Page 6 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Four

I frowned, scrolling through the story on the gossip website.

We’d barely been back from Mexico for twenty-four hours before the images had been splashed all over the internet.

Photos of us in our supposedly private pool.

Photos of us walking around the resort property, hand-in-hand. Photographs of us at dinner.

I clenched my phone tighter when I got to the photo of Eva feeding me the last bite of her caramel flan. I knew the people at the nearby tables had been taking pictures of us. I hadn’t been paranoid.

None of the shots were overly intimate or scandalous, but they still made me feel exposed. Was this my life now? Every time we stepped into public, would I have to wonder who was watching, who was documenting it?

This was exactly what Eva had been trying to avoid when we first started dating. She hadn’t wanted to go public, not because she was ashamed, but because she was private. My frown deepened with the realization—she’d wanted to shield me from the public scrutiny she’d become accustomed to.

Her family and close friends knew she was a lesbian, but she’d never formally come out to the public. The door of that self-induced closet had been thrown open, however, when she’d kissed me after a gut-wrenching loss had ended the Shamrocks’ playoff run.

I hadn’t asked about her decision to kiss me in such a public venue.

Her declaration of love and her lips on mine had felt organically motivated, but I also knew how careful she’d been to control her image in the past—the endorsements she cultivated, her social media presence, down to the clothing she wore pre-game.

The explosion of attention had been immediate.

The images had gone viral, showing up on platforms from mainstream sports media to gossip and entertainment rags.

It had been a good photo, though—even I had to admit that.

Paper confetti drifted down from the stadium rafters like a gentle snowfall.

I’d still been in my Shamrocks jersey while she’d been cloaked in leather, denim, and skyscraper heels.

I had hoped a few media cycles would push us off the trending lists. But now, with the vacation photos circulating, it was clear that the spotlight wasn’t dimming anytime soon.

I looked toward the front door of Eva’s Chicago penthouse at the sound of a key in the lock.

Eva had been out all morning, getting her hair done in the wake of our tropical vacation.

The new Senegalese twists were terribly sexy, longer and thicker than the box braids she’d worn during the season, but I was too distracted by photos from our vacation showing up online to appreciate the new look.

“Have you seen this?” I asked. I held up my phone as she entered the living room.

Eva slipped out of her shoes in the foyer. “Photos from our not-so-private vacation?”

“Uh huh.”

“Veronica sent me the link,” she confirmed.

She’d recently hired a publicist to help manage the non-basketball parts of her career. I hadn’t met the woman yet, so the jury was still out. If she could help manage Eva’s stress, however, I was all for it.

I followed Eva into the kitchen, where floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over Lake Michigan and Navy Pier.

She’d bought the place right after the season had ended—a bold decision, but not surprising.

Chicago had paid a king’s ransom for her in one of the most aggressive trades in league history.

If the franchise was all in on her, it made sense for Eva to plant roots here, too.

I didn’t have a place myself, unless you counted my childhood bedroom in Middleton, Wisconsin.

The Shamrocks took care of us during the season with team housing, and I could have chosen to stay in the Boston apartment during the off-season, too, but Eva and I were already going to be long-distance from May to October.

We would have to find a way to make it work without either of us compromising our playing career.

Maybe it was foolish to live together so soon, moving faster than any U-Haul, but I missed her when we were apart.

“Let me guess—all PR is good PR?” I asked.

Eva opened the fridge, stared inside, and then closed the door without taking anything. “Something like that,” she said, exhaling a little too hard.

Her sigh sounded tired. Resigned. I hadn’t meant to pile on.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to jump on you as soon as you walked in the door.”

“And not even in the fun way either,” she half teased.

I closed the distance between us and settled my hands on her hips. I reached up and brushed my fingers along the back of her neck where her new twists grazed the soft skin above her collar. I gently cupped the back of her neck and drew her head down until our mouths were only a breath away.

“Let’s try this again,” I murmured against her lips.

Our mouths met in a soft press, and then again, firmer and more certain. She sighed into the kiss, and I caught it with my mouth, lips parting just enough to taste her. My tongue grazed hers, light and searching, and she responded with a low hum that vibrated between us.

I felt the tension slip from her shoulders as she leaned into me. One of her hands found my waist, the other tangled in the hem of my T-shirt, like she needed to anchor herself. I could have kissed her like that for hours—no cameras, no obligations, no world outside of the two of us.

“How was your hair appointment?” I asked, voice still a little husky.

I toyed with the ends of the ombre twists, darker at the roots and nearly auburn at their ends.

“Good. Jemelle yapped the entire time. I swear, she’s better than a therapist. Probably more expensive though,” she laughed.

I smiled, feeling infinitely lighter. “So who do I have to bribe to take down those vacation photos?”

“If those pictures are the worst the internet ever sees of us,” Eva noted, “we should count ourselves lucky.”

I gave her a look. “Am I the only one mortified that someone caught you feeding me cake like a spoiled princess?”

She smirked. “That was the least incriminating moment of the night.”

“Thank God no one had a drone pointed at our pool around midnight,” I chuckled. “My mom would need therapy.”

“ Your mom?” Eva arched an eyebrow. “Mine’s still recovering from the playoff kiss. This might have pushed her over the edge.”

I pictured the Honorable Virginia Montgomery in my mind’s eye, drinking her morning coffee and coming across tabloid pictures of her daughter and her new girlfriend. Yikes.

“Okay, next vacation: no balconies, no public spaces,” I vowed. “We don’t leave the room. We don’t even open the curtains.”

“Or we go incognito,” Eva suggested. “Hats, sunglasses, and fake names.”

“Oh, now you’re into the disguise idea?” I snorted. “Weren’t you the one who laughed at me for thinking we were too famous to go out in public on the Fourth of July?”

Eva smiled, that mischievous glint returning. “Yeah, well ... that kiss heard ‘round the world kind of changed the game, didn’t it?”

She said it as a joke, but that kiss had changed everything.

The moment her lips had touched mine in front of twenty thousand fans, the rules we’d been playing by—careful, private, safe—got rewritten.

She’d chosen me. Chosen us , in the most public way possible.

And not just in the heat of emotion after a brutal loss, but knowing full well what it would cost her.

Eva didn’t do anything without intention. She didn’t gamble with her reputation. That kiss had been a risk to everything she’d built, all of the public goodwill she’d accumulated.

I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked. “Not just PR okay?”

“I’m okay,” she assured me. “Are you?”

I nodded. Because the truth was, I’d take every headline and unflattering photo if it meant I got to keep this—her hand in mine, the warmth behind her smile. That kiss had changed everything, and I wouldn’t undo a second of it.

“I know we just got back,” she said, “but I found out I have to go out of town for a few days. Another photoshoot.”

I leaned back against the kitchen island. “Oh yeah? Pictures for what?”

She took a breath. “ Sports Illustrated .”

“Holy shit!”

“… swimsuit edition,” she finished.

My excitement morphed into something else. Apprehension. Disbelief. Dread.

Eva wasn’t going to be featured in the famous sports magazine for her talents on the court. She was going to be photographed in a barely-there bathing suit in a tropical location to be put on display at an airport magazine kiosk.

She watched me with a careful gaze. “Tell me your thoughts.”

“Thoughts?” I had a million of those and yet not any of them spoke louder than the others. They all jostled for attention rather than forming an orderly queue.

“Are you wearing the brown bikini?” I finally asked. “Or do we have to go shopping?”

“They’ll have a stylist on set who’ll have picked out some pieces for me,” she said.

I’d asked the first and, albeit, stupid question that had come to mind. She had answered it in turn, but we both knew that wasn’t really what I was concerned about.

“I don’t like it,” I eventually said. “But before this turns into a fight,” I raised my voice to keep her from cutting in, “I trust you, and I trust your judgment. I know there’s a reason behind everything you do. Black bodies are beautiful, too.”

Eva smiled softly. “You’re pretty smart for having gone to college in Wisconsin.”

“Hey! Madison is a really good school,” I defended. “And unlike other D-1 athletes, I actually went to classes. Sat in the front row and everything,” I grinned.

Eva unexpectedly frowned. “I had to do my senior year online. According to most of my professors, I was too much of a distraction to be in the classroom. My classmates were more interested in getting photos of me or with me to pay attention to the old white guy at the front of the lecture hall.”

I thought back to our conversation at the resort’s workout facility. Eva’s star had always burned a little brighter. But rather than passively enduring it like an object on display, she’d chosen to lean in.

“Where’s the shoot?” I asked.

“Boca Raton.”

I raised an eyebrow. I’d always thought SI photoshoots took place somewhere more glamorous or exotic. “Florida?”

“It’s not Turks and Caicos,” she conceded, “but it’s not supposed to be a vacation.”

“No. Just the most beautiful women in the world hanging out in their bathing suits,” I huffed.

“Oh, this is a new wrinkle.” Eva’s honey brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “Are you jealous, baby?”

I shut my eyes and exhaled; an involuntary wave of desire crested over me. All Eva needed to do was evoke a single word of endearment, and I turned to putty. I hoped she hadn’t caught on to my recent weakness or I was finished.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I said in earnest. “I’m proud of you, obviously. It’s a really big deal to have been chosen. But I’m not exactly thrilled about all of your goodies being on display at the grocery store checkout aisle.”

“You know they don’t put those by the checkout aisle. Too many young, impressionable eyes.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she conceded. “And I wasn’t going to say I wouldn’t do it if you didn’t want me to. Because it’s my decision. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about your feelings.”

I hesitated, trying to sort out the swirl of pride, worry, and—yeah—jealousy twisting inside me. The idea of her over a thousand miles away, in front of a camera flashing who-knows-where, felt unreal.

“You could come with?” she offered. “It’ll be long boring days on set, but at least we’d be together.”

“No, this is your thing,” I quickly refused. “Like you said, it’s work, not a vacation.”

She stepped closer, fingers sliding between mine. “I’ll miss you.”

“God,” I sighed, feeling sour. “How are you so good at this? Being so emotionally available and vulnerable.”

Eva didn’t answer right away. She glanced down at our hands, her thumb brushing lightly over mine like she was tracing the words on my skin before speaking them out loud.

“I’ve gotten good at pretending,” she said. “Saying what people want to hear, doing what sponsors and coaches and fans expect. But with you … I don’t want to perform. I just want to be real. ”

She looked up at me. “Being vulnerable doesn’t feel like a risk when I know I’m safe with you.”

There’d been a time—not that long ago—when Eva’s composure drove me insane. The calm voice in post-game interviews, the polished social media captions, the perfectly curated life. But this? This wasn’t for the cameras. And God, it was so damn hard not to fall harder.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “You’re going to ruin me for anyone else.”

Eva smiled, her eyes warm. “That’s the plan.”