Eva flopped onto her bed. She pressed her face to her pillow. “This is a disaster.”

  “No. This is false advertising,” I complained. “I thought we were going to finish what we started out there?”

  Eva sat up. “You wanted this to happen.”

  My eyes widened. “Babe! I was the one who suggested we take it to the bedroom. Remember?”

  Eva’s head dropped forward and her shoulders slumped.

  I sat on the bed beside her. “Mathilde isn’t going to tell anyone; she respects us. She already said she thinks it’s fucking awesome.”

  “It worries me,” she admitted.

  I leaned into her so our shoulders pressed together. “It’s going to be fine,” I said. “Besides, if she told anyone who would even believe her? Lex Bennet and Eva Montgomery? Having sex? Together?”

  Eva rolled her eyes. “You’re so unserious.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Eight

  “Nice shirt.”

  I pulled my head through the custom t-shirt that had been hanging in my locker. Dez stood before me, smirking.

  I looked down at the graphics printed across the front of my shirt. Eva Montgomery’s smiling but determined face grinned back.

  The Shamrocks had hosted the team from Los Angeles that afternoon, so the pregame commute to the home locker room had been another opportunity to showcase my elevated fashion game. Eva had convinced me—with overt promises of sexual rewards—to wear the specialty t-shirt. She thought it might break the internet.

  I wasn’t sure about all of that, but it saved me the struggle of picking out something to wear. I might have had new pieces hanging in my closet, but that didn’t mean I had any clue how to style them.

  Dez turned back to her locker, which was only two carrels away from mine. Most everyone else on the team had already cleaned up and gone home after the game, but I had an standing appointment with Trish to check up on my wrist—nothing serious, only maintenance.

  “You and Montgomery have gotten pretty chummy,” Dez casually observed.

  “Have we?” I feigned ignorance and disinterest despite how my heart pounded in my chest.

  “I don’t know her all that well, but I’d be careful if I was you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dez propped a foot up on the chair in front of her player locker to tie her shoe. “Like, what’s in it for her? What’s her angle?” She straightened and switched to the other foot. “She lost a bunch of sponsorships after last year’s college championship. Some people say it’s just NIL melt—the money not following her to the professional league. But I think a lot of companies distanced themselves after what she did to you.”

  She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging in her locker area. She rubbed her palms over her short hair. “Could be she’s trying to win those sponsorships back by being best buds with you,” she reasoned. “If you’ve forgiven her, why shouldn’t the rest of America?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I readily dismissed.

  Dez turned from the mirror and shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. The internet’s been wrong before, I suppose.”

  She clapped me on the shoulder before her exit. “Good game today, by the way. You’re really making the most of those minutes.”

  I barely heard the praise. “Thanks.”

  @HoopsHype414:

  Yo, Eva and Lex went from beefing on the court to besties real quick 🧐 Eva’s behavior is sus… #TeaSpill #RivalsToBFFs

  @BallersBabe:

  Eva and Lex all buddy-buddy now? 👀 I call cap! Eva’s gotta be in it for the bag 💸 #SponsorshipVibes #DramaAlert

  @CourtSideGossip: Eva acting like she never had beef with Lex. This ‘friendship’ is giving major clout chase energy 🚩#FakeFriends #MoneyMoves

  @FullCourtHer:

  Not buying Eva and Lex’s sudden friendship. This screams PR stunt for the sponsors 🤑 #SuspiciousAF #DramaDrama

  @HoopDreamsFan:

  Eva and Lex are besties now? Yeah, right. This smells like a cash grab 💵 #NotBuyingIt #BasketballDrama

  @BBallBanter:

  Eva and Lex went from rivals to ‘friends’ real quick. Bet Eva is just tryna secure that sponsorship bag 💰 #Skeptical #DramaOnTheCourt

  @BasketBreakdown:

  Eva and Lex suddenly BFFs? 😂 Eva’s fake AF, bet she’s just thirsty for that sponsor money 🤑 #RivalryToFakery

  @GreenDreamTeam:

  Eva’s so fake, acting like she’s tight with Lex now. Girl, we see through your BS 💸 #MoneyChaser #FakeFriendAlert

  @ShamrockSwish:

  Eva’s ‘friendship’ with Lex is a joke. We all know she’s just trying to get that coin 💵 #FakeAF

  @BasketballBuzz:

  Eva went from hating Lex to kissing up real quick. Smells like desperation for sponsorship cash 🤢 #NotFooled #FakeFriend

  @JustHoops:

  Eva’s clout-chasing is so obvious. Acting all friendly with Lex just for the $$$ 🙄 #CashGrab

  @HoopObsessed:

  Eva’s fake friendliness towards Lex is cringe. We all know she’s just after the sponsorships 🤮 #MoneyHungry

  I looked away from my phone, disoriented and bleary eyed, at the sound of someone knocking on my open bedroom door. Eva stood in the doorway, glowing, after presumably wrapping up her postgame media obligations.

  “Do you want to go out for dinner or just order in? I’m not really feeling like cooking tonight. Did enough of that against LA today.”

  She smiled and pretended to do a step-back shot with an invisible ball. She held her follow-through arm in the air. Her playfulness would have been infectious if not for the sour feeling in my stomach.

  I made a humming noise. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  Eva dropped her arm to her side. “Is everything okay?”

  “How much endorsement money did you lose when you pushed me?”

  The smile similarly fell from her face. “Excuse me?”

  “It couldn’t have been a good look for those major companies when their superstar lost her head like that on national TV.”

  “Where is this coming from?” She sounded gutted.

  “I reactivated my social media today.”

  “Oh.” Eva exhaled. With the long breath, she dropped to sit on the corner of my mattress.

  “Yeah,” I said sardonically. “Oh.”

  Eva’s voice grew quiet. “Lex. Is that what you really think?”

  I hesitated.

  I’d read far too many damning social media threads that evening. Once I’d reactivated my social media account, I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. No one had been able to tag me since my account wasn’t active, but it didn’t take much digging to find my mentions. A few stan accounts expressed frustration with Coach Spirit for not playing me more. But the most recent chatter had been in response to the t-shirt I’d been photographed in prior to the game.

  We hadn’t broken the internet, but it was close. My feed was flooded with the same photograph of myself: hair braided, sunglasses on, walking through the stadium tunnel, wearing the Eva t-shirt, oversized shorts, and custom sneakers.

  Some of the comments were thirsty, while others were downright mean. It was the latter genre that had caused me to lose hours of my day. I’d lost myself to endless scrolling through a wasteland of pettiness and nastiness, all swirling around the same idea—Eva Montgomery was fake and only pretending to get along with me for the money. I was a stooge, and she was a master manipulator.

  “Lex?” Eva tried again. Her voice wavered on my name.

  Were they genuine or were they crocodile tears?

  Eva spoke in a controlled, clipped tone. “I know it’s wildly unfair what I’ve asked of you. You shouldn’t have to be in this closet with me. So if you want out, I’d understand.”

  I swallowed. Hard.

  “Just like that?”

  “No, not just like that,” Eva growled. “I’m falling in love with you, okay? It would rip out my heart to lose you.”

  I blinked in rapid succession. “You … you are?”

  “It’s not quite how I wanted you finding out,” she sniffed, “but yeah.”

  A different kind of emotion rushed over me. It washed away the vitriol in which I had been drowning, “I-I am, too. And, honestly, I might be beyond the falling part.”

  Eva smiled tenderly. She leaned in and rested her palm against the side of my face. “Don’t let other people get in your head, okay? If you want to know how I’m feeling, just ask.”

  I closed my eyes and bit my lower lip. I couldn’t lose myself in her touch. I couldn’t entirely abandon the sick sensation that had dominated my afternoon.

  Her hand fell away. “You’re still not sure.”

  I exhaled. “I read a lot of nasty things today, I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes took on a determined glint. “Dinner with my parents. Will that convince you that this is real?”

  “Y-your parents?” I sputtered. The grave visages of the Honorable Virginia Montgomery and Dr. Clyde Montgomery flashed in my head. “Like, go as your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.” Her face was so serious, it made me want to cry.

  “Shit. What am I going to wear?”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  The car ride was silent from Boston to Brookline. It was clear both Eva and I were in our heads in anticipation of dinner with her parents. I’d left the mayonnaise-based salads at home this time, but I hadn’t come completely empty-handed. The cellophane of a florist’s bouquet crinkled in my lap, an obnoxious sound that only produced more tension in the vehicle.

  My stomach had twisted itself into knots by the time Eva parked in front of her familial home. We still did not speak to each other as seatbelts were unbuckled and we exited the car. The Montgomery mansion was every bit as intimidating as I remembered from the Memorial Day party—a meticulously maintained estate that radiated wealth and exclusively.

  Eva rounded the front of her car. “Don’t think differently of me after this, okay?”

  I waited for her on the curb. “Why would I do that?”

  “My parents aren’t like yours,” she said. “They’re not warm or welcoming or even proud of me. Actually, it’ll probably make a lot more sense to you why I am the way I am after breaking bread with the Montgomerys.”

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’m sure they’re proud of you,” I challenged. “How could they not be?”

  She rewarded my optimism with a fleeting smile, but I could see the apprehension in her eyes. She was doing this—dinner with her parents—all for me. It meant a lot that she would voluntarily put herself through this stress to prove that our reconciliation was no publicity stunt.

  I wet my lips. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “What?”

  “Let the internet trolls say and think what they want,” I decided. “I believe you.”

  “Truly?”

  I touched the side of her face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Eva. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  I watched Eva’s eyes flick in the direction of the house. “We should go through with it,” she decided with a sigh. “We came all this way. Besides, my mom probably went overboard with a caterer again.”

  My mouth curved up. “Do I get to see your old room?”

  “I’m sure it looks the same as your childhood bedroom,” she remarked. A sly smile overtook her face. “A few more trophies, maybe.”

  “Hey!” I scowled.

  She laughed, and I bumped my shoulder into hers. The levity was welcomed.

  Eva had been distant lately, and I knew her parents were a big part of it. They’d yet to come to any of her games, despite her being one of the top players in the league. Her mom had made it clear she thought basketball was a waste of Eva’s talents. Her dad was more reserved, but no less disapproving. It wasn’t about her being gay—Eva had been Out for years. It was about them not respecting her career choice.

  We walked up the meandering concrete path, hand in hand. I could feel my palms growing sweaty within Eva’s grasp. This would be my second time meeting the Montgomerys, but the first as their daughter’s girlfriend, not just a teammate or roommate.

  The front door swung open before we’d even reached the front stoop.

  As the door opened, we were greeted by the impeccable formality of Virginia Montgomery. She was poised and elegant in a white buttoned-up blouse and navy blue skirt. A double string of pearls was visible at her throat. Her dark hair was swept back in a rigid bun.

  “Eva, Alexandra, welcome,” she said, her voice cool and detached. “Do come in.”

  Eva gave me a small, reassuring smile as we stepped inside. The entryway was as grand as I remembered, with marble floors and an ornate chandelier that probably cost more than my annual salary. Eva’s parents didn’t hide their wealth, and everything in the house was a testament to their professional success.

  I presented Mrs. Montgomery with the slightly wilted bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

  Eva’s mother looked down at the arrangement. “No noodle salads?”

  I forced a smile to my lips. It was possible she was trying to be playful, but I was too on edge to appreciate the humor. “Not this time, no.”

  “I brought you something, too,” Eva announced. She handed her mom a white, unsealed envelope.

  “What’s this?” her mother asked.

  “Floor seats to our next home game,” Eva said. “If you’d rather have a private suite, I can arrange for that instead.”

  Mrs. Montgomery used the envelope like a fan. “Oh, that’s very generous, dear. But summer is such a busy time for your father and me; I doubt we’ll be able to get away.”

  She hadn’t bothered to look inside the envelope. She’d rejected the opportunity to see her daughter compete without even inquiring about the date.

  I wanted to snatch the bouquet of flowers out of her hands.

  Rather than lash out, Eva only straightened her back. “Well, maybe another time.”

  “Yes, maybe,” her mom continued to dodge.

  Dr. Montgomery joined us in the living room, offering a polite but distant smile. He was dressed more casually than his wife in his fitted polo shirt and flat-front khakis, but it was still more elevated than my own dad’s typical outfit of a Wisconsin sports t-shirt and jeans.

  “Good to see you again,” he said, shaking my hand. His grip was firm, almost as if he was trying to test me. I matched it, not willing to back down.

  “Thank you for having me, sir,” I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

  Dinner itself was an exercise in formality. We sat at a long, polished mahogany table, complete with fine china and crystal glasses. My place setting was resplendent with cutlery options and multiple plates of various sizes. Eva had pre-warned me about her mother’s love for formal dinners, but experiencing it firsthand was another thing entirely. The meal itself was remarkable: tomato bisque, a red and golden beet salad, and filet mignon cooked to perfection.

  Conversation, however, was stilted, revolving around neutral topics like the weather and current events. Eva tried to engage her parents, asking about their work, but it felt like they were all talking past each other. I sat and ate quietly, feeling more like a spectator than a participant.

  “So, Alexandra,” Mrs. Montgomery said suddenly, turning her attention to me. “How are you enjoying Boston? You’re from the Midwest, if I’m not mistaken?”

  I glanced in Eva’s direction. I’d forgotten to ask her if she’d cleared up any confusion when I’d described the food of my people last time.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “Boston’s been an adventure.” I chose my next words carefully. “I’m grateful for the opportunities basketball has afforded me.”

  “And do you have any plans for the future?” Mrs. Montgomery pressed. Her tone was neutral but her eyes were sharp. “Basketball isn’t a long-term career, after all.”

  I felt my chest tighten. It was the kind of question that typically made me defensive, but I knew this wasn’t the place for that. “Coaching, maybe. Once the season is over, I’d like to volunteer with some local youth programs.”

  Mrs. Montgomery nodded, but her expression was unreadable. “It’s good to have a plan,” she said. I could feel the weight of her judgment. She might as well have said “It’s good you’re thinking about what comes next because what you’re doing now isn’t good enough.”

  Eva reached over and squeezed my hand on top of the table. It was a small gesture, but it helped ease my nerves.

  “Eva, I’d rather hoped you’d be done with those braids by now,” her mother seemed to sniff.

  “It’s just a protective style for the season,” Eva explained away. “Actually, Mom, Dad,” she continued, “I was hoping you’d come to one of our games sometime. It would mean a lot to me.”

  There was a moment of silence. The tension in the room was palpable. Mrs. Montgomery exchanged a look with her husband, and then turned back to Eva. “We’ll see. We’re very busy with work, you know.”

  Eva’s bright smile never faltered, but I knew the second dismissal must have stung. I ran my thumb over the tines of my fork to distract from the dull ache in my heart. Eva’s parents were too wrapped up in their own narrow expectations to see the remarkable, accomplished woman sitting in front of them.

  We said our goodbyes in the front foyer.

  “Oh, Eva,” Mrs. Montgomery called, “don’t forget these.”

  Eva turned in the hallway just in time for her mother to press a crisp envelope into her hands. I knew that it was the envelope with the game tickets.

  “Maybe you can sell them,” Mrs. Montgomery said in a cheerful tone.

  I wanted to scream.

  Back home, we laid together in Eva’s bed. Things had felt off since we’d left Brookline. Eva had been quiet, and I hadn’t known what to say or do. I could tell she was hurting, and it broke me. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her it didn’t matter what her parents thought. But I knew it did matter, and that was the hardest part.