“I thought you said Jazz wasn’t an ex,” she countered.
“She’s still not,” I said, a little defensively. “But Kateis.Your very first ex-girlfriend. And you only broke up because of distance. And now you’re back in the same city.”
“She’s only offering support because she knows firsthand what it’s like to come back from an ACL injury,” Eva reasoned.
“You don’t think she’d jump at a second chance with you?” I challenged.
“Well, obviously. Who wouldn’t want to get with this?” Her tone was rhetorical, flippant, and infuriatingly charming.
“I’m serious, Eva. And I’m pretty sure your parents would be thrilled at that match. She’s going to be a freakin’doctor.”
“But I’m not in love with Kate. I’m in love with you.”
“That’s not … that’s not the point.”
My frustration mounted the more she expertly deflected my carefully constructed argument. My emotions felt frayed while her pulse point had barely moved at all.
“I think it’s cute that you’re jealous.” She paused and her voice dipped lower. “And kind of hot.”
“Oh. I, uh…” I stumbled over my words, suddenly aware of the soft cadence in her voice.
“I miss you.” Her tone lowered to a sultry burn, and I could almost hear her fingers brushing against herself.
“I—I have to get to bed,” I said, my own voice strained.
“I’m already in bed,” she murmured, the invitation heavy between us. She let her breath hitch just a little. “Come on, baby…”
The words wrapped around me, warm and impossible to resist. My pulse hammered. My tongue felt thick. I could imagine the arch of her back, the small noises she made, and it was all I could do not to lean in.
“Eva,” I said, forcing my voice to stay firm. “I … I want you. But not like this. I want to see you in person. What if I come up for a long weekend?”
“I want that, too.” I heard her frustrated exhale. “But things are so busy right now, Lex. I don’t know if it would be worth your time.”
I wanted to say she was always worth my time, but the words got trapped in my throat. I took a breath and tried to push away the ache of wanting her close. The Miami league was almost over. Only a few weeks left of competition, and then I would be back in Boston.
“Okay. We’ll wait until the season’s done,” I said finally.
There was a quiet pause on the line. I could almost hear her weighing the calendar in her head, the CBA talks, her rehab schedule, the endless obligations pulling her away. Was it too long? Was it too much to ask of either of us?
“I’ll be counting down the days,” I said, my voice soft.
“Me, too.”
I caught the tremor in her tone. It was just a hint, almost swallowed by her words, but it was unmistakable. A small, shaky sound followed—like she was holding back a sob.
I clenched my phone tighter. Maybe we were both a little delusional, clinging to promises stretched across cities and schedules.
“Promise me,” I said gently. “Promise me we’ll make it through these last few weeks.”
“I promise,” she said, quieter this time.
I let my phone rest against my chest. I breathed in slowly, feeling the ache of the distance between us. We were holding on by a thread—but somehow, together, that thread had to be enough.
Miami mornings feltdifferent without hearing her voice first thing. Eva still called, but her tone was clipped, the pauses longer. ACL rehab. CBA prep. More rehab. More meetings. She was fighting on two fronts, and I was somewhere far from the battlefield.
When we did talk, I tried to keep my own voice light, pretending my chest didn’t feel like someone had left a weight on it. But my game told on me. Missed layups, sloppy passes, lazy feet on defense getting me into foul trouble. Coach Demarios didn’t have to say anything—I knew I was screwing up.
Rayah noticed. She seemed to notice everything.
