Page 17 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Eleven

T he sun had barely crested above the horizon, but the hum of anticipation was already palpable. The gymnasium was pristine—polished wooden floors gleaming beneath bright overhead lights, the scent of new sneakers and fresh paint filling every corner.

I stood near the entrance, still adjusting to the shift in pace.

The previous night had been loud, filled with chatter and clinking glasses, but now it was all business.

The celebration on the yacht might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Eva was next to me, calm and collected, looking like she hadn’t gone out the night before.

I had the sinking feeling that she could do this kind of thing forever—stay poised, stay perfect.

The gym was packed with players—rookies, vets, and some new faces from across the world.

Balls bounced in rhythmic precision, the sound echoing off the high walls, rivaled only by the sharp squeak of sneakers against the hardwood.

The energy was different today—no music, no celebrations.

It felt like a practice or a tryout, but it wasn’t.

It was the beginning of something that would dictate the next few months of our lives.

Briana was standing at the front of the space, her attention focused on a big LED screen that probably doubled as the scoreboard during games.

The screen flashed to life, the first team logo of the day appearing in a burst of color: Team One.

The names would start filling in soon, as a digital wheel began to spin with a click of Briana’s remote.

This wasn’t the pro league’s draft. There was no podium, no commissioner making pretty speeches.

There was no glitzy atmosphere—just six team logos and a list of names filling in, one by one.

I spied Dez sitting off to the side, arms crossed and head tilted back. Her sunglasses were still on, despite being inside. She was obviously hungover, but you could tell she was trying to will on sobriety, like she was bouncing along with the sound of the basketballs.

“Morning, Dez,” I called over, offering a half-smile.

She gave me a lazy thumbs-up in response.

Jazz slid beside me, peeling the lid off her coffee. “Ten bucks says you and Eva are split up,” she said, grinning as she took a sip, her eyes flicking toward the LED screen.

A strange sensation twisted in my stomach. With as much overthinking and worrying that I usually did, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought about team rosters. What would be preferable? To be on opposite teams or to share the court again?

Jazz didn’t have time to make the bet official before Briana was calling for the room’s attention.

“Alright, y’all,” she drawled. “It’s time to find out where everyone’s going.

Team assignments are final,” she noted. “But remember, we’re not just building a team—we’re building a brand.

You’re not just players. You’re ambassadors for this league, for what we’re trying to do here. You’re the future of women’s sports.”

A few players in our vicinity exchanged glances, some looking excited, others just nervous.

“You’re must-see-TV,” Briana added, eyes seeming to lock on Eva and me. The room let out a collective chuckle, but I felt a shiver run down my spine.

The screen flickered again, and names started filling in.

A few rookies, then some vets. As each name appeared, I couldn’t help but privately analyze the team compositions.

The first few rosters seemed like a good mix—balanced with veterans and rookies, all with solid potential.

There were a couple of familiar faces from overseas highlights, some new names, some big personalities.

But I wasn’t really focused on them. I was waiting for the one name that mattered most.

Rayah Thompson’s name appeared under Team Five: the Embers.

And then … Eva Montgomery .

I felt the air shift. The room tensed in anticipation, and I could hear the collective breath being held. Jazz’s grip on her coffee tightened. The list continued filling in. A name I recognized. Dez Young . A name I didn’t. Arika Sani.

Team Embers was nearly complete. The roster was coming together, and my heart started to race.

The last name for Team Embers appeared on the screen.

Lex Bennet.

The silence in the room was immediate.

Jazz let out a breath beside me. “Looks like I owe you ten bucks.”

Briana stepped forward, clearly loving the drama of the moment. “It’s going to make for great content, and I know you can push each other. You’ve already proven time and again you know how to play together.”

Team Embers was locked in, and I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or dread.

Relief because it meant I wouldn’t have to face off against Eva, guarding her, trying to stop her fast breaks or close out on her pull-up three.

But that wasn’t what had my stomach sinking.

It was the realization that we weren’t just two athletes on a team together.

And Briana had been thinking about how she could sell that.

I glanced over at Eva, whose eyes met mine with that soft smile of hers. The smile that always made me feel like we were a team in ways deeper than basketball. But today, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t just teammates. We were content.

The memory of Briana’s voice cut through my thoughts. “ You’re must-see TV ,” she had said, her grin almost too sharp. I could feel the weight of it now, the way our relationship was the hook. The reason people would tune in.

But I didn’t want to be the reason. I didn’t want to be the punchline in a romance storyline to draw eyes. I wanted to play, to prove myself, to stand on my own without having to justify my every move because I was dating her .

But it was too late to turn back. The cameras would be on us every game—every pass, every steal. Every time we argued on the court would be dissected by millions of eyes.

I continued to stare at the giant screen and waited for the final team’s roster to fill out.

“We’re together. Again,” I muttered to myself.

Jazz caught my words. Her smugness softened. “Don’t overthink it.”

I nodded, but the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen.

I wasn’t just part of a team. I was part of the narrative. Part of the plan.

And that was the last thing I had wanted.

With team rosters set, Briana moved on to introduce the league’s six coaches. None of them overlapped with the pro league, once again highlighting how Bri wanted the Miami league to stand on its own.

Each newly assembled roster clustered around their new coach and support staff as they were introduced in turn.

“Team Embers,” Bri said, “meet David Demarios. He’ll be the one leading you this season. Coach, you can take it from here.”

A tall, well-built Black man stepped forward from the back of the room. His presence alone demanded attention. He was a mountain of a man, easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders that made the room feel smaller. His warm, deep voice carried across the gym as he addressed us.

“Alright, ladies,” he said, eyes gliding over us with a mix of authority and respect.

“As Briana has already alluded to, this season isn’t just about winning games.

It’s about pushing boundaries. We’re not just out here for the prize money—we’re out here to make a statement.

Every time we step on the court, we’re going to show everyone what happens when you give athletes the resources, the support, and the platform to shine. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

His words struck me in a way I hadn’t expected. This wasn’t just a coach looking to win games. This was someone who understood what this league meant, what it could mean for all of us. For our careers, for the game itself.

“Before we jump into practice,” he continued, “I need you to know that this is going to be tough. It’s not spring break. It’s not a rec league either. If you’re not ready to give 100 percent during practice or a game, I’m sure you can find a pick-up game at the local Y instead.”

Eva was already in full focus mode, head nodding along. I, on the other hand, was still adjusting to the reality of it. Being on a team with her again and being watched like we were celebrities wasn’t something I’d signed up for—at least not this soon.

The gym was loud with the rhythm of bouncing balls, sneakers skidding across the floor, and the occasional whistle as the league’s coaches tried to keep everything under control.

It was only our first practice, and I was already sore. Jazz and I trained hard in Chicago, but nothing mimicked real game intensity. As we broke for water, I tugged my jersey up to wipe sweat from my face, avoiding eye contact.

I didn’t know how the rest of the players felt about Eva and me being the so-called Chosen Two . We weren’t just teammates—we were the couple Briana had decided to sell. And I hadn’t had time to process any of it.

I felt Briana’s presence beside me, just out of my peripheral vision. I turned, and she gave me a small, sympathetic smile like she was about to drop something heavy.

“Lex,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “Can we talk?”

I nodded, my heart already beating a little faster. She motioned for me to follow her away from the rest of the scrimmaging teams.

We ended up near the back corner of the gym, the sound of practice echoing faintly around us. Briana crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. The energy from the rest of the gym still buzzed around us, but in this little pocket, it was just the two of us.

“You good?” she asked. Her voice was softer than usual, but I could tell she was sizing me up.

I shrugged. “Getting into the groove. First day and all that.”

She hummed, eyeing me like she was weighing her words. “Good. Because there’s something I need to be straight with you about—why you and Eva are on the same team.”