“Speak for yourself,” Jazz shot back, her grin giving her away.
Later in the evening,Eva and I made our way to the top deck. The wind was sharper there with the lights of Miami spread out in every direction. A few players were dancing near the DJ booth, while others leaned on the railing with their phones out, trying to capture the moment.
Briana was already filming clips for the league’s socials, a phone in hand, capturing every angle. A few players lingered nearby, trying to look uninterested in the camera, but you could tell they were aware of every shot.
Eva called to me over the hum of the engine: “You’re too far away!”
I took a few steps toward her, the deck warm beneath my feet. “I thought you might want some space to work your angles for the camera.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “My angles work themselves.”
I joined her at the railing, close enough that our arms brushed when the boat swayed. She leaned in like she was about to tell me a secret.
“Tell me this isn’t the weirdest preseason team bonding you’ve ever had.”
“It’s up there,” I agreed, my lips curling into a smile. “But it definitely beats trust falls.”
Eva’s smile grew crooked. “You wouldn’t catch me falling backward.”
“Not even for me?” I teased back.
She pretended to think about it before leaning in, her breath warm against my ear. “You? Maybe. But only because I know you’d try too hard to catch me.”
The water stretched out before us, catching the last of the sunlight. I wanted to savor the moment, to keep her like that in my memory—unbothered by the game, unburdened by the pressure. Just us, together on this yacht, looking out over a city that felt full of possibilities.
The music shifted, a steady pulse of Afrobeats that blended with old-school R&B, and soon we were surrounded by a mix of players, some leaning against the railing, others making their way toward the impromptu dance floor. I followed Eva’s gaze and spotted Briana near the bow again.
“Come meet some people!” Briana called us over.
I gave Eva a quick smile, but she was already deep in conversation with a wiry forward from Australia who I’d seen hit a ridiculous game-winner last season.
Briana looped her arm through mine and led me over to a small group of players.
“Lex, this is Rayah Thompson,” Briana introduced, pointing to a tall guard in a coral dress that clung in all the right places. Her smile was wide and confident—intense, warm, and a little bit wolfish.
“Rayah and I ran Vegas together,” Briana explained, “before she ditched me to play overseas.”
Rayah snorted. “Ditched? More like I knew my worth and that Turkey would pay me better than my own damn country.”
I took in her high-femme appearance. Her light brown skin caught the last of the sun, and her long blonde waves were pulled into a sleek ponytail that bounced with each step. Dark eyelashesframed large hazel eyes that glittered even at dusk, and her full lips curled into a teasing, self-assured smile.
Her handshake was firm, a confidence in her grip that matched her smile. “I’ve been wanting to play against you, Lex Bennet. See if you’re as unshakable as they say.”
I tried to ignore the way her gaze lingered—like she was already sizing me up.
Jazz swooped in like a shadow, looping her arm through mine. “Oh, she’s shakable,” my best friend teased with a playful glint in her eye. “Just depends on who she’s guarding.”
Rayah’s grin widened, her eyes sharp with amusement. “I’ll remember that.”
Next to Rayah was a white woman who looked like she’d stepped out of aVogue Europespread. Pale blonde hair in a sleek bun, navy silk blouse that hung perfectly, sharp cheekbones that cut. Her eyes were an impossible pale gray, chilling and unreadable.
“Freya Lindholm,” Briana introduced. “Belgium national team. Point guard.”
Freya dipped her chin slightly, her voice as cool and crisp as the evening breeze. “Pleasure.”
The word was polite, but her tone was more dismissive than welcoming.
And then there was Lina Vargas. She practically bounced up from the lower deck, her curly hair piled high. Her sleeveless dress accentuated strong, sculpted shoulders that could have been on a fitness magazine.
