Dez caught the rebound, dribbled backward to the corner, and sent one up without even setting her feet.Swish.
“No tin, all cotton!”
Eva stood beside me, amused but not moving to join in. “Go ahead,” she murmured. “I know you want to.”
“I’m not dressed for it,” I refused, glancing down at my jeans and sneakers.
Eva arched a brow. “You need a uniform to make a shot?”
That was all the dare I needed. I took the ball from Dez and jogged until I stood behind the three-point line. My release felt awkward in street clothes, but the ball arced high and dropped clean through.
The reaction was pure chaos—mock gasps, hands thrown in the air, a couple of exaggeratedoooohsfrom somewhere behind me.
“Alright, sharpshooter,” Briana said, bumping my shoulder as she passed. “Don’t peak too early.”
More balls were in play now, the court filled with random trick shots, ridiculous layup attempts, and at least one half-court heave from Jazz that clanged hard off the rim.
“Don’t injure yourself, messing around,” Briana warned. She looked and sounded like an overstressed mom trying to keep her kids in line on vacation. “You break it, you buy it.”
The oversized yachtdrifted away from the dock just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Miami’s skyline shrank as we put more distance between ourselves and the shore. The city’s silhouette faded from view against a sky filled with purple, orange, and pink. A breeze picked up, brushing against my neck as I stood at the edge of the deck, taking it all in.
The water below sparkled as if someone had tossed a handful of jewels into the bay. The yacht itself was something out of a dream—more like a floating mansion than a boat—with smooth, polished wood floors, chrome that gleamed in the last rays of light, and leather seating that looked like it belonged in a designer showroom. Music floated up from the lower deck. ‘90s R&B spun from the speakers, providing just the right soundtrack for the night—a little nostalgic, a little smooth, like everything was meant to feel this easy.
On the bow, a group of younger players had claimed the best spot, taking turns snapping selfies against the backdrop of the city skyline. They were fresh to the league, like myself, wide-eyed and trying their best to look like they belonged. The veterans hung near the middle of the deck. Their conversations were slower, deeper, more deliberate. Plates of food were passed around, and there was a certain gravity to the way the older players held themselves. You could tell they knew this wasn’t just a boat ride—it was an introduction to something bigger.
I gave Briana a wave when I spotted her near the railing, standing tall in crisp white linen, her aviator sunglasses still perched on her nose even as the light started to fade.
“Impressive, right?” Briana said when I walked over.
“I thought the private jet was a flex. This is…” I trailed off, not even sure how to finish the thought.
I’d never been on a boat this big in my life. I’d been on my uncle’s old aluminum fishing boat on Lake Winnebago, but that thing had rattled with every wave.
“That’s the idea.” Briana took a slow sip from her drink, her eyes scanning the horizon. “We want you all to know your worth. And we want them to see it, too.”
“‘Them’ being …?”
Briana slid me a sideways glance, her lips curling in the faintest of smiles. “Let’s just say, when the Commish sits down for CBA talks, she and the team owners will have to reckon with the fact that players have other options now. Serious options.”
Briana’s plan seemed to slowly unfold in front of me. This wasn’t just a stay-in-shape league, and this wasn’t just a welcome party. It was a statement. A challenge.
Before I could respond, I noticed Eva standing near the buffet, engaged in conversation with a guard I vaguely recognized from some overseas highlight reels. Her easy laugh—one that I hadn’t heard much of lately—cut through the wind. My chest tightened. It felt good, hearing her laugh like that again.
“Hey, Lex! You’ve got to try this ceviche,” Eva called to me.
I looked back to Briana as if seeking permission. Her smile was small but knowing. “Go spend time with your girl,” she approved with a nod. “We’ll have time to talk strategy later.”
Eva was already loading a small plate with more fresh seafood. She piled ceviche onto a tortilla chip and popped it into my waiting mouth.
“Good, right?”
I nodded enthusiastically around the bite. It tasted like summer itself—bright, light, and refreshing.
Before I could say more, a new voice broke through: “Are y’all seeing this?” Dez materialized by my side, drink in hand, her presence loud and energetic. “It feels like a damn music video.”
Jazz trailed behind her. “Feels like we’re being recruited into a cult.”
“Not the worst cult,” I said, watching as Jazz’s smile betrayed her sarcasm.
