Page 16 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

The water below sparkled as if someone had tossed a handful of jewels into the bay.

The yacht itself was something out of a dream—more like a floating mansion than a boat—with smooth, polished wood floors, chrome that gleamed in the last rays of light, and leather seating that looked like it belonged in a designer showroom.

Music floated up from the lower deck. ‘90s R&B spun from the speakers, providing just the right soundtrack for the night—a little nostalgic, a little smooth, like everything was meant to feel this easy.

On the bow, a group of younger players had claimed the best spot, taking turns snapping selfies against the backdrop of the city skyline.

They were fresh to the league, like myself, wide-eyed and trying their best to look like they belonged.

The veterans hung near the middle of the deck.

Their conversations were slower, deeper, more deliberate.

Plates of food were passed around, and there was a certain gravity to the way the older players held themselves.

You could tell they knew this wasn’t just a boat ride—it was an introduction to something bigger.

I gave Briana a wave when I spotted her near the railing, standing tall in crisp white linen, her aviator sunglasses still perched on her nose even as the light started to fade.

“Impressive, right?” Briana said when I walked over.

“I thought the private jet was a flex. This is…” I trailed off, not even sure how to finish the thought.

I’d never been on a boat this big in my life. I’d been on my uncle’s old aluminum fishing boat on Lake Winnebago, but that thing had rattled with every wave.

“That’s the idea.” Briana took a slow sip from her drink, her eyes scanning the horizon. “We want you all to know your worth. And we want them to see it, too.”

“‘Them’ being …?”

Briana slid me a sideways glance, her lips curling in the faintest of smiles. “Let’s just say, when the Commish sits down for CBA talks, she and the team owners will have to reckon with the fact that players have other options now. Serious options.”

Briana’s plan seemed to slowly unfold in front of me. This wasn’t just a stay-in-shape league, and this wasn’t just a welcome party. It was a statement. A challenge.

Before I could respond, I noticed Eva standing near the buffet, engaged in conversation with a guard I vaguely recognized from some overseas highlight reels.

Her easy laugh—one that I hadn’t heard much of lately—cut through the wind.

My chest tightened. It felt good, hearing her laugh like that again.

“Hey, Lex! You’ve got to try this ceviche,” Eva called to me.

I looked back to Briana as if seeking permission. Her smile was small but knowing. “Go spend time with your girl,” she approved with a nod. “We’ll have time to talk strategy later.”

Eva was already loading a small plate with more fresh seafood. She piled ceviche onto a tortilla chip and popped it into my waiting mouth.

“Good, right?”

I nodded enthusiastically around the bite. It tasted like summer itself—bright, light, and refreshing.

Before I could say more, a new voice broke through: “Are y’all seeing this?” Dez materialized by my side, drink in hand, her presence loud and energetic. “It feels like a damn music video.”

Jazz trailed behind her. “Feels like we’re being recruited into a cult.”

“Not the worst cult,” I said, watching as Jazz’s smile betrayed her sarcasm.

“Speak for yourself,” Jazz shot back, her grin giving her away.

Later in the evening, Eva and I made our way to the top deck. The wind was sharper there with the lights of Miami spread out in every direction. A few players were dancing near the DJ booth, while others leaned on the railing with their phones out, trying to capture the moment.

Briana was already filming clips for the league’s socials, a phone in hand, capturing every angle. A few players lingered nearby, trying to look uninterested in the camera, but you could tell they were aware of every shot.

Eva called to me over the hum of the engine: “You’re too far away!”

I took a few steps toward her, the deck warm beneath my feet. “I thought you might want some space to work your angles for the camera.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “My angles work themselves.”

I joined her at the railing, close enough that our arms brushed when the boat swayed. She leaned in like she was about to tell me a secret.

“Tell me this isn’t the weirdest preseason team bonding you’ve ever had.”

“It’s up there,” I agreed, my lips curling into a smile. “But it definitely beats trust falls.”

Eva’s smile grew crooked. “You wouldn’t catch me falling backward.”

“Not even for me?” I teased back.

She pretended to think about it before leaning in, her breath warm against my ear. “You? Maybe. But only because I know you’d try too hard to catch me.”

The water stretched out before us, catching the last of the sunlight. I wanted to savor the moment, to keep her like that in my memory—unbothered by the game, unburdened by the pressure. Just us, together on this yacht, looking out over a city that felt full of possibilities.

The music shifted, a steady pulse of Afrobeats that blended with old-school R&B, and soon we were surrounded by a mix of players, some leaning against the railing, others making their way toward the impromptu dance floor. I followed Eva’s gaze and spotted Briana near the bow again.

“Come meet some people!” Briana called us over.

I gave Eva a quick smile, but she was already deep in conversation with a wiry forward from Australia who I’d seen hit a ridiculous game-winner last season.

Briana looped her arm through mine and led me over to a small group of players.

“Lex, this is Rayah Thompson,” Briana introduced, pointing to a tall guard in a coral dress that clung in all the right places. Her smile was wide and confident—intense, warm, and a little bit wolfish.

“Rayah and I ran Vegas together,” Briana explained, “before she ditched me to play overseas.”

Rayah snorted. “Ditched? More like I knew my worth and that Turkey would pay me better than my own damn country.”

I took in her high-femme appearance. Her light brown skin caught the last of the sun, and her long blonde waves were pulled into a sleek ponytail that bounced with each step.

Dark eyelashes framed large hazel eyes that glittered even at dusk, and her full lips curled into a teasing, self-assured smile.

Her handshake was firm, a confidence in her grip that matched her smile. “I’ve been wanting to play against you, Lex Bennet. See if you’re as unshakable as they say.”

I tried to ignore the way her gaze lingered—like she was already sizing me up.

Jazz swooped in like a shadow, looping her arm through mine. “Oh, she’s shakable,” my best friend teased with a playful glint in her eye. “Just depends on who she’s guarding.”

Rayah’s grin widened, her eyes sharp with amusement. “I’ll remember that.”

Next to Rayah was a white woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue Europe spread. Pale blonde hair in a sleek bun, navy silk blouse that hung perfectly, sharp cheekbones that cut. Her eyes were an impossible pale gray, chilling and unreadable.

“Freya Lindholm,” Briana introduced. “Belgium national team. Point guard.”

Freya dipped her chin slightly, her voice as cool and crisp as the evening breeze. “Pleasure.”

The word was polite, but her tone was more dismissive than welcoming.

And then there was Lina Vargas. She practically bounced up from the lower deck, her curly hair piled high. Her sleeveless dress accentuated strong, sculpted shoulders that could have been on a fitness magazine.

“Lina Vargas,” Briana said. “Spain. Shooting guard.”

Lina gave me a grin that made her challenge clear. “I’ve seen your game tape. You play con corazón—” she tapped her chest. “But I will block your shot every time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

Before we could trade more barbs, Dez appeared again, a fresh drink in hand. “To the new league!” she called, raising her glass high. “To getting what we’re worth!”

The cheer went up around the boat, loud and proud.

Briana caught the momentum, her voice taking over the moment. “We’ve got a practice facility that belongs to us, a weight room that actually has everything we need, and locker rooms worth walking into. This league will be proof of what happens when you invest in your players.”

Lina grinned, her voice teasing. “You mean making the other league look bad.”

Briana smirked. “Let’s call it setting a new standard.”

The night unfolded from there, the music weaving in Afrobeats and R&B, players swapping stories, laughter filling the Miami air.

Dez called out for the Electric Slide, and a chunk of the deck cleared for dancing.

Eva got pulled into the crowd, her movements smooth, confident, and impossible to ignore.

Briana slid next to me in the middle of the celebration, her voice low. “You good, Bennet?”

“Uh huh,” I confirmed, my eyes still on the deck as it moved beneath me. “Just taking it all in.”

“Good.” Her gaze was steady, like she could already see the path ahead. “I want you right in the middle of this. Because we’re not just building a league—we’re making a statement.”