Page 43 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

“ S unflowers are your favorite flower?” I tried to keep my tone casual, but my emotions were swirling.

Eva’s confusion was palpable, even on the phone. “Huh?”

“I saw Kate’s social media post.”

In lieu of something to do that evening, I’d been scrolling through social media again. My algorithm had decided to find something Kate Gillespie had posted earlier in the day—a picture of flowers she’d bought for Eva as a thank you for inviting her to be her Plus-One at the Boston charity gala.

According to the caption, sunflowers were Eva’s favorite flower. Sunflowers. And I’d brought her roses after her surgery.

“Oh. I don’t have a favorite anymore,” she dismissed. “Sunflowers were my thing back in high school.”

She paused. “Are you following Kate on social media?”

“No. It just showed up in my feed. Mutual friends or something.”

“Exactly. Kate’s just a friend.”

“Weren’t you the one who said you didn’t know how I could be friends with an ex?” I challenged.

“I thought you said Jazz wasn’t an ex,” she countered.

“She’s still not,” I said, a little defensively. “But Kate is. Your very first ex-girlfriend. And you only broke up because of distance. And now you’re back in the same city.”

“She’s only offering support because she knows firsthand what it’s like to come back from an ACL injury,” Eva reasoned.

“You don’t think she’d jump at a second chance with you?” I challenged.

“Well, obviously. Who wouldn’t want to get with this?” Her tone was rhetorical, flippant, and infuriatingly charming.

“I’m serious, Eva. And I’m pretty sure your parents would be thrilled at that match. She’s going to be a freakin’ doctor .”

“But I’m not in love with Kate. I’m in love with you.”

“That’s not … that’s not the point.”

My frustration mounted the more she expertly deflected my carefully constructed argument. My emotions felt frayed while her pulse point had barely moved at all.

“I think it’s cute that you’re jealous.” She paused and her voice dipped lower. “And kind of hot.”

“Oh. I, uh…” I stumbled over my words, suddenly aware of the soft cadence in her voice.

“I miss you.” Her tone lowered to a sultry burn, and I could almost hear her fingers brushing against herself.

“I—I have to get to bed,” I said, my own voice strained.

“I’m already in bed,” she murmured, the invitation heavy between us. She let her breath hitch just a little. “Come on, baby…”

The words wrapped around me, warm and impossible to resist. My pulse hammered. My tongue felt thick. I could imagine the arch of her back, the small noises she made, and it was all I could do not to lean in.

“Eva,” I said, forcing my voice to stay firm. “I … I want you. But not like this. I want to see you in person. What if I come up for a long weekend?”

“I want that, too.” I heard her frustrated exhale. “But things are so busy right now, Lex. I don’t know if it would be worth your time.”

I wanted to say she was always worth my time, but the words got trapped in my throat. I took a breath and tried to push away the ache of wanting her close. The Miami league was almost over. Only a few weeks left of competition, and then I would be back in Boston.

“Okay. We’ll wait until the season’s done,” I said finally.

There was a quiet pause on the line. I could almost hear her weighing the calendar in her head, the CBA talks, her rehab schedule, the endless obligations pulling her away. Was it too long? Was it too much to ask of either of us?

“I’ll be counting down the days,” I said, my voice soft.

“Me, too.”

I caught the tremor in her tone. It was just a hint, almost swallowed by her words, but it was unmistakable. A small, shaky sound followed—like she was holding back a sob.

I clenched my phone tighter. Maybe we were both a little delusional, clinging to promises stretched across cities and schedules.

“Promise me,” I said gently. “Promise me we’ll make it through these last few weeks.”

“I promise,” she said, quieter this time.

I let my phone rest against my chest. I breathed in slowly, feeling the ache of the distance between us. We were holding on by a thread—but somehow, together, that thread had to be enough.

Miami mornings felt different without hearing her voice first thing. Eva still called, but her tone was clipped, the pauses longer. ACL rehab. CBA prep. More rehab. More meetings. She was fighting on two fronts, and I was somewhere far from the battlefield.

When we did talk, I tried to keep my own voice light, pretending my chest didn’t feel like someone had left a weight on it. But my game told on me. Missed layups, sloppy passes, lazy feet on defense getting me into foul trouble. Coach Demarios didn’t have to say anything—I knew I was screwing up.

Rayah noticed. She seemed to notice everything.

“You play better when you’re smiling, Bennet,” she said after practice one day.

She bumped her shoulder into mine. It was harmless—until it wasn’t.

@BasketBreakdown:

The players look greedy af rn. League won’t last if they keep pushing. #LeagueInDanger #BadLook

@CourtSideDrama:

Eva Montgomery leading negotiations?? Worst choice ever. She can’t even stay healthy. #UnionMess #BadPick

@HoopsHotTea:

Eva thinks she’s a businesswoman now? Girl, focus on walking without crutches first. #CloutChaser #Overrated

@CourtVisionQueen:

Wild how asking for FAIR PAY = “greedy.” Pay the women. Period. #SupportThePlayers #FairGame

@FanOnTheSidelines:

Players crying poor again Y’all knew the salary before signing. #Ungrateful #JustPlay

@FullCourtShady:

Union really put Eva in charge? LMAO. They picked Instagram likes over experience. #PRStunt #FakeLeader

@WBBallUpdates:

This is history in the making. Women athletes demanding what they deserve. #StandWithThePlayers #CBA

@LexEvaForever:

Eva’s the perfect rep — young, passionate, and already changing the conversation. #ProudFan #TeamEva

@BenchWarmersUnite:

These players swear they deserve NBA money when they can’t even fill arenas. #BeSerious #Delusional

@DramaInThePaint :

Montgomery negotiating?? That’s comedy. She’s a rookie with no track record. #BenchBoss #SusChoice

@FastBreakFanatic:

Owners making record profits but players can’t even get by? #DoBetter #PayThem

@MiamiHeatCheck:

Eva’s got the charisma. People outside the league actually LISTEN when she talks. That matters. #UnionStrong

@BBallBuzz:

Eva’s name in the headlines AGAIN This whole thing feels like another way to keep her relevant. #AttentionSeeker #DramaMagnet

@ChiTownFaithful:

Eva Montgomery as the union rep?? W pick. She’s smart, fearless, and speaks for the players #LeaderEnergy #GoEva

@BucketsAndTea:

Not greedy — REALISTIC. These players deserve a livable wage. Simple as that. #FairPayNow #Respect

@ShamrockSpill:

Pay them? For what? more missed shots and empty seats? #WasteOfMoney #Overhyped

@BriKnowsBest:

Love of the game doesn’t pay the rent or the doctor’s bills. Support the CBA push. #RealityCheck #PlayerRights

@JustHoops:

Season’s doomed. Players greedy, Eva messy, owners laughing. #DisasterIncoming #HotMess

@BALL4EVER:

Nobody is asking for NBA money. They’re asking for FAIR money. Big difference. #KnowTheFacts #FairPay

@HoopsHopeful:

The future of this league depends on treating players like pros, not side hustlers. #PayThePlayers #UnionStrong

I was sitting at some too-dark, too-loud rooftop bar when Rayah slid onto the barstool next to me. She was wearing ripped jeans and an-off the shoulder top, drinking her tequila straight and watching me with that look.

The one I’d been ignoring since Eva had gotten injured.

“You good?” she asked, like she didn’t already know the answer.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure,” she said, leaning in. “Do you always glare at your phone like it insulted your mom?”

I turned the screen over.

The internet hadn’t been kind since meetings about the new collective bargaining agreement had begun.

Some fans had been supportive of the players’ union’s demands and others had even championed Eva’s inclusion at the negotiating table.

But most of what I’d read was downright ugly.

We were asking for too much, too soon, was the general consensus.

We should be grateful for the crumbs we received for the amount of ‘work’ we put in. It was altogether depressing.

“I’m just tired,” I dodged.

Rayah tilted her head. “You wanna get out of here?”

She let the question hang in the air like smoke. I should have said no. Immediately. Definitively.

Instead, I downed the rest of my drink and stood up.

The ocean was only a few blocks away. The humid Miami night wrapped around us as we left the bar’s thumping bass behind. Out on the sand, the air felt cooler, the breeze carrying salt and the faint tang of seaweed.

Rayah had kicked off her sandals, her jeans cuffed at the ankle. She walked just close enough that her arm brushed mine now and then. She smelled like lime and tequila, like temptation in human form.

“Better than the bar, right?” she asked, her grin all teeth in the moonlight.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. The sand crunched differently at night, softer, like it might swallow me if I stayed still for too long.

“It’s quieter,” I said.

“Quieter’s good,” she replied, slowing her pace. Her eyes skimmed the water before returning to me. “Gives us room to talk.”

Rayah had always carried an edge—teammate, friend, almost something else. And I’d been good at ignoring it. Mostly.

“What’s on your mind tonight?” she asked.

“Too much,” I breathed out.

Rayah knocked her shoulder into mine. “You wanna talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener—not just a pretty face.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admitted.

“You and Eva …” Her voice was so low, the ocean almost swallowed it. “That distance can’t be easy.”

I let out a sharp breath. “You’d know. Tash is in China, right?”

Rayah looked over her shoulder at me, one brow arched, the moon catching in her eyes. Slowly, she smiled. Not the sly grin she wore when she was testing me. This smile was different. Softer. Wistful.

“Yeah,” she said. “Guangdong. It’s a twelve-hour time difference with spotty Wi-Fi. Some days it feels like we’re on different planets.”

“So how do you make it work?” I asked.

Rayah let out a laugh, not mocking, but surprised.

“Because it’s Tash,” she said, like that explained everything.

“We’ve been at this since freshman year.

Dorms, team buses, sneaking out after curfew .

..” She shook her head as if grinning at the memory.

“When the pros started calling,” she continued, “everyone thought it would break us. Different teams, different cities, different countries. But it didn’t.

If anything, it only made us stronger. It made us choose each other, over and over. ”

Could it really be that easy? To keep choosing each other, over and over, through every season, every setback, every time?

“She’s worth the distance,” Rayah said simply. “That’s all it is. If you love someone enough, the miles don’t scare you. You just figure it out.”

I kicked at the sand, my sneakers sinking into the softer part of the shore. “And you never get tempted?”

Rayah snorted. “Please. I’m surrounded by hot, athletic, queer women all the time. Everyone’s a temptation.” She tipped her head toward me, teasing. “You know that better than anyone.”

I snorted at the description, but she grinned and went on.

“But here’s the thing: when you’ve been with someone that long, when you know who you’d still want next to you after the injuries, after the trades, after the bullshit contracts—all the rest is just noise. It’s not even temptation anymore. It’s background static.”

I didn’t say anything right away. I thought of Eva, and the perfectly quiet moments when it was only the two of us—no outside pressures, no disappointed family, no brand endorsements, no lurking ex-girlfriends.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “You just have to quiet the noise.”

Rayah bumped her shoulder into mine, an easy, friendly gesture. “Exactly. Don’t let anybody make you think distance changes what’s real.”

Rayah’s words were encouraging and much needed. But the ache in my chest whispered that noise wasn’t always so easy to silence.