Page 7 of Half-Court Heat (Hoops & Heartstrings #2)

Chapter

Five

I readjusted the strap of my duffle bag where it dug into my shoulder.

The neighborhood coffee shop was already crowded, making me regret coming straight from a workout with Jazz to my coffee date with Eva.

I could feel the sweat cooling under my hoodie; I hoped I didn’t smell too badly like body odor and IcyHot.

The line was long enough to give me time to rehearse Eva’s coffee order, which was—like most things Eva did—slightly extra but oddly endearing.

Iced oat milk latte, blonde roast, half shot of vanilla, one pump caramel, light ice, extra espresso.

I double-checked my notes app like I was studying for a final exam.

A barista with a long blonde ponytail awaited me at the front of the line.

Her septum was pierced and her forearms were peppered with just enough tattoos that I knew she wouldn’t mess up Eva’s drink order.

When our eyes met, her features morphed from disinterested to curious.

She gave me a long, hard look that indicated she might recognize me, but couldn’t place from where.

I was probably imagining it all, but ever since photos from our tropical getaway had popped up online, I found myself a little nervous to step outside. I didn’t imagine paparazzi lurking around every corner, but I’d become more attuned to my surroundings and the people around me.

Being a professional basketball player brought with it a certain level of celebrity, but typically nothing that required a security detail.

Eva, however, was much more than a basketball player.

Through branding deals and modeling, she’d become one of the most recognizable women on the planet, regardless if anyone knew anything about sports.

Until Mexico, I hadn’t really realized that dating her meant an elevated level of notoriety for myself as well.

I averted my eyes while I recited Eva’s drink order and requested a regular coffee for myself. I kept my eyes downcast, mostly out of embarrassment that the staff would have to make Eva’s overly complicated concoction, but partly to conceal my face from the cashier’s aggressive stare.

The barista grabbed a cardboard cup and black marker. “Name for the order?”

“Alex,” I said quickly. Not a lie, but not the full truth either.

I paid for the drinks, mindful to leave a generous trip for the hassle of Eva’s coffee order, and stepped down the line to hover near the drink pick-up area.

I pulled out my phone to keep me company and discovered a missed message from Jazz.

Same time, same place tomorrow?

Yeah, I’m down.

Cool. Tell Monty she’s more than welcome to come, too.

Being away from Boston and the Shamrocks’ practice facilities meant I was on my own for off-season training.

If I’d stayed, I would have had access to the weight room, practice court, and PT staff.

Luckily, my best friend and former college teammate, Jasmine Rivers, had grown up in Chicago.

We planned to work out together at her old high school gym, partly to stay sharp, partly to have a built-in excuse to hang out.

Chicago’s new practice facilities were still under construction, so their entire team—Eva included—would be training independently until the new season started in May.

A good portion of pro players went abroad during the off season to play in Europe, Asia, or Australia.

The foreign leagues often paid more, keeping the dream alive of being a full-time athlete.

But the landscape was shifting. More players were landing lucrative endorsement deals that kept them stateside.

With more eyes on the league and its financial growth, there was hope for a new collective bargaining agreement that would guarantee livable wages and bring the women’s game closer to the men’s in terms of respect, resources, and security.

Jazz had gotten an offer to play in China during the off-season, but she’d turned it down.

The money was hard to pass up, but the timeline for a rookie in the pro league was brutal.

We’d finished our senior college season in early April.

The draft was barely a week later, and training camp for our rookie year had started in May.

For all intents and purposes, Jazz, Eva, and I had been playing competitive basketball nonstop for over a year.

Taking time off felt less like a luxury and more like a necessity—to avoid burnout, to stay healthy, to just breathe.

Unlike most players, Eva didn’t need to play overseas to supplement her income.

Her net worth was pushing eight figures, and her career had only just begun.

I’d received a few offers myself, but with my wrist finally back to 100 percent, it didn’t seem smart to risk re-injury.

An off-season setback could jeopardize my second year.

I’d already had a shortened rookie season; I didn’t need to test fate again.

Oh, I see how it is. Only want to hang if I bring my girlfriend.

The barista’s voice pulled my attention away from my phone: “Order for Alex.”

I grabbed our drinks, ignoring the slight twitch in the barista’s expression like she was just about to place me, and found an empty table in the corner.

My phone lit up with another new text.

I’m only looking out for your best interests.

How is that exactly?

I know you’ll push yourself even harder if wifey is watching.

I set down my drink so I could text with both hands.

Are you accusing me of slacking today??

I glanced up when I spotted movement in my peripheral. Eva had slipped into the coffee shop through a side entrance, no doubt to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself—although as an over six foot tall gorgeous Black woman, I couldn’t imagine there being a time when all eyes weren’t on her.

I stood before she reached the table, knowing she liked the chivalrous gesture.

Her thick Congolese locks were tied back in a low, clean knot at the nape of her neck, a few loose pieces framing her face.

She wore a long camel wool coat that cinched at the waist, its lapels turned up against the Chicago wind.

Underneath, wide- leg trousers in soft charcoal brushed the tops of her black leather ankle boots—the kind of boots that clicked authoritatively on pavement and made my spine involuntarily straighten.

A fitted mock-neck sweater peeked out from the coat, deep plum or wine, the kind of color that looked regal against her skin. Her gold hoops glinted in the light, matching the single band on her middle finger. Not flashy. Just effortless. She didn’t need to try to look good. She just did.

Eva picked up the coffee I’d painstakingly procured for her. She inspected the messy handwriting on the outside of the cup and raised an eyebrow. “Alex?”

I gave her a sheepish grin. “She asked for my name, and I panicked.”

She smiled, a look both apologetic and endearing. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’ll be fine,” I insisted with more bravado than I felt. “I’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

Eva pulled out her chair and sat with one leg crossed over the other. “Or you don’t.”

I blinked at her, taking my seat as well. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to get used to it,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the drink. “You can hate it. You can set boundaries. You can tell me when it’s too much.”

I stared down at my plain black coffee. “You say that, but?—”

“But what?”

“But it’s part of your life,” I said. “Photos. People staring. The whole public persona thing. It comes with the territory.”

“So maybe you decide it’s not worth it.”

She said the words so casually it made me flinch.

“It’s worth it.” I didn’t hesitate. “ You’re worth it.”

I expected my words to be enough—to settle the conversation for the time being—but it didn’t. Eva didn’t look at me.

Her fingers tapped at the cardboard sleeve of her cup with a restless energy. “I just don’t want you to start resenting me.”

Her voice was so low it nearly got lost in the noise of the coffee shop.

“Why would I ever resent you?”

She kept her gaze on the drink. “For people staring when we walk into a room. For baristas giving you the side-eye when you order my ridiculous coffee.” Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile.

“Being with me means getting pulled into the orbit. Photos, headlines, gossip sites, strangers who think they know you because they recognize your face.” She paused to wet her lips. “You didn’t sign up for that.”

“I signed up for you,” I said.

The muscles in Eva’s throat worked as if she was holding back how much my words affected her. “Yeah, but maybe you didn’t know exactly what you were signing up for.”

“I didn’t,” I said honestly. “Not completely. But I know now.”

“And?” Her voice lilted up with the question.

“And I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.” I nodded at her cup. “Now drink your princess coffee before it gets cold.”

Eva let out a quiet breath, like she’d been holding it. She picked up the cup and took a sip, eyes lingering on mine over the lid.

“How was the workout?” she asked, voice steadier now.

“Good. Hard. Jazz made me do box jumps until I questioned our friendship.”

She laughed softly. “Good for her. I’m already regretting going to that meeting—I should’ve gone to the gym with you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Now I have to squeeze into a bathing suit in a few days.”

“You’ll look incredible,” I said without hesitation. “You always do.”

She shot me a sly, sideways glance. “You should be the one getting photographed. Too bad those paparazzi in Mexico didn’t catch your abs—you’d be the internet’s new thirst trap girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“That washboard will come in handy if we ever get stranded on an island and I need to do laundry.”

I laughed but the smile didn’t quite stick.

Eva’s expression softened. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

I already felt like the doting partner who held their girl’s purse on the red carpet. I didn’t need to follow her around the globe like some pocket lesbian.

“I thought the whole reason for being in Chicago was to be together,” she pointed out.

“When you’re in Chicago,” I said carefully, “we can be together.”

Eva frowned. “That’s not fair, Lex. It feels like I’m being punished for saying yes to this opportunity.”

Guilt twisted low in my gut. “I’m not punishing you,” I insisted. “I want you to do it.”

“Then why not come with me?”

I exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “Because it’s your thing, Eva. Not mine.”

She tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want to be the girlfriend on the sidelines while you’re out there doing your thing in front of a hundred cameras. I don’t want to sit in the makeup trailer or stand behind the photographer, holding your purse. That’s not who I am.”

“I didn’t ask you to hold my purse,” she said quietly.

“I know,” I said, softening. “But it’s how it would feel. Like I’m just … there. And I don’t want to be just there.”

Eva looked down at her drink, tracing the rim with her finger. She bit down on her lower lip, but she didn’t argue back.

“I love what you’re doing,” I added. “Truly. I think it’s badass. But this part of your career is yours. And I want you to have it without worrying about where I fit.”

She gave a small nod, still not looking up. “That makes sense,” she murmured. “I just … I guess selfishly, I wanted you close.”

I couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto my face. “Wow. Obsessed much?”

Her eyes finally met mine, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. “Maybe a little.”

I reached across the table, taking her hand in mine, and gently squeezed. “Good. That makes two of us.”