige shifts closer, and their shoulders brush. The contact is brief but electric. "For what it's worth, you make me tense too."
"I do?"
"Yeah. But it’s definitely good tense, if you care."
Azzi's breath catches, but she's saved from having to respond when Marcus calls them over.
"Paige! Azzi! You're up!"
The shoot is torture.
Marcus wants them close. Something about that dumbass “heated rivals” media bullshit that everyone knows Holly Rowe is gonna eat right up when it comes to March. Unfortunately, this means that Azzi spends twenty minutes in Paige's personal space, their bodies angled toward each other, faces inches apart. Paige's hand ends up around Azzi's shoulder for one shot, her waist for another, and Azzi's pretty sure she's going to explode.
"You're thinking too hard," Paige murmurs during a lighting adjustment. "I can literally see the gears turning."
"I'm thinking about basketball," Azzi lies.
"Liar." Paige's thumb traces a small circle against Azzi's hip, so subtle the cameras won't catch it, but Azzi feels it like a brand. "You're thinking about me."
"Jesus Christ, your ego is enormous."
"You know I'm right." Paige leans in, her breath warm against Azzi's ear. "You've been thinking about me since I walked in this morning."
"That's," Azzi starts, but she can't finish because Paige isn't wrong.
"It's okay," Paige says, pulling back just enough to meet Azzi's eyes. "I've been thinking about you too. For a while now, actually."
"We don't even know each other."
"Not yet. But I want to." Paige's gaze drops to Azzi's mouth for just a second before returning to her eyes. "Do you want to know me, Azzi?"
It's a loaded question, and they both know it. Azzi should say no. Should maintain the distance, keep things professional, stick to the narrative everyone expects.
But selfishly, secretly, she's tired of being the princess.
"Maybe," she whispers.
Paige's smile is devastating. "Good."
"Fabulous!" Marcus calls out. "Stay right there."
They hold it. Azzi's breath shallow, Paige's gaze unwavering, the space between them charged with everything they're not saying. The camera clicks, capturing something Azzi's not sure she wants immortalized forever, but she is literally being paid to not look away.
"Alright, let's go down to the gym and get some action shots," Marcus says. "I want to see you two going at it on the court."
The second they’re given a basketball the dynamic shifts. This, Azzi knows. This is familiar territory. The ball in her hands, Paige in front of her, the implicit challenge.
"Check," Azzi says, passing the ball to Paige.
"You sure about this?" Paige asks, passing it back. "I'd hate to embarrass the princess in front of the cameras."
"Please. I've seen your highlights. You're good, but you're not that good."
"Oh, is that right?" Paige's grin is sharp, competitive. "Big talk from someone I've never played against."
"Consider this a natty preview, then."
Paige smirks. Game on.
Marcus gently reminds them not to go full speed, but there's enough intensity that Azzi feels the familiar burn of competition in her muscles. Paige drives left, and Azzi cuts her off. Azzi goes for a crossover, and Paige stays with her, closer than necessary, their bodies subtly maybe deliberately colliding.
"You're quick," Paige says, breathing slightly harder.
"Not bad, Bueckers."
"Not bad? That's all I get?"
"What do you want, a trophy?"
"I want you to admit I'm good."
“You got a praise kink or something?” Azzi dribbles behind her back and hits a step-back three. Paige was a step behind, too distracted by what was said. Note to self, Azzi thinks.
"You're good," Azzi concedes before the next shot, spinning away and creating space. "Happy?"
"Gettin’ there." Paige closes the distance again, and this time when they collide, her hand lands on Azzi's hip, steadying her. Or maybe just touching her. "You're better than I expected."
"You had expectations?"
"I've watched your tape. A lot of your tape."
"Stalker, much?"
"We call it preparation at UConn." Paige's hand is still on her hip, thumb pressing gently against the exposed skin where Azzi's shirt has ridden up. "But yeah, maybe I like what I saw."
Azzi's mouth goes dry. "Paige,"
"This is gold," Marcus interrupts, camera clicking rapidly. "The chemistry is insane. You two must know each other well."
"We don't," Azzi says, but her voice lacks conviction.
"We're getting there," Paige says, and her eyes never leave Azzi's face.
They finish the sequence, and Azzi's grateful for the break. She needs air, needs space, needs to figure out what the hell is happening to her carefully controlled world.
"Y'all need to figure that out," Juju says when they rejoin her and Flau'jae.
"Figure what out?" Azzi asks semi-innocently.
"Girl, please. Whatever that was," Juju gestures vaguely between them, "... it ain’t subtle."
"There's nothing to figure out," Azzi says, but even she doesn't believe it.
"Sure," Flau'jae says, grinning. "And I'm not about to drop the hardest album of the year."
They wrap up the shoot and exchange pleasantries with Marcus and the crew. It's all very professional, except for the fact that Azzi can feel Paige's gaze on her the entire time.
"So where are y'all staying?" Flau'jae asks as they gather their things.
"The Hoxton in Williamsburg," Juju says. "You?"
"Same, actually." Flau'jae looks at Paige and Azzi. "What about y'all?"
"The Hoxton," Paige says, and Azzi's stomach drops.
"Me too," she admits quietly.
"Oh, this is perfect!" Flau'jae claps her hands. "We can all share an Uber. Split it four ways."
"Actually," Juju says, checking her phone with exaggerated interest, "Flau and I have that dinner thing with Overtime. Remember?"
"We do?" Flau'jae starts, then catches Juju's pointed look. "Oh, right. Yeah. That dinner thing. So I guess it's just you two."
"We can take separate cars," Azzi says quickly.
"Don't be ridiculous," Paige says. "We're going to the same place. We'll share."
And that's how Azzi ends up in the back of an Uber with Paige Bueckers, which was definitely not on her bingo card today or ever.
The driver has the music on low, some R&B that's probably meant to be soothing but just makes the silence between them feel heavier.
"So," Paige says finally. "That was fun."
"It was a photo shoot."
"It was fun," Paige insists. "Admit it."
Azzi considers lying, but she's tired, and her defenses are worn down, and Paige is looking at her with those eyes that see too much.
"Maybe a little," she concedes.
"There it is." Paige's smile is softer now, genuine. "Was that so hard?"
"You're insufferable."
"You like it."
"I don't know you well enough to like anything about you."
"But you want to." It's not a question. "You said so yourself."
Azzi turns to look out the window, watching the city blur past. "I don't know what I want."
"I think you do. I think you're just scared to admit it."
"I'm not scared."
"No?" Paige shifts closer, and Azzi can feel the heat of her body. "Then what are you?"
"Careful."
"Careful is boring."
"Careful is safe."
"Safe is lonely."
The words hit harder than they should, and Azzi finds herself turning back to face Paige. "You don't know anything about me."
"We’ve been over this. I know you're scared that if you let people see the real you, they won't love you anymore."
Azzi's throat tightens. "That's a big fucking assumption, Paige."
"Am I wrong?"
She wants to say yes, to laugh it off, maintain the distance. But she's so tired of pretending.
"No," she whispers. "You're not wrong."
Paige reaches over, and for a moment, Azzi thinks she's going to take her hand. Instead, she just lets her fingers rest on the seat between them, close enough that Azzi could close the distance if she wanted.
"For what it's worth," Paige says, "I don't want the princess. I want the girl who trash-talked me on that rooftop. The one who gets competitive over a fake one-on-one. The one who's sitting here right now."
"Why?" Azzi asks. "Why do you even care?"
"Because I see you." Paige's voice is quiet but certain. "And I like what I see."
The Uber slows, pulling up to the hotel, and Azzi realizes they're out of time. The driver announces their arrival, and Paige reaches for the door handle.
"Wait," Azzi says, and Paige pauses. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
Azzi takes a breath. This is it. The moment where she either retreats back into the safety of her image or jumps over the cliff.
"When Flau'jae said you were the only one of us that's for the girls," Azzi starts, her heart hammering. "She was wrong."
Paige goes very still. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Azzi forces herself to meet Paige's eyes. "I just... I don't talk about it. I don't really tell people. It's easier to just let everyone assume, you know? The princess doesn't have time for dating, she's too focused on basketball, all that bullshit."
"But that's not the real reason."
"No. The real reason is I'm scared. Of what people will think, what it'll mean for my image, how it'll change things." Azzi laughs, but it sounds hollow. "Stupid, right? Half the league is gay and yet I can’t just be open about it.”
"It's not stupid." Paige's hand moves, finally closing the distance to cover Azzi's. Her touch is warm, grounding. "It's brave."
"I don't feel brave."
"You are, though." Paige's thumb strokes across Azzi's knuckles. "And for the record, I'm glad Flau'jae was wrong."
"Are you?"
"Yeah." Paige's smile is soft, almost shy. "Because it means I'm not completely delusional for feeling what I've been feeling all day."
"What have you been feeling?"
"Like I want to know everything about you. Like I want to make you laugh the way you did on that rooftop. Like I want to kiss you so badly I can barely think straight." Paige pauses. "Pun intended."
Azzi laughs, and it's real this time, surprised out of her. "That was terrible."
"Made you laugh, though."
"Barely."
"I'll take it." Paige squeezes her hand. "So what happens now?"
"I don't know," Azzi admits. "I fly back to Eugene tomorrow. You go back to Storrs. We're supposed to be rivals."
"We can be rivals on the court and something else off it."
"Something else?"
"Yeah. Friends, maybe. Or," Paige trails off, leaving the possibility hanging between them.
"Or?"
"Or we could see where this goes. No pressure, no expectations."
Azzi knows she should say no. She should protect herself, protect her team, stick to the safe path she's always walked. But sitting here with Paige's hand in hers, she finds herself wanting something different.
"Okay," she says. "Let's see."
She’s met with the most genuine smile Paige has shown all day. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But Paige–"
"I know. We take it slow. We're careful. We figure it out as we go."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then at least we tried. But I have a feeling it's going to work just fine."
The driver clears his throat pointedly, and they both laugh, the tension breaking into something lighter.
"We should probably go," Azzi says, but she doesn't move.
"Probably," Paige agrees as she moves to open the door.
"Give me your phone," Paige says as they walk into the hotel lobby.
Azzi hesitates, then unlocks it and hands it over. Paige's fingers fly across the screen, adding her contact.
"What should I put my name under?" Paige asks, glancing up with a mischievous expression.
"I don't know, pick a random boy's name," Azzi says. "Make it boring. Like... I don't know, Connor or something."
"Connor?" Paige grins. "That's so generic."
"That's the point. If anyone sees,"
"I get it." Paige types something, then hands the phone back. "Your turn."
When Azzi looks, the contact reads: Brad
She almost laughs. "Brad?"
"I thought about Connor, but you're right, too generic. Brad has, like, fratty energy. Throws people off the scent. Some random Oregon boy or something." Paige pulls out her own phone and unlocks it. "Okay, give me a girl's name to put in mine.”
"Um, Emily? I guess."
"Emily." Paige nods, typing. "Basic. I like it. No one will suspect a thing." She pauses, looking up. "Wait, are you named after Jennifer Azzi?"
Azzi blinks, surprised. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know that?"
"I know ball, dude." Paige's grin is proud, a little smug. "She's a legend. Your parents have good taste."
"Most people don't make that connection."
"Most people don't do their homework." Paige finishes typing and slips her phone back in her pocket. "There. Now we can text without anyone getting suspicious."
"Very covert."
"I'm basically a spy." Paige's smile turns softer. "But seriously, text me your room number. Not for anything weird," she adds quickly. "Just so I know where you are. In case you need anything."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Emergency basketball advice. Someone to shit-talk with.” Paige's smile is teasing but her eyes are serious. "Whatever you need, princess."
"Stop calling me that."
"Make me."
And there it is again. Azzi should be terrified. She is terrified. But she's also exhilarated in a way she hasn't felt in years.
"Goodnight, Paige," she says.
"Night, Az." Paige starts toward the elevators, then turns back. "Hey, for what it's worth? I'm really glad we did this shoot today."
"Me too," Azzi admits.
"And Azzi? What you told me in the car, thank you for trusting me with that."
"Don't make me regret it."
"I won't." Paige's expression is sincere. "Promise."
___________________________
Azzi startles awake at 2:47 AM and knows immediately that sleep isn't in the cards tonight.
She's too wired, too aware of her own skin, too conscious of the fact that Paige Bueckers is somewhere in this same hotel, maybe awake too, maybe thinking about her.
She reaches for her phone before she can stop herself, opening a text thread with Brad.
Her thumb hovers over the keyboard. This is stupid. This is reckless. This is everything she's spent years being too careful to do.
She types anyways. Room 535.
Then deletes it. Types it again.
Her heart is hammering. She can hear her own pulse in her ears. Fuck it.
She hits send before she can overthink it anymore.
The response comes almost immediately.
Omw.
Azzi's stomach drops. She sits up, realizing that she’s wearing a ratty oversized Oregon t-shirt and sleep shorts, no makeup, and a bonnet. She looks at herself in the mirror across from the bed and barely recognizes the girl staring back at her. Wide eyes, flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling.
She should change. Put on something that makes her look more put together, more in control.
A knock at the door halts that fantasy.
Azzi throws the bonnet on the flor and crosses the room on shaky legs.
Paige is standing there in grey sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, blonde hair falling down around her shoulders, and she looks unfairly good for someone who was supposedly sleeping.
"Hi," Paige says.
"Hey."
"You gonna let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?"
Azzi steps back, and Paige walks past her into the room. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the space feels impossibly small.
"So," Paige says, turning to face her. "This an emergency or something?"
"Something like that."
"At three in the morning."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Why not?" Paige's eyes track over her slowly.
"I think you know why."
"Maybe I want to hear you say it."
"You're so fucking full of yourself," Azzi says.
"And you're so fucking careful." Paige takes a step closer. "Always so perfect. Always so controlled. Does it ever get exhausting?"
"You don't know anything about me."
"We've been over this. I. Know. Enough." Another step. "I know you texted me at three AM because you couldn't stop thinking about me. I know you're scared of what that means. And I know you want me to do something about it so you don't have to."
Azzi's breath catches. “Fuck you, Paige. Can you just stop psychoanalyzing me for once?”
That makes Paige smirk. And Azzi, well, it was too late for her to distinguish what was genuine frustration with Paige and what was sexual.
So she made the executive decision to jump off the cliff. To take the risk that she’d never take. In a swift motion she steps towards the blonde and grabs the strings of her hoodie.
It's not soft. It's definitely not tentative. It's desperate and aggressive and everything Azzi's been holding back all day. Paige makes a surprised sound against her mouth, then kisses back just as hard, her hands coming up to frame Azzi's face.
They stumble backward until Azzi's back hits the wall, and Paige’s lean frame presses against her. Azzi's hands find their way under Paige's hoodie, nails dragging across her stomach, and Paige gasps into her mouth.
"Fuck," Paige breathes, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her pupils are blown wide, lips already swollen. "You–"
"Shut up," Azzi says, and kisses her again.
Paige can’t relinquish all control, though. One hand slides into Azzi's curls and tugs just hard enough to make her gasp. The other hand grips her hip, thumb pressing into the exposed skin where her Oregon shirt has ridden up.
"This what you wanted?" Paige murmurs against her mouth. "When you texted me?"
"Maybe," it comes out more like a whimper than anything truly coherent.
"Maybe." Paige's laugh is low, dangerous. "You're still trying to play it cool."
"I'm not–"
Paige's hand slides higher under her shirt, and Azzi's words dissolve into an unmistakable moan.
"Not what?" Paige's mouth moves to her neck, teeth grazing Azzi’s caramel skin. "Not desperate for this? Not thinking about it all day?"
"You're such a pain in the ass."
"You like it." Paige bites down gently, and Azzi's hips buck forward involuntarily. "Admit it."
"Make me."
It's a challenge, and Paige takes it. She pulls Azzi away from the wall and walks her backward toward the bed, their mouths never separating. When the back of Azzi's knees hit the mattress, she sits. Paige follows her down, straddling her lap. I am not usually the one doing this, Paige thinks.
"You know what I think?" Paige says, pulling back to look at her. Her hands are on Azzi's shoulders, holding her in place. "I think you're tired of being perfect. I think you want someone to see the real you. The messy you. The you that wants things."
"And you think you're that someone?"
"I know I am." Paige's hands slide down to the hem of Azzi's shirt. "Can I?"
The question is genuine. Soft. Definitely two words Azzi would’ve never used to describe Paige Bueckers before today. She should like that, but she doesn’t.
"Yeah," she whispers.
Paige pulls the shirt over her head, and Azzi's suddenly very aware that she's not wearing a bra. Paige's pupils dilate as she tracks over her, and Azzi fights the urge to cover herself.
"Good god," Paige breathes. "You're–"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't make this weird. Don't make it soft."
Paige's eyes snap back to hers, and there's something sharp in them now. "You want it rough?"
"I want you to shut the fuck up."
"Careful what you wish for, princess."
Paige's mouth is on her before she can respond, kissing down her neck, her jaw, across her collarbone, and lower. When her lips close around Azzi's nipple, Azzi's back arches off the bed, a broken sound escaping her throat.
"Fuck, Paige."
"Thought you wanted to stop talking," Paige murmurs against her skin, and Azzi can feel her smile.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." Paige's hand slides down Azzi's stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her sleep shorts. "But keep telling yourself that if it makes this easier."
She pulls the shorts down, and Azzi lifts her hips to help. She’s left in just her underwear, and Paige is still fully clothed. That feels unfair.
"Can you take that disgusting hoodie off," Azzi says, tugging at the fabric. “I cannot get fucked while looking at a UConn logo.”
Paige sits back and pulls it off in one smooth motion, then her shirt, and Azzi's mouth goes dry. Her skin is pale, but smooth. Her stomach is toned. And Azzi wants to touch every inch of her.
"Better?" Paige asks, and there's that cocky smile again.
Instead of answering, Azzi flips them. It catches Paige off guard, and suddenly Azzi's on top, straddling her. There is no way that Azzi fucking Fudd is straddling me right now.
"Much better," Azzi says.
She leans down and kisses her, this time letting her tongue do far more work than before. Paige tasted good. Like some combination of cherry and lime and aquaphor. It was intoxicating.
Paige's hands come up to her waist, then slide around to her back, pulling her closer. Azzi grabs ahold of Paige’s wrist and directs the hand to her ass. She pulls back just slightly to look at the blonde, who looks cautious. “You can touch me however you want to, Bueckers.”
That’s all Paige needed to hear. She squeezes Azzi’s ass as her tongue slips into the brunette’s mouth. Azzi can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of their remaining clothes, and it's not enough. She needs more.
It takes all her restraint to sit back and loop her fingers around Paige's waistband. "Off."
"Yes m’aam," Paige says, lifting her hips as a way to signal she needs or wants assistance.
Azzi pulls them down along with her boxers, and then Paige is naked beneath her.
"You're staring," Paige says, but her voice is softer now, almost vulnerable.
"You're beautiful."
The words slip out before Azzi can stop them, and Paige's expression shifts into something far more unguarded than before.
"So are you," Paige says quietly. In that moment, the fire between them lessens into something mild.
But then Paige's hands are on her ass, pulling her down, and the tenderness reverts back into pure hunger.
"Come here," Paige murmurs, so Azzi goes.
They kiss like they're trying to consume each other, hands everywhere, bodies pressed together. Paige's fingers slide between Azzi's legs, and Azzi gasps into her mouth.
"You’re so fucking wet," Paige breathes.
"That’s your fault."
"Good." Paige's fingers tease and Azzi's hips rock forward seeking more pressure. "Tell me what you want."
"You know what I want."
"Say it."
"Paige–"
"Say it, Azzi."
"I want you to fuck me," Azzi says, the honesty of the words feeling like freedom.
Paige's eyes flash, and then her fingers are pushing inside Azzi, stretching her out. Azzi's world narrows to that single point of contact. She braces her hands on Paige's shoulders, riding her fingers, desperate to feel everything she’s giving her.
"That's it," Paige murmurs, her free hand still planted on Azzi’s ass, loosely guiding her movements. "Take what you need. Use me to make yourself feel good."
Azzi's head falls forward, her forehead resting against Paige's. Their breaths sync together and when Paige's thumb finds her clit, Azzi nearly sobs.
"Look at me," Paige says, and Azzi forces her eyes open.
Paige is watching her with an intensity that should be intimidating but instead makes Azzi feel seen in a way she never has before. Like Paige is memorizing every sound she makes, every inch she moves, every curve of her.
"You're so fucking perfect like this," Paige says. "Not the princess. Just you."
The words combined with the pressure of Paige's fingers push Azzi over the edge. She cums with Paige's name on her lips, her body trembling above the blonde. When she can breathe again, she realizes she's collapsed against Paige's chest. Her body is warm, but the cold cross chain around Paige’s neck is cool against her breasts.
"Are you okay?" Paige asks.
"Yeah." Azzi lifts her head to look at her. "More than okay."
"Good." Paige's smile is gentle now, all the sharp edges from before smoothed away. "Cause I don’t wanna be done with you yet."
“Good.” Azzi shifts. "But I think it’s my turn first."
Azzi moves down Paige's body, biting at her gold chain, pressing kisses underneath her breasts and along her abs. Her muscles twitch under Azzi’s lips. Azzi loves that she can feel the tension building beneath her.
"Azzi–" Paige's voice is already strained.
"Shh." Azzi kisses her hip bone, then the other one. "I want to learn you." Her tongue swipes across Paige's lower abdomen, picking up the beads of sweat.
"You're killing me," Paige says, her hand finding Azzi's hair.
Azzi looks up at her through her lashes, clearly enjoying the flush spreading to Paige's cheeks. She kisses the inside of Paige's thighs. Paige's legs fall open wider, an invitation, but Azzi doesn't rush. She explores with her mouth, her hands, learning every part of Paige's body like she said she would.
"Please, baby," the pet name slipped out. Paige was too far gone to realize it and Azzi knew that.
"Please what?" Azzi's hot breath lingers over where Paige wants her most, and Paige's hips buck up involuntarily.
"Stop teasing me."
"But you look so hot when you're desperate." Azzi presses a kiss dangerously close to Paige's pussy. "Besides, I thought you liked a challenge."
"I'm gonna… Fuck," Paige's threat dissolves into a gasp as Azzi finally, finally puts her mouth on her.
She starts slow. Who would’ve thought that she liked the taste of these lips more than Paige's mouth. Azzi thinks Paige should know that. She was never the kind to dirty talk but for some reason Paige brought it out in her.
“You taste really fucking good, P.”
"Oh my god," Paige breathes, her fingers tightening in Azzi's hair. "Azzi–"
Azzi hums into her as a response, and Paige's entire body shudders. Interesting. She does it again, adding more pressure with her tongue, and Paige's hips lift off the bed.
"Fuck, just like that—"
She can feel Paige getting closer. The tension building in her thighs makes it obvious. Her breathing gets more ragged. Every lick tastes sweeter than the last.
"You're doing so good for me," Azzi murmurs against her skin, and Paige makes a sound that's almost a whimper.
Azzi pulls back slightly to look up at her. "You like that?"
"Don't stop," Paige says, and there's an edge of desperation in her voice that makes Azzi's stomach flip.
"Answer me first." Azzi presses a soft kiss to her inner thigh. "Do you like it when I tell you you're being good?"
Paige’s cheeks are bright pink now. "I–"
"It's okay." Azzi's voice is soft, coaxing. "You can tell me."
"Yes," Paige admits, and Azzi grins.
"Good girl," Azzi says, and goes back to work with renewed focus.
The moan that tears from Paige's throat is obscene. Her whole body is arching as Azzi presses one hand on her stomach and the other on her hips to hold her down and keep her steady.
"I fucking knew you had a praise kink," Azzi says, looking up at her with grin.
"Shut up," Paige manages, but there's no heat in it.
"Make me." Azzi's eyes glitter with challenge. "Oh wait, you can't. Because you're too busy being such a good girl for me."
Paige's response is incoherent, her head falling back against the pillow as Azzi doubles her efforts. Azzi can feel how close she is now, can taste it, and she's determined to make this good, to make Paige completely fall apart.
"That's it," Azzi encourages, her voice low and warm. "You're doing so fucking good Paige."
Paige's thighs start to shake, and Azzi knows she's right on the edge.
"Come on, P. Let go for me."
"I’m gonna fucking cum," Paige's voice breaks.
"I know. Be a good girl and cum for me."
The sound that leaves Paige’s mouth is borderline pornographic. But god damn it’s the sexiest thing Azzi has seen in her life.
When Paige finally goes limp, Azzi rests her cheek against Paige’s glistening thigh, feeling incredibly satisfied with herself. She's never felt more powerful.
She crawls back up Paige's body and places a gentle kiss to Paige’s lips, inadvertently making her taste herself.
"Jesus Christ," Paige says when they finally break apart. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"I really would, actually."
Azzi laughs, and it feels easy, natural. "You told Flau’jae you didn’t have a roster. Can’t say the same for myself."
"Damn so it’s like that?" Paige teases.
Azzi shrugs.
“Am I at least in the Starting 5?”
“When has Paige Bueckers ever not been a starter?”
“Facts,” a stupid smile crept across Paige’s face as she said it. “Round two?"
"Competitive much?"
"Always." Paige's mouth finds her neck. "Especially with you."
They go again, slower this time. The edge is still there, but it's considerably softer now, teetering dangerously close to affection.
By the time they finally collapse, the sky outside is starting to lighten.
"I should probably go," Paige says.
"Probably," Azzi agrees, but her arm tightens around Paige's waist.
They lie there in silence for a moment, and Azzi can feel the weight of reality starting to creep back in. What they just did, what it means, what happens next.
"Hey," Paige says softly, and Azzi looks at her. "We don't have to figure it all out right now."
"Really?"
"Really. No pressure."
"We're supposed to be rivals."
"We are rivals." Paige's smile is crooked. "On the court. But Off the court..." She trails off, her thumb tracing patterns on Azzi's hip. "Off the court, we can be whatever we want."
"And what do you want?"
"Honestly?" Paige's eyes are serious now. "I want to know you. The real you. Not the princess everyone else sees."
Azzi's throat tightens. "That's a lot to ask."
"I know. But I think you want it too."
She's not wrong. Azzi is tired. Tired of being perfect, of being careful, of being everyone's princess instead of just herself.
"Okay," she says quietly. "But we take it slow. And we have to be careful. And I still fucking hate UConn.”
"Deal." Paige leans in and presses a peck to Azzi’s lips. "And I still think green isn’t your color. But for the record, I'm really glad you texted me."
"Me too," Azzi admits. "Even if you are insufferable."
"You love it."
"I really don't."
"Liar."
Azzi kisses her to shut her up, and Paige laughs against her mouth, but somehow it feels right.
They stay like that for a while longer, neither wanting to be the first to let go. Eventually, reality intrudes. Azzi is flying back to Eugene. Paige is driving back to Storrs.
Paige sits up first, reaching for her clothes scattered across the floor. "When will I see you again?" Paige asks, pulling her shirt over her head. Her voice is casual, but Azzi can hear the question beneath the question.
"I'm doing that Future is Unrivaled thing before school starts," Azzi says. "In Miami."
"I'll be there too. Phee invited me to come check it out."
"Oh." Azzi's heart does something complicated in her chest. "That's... good."
"Yeah?" Paige crosses back to the bed, leaning down to kiss her one more time. "It's good?"
"It's good," Azzi confirms, and means it.
At the door, Paige pauses, looking back. "Text me when you land?"
“I will. Now get out of my room, Paige."
"Going, going." But she's still smiling as she slips into the hallway, and Azzi is still smiling when the door clicks shut behind her.
Azzi lies in bed for a while longer, her body sore and her mind racing. She has no fucking idea what happens next. No idea how they'll navigate this, how they'll keep it quiet, how they'll balance the stupid manufactured rivalry with whatever this is becoming.
But for the first time in years, Azzi isn't thinking about what she should do.
She's thinking about what she wants.
And what she wants is Paige Bueckers.
The thought should terrify her.
Instead, it feels like she’s finally free.
_________________________
Three hours later, Azzi's at JFK nursing an overpriced coffee and trying not to think about the fact that Paige Bueckers is the reason she’s so sore.
Her phone buzzes.
Brad: almost back to school. you?
Emily: about to board.
Brad: shame
Brad: was thinking about round two
Emily: We had round two.
Brad: round three then
Brad: four
Brad: honestly lost count
Emily: don’t be cocky.
Brad: you weren't complaining when i had you against the wall
Azzi nearly chokes on her coffee. An older woman across from her is reading a magazine, oblivious.
Emily: you're going to get me caught.
Brad: you mean like how i caught you staring at my ass during the shoot?
Emily: i was not.
Brad: or how i caught you trying not to moan my name?
Brad: that was cute btw
Brad: the way you bit your lip so hard i thought you'd draw blood
Emily: i hate you.
Brad: no you don't
Brad: you hate that you came so hard you couldn't remember your own name
Brad: there's a difference
Azzi's face is burning. She types back quickly.
Emily: big talk from someone who was begging.
Brad: i wasn't begging
Emily: "please azzi” "don't stop" "right there"
Emily: should I go on?
There's a pause. Then:
Brad: okay first of all
Brad: rude
Brad: second of all you're the one who called me a good girl and then got off on how much i liked it
Emily: you have a praise kink. i was simply making an observation.
Brad: "observation"
Brad: you were smirking like you'd won something
Emily: I did win something.
Brad: oh really
Emily: you, falling apart under my tongue.
Emily: Twice.
Brad: jesus christ azzi
Brad: you want me to crash my car?
Brad: you're different over text
Brad: bolder
Emily: maybe I'm just better at this than you.
Brad: BETTER?
Brad: that's it
Brad: miami can't come fast enough
Brad: gonna have you so loud the whole hotel hears you
Emily: you sound confident.
Brad: i have the marks to show for it.
The boarding announcement crackles overhead. Azzi gathers her things, pulse racing.
Emily: boarding now
Brad: just pulled into my apartment lot. we're not done
Emily: we’re not?
Brad: not even close
Brad: been thinking about what i'm gonna do to you in miami
Emily: what are you gonna do?
Brad: gonna take my time with you
Brad: make you beg for it
Emily: i don't beg.
Brad: that's what you think
Brad: but i remember how you said "please" when i stopped
Emily: you're remembering wrong.
Brad: am i?
Brad: because i'm pretty sure you were the one who couldn't form sentences
Azzi panicked as she closed the thread to pull up her boarding pass.
She’s somewhere over Pennsylvania when her phone buzzes again.
Brad: my roommates keep giving me looks
Brad: think they know the best sex of my life was with a Duck?
Emily: oh my god. shut up.
Brad: can't help it
Brad: keep thinking about that thing you did with your tongue
Emily: i’m in public.
Brad: you're on a PLANE
Brad: nobody can see your phone
Brad: unless you're blushing
Brad: are you blushing?
Azzi is absolutely blushing. She angles her phone away from the grandpa next to her in 12B.
Emily: no.
Brad: i know you are lying bro
Brad: wish i could see your face right now
Emily: you're going to get me in trouble.
Brad: sorry i just can't stop thinking about you
Emily: clearly.
Brad: i'm serious
Brad: keep replaying last night
Brad: the way you looked at me when you were on top
Emily: paige.
Brad: the sounds you made
Brad: how tight you got around my fingers when you came
Emily: i. am. In. public.
Brad: so?
Brad: nobody knows what we're talking about
Brad: nobody knows i can still taste you
Azzi's breath catches. She glances around, but everyone in her row is absorbed in their seatback tv’s and ginger ales.
Emily: you're dangerous.
Brad: you started it
Brad: calling me a good girl like that
Brad: you knew what you were doing
Brad: so now i can't stop thinking about doing it again
Brad: pinning you down
Brad: making you say my name
Emily: you mean like how I made you say mine?
Brad: that was different
Emily: how?
Brad: you cheated
Emily: i didn't cheat. I won.
Brad: using your mouth like that is definitely cheating
Emily: don’t be a sore loser.
Brad: i'll show you sore
Brad: three weeks
Brad: gonna make you remember who had who screaming
Emily: pretty sure that was you.
Brad: pretty sure it was both of us
Brad: but i'm happy to provide a rematch
Emily: competitive even about this.
Brad: about everything with you
Brad: you bring it out in me
Emily: You're delusional.
Brad: bet if i was there right now you'd already be ready for me
Brad: because i remember how fast you got wet last night
Brad: how i barely touched you and you were already soaked
Emily: i'm turning my phone off.
Brad: no you're not
Brad: you want this as much as i do
Brad: want me to keep going
Brad: want to know what i'm gonna do to you next time
Emily: and what's that?
Brad: there she is
Brad: knew you couldn't resist
Azzi can practically see Paige's smirk through the screen.
Brad: gonna start slow
Brad: kiss you until you're dizzy
Brad: then i'm gonna get you out of whatever perfect little outfit you're wearing
Brad: take my time
Brad: make you ask for it
Brad: gonna have you so desperate you forget about being perfect
Brad: forget about being careful
Brad: just you and me and how good we are together
Azzi's face is hot. She reaches up to turn up all three AC dials in the row.
Emily: three weeks is a long time.
Brad: i know
Brad: gonna be torture
Brad: but it'll be worth it
Brad: gonna make you forget every other person you've ever been with
Emily: there haven't been many.
The admission slips out before she can stop it. There's a pause.
Brad: good
Brad: means i get to be the one who shows you how good it can be
Brad: give you what deserve
Emily: paige.
Brad: yeah?
Emily: this is scary
Brad: Wdym
Emily: Nobody has ever looked at me the way you do. Or talked to me the way you are rn.
Brad: i meant what i said earlier
Brad: about wanting to know you
Emily: i know.
Brad: and i get that it's complicated
Brad: but i'm not gonna pretend last night didn't happen
Brad: or that i don't want it to happen again
Azzi stares at her phone. Paige is in Storrs and wants to throw hers across the room when she sees the three dots typing back.
Emily: i don't want to pretend either.
Brad: good
Brad: because i'm already counting down to miami
Emily: it's three weeks away.
Brad: breaking news, i can count
Emily: they teach you that at Uconn, huh?
Brad: 21 days
Brad: 504 hours
Brad: a truly unreasonable number of minutes
Emily: jesus christ
Emily: i'm turning my phone off.
Brad: no you're not
Emily: goodbye, brad.
Brad: bye emily. i expect a text in five hours that says you’re back in hippieland.
Azzi hates that she is the reason they’re doing this stupid Brad and Emily bullshit, but she can’t help the smile on her face as she locks her phone. When she closes her eyes, she can still feel Paige's hands on her skin, still hear her voice saying I want to know you.
Three weeks suddenly feels like forever.
Her phone buzzes over Nebraska.
Brad: i’m really gonna be insufferable when the cover drops
Brad: just wanted you to know
Azzi's throat tightens. She types and deletes three different responses before settling on a simple triple text:
Emily: looking forward to it
Emily: and thank you. for everything.
Emily: can’t wait for miami.
Paige smiles as she reads it. In 24 hours the line between rivals and lovers (she hates that word) had blurred. Her final year at UConn just got a whole lot more interesting.