Page 12 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Nine

T he remainder of dinner was strained. Eva had put her phone away, but the damage had already been done. Dessert was wrapped up in To Go boxes rather than enjoyed at the restaurant, with both of us claiming to be full.

The town car I’d reserved for the evening drove us back to the condo. The doorman at Eva’s building opened the car door and called the elevator.

Eva stored the desserts in the refrigerator and we wordlessly concluded the night to be over. I hung up my suit and changed into a T-shirt and sleep shorts. Eva did the same with her dress and retreated to the en-suite bathroom to scrub off her makeup.

We brushed our teeth, side by side, in front of the double sinks in the bathroom.

The quiet between us wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t peaceful either.

We each had our corners of the mirror. My arm occasionally bumped hers when I spit into the sink.

She rinsed twice. I rinsed once. Small differences, weird rhythms. We’d been living together long enough to be in sync, but on that particular evening, the silence had edges.

Eva wiped her mouth with a hand towel and leaned against the counter. I was still rinsing out my toothbrush when she said it.

“Veronica thinks we should start a podcast.”

I blinked at her reflection in the mirror. “A what?”

“A podcast,” she said again, casual, like it was something we’d already talked about.

I turned to look at her fully. “Seriously?”

“Interest in the league has never been higher,” she noted with a shrug. “She thinks we could be the face of it. As a couple.”

I stared. “A podcast.”

“She wants to call it something like Court Chemistry or Off the Glass . I don’t know.”

I let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “You hated the idea of going public less than a month ago.”

Eva straightened against the counter, her posture becoming defensive. “I didn’t want our relationship to distract from who we are as players. I wanted to prove myself first. But now … I don’t know. I think we’ve become something people want to root for.”

Something about her words made my stomach twist. I wasn’t sure how to explain it—this sudden, quiet feeling that I was the second bullet point in her highlight reel. A supporting character.

“It would give us something to do during the off-season,” she added, softer. “Together.”

I reached for the mouthwash and swished aggressively, trying to buy myself a moment to think.

Eva had been the one who’d initially rejected Coming Out.

She’d insisted on being known for her game first—not her dating life, and definitely not her dating a teammate.

Now it was me hesitating, balking at the idea of turning our relationship into content.

I spit out the mouthwash and wiped my mouth. “I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

In truth, I had absolutely no interest in doing a podcast, but I didn’t want to start another fight.

Eva became quiet as she worried her bottom lip. “I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”

I glanced at her. She looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the time of night. Her makeup had been washed off, and her braids were piled in a tight bun on top of her head. Even like this—especially like this—she was beautiful. And still, I felt a sharp ache behind my ribs.

“It’s not about messing up,” I said carefully. “I just wish things could slow down for five seconds. That’s all.”

She sighed and pushed off the counter, brushing past me to head into the bedroom. I followed behind, tension simmering just beneath my skin.

“I’m not trying to turn us into a brand,” Eva said suddenly. “I just thought … maybe people would want to hear what we have to say.”

“They already hear you,” I said, the words out before I could stop them. “You’re in ads. You’re on magazine covers. You do interviews and panels and sponsorships and— hell , swimsuit shoots. You don’t need a podcast to be heard.”

She turned around slowly, hurt flickering across her beautiful face. “So what, you think I should shut up now that I’ve got enough attention?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant,” she bit back.

My pulse jumped. “You’re twisting it.”

“I’m trying , Lex. I’m trying to include you, to make space for both of us. You think I don’t see what’s happening? That you’re pulling away?”

“I’m not—” I stopped myself, jaw clenched. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just … I want to be your person, not your project.”

Eva was across the room and in front of me in two strides. “You are my person. But you’re also the one who asked me to slow down, and now I’m trying to build something with you, and it still feels like I’m doing it wrong.”

I stared at her, chest heaving. “You’re not doing it wrong. You’re just everywhere all the time. And I get that this is your moment. I really do. I just don’t know how to keep up.”

Eva’s hand found my waist before I even realized she was moving. Her touch was firm and grounding. “Then don’t keep up. Just be here. With me.”

I searched her face for any trace of arrogance or ego, but found none. There was just vulnerability. Just want.

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of my T-shirt. I didn’t stop her.

“Don’t be mad,” she said, her mouth near my neck.

“I’m trying not to be.”

“Try harder,” she commanded, and then her lips were on mine—hungry and insistent. There was an apology there, too, buried in the way she kissed me like she had something to lose.

I let her kiss me.

I let her slide her hands beneath my shirt, across skin that still carried the tension of everything we hadn’t said.

I kissed her back, harder, more desperate than I meant it to be. My fingers found her hips and pulled her close. Our bodies met like magnets, drawn together by something older than the evening’s fight, deeper than the fear of losing her.

When she tugged my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, I didn’t protest.

When she walked me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed, I went willingly.

She followed me down, onto the mattress, her mouth still on mine, and then against my jaw and the curve of my neck. Her hand slid up my side and over my ribs, like she was mapping me—relearning what already belonged to her.

“You drive me crazy,” I mumbled into her.

“Right back at you.”

Her thigh slipped between mine, and I gasped into her mouth. She smiled like she remembered exactly how I sounded when I lost focus, when I forgot how mad I was.

“You good?” she murmured.

I didn’t answer with words. I arched into her and let my hands find the lines of her back, the swell of her hips, the soft stretch of skin just beneath her ribs.

I traced the strap of her tank top with a featherlight touch. “Off,” I breathed.

She obliged, tugging it up and over her head, watching my reaction the whole time.

There were no jokes between us now. No clever remarks. Just breathing and movement and heat.

I rolled her onto her back and hovered over her, bracing myself on one elbow as I ran my fingers down her sternum. I took my time, not because I wanted to tease her, but because I wanted to remember what it felt like to slow down.

I kissed her like I meant to ruin her, slow and deep and thorough, until she let out a soft, desperate sound that I felt all the way in my gut. Her hands slid into my hair, but I pinned them above her head with one of mine, dragging my mouth down her throat and over her collarbone.

She arched beneath me when I finally reached her chest, my free hand palming one perfect breast while my mouth closed over the other. I would have thought it a tragedy that her breasts spent so much time trapped in a sports bra if not for moments like this.

“Lex—” she gasped, already breathless.

I sucked lightly at first, circling her nipple with the flat of my tongue before drawing it fully into my mouth.

She cursed under her breath, hips lifting, her fingers flexing where I held her down.

The skin beneath my palm tightened, her body so responsive, so fucking beautiful like this, laid bare and aching.

“You always do this to me,” she sighed.

I grazed her nipple with just the edge of my teeth, then soothed the sting with my tongue. “You love it.”

“I do,” she admitted, head falling back. “God, I do.”

I gave the same attention to the other side, rolling her nipple between my fingers while my mouth worshiped the pert bud I’d just left. She whimpered and squirmed, thighs parting without even meaning to.

“Look at you,” I murmured. “So fucking sensitive.”

“You’re not helping,” she groaned, breath hitching as I licked her again, slower now, teasing.

“I’m not trying to help.”

She bucked beneath me when I pinched her nipple gently, just enough pressure to make her whine. I tongued over the same spot until she writhed, hips pushing against my thigh.

I finally let go of her wrists and dragged both hands down her torso. My thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts, then lifted again to trace the stiff peaks with my knuckles.

“Do it again,” she panted.

I leaned down and sucked one nipple deep into my mouth, letting it sit heavy on my tongue while my fingers twisted the other. She moaned—loud and open this time—her hands flying to my shoulders like she couldn’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.

“Too much?” I murmured against her skin.

“Not even close,” she rasped.

I grinned and bit gently. “Good. Then come here.”

She blinked, breath caught. “Where?”

I rolled onto my back and tapped my mouth. “Let me taste you.”

Her eyes went wide. “You want me to?—”

“I want you right here,” I said, gaze steady, lips still parted. “Sit on my face, Eva.”

For a second she just stared, stunned and flushed, like I’d undone something deep in her. Then she moved—slow and deliberate, almost reverent. Her knees landed on either side of my head, and I looked up at her like she was the whole damn sky.

Her pussy was slick and swollen, glistening in the low light. I gripped her thighs and pulled her down to meet my mouth.