To anyone else, these rituals and superstitions might have seemed peculiar. But we all had them. A lucky coffee order, a special way to tie your shoes, or a specific order for putting on your uniform.

  We grabbed our bags and headed out. The team bus was parked outside, and as we stepped into the bright California sunshine, I felt energized. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the way Eva’s hand brushed against mine as we walked together. Either way, I felt good. Confident.

  That confidence stayed with me as we arrived at the arena, but when the game began, it quickly became clear that Los Angeles wasn’t going to roll over easily. They went up early, with our shots refusing to fall in the first quarter. It took a team-wide defensive effort just to keep us within ten points. Los Angeles would go on a scoring run, followed by a streak of our own. By halftime, we were lucky only to be down by four.

  I started off on the bench at the start of the third quarter, ready for the moment Coach Spirit would look in my direction to yank Erica off the court. Dez sat beside me. She didn’t have her shot that day and she’d taken out her frustrations on whomever she was guarding. Foul trouble had earned her a spot on the bench.

  “Check it out.” Dez nudged me and nodded toward a section of fans in the lower bowl. “Looks like Montgomery’s fan club is here.”

  It wasn’t unusual for fans to travel to attend games at an opponent’s stadium. Our emerald and white team colors tended to dot the seating of any given away arena. But Dez didn’t point out Shamrock fans, per say; they were Eva Montgomery fans. I spotted a cluster of people in the stands wearing her old college jersey instead of the green and white Shamrocks design.

  “Guess they haven’t upgraded to Shamrocks gear yet,” I excused. “That stuff’s expensive.”

  Before Dez could respond, Coach Spirit’s voice cut through the noise: “Alexandra! You’re up!”

  Our second-half effort and halftime adjustments paid off. After going up by two midway through the third quarter, we didn’t fall behind again. When the final buzzer sounded, we had managed to beat Los Angeles by eight. I hadn’t sat for the rest of the game, the exception being timeouts. It was the most consecutive playing time I’d earned that season, and I was still feeling that high after meeting with the media and cleaning up in the locker room.

  I lingered by Eva’s locker while she finished getting ready. I tried hard not to openly ogle the banquet of flesh. She used a small mirror to reapply light makeup, wearing only a black lacy bra and fitted camouflage pants.

  “What do you think about going out to eat tonight?” I proposed.

  There was no obligation that we take the team bus back to our hotel with everyone else—this wasn’t college anymore with curfews and chaperones.

  “Really? I thought you’d be eager to get back to the room,” Eva remarked as she applied her mascara. “Maybe get a massage? Your muscles must be sore after all that playing time.”

  My thoughts went to the small, yellow ‘massager’ she’d used on me in Seattle. I cleared my throat and hoped my face hadn’t flushed a bright red. “That, uh … we could do that. But maybe we could get something to eat first?”

  We’d gone out for dinner in Boston several times, but not since we’d started sleeping together. I wasn’t asking her out on a date, though; it was just food. We were still navigating this Situation-ship. Neither of us had broached the topic of what this was beyond a friendship-with-benefits. We lived together, but we weren’t sharing a bed in Boston. We did sleep together on road trips, even if we didn’t have sex. I wasn’t sure what that made us or if Eva was even interested in labels. I kept kicking that can down the road, but I knew a conversation needed to happen at some point.

  Eva snapped shut her foundation compact. “Yeah, okay.”

  I waited for Eva to finish getting ready. We grabbed our things and navigated the service area to exit out the back of the stadium.

  A smattering of fans were waiting near our exit. Excited voices erupted when they saw us. It wasn’t unusual for fans to hang out outside of arenas in the hopes of snagging an autograph or a selfie with their favorite player. Back in Boston, Eva routinely signed jerseys and basketballs and shoes after games. She’d even signed someone’s leg who claimed they were going to turn the autograph into a tattoo.

  I saw a few Shamrocks jerseys mixed in with the LA purple and gold. Even if you were a Los Angeles fan, it was probably still exciting to see Eva Montgomery up close. She was practically a global brand, after all.

  People pulled out their phones and sharpie markers and waved them in our faces. It was unexpected and a little alarming, but Eva pivoted from fierce competitor to gracious ambassador, effortlessly switching from game mode to fan mode, like she was transitioning from offense to defense on the court.

  I stepped to the side and let Eva tend to her fans.

  She didn’t just scribble her signature on the random items thrust in her face. She was patient with each fan, smiling and laughing and thanking them for coming out to the game. It was a masterclass in humility and personability, like she’d been built in a laboratory for this moment.

  But the longer Eva lingered to sign autographs, the larger the crowd around her grew.

  At first, the numbers made me lament a dinner that might not happen, but then I started to become concerned about Eva’s safety. Inside the arena, the venue’s security team kept us safe. Outside of the stadium, we were on our own.

  A startled cry went up as someone from the back of the crowd tried to shove their way to the front.

  “Hey! Get back!” I raised the volume of my voice. “Don’t crowd her!”

  My words went unheeded.

  I witnessed the discomfort on Eva’s normally neutral features as she continued to sign memorabilia. She was scared.

  I had to get her out of there.

  I didn’t care who saw us or how it looked. I grabbed onto Eva’s wrist. Her head snapped up, panic in her eyes, until she realized the person who’d grabbed her was me.

  “We’re going.”

  She nodded once.

  I intertwined our fingers. “Everybody back.”

  Growing up, my family had gone on a lot of camping trips to National Parks. The Badlands. Yellowstone. Voyageurs. Isle Royale. Yosemite. Wild animals, especially bears, were always a possibility. I’d never seen a bear in the wild before, but as I turned and faced the dense crowd of rabid autograph seekers, my dad’s advice about bears forced itself to the front of my thoughts. Make yourself big.

  “Coming through!”

  I was relatively undersized on a basketball court where other pro players could be as tall as 6 foot, 10 inches, but at nearly 6 feet, I was taller than the average fan. These people might have coveted an Eva Montgomery autograph, but not at the risk of bodily injury. I led with my right shoulder and shoved a path through the crowd. I breathed a little easier when no one tried to stop us or get in our way.

  I picked up momentum and started to jog to put more distance between us and the autograph hounds. I didn’t know where we were or in what direction we should go, but I just kept moving. Eva held tight to my hand. Luckily we were both wearing sensible shoes so she didn’t have to run through the streets of LA in high heels.

  I only stopped when I was satisfied we’d lost the group. I turned into an alley behind a Mexican restaurant to remain out of view.

  I pulled my phone out of the deep pockets of my pants. “I’ll order a car.”

  “Wait,” Eva implored. “Can we just be for a little while?”

  I scanned the vicinity to make sure we were still alone. That wouldn’t always be the case, but I did as she requested. “Yeah. Of course.”

  Eva leaned against a stack of wooden pallets in the alleyway. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  What can I do?

  How can I help?

  What do you need?

  “I will be,” came her noncommittal reply.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  Eva’s eyes opened, and she leveled a serious gaze on me. “It’s not your fault, Lex. You didn’t make those people act that way.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the one who suggested we not go back to the hotel straight away. You could be safe in our room right now.”

  “Locked away like a bird in a cage?” She shook her head. “That’s no way to live.”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked. I’ll do anything.

  “Are you really dead set on us getting dinner out?” she asked.

  “Not anymore, no.”

  “How about hotel room service and a rom-com?”

  Despite the circumstances and our surroundings, a smile tugged at my lips. “I love it.”

  In women’s professional basketball news, the Shamrocks have wrapped up their West Coast road trip with a solid 2-1 record.

  After a tough loss in Seattle, the team bounced back with impressive victories in Los Angeles and Phoenix, showing resilience and determination on the road.

  One of the big stories emerging from this trip is the surprise contributions of first-year player, Lex Bennet. Coming off the bench, Bennet has provided valuable minutes for Coach Scottie Spirit. The team’s late-round gamble in this year’s draft seems to be paying off, as Bennet’s gritty defense and steady playmaking have given the Shamrocks a much-needed boost.

  With a 2-1 record on the road and unexpected depth emerging from the bench, the Shamrocks are showing signs of being a team to watch this season. It’s early, but the pieces seem to be falling into place for Coach Spirit and his Boston squad.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  Eva’s laughter met me upon exiting my bedroom.

  A coy smirk played at her lips. “Going undercover? Witness protection program, maybe?”

  I tugged on the front brim of my baseball cap and adjusted my sunglasses. It wasn’t like I had a fake nose and mustache. “I’m trying to be incognito. You think it’s too much?”

  Eva crossed the room in only a few steps; her long legs made easy work of the kitchen and living room combination. She removed my hat and ran her fingers through my hair, fluffing away the beginnings of hat hair.

  “It’s unnecessary,” she said. “No one’s going to recognize us, and so what if they do? We take a few selfies and sign a few t-shirts.”

  It was the Fourth of July, and Mathilde, Eva, and I had made plans to camp out on the Charles River Esplanade in preparation for the evening fireworks. Eva had insisted it was the only way to enjoy the Fourth in Boston. It was our first real outing in our adopted city. Our rigorous practice, game, and travel schedule had left little time to play tourist thus far.

  I snatched my hat back, but didn’t put it back on. “I won’t get recognized, but you will.”

  “I promise I’m not that famous,” she lightheartedly rejected.

  “I think you underestimate yourself.”

  “Said no one ever,” she laughed. “What’s got you so worried?”

  I toyed with the brim of my hat. It was my favorite hat—a royal blue Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap. Dyaisha probably wouldn’t have approved.

  “I’m still kind of upset about what happened in LA,” I admitted. “If you get recognized out there and the crowd gets out of hand, I won’t be enough to protect you.”

  “That’s …” Eva’s voice cracked. “That’s really sweet, Lex.”

  I shrugged, feeling silly and vulnerable. I was no security detail, and yet I couldn’t help the protective urge when I was around her.

  “We’ll be careful,” she vowed. Her hands fell to my hips; she curled her second and middle fingers into the front belt loops of my jean shorts. She tugged me a little closer and lowered her voice. Those light amber eyes stared into mine. “I won’t do anything to draw attention to myself. It will just be a chill afternoon on the esplanade with friends.”

  Her proximity made me lightheaded. I didn’t know how I was going to navigate the day without wanting to touch her. It was becoming increasingly difficult, even within the relative privacy of our apartment.

  She leaned toward me, dropping her head until her lips lightly brushed against my cheek. “And if Mathilde goes to bed early tonight, maybe we can make some fireworks of our own.”

  I released an uneven breath. “O-okay.”

  Way to keep your cool, Lex.

  Eva smoothly stepped away just as Mathilde was leaving her own room.

  “Are you guys ready?” Mathilde asked. She slung a crossbody bag over one shoulder.

  This time, both Eva and I broke out in laughter.

  Mathilde stopped where she stood. “What?”

  “That’s quite the patriotic look,” I wryly observed.

  The romper fit her body type well—the attached shorts accentuating her long, lean legs—but the fabric’s pattern looked like she wore the entire American flag.

  “I’m trying to fit in!” Mathilde defended. “I don’t want to be the foreigner at the Fourth of July!”

  Boston’s Esplanade stretched three miles along the Charles River. The idyllic narrow strip of land was popular with locals and tourists alike, dotted by points of interest, recreational space, and a beer garden. Bicyclists, runners, and those simply wanting to take in the water views all vied for space on the paved footpaths and arched footbridges.

  The Esplanade was busier than usual that day because of the holiday. The most prized real estate was that within or close to the outdoor amphitheater that would host the Boston Pops playing patriotic songs later that evening. Wanting to stay away from the most concentrated crowds, we claimed a shady spot along the river with promising views of one of the barges from which the fireworks would be launched that night.

  An oversized blanket reserved our spot on the lawn like homesteaders on the frontier. We discreetly drank rosé from paper cups and ate sandwiches from a nearby bakery and deli. It was a treat to sit outside and feel the afternoon sun on my skin. It felt like I’d only experienced air conditioned meeting rooms and coach buses and arenas since the draft in April.

  Conversation was kept to a minimum. I was content to lounge on the blanket and look out over the water; personal watercraft like two-person sailboats and kayaks bobbed around on the river. Eva had brought a paperback novel which commanded her attention. Mathilde, however, vibrated with barely contained energy.

  After a while, she hopped up from the blanket. “Don’t you guys want to walk around?”

  I stared up at my very tall roommate. With the sun at her back, her features were shrouded. “Not really.”

  Eva continued to silently read.

  “You should go explore,” I urged. “Eva and I will save our spot.”

  Mathilde bounced on the balls of her feet. “Are you sure?”

  I shooed her away. “Just text us so we know you haven’t been taken.”

  With Mathilde’s exit, Eva continued reading her book while I enjoyed watching the people around us. Truth be told, I indulged in periodic glances at Eva herself. My silent observations went unnoticed as she lost herself to the action on the page. I watched the way she wet her lips and furrowed her brow in contemplation. I captured the movement of her fingers across the printed words and the delicateness with which she grasped each page before turning it. I observed the evenness of her breath and the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

  She was a ball player like myself: ruthless and hardened by competition. But off the court and away from cameras and the glaring spotlight, Eva was soft. I would never say those words to her—no athlete wanted to be called soft—but that’s what she was. Thoughtful, sensitive, and soft.

  “Do you ever think about life after basketball?” I wondered aloud.

  Eva looked up from her book. She gave me a shrewd look. “Have you been talking to my parents?”

  I hid my smile. “No. Why? Do they bug you about that?”

  Eva sighed. “Only every other day. I should probably get the number five tattooed on me for how many times they’ve reminded me how short the average league tenure is.”

  “27 and retired.” I frowned. “Seems bleak.”

  As a long-time fan of the game, I knew all too well that only five players in the league’s twenty-five year history had played into their forties.

  Eva closed her novel and sat back. “I don’t know. I was thinking I might enroll in Harvard’s MBA program after all of this.”

  I snorted. “Oh. That’s all.”

  Eva turned her eyes on me. “How about you?”

  “Shit. I don’t know,” I breezed. “Coaching maybe? Maybe my old high school would hire me on as an assistant.”

  “Lex.” Eva frowned. “Don’t make me sic the Honorable Virginia Montgomery on you.”

  “What? What’s wrong with coaching?”

  “Nothing. But an assistant at a high school?” She made a face. “You can dream a little bigger than that.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” I bristled. “I’ve been overachieving all my life. Maybe mediocrity is nice.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” Eva challenged.

  I could feel myself growing bratty and contrarian. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll just coast through the rest of my life.”

  Eva patiently waited while I huffed and clucked. She reached across the blanket and laid her hand on my thigh. Her mouth quirked into a knowing, gentle smile. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not,” I stubbornly refused.

  Her fingers began to move, tracing invisible patterns on my pale skin.

  I looked down to her long, tapered fingers. Her fingertips innocently but intimately stroked from my knee to the bottom hem of my shorts and back.

  Eva Montgomery used to make me so mad in college; now she made my blood hot in more than one way. I internally resisted the urge to lunge across the blanket and kiss her.

  Eva’s phone chirped with an incoming text message. She grabbed her phone off the blanket with her free hand. The other remained on my thigh like a reassuring anchor.