Page 21 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Thirteen

T he practice court was quiet, washed in the faint orange of exit signs and the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the windows high above the bleachers.

Our bags were tossed in a heap near the wall, long forgotten, and the only sound left was the occasional creak of the building settling and the rhythmic bounce of the basketball in Eva’s hands.

It had been a long day of practice and building chemistry with our new teammates before the first game of the new league. But when Coach Demarios had dismissed us for the evening, Eva and I had lingered.

We’d played Horse against each other at least a dozen times, sometimes on a proper court, sometimes with nothing but a crumpled napkin and a trash can. But never like this.

“Strip horse?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows.

Eva revealed new parts of herself to me all the time—vulnerable, soft places that felt like a gift—but I hadn’t expected this. She was always so careful, always aware of who might be watching, of what a single misstep could cost her.

She grinned and spun the ball on her fingertip. “What, are you scared?”

I snorted. “Of losing to you? Not a chance.”

She shot from the top of the key, the ball arcing through the air and swishing clean through the net.

“Sure about that?” she asked sweetly, already walking back with a bounce in her step.

I retrieved the ball, grinning despite myself. “You know this is wildly unfair, right? You’ve got the better three-point percentage.”

Eva shrugged, unbothered. “All the more reason to up the stakes.”

I squared up, matched her spot, and took my shot. It clanged off the front of the rim with a sound that echoed too loudly in the quiet gym.

Eva didn’t try to hide her grin. “Shirt.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s the game.”

I peeled off my tank top and tossed it at her face. She caught it one-handed, laughing, and draped it over her shoulder like it was a professional wrestling belt.

This was dangerous. The building was technically closed, but we were still semi-public on the new league’s practice court.

If anyone walked in—another player, a trainer, a camera crew doing late-night promo shots—we’d be headline news by morning.

Rivals turned secret lovers caught stripping on the new league’s practice court .

I could see the gossip site headlines already.

But Eva looked too smug not to challenge. And I wasn’t backing down.

“Your shot,” I said, rolling the ball back to her.

Eva moved to the right wing, took her time lining up the shot, and launched. Swish . Effortless.

I mirrored her shot and thankfully made it this time.

Eva pouted, dribbling in place. “Rude.”

“You know I’m not going easy on you just because you’re a pretty face.”

“Good,” she said, eyes narrowing. “It wouldn’t be any fun if you did.”

We went back and forth like that—trash talk and teasing layered over the slow, steady removal of clothing.

Eva lost her arm sleeve first and then her tank top.

I dropped my shorts after a missed corner three and stood in just my sports bra and briefs, trying not to notice how the moonlight caught the curve of Eva’s back.

“You’re staring,” she said, not looking at me.

“You’re very stare-worthy.”

She turned, lips curled. “Do you usually get so easily distracted during games?”

“Only when you’re wearing less clothes than usual.”

“Guess I should play defense like this more often,” she quipped.

I pulled on my face. “Please don’t. I’d never make another shot again.”

Eva moved to the free-throw line, bent her knees, and nailed another shot. I matched it, barely.

“How am I supposed to get you naked if you keep making shots?” I complained.

“You’ll just have to get creative.”

Eva was down to her sports bra and leggings. I still had the bra and briefs. The stakes felt increasingly ridiculous—and exhilarating.

“I’ve got one for you,” I said, backing up to the half-court line.

“Oh, come on.”

“What? You said creative.”

She waved me on with mock impatience. “Go on, Steph Curry.”

I took a deep breath and shot. The ball sailed long and clattered off the backboard.

Eva laughed. “Thank God.”

She stepped to the left baseline, sank into her stance, and launched a high-arching fadeaway. Nothing but net.

I groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re the one who agreed to it,” she grinned.

I missed the matching shot. Of course I missed. With a dramatic sigh, I stepped out of my underwear and stood only in my sports bra. I tried to ignore the heat prickling at the back of my neck—not from embarrassment, but from wanting.

Eva’s eyes flicked down, not even trying to hide the trajectory of her gaze.

“Satisfied?” I asked.

She pursed her lips. “Almost.”

I tossed the ball to her. “Watch out for my comeback.”

Eva bent to dribble—maybe to hide her grin—and I was rewarded with a perfect view of her lower back where her leggings dipped, revealing just a sliver of skin I was now obsessed with.

She missed her next shot, and I pounced. I drained a jump shot from the wing. Her own attempt came up short.

“Leggings,” I said.

She hesitated, just long enough to be dramatic, before sliding the stretchy material down her hips and thighs in one smooth motion.

We were now both in just sports bras, standing at center court like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I made a layup with a weird spin. She matched it. She did a bank shot off the glass. I matched that, too. Her brow furrowed like she was thinking hard, probably plotting some wicked behind-the-back nonsense to trip me up.

That was when the door creaked open.

Both of us froze.

From the far end of the gym, a yellow janitorial cart appeared, pushed by a gray-haired custodian in headphones, his mop trailing behind him. He hadn’t looked up yet.

“Shit!” I hissed, lunging for my shorts on the floor.

Eva scrambled for her leggings, giggling as she yanked them on. “He didn’t see us, he didn’t see us?—”

“Ladies?” the custodian called out.

Shit. He did see us.

I pulled my tank top over my head and waved awkwardly. “Oh, hey!”

“Didn’t know anyone was still here,” he said, pulling off one side of his headphones. “Need me to keep the lights on?”

“Nope!” I denied. “We were just leaving!”

Eva, now semi-put-together, grabbed my hand and we took off at a jog toward the exit, both of us laughing so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet.

We burst through the side door into the warm night air, breathless and dizzy.

“That was so stupid,” I gasped, bending over with my hands on my knees.

“But so worth it,” Eva said, leaning against the brick wall. Her eyes were bright, features invigorated from nearly getting caught.

My heart was still pounding, but not just from the close call. It was her. The way she smiled at me like I was the best part of her day. The way her laugh curled in my chest.

“Rematch?” I grinned.

Eva reached for my hand and threaded our fingers together. “Obviously. We can’t just end it with a tie.”

I kissed her before I could come up with a snappy reply. I’d played hundreds of games of horse. But this one? This one, I’d remember forever.

Eva kissed me back like the adrenaline from nearly getting caught had her just as keyed up as I was. Her mouth opened against mine and I felt her fingers slip under the hem of my tank top.

“Apartment?” she whispered against my lips.

“Locker room,” I breathed. “It’s closer.”

Her eyes sparked. “Seriously?”

“No one’s gonna be in there until morning.”

She grabbed my hand again, and we half-ran back inside, shoes squeaking against the floor. We didn’t speak, we only laughed—quiet and breathless—as we navigated dark hallways like we were sneaking into some forbidden part of a theme park. My pulse thudded in my ears the whole time.

The locker room door shut behind us with a soft click.

The overhead lights were out, but the motion sensor caught us and flooded the space with cool fluorescent light.

Eva turned to me, her expression unreadable for a moment—until her gaze dropped to my mouth.

“I was thinking about this,” she said, voice low, “even before you missed that corner three.”

“Oh yeah?”

She licked her lips. “It’s kind of hard not to when you strip out of your shorts that slowly.”

I stood a little taller. “I wasn’t putting on a show.”

“Didn’t say it was. But if it was?” She stepped forward and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “I’d return the favor.”

I watched, my chest tight, as she peeled her shirt off and let it fall to the tile floor. Her sports bra followed. Then she paused, giving me time.

I didn’t need long. I lifted my own top over my head and wrestled with my sports bra. By the time I had it off, Eva was close again, her warm hands finding the sides of my waist.

We kissed harder this time—no teasing, no restraint.

I backed her into a locker, the cool metal pressing against her back as our bare chests met, skin on skin, sweat still faint between us from the playground game.

I loved this part—how her mouth tasted, how her hands moved, the mutual give and take before one of us took the lead.

She tugged at my waistband, not to undress me, but to feel the elastic and slide her fingers underneath. We’d talked about it early on. How I didn’t like penetration. She never made me feel like I had to explain myself or apologize.

Her hand slipped beneath the fabric, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my lower belly. She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Tell me if anything is too much.”

I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. “Keep going.”

Her thumb brushed slow, teasing circles against my clit through the thin fabric of my underwear. I gasped softly, my hands finding her hips, pulling her closer.

“If you get loud in here,” she murmured, “think the janitor’s coming back?”

I huffed a laugh, more breath than sound. “Only one way to find out.”