Page 34 of Half-Court Heat

I leaned against the kitchen island, watching her take in the space. “So? Does it meet your standards?”

“It’s a little basic,” she said. Her gaze flicked to the lone gray sofa in the living room and then back to me. “But it’s not permanent. I suppose I can rough it for a few months.”

“It’s nice that Jazz and everyone is just a few doors down,” I opined. “Like a basketball bubble.”

Eva rapped her knuckles against the wall, testing the plaster. “We’ll see.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Worried about loud music?”

Her smirk said it wasn’t music she was thinking about. “Loud music. Right.”

A sharp knock drew our attention to the front of the apartment. Jazz opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Yo, lovebirds!” she called. “Bus is leaving for the gym. Time to see our new home court away from home.”

From the outside,it didn’t look like much. But the second we walked through the glass doors, it hit me—this was ours. Not shared with a men’s team. Not a practice slot at some college gym. Ours.

Cool, crisp, and buzzing with energy, the new league’s practice facility felt less like a gym and more like a high-end sports resort.

We passed through the lobby, where a staffer handed us keycards and welcome packets.

“Lex!”

I turned to see my Shamrocks teammate, Dez Young, jogging toward me. “Bri let just anyone join her new league, huh?” She pulled me into a hug that lifted me off my feet.

The tour started with the practice courts. Even from the entrance, the scale of it stole my breath away. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, skylights flooding the space with the bright Miami sun. The newly-waxed hardwood gleamed with the league’s emblem bright at center court.

Jazz let out a low whistle. “This is insane. They didn’t play when they built this.”

Eva stayed close beside me, her fingers brushing mine as we took in the scene together.

Briana smiled, clearly proud. “We wanted a space that felt professional and inspiring—something that raised the bar forwomen’s basketball. But also, a place where you want to spend time, not just grind.”

We moved next to the weight room, which was anything but the grimy, cramped space I’d become accustomed to. Instead, the space was flooded with natural light and lined with state-of-the-art machines and free weights arranged with meticulous care. High-tech screens dotted the walls, ready to track every rep and heart beat.

Dez gave a low whistle. “This is next level.”

“Wait until you see the locker rooms,” Briana said with a smirk as she led us down a sleek hallway.

When the doors swung open, a collective gasp escaped the group.

The locker room looked more like a boutique hotel lobby than a changing area. Soft leather benches, marble countertops, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the space. Personalized lockers bore each player’s name etched in brushed steel. The scent of fresh eucalyptus lingered in the air, subtle and calming.

I caught Briana’s eye and nodded toward the luxe space. “Okay, but how are you pulling all this off? This can’t be cheap.”

She shrugged, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Let’s just say the league has some serious financial backing. A lot of folks believe in this project. It’s more than basketball—it’s about setting a new standard.”

Dez snorted from behind me. “Well, whoever’s paying, they better keep it coming.”

The whole group laughed, but beneath the humor was a quiet excitement. This wasn’t just a place to train—it was a statement.

Back in the gym,most of the group hung back, chatting in little clusters, but a few players lingered near the baseline.Someone—of course it was Jazz—snagged a ball from the rack by the scorer’s table.

She bounced the ball a few times, tested the grip, and stepped into a shot from just inside the arc. The ball connected with the backboard and rattled around the rim before dropping in.

“The bank is open!” she called, grinning at her own joke.

That was all it took. The ripple effect was instant.