“I wanted to be with you,” I muttered, “but I didn’t think it was gonna feel likethis—like we’re some kind of spectacle.”
Eva’s lips softened. “I know you don’t love the spotlight.” She reached for me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “But I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t think we were in it together.”
I leaned into her touch, the tension between us easing slightly, but I wasn’t sure how to put the rest of my feelings into words. “It’s not the ‘together’ part that bothers me. It’s that … I don’t want people to think our relationship is the only reason people tune in. You know?”
“I get it. I do. But saying yes to Briana? That was your call.” She raised an eyebrow. “You knew this wasn’t gonna be some quiet off-season when you signed up.”
I felt a small flush crawl up my neck. “Yeah, well … I didn’t realize how weird it would be. The wholemust-see TVthing. I don’t love it.”
She moved closer, her breath warm against my cheek. “You loveme, though,” she murmured, her voice low. “And I thinkyou’ll be fine once we’re out there. You always rise to the occasion when it matters.”
I exhaled, letting the air out of my lungs slowly. “I will. But not because I’m some kind ofside show.” I took her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. “I’ll rise to the occasion because you’re with me.”
Her grin widened into something soft and genuine. “Nice answer. Plus, being on the same team means I get to play with youallthe time. Every day. Every game. Unless,” she paused, her eyes studying me, “you think you’ll get sick of me?”
I blinked, my brain still catching up with the question. “You think I’d get sick of you?” I shook my head. “Babe, you’re the best part of my day.”
Eva’s lips parted slightly. “Are you sure?” She sounded almost a little too sincere, as if she wasn’t sure whether I was joking or serious.
I took a slow step forward, closing the space between us. Her breath caught when I reached for her, running the pad of my thumb along the edge of her jaw. “I’mverysure. You make everything better. You’reeverythingI look forward to.”
“Good,” she murmured, almost to herself.
She glanced up at me, and for a split second, her expression flickered—almost like she was debating something in her mind. Then, with a playful smirk, she tugged me in a little closer, her fingers threading through the front of my shirt. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Bennet. You’ve already signed up for all of me.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. I wasn’t ready for the spotlight, but with Eva’s hand in mine and her kiss lingering on my lips, I knew I was going to do whatever it took to make it work. For both of us.
Chapter
Twelve
The moment I sat down in the chair, I could tell this wasn’t going to be my scene.
“I’m not used to this kind of stuff,” I warned the stylist, watching her prep the foundation and brushes. The way she arranged products on the counter reminded me of a surgeon about to perform a delicate operation. It made me nervous.
“That’s why I’m here,” she easily replied.
An army of hairstylists and makeup artists had been waiting for us that morning. It was media day—a break from our regular practice schedule for formal photos, the kind guaranteed to flood social media and get fans hyped for the season ahead.
The whole ordeal felt foreign. Makeup, gloss, blush … I had never cared for makeup or fashion during college. Before Eva’s mini intervention, I showed up for Game Day in team sweats and hoodies, nothaute couture. Only Eva had been able to convince me that I needed to elevate my pre-game style as much as I’d upgraded my playing skills.
I’d put up a fight at first, but eventually I’d grown to look forward to that walk from the stadium parking lot to the locker room. I still didn’t particularly like having my picture taken, but it felt good to look good. And I couldn’t deny the personal thrillwhen I selected an outfit that made Eva’s features light up with appreciation.
Jazz occupied the chair next to me. She was practically vibrating with excitement. She had one of those looks—fiercely feminine, always loud and unapologetic. When it came to makeup and clothes, Jazz didn’t do anything understated. She let her stylist work on her hair, coaxing it into that full-bodied, luxe curl. It was longer than I’d ever seen it, and from the way she beamed, she was in love with every inch.
“Girl, they’re about to make meslay!” she said, practically bouncing in her seat as her stylist completed the finishing touches.
“You already slay, Jazz,” I muttered, my voice dry as I tried to focus on the fact that I was wearing foundation for the first time in God knows how long.
“I know that. Butthis?” She waved her hands in front of her face like she was giving the whole room a taste of her magic. “It’s next level.”
A few chairs down, Dez swatted at the hands of the poor stylist assigned to her. “I don’t need all that gunk,” she openly complained. “I don’t care how much Bri is paying us—I’m not getting dolled up.”
Next to her, Rayah chuckled. Out of all of us, she looked the most natural with a full face of makeup. “It’s only for one day,” she soothed. “You know some of these people would run screaming if they saw a real-life stud.”
Jazz leaned forward so she could look down the row of chairs. “Y’all are acting like this is torture. It’s media day. We’re supposed to look good.”
“Ialwayslook good,” Dez shot back.
