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hcsiqs · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN ━━ Best Friends Who Kiss

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: not much like a make out i guess

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: guys i’m lowk getting tired of this fic sorry about the long awaited update

THE MORNING SUN filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, but Paige barely registers it. She’s awake, but she doesn’t move at first, lying still, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to make sense of last night.

The kiss.

Her mind keeps circling back to it, replaying it over and over. It had been Jo that had leaned in. Jo had kissed her first. She’d been hesitant, but then she’d melted into Paige, letting her pull her closer. She’d straddled her, and Paige remembers the smoothness of Jo’s thighs against her own, the feeling of Jo’s ass in her hand, and—fuck. It had all felt so right. Like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable collision they’d been building toward for God knows how long.

And then Mia had shown up, and everything had shattered.

Now, Paige turns her head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jo beside her in bed, curled up under the covers, completely turned away. The sight makes her stomach sink a little. This isn’t normal—not for them. They always sleep tangled together—legs twisted beneath blankets, arms thrown over waists, breath ghosting over skin. But now there’s distance between them, and it feels impossibly vast.

Paige swallows hard, guilt twisting through her. She had come back to their bedroom last night like nothing had happened, like she and her best friend hadn’t just made out, like she hadn’t run the second someone else had seen. She’d showered, letting the hot water consume her the way it had in the hot tub. By the time she’d gotten into bed, Jo still wasn’t there.

For a while, Paige had thought maybe she wouldn’t come at all. Maybe she’d stay with one of her sisters instead, avoiding her completely.

But Jo had come back.

Paige just hadn’t been brave enough to face her. So, she’d pretended to be asleep, keeping her breaths even, her body still, trying not to flinch when she heard Jo move around, when she finally crawled into bed. But she hadn’t reached for Paige, hadn’t curled up against her like usual.

And Paige hadn’t reached for her, either, unsure of where they stood and not wanting to overstep.

Now, Paige shifts carefully, trying not to disturb Jo as she slides out of bed. She hesitates for a second, staring down at her, waiting for her to stir, to turn, to do something. But Jo stays still, and Paige can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or just avoiding her the same way Paige did last night.

She’s not sure she wants to know.

So, she grabs her phone and steps out of the room, padding quietly down the hallway, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It’s still early, and the house is silent—no laughter, no movement, no sounds of Christmas morning yet. Just her, alone with her thoughts, which is exactly what she doesn’t want right now.

She sighs, unlocking her phone, tapping her dad’s contact. He answers on the third ring, his voice still hoarse, but better than the last time she talked to him a few days ago.

“Merry Christmas, P,” he says, and Paige closes her eyes, exhaling softly. Things would be so much easier if she was just with him and Drew in Maryland like usual.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

They talk for a little while, mostly about how he’s feeling—still sick, but not as bad. He promises he’ll make up for missing Christmas the next time he sees her, and Paige tells him it’s okay, because it is. She knew he wouldn’t have let her go anywhere else for the holidays if he had any other choice.

She talks to Drew next, who’s way too hyper for a.) still having bronchitis, and b.) for this early in the morning. It’s a short conversation—he gets distracted halfway through, yelling something to his mom, and then Bob is back on the phone, telling her they’ll talk to her later.

Paige hangs up, staring at her screen for a second before she presses her mom’s contact this time, FaceTiming her.

It barely even rings once before Amy answers, her face filling the screen. It seems as though she’s already at the beach, the early morning sunlight turning her blonde hair almost gold, her sunglasses perched on her nose. There’s an ocean breeze in the background, the soft sound of waves rolling in, and Paige kinda wishes she were there because damn, the Bahamas sounds like the perfect place to be right now.

“Paigey, hi!” Amy says, beaming, clearly thrilled to see her. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Paige exhales a small laugh despite herself, because her mom’s excitement is kind of contagious. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“I miss you, I hope you and Jo are having fun! I’m so jealous you get a white Christmas, honestly. It’s so hot here.” Amy flips her phone for a second, showing off the clear blue sky and the sun in it. “Not that I’m complaining, but still.”

Paige smiles faintly. “Yeah, it snowed a little more last night. The mountains here are really pretty.”

“I’m glad,” her mom says, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Anyway, Ryan and Laur are off running around the water park right now, but I’ll call you again later so they can talk to you.”

Paige nods. “Sounds good.”

Amy studies her for a second, and that’s when Paige knows she’s in trouble. “You’re quiet,” the older woman says, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

Well, shit.

Paige swallows. She should’ve known her mom would pick up on it immediately. Usually, Christmas is one of her favorite parts of the year—her inner child always seems to come out, and she tends to act like a giddy five-year-old. Clearly, that’s not the case today, because here she is, slumped against the kitchen counter, her face probably screaming something’s up.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

Amy lifts a brow. “Paige.”

Paige exhales slowly, looking down at the marble counter, her fingers trailing absently along the smooth surface. “It’s… I don’t know.” She hesitates, then finally admits, “I kissed Jo last night.”

Silence.

Paige’s stomach twists. She can’t read her mom’s expression because Amy’s sunglasses are back on, but she knows she’s being analyzed right now, picked apart like she’s under a microscope.

Finally, Amy sighs, soft but knowing. “I thought there was a little more to you and Jo than you let on.”

Paige groans, dropping her head into her hands. “God, is it that obvious?”

Amy laughs a little, which only makes Paige groan louder. “Not to everyone, I don’t think,” she says. “But I am your mother. And I know you. The way you talk about her—it’s different, P. Good different.”

Paige bites her lip, staring down at the counter.

It’s terrifying, hearing that out loud. If she’s truly not been as subtle as she thought, then maybe that means Jo’s noticed, too.

And if Jo has noticed, then what does last night mean?

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean… it wasn’t just—it wasn’t just some stupid kiss. It was—” She swallows thickly. “It was a lot.”

Her mom hums in understanding. “And now you’re scared.”

Paige nods, shifting uncomfortably. “What if she regrets it? What if she doesn’t want—what if she doesn’t like me like that? I mean, I don’t know even know if she likes girls. She’s never said anything about it. And she just broke up with her boyfriend of, like, five years.”

Any gives her a knowing look. “Paige, do you really think Jo’s the type of person to kiss you like that if she didn’t feel something?”

Paige opens her mouth, then closes it. Because her mom is right—Jo isn’t the kind of person to just make out with someone, especially someone close to her, just because.

Paige wants to believe it meant something. That Jo really had kissed her because she wanted to, not just because it had happened in the heat of the moment.

But Jo had also taken forever to come to bed last night. And when she finally did—

“She wouldn’t even look at me when she got into bed,” Paige says, her voice smaller than she wants it to be. “She just turned away.”

Amy, expression softens. “Honey, she’s probably scared, too.”

Paige exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. It’s still messy from sleep. “I just—I really don’t want to lose her, Mom.” Her throat is tight. “She’s my best friend, and she’s been the only person that really understands me about, like, my knee and stuff. I don’t know what I’d do if I—if this ruined everything.”

Amy shakes her head gently. “Nothing’s ruined, P. I promise.”

Paige doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know that. What if last night was a mistake? What if Jo does regret it, and now their friendship is going to be weird forever, and—

“Take a deep breath,” Amy says softly. Paige does. “And stop thinking yourself into a panic, okay?”

Paige nods, a little shakily. “’Kay.”

“You and Jo clicked basically as soon as you met. I don’t think this is going to change that,” her mom tells her. “You just need to talk to her. And I know that’s scary, but I also know you. You’re not a coward, you don’t run away from things.”

Paige huffs. “I ran away last night.”

Amy snorts. “Okay, fair, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to keep running.” She pauses, then adds, “And maybe stop thinking so much and just let yourself feel for once.”

Paige is quiet, letting that sink in.

Amy smiles, like she knows she just got through to her. “I love you, baby,” she says softly.

“Love you, too,” Paige tells her, managing a little smile.

“Call me later?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I will.”

“Okay.” Amy gives her a final, knowing look. “And talk to Jo.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh.”

Amy just laughs, and then the FaceTime ends, leaving Paige along in the kitchen, slumped against the bar stool, her chin resting in her hands, still so unsure of what to do next.

JO HAS BEEN avoiding Paige all morning.

Not in an obvious, duck into a different room every time she sees her way—but enough that her stomach clenches every time she catches a glimpse of the blonde in the corner of her vision, enough that she finds herself sidestepping conversations, pretending to be busy with her gear, lingering behind the others when they’re getting ready, taking an extra-long time tightening the straps of her boots just to not be near her. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what Paige is thinking.

And she’s scared.

Scared that Paige regrets it. Scared that Paige didn’t like it. Scared that she messed something up, that she’s made things weird, that last night had just been some moment of stupid impulse for Paige that meant nothing, and now she’s going to sit Jo down and give her some speech about how they should just forget about it, about how it was a mistake, about how it shouldn’t have happened. Jo thinks she might actually throw herself off the side of the mountain if that happens.

But thank God for Mia, actually. Because Mia, in all her little-kid wisdom, had begged Paige to go on the ski lift with her, and—since each lift only holds two people—that means it’s just the two of them. And Paige, who never knows how to say no to a kid, had smiled at Mia’s pleading eyes and agreed, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Which means, thankfully, Jo doesn’t have to ride with her.

Instead, she’s on the lift just ahead, sitting next to Peyton.

Jo exhales, adjusting her mittens as the chairlift ascends, the cold air biting at her face. The resort is quieter up here, the only sounds the mechanical hum of the lift and the occasional rush of wind through the trees. It should be relaxing. Should give her a moment to breathe.

But then Peyton turns her head and smirks at her.

“Soooo…” the older girl says, drawing the word out in a way that makes Jo immediately suspicious.

Jo eyes her warily. “What?”

Peyton tilts her head, still smirking, like she already knows something Jo doesn’t want her to. “Mia told me about what happened last night.”

Jo groans, dropping her head into her gloved hands. Of course Mia had told her. Mia, who had no concept of discretion, who had walked outside at the worst possible time and just stood there, grinning.

Peyton laughs at Jo’s misery, completely unsympathetic. “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on, or… ?”

Jo sighs dramatically, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. “I have no idea.”

Peyton just grins. “Joey, I didn’t even know you liked girls.”

Jo stiffens slightly, her chest tightening. It’s not that she’s ashamed of the idea—it’s just that she’s never really thought about it. Not in a real, this applies to me way. But she supposes she’s gotta figure it out now, just like she has to figure out the shit with Paige.

“I don’t,” she says at first. But then Peyton raises her eyebrows, giving her a really? look, and Jo immediately feels her face heat up despite the cold. “Okay, maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—I just like—”

“You just like Paige?” Peyton guesses.

Jo hesitates. Then, quietly, she nods. “I mean, yeah.” She sighs, staring out at the snow-covered trees below. “I don’t know. I haven’t really gotten through all the technicalities of it.”

Peyton hums, considering that. “Well,” she says, “does Paige know that you like her?”

Jo scoffs. “I mean, I kissed her.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you told her.”

Jo presses her lips together. Because, no, she didn’t.

Peyton shakes her head, amused. “Well, I have some good news for you,” she says, nudging Jo’s shoulder lightly. “She definitely likes you back.”

Jo immediately shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Josephine,” Peyton says, giving her a look. “Come on. Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

Jo swallows, shifting uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to think about the way Paige looks at her. She doesn’t want to let herself hope—and she doesn’t want to know what happens next, if that hope is real.

But Peyton is relentless. “She’s, like, obsessed with you,” she continues, counting things off on her fingers. “She’s always touching you, always staring at you, always acting like you hung the fuckin’ moon or something.”

Jo clenches her jaw, shaking her head slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Peyton sighs, rolling her eyes as if Jo’s stupid. “Why would she kiss you if she didn’t like you?”

Jo shrugs, feeling her stomach twist all over again. “I don’t know. She kisses a lot of girls.”

Peyton snorts. “Okay, well does she kiss a lot of her teammates?”

Jo blanches at that. Because, no. No, Paige doesn’t.

Peyton smirks, satisfied. “Exactly.”

Jo exhales, her heart thudding too hard.

“I don’t think she would’ve kissed you back unless it meant something,” Peyton says, softer now. “And I don’t think you would’ve kissed her unless it meant something, either.”

Jo swallows hard, staring at the mountains in the distance, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gloves. She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she feels her heart thud rapidly in her chest, her mind running in circles around everything Peyton’s insinuated. Paige likes you. Paige kissed you back because she wanted to. Paige wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t mean something.

Peyton doesn’t push. She just lets the quiet settle between them, lets Jo sit with it.

But then, after a while, she exhales and shifts in her seat. “I get it,” she says gently. “Why you’re freaked out.”

Jo closes her eyes for a second. The shift in tone, the look Peyton gives her. She already knows exactly where this is going.

“You just got out of something,” Peyton continues. “Like, less than a month ago.”

Jo tenses, doesn’t meet her sister’s eye.

Peyton sighs. “I know how much Asher meant to you. I know how much you were planning on him. And I know it’s gotta feel—” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Weird. To have feelings for someone else this soon.”

Jo swallows, forcing herself to keep looking forward. She doesn’t want to talk about Asher. Doesn’t want to think about Asher. But of course, it’s Peyton. Of course, she sees through her like she always does.

And of course, she’s right.

Because Jo did plan on Asher. She planned on forever with him. She spent five year (or, really, her whole life if she’s honest), thinking that was it, that they’d go the distance, that everything they’d built—everything they’d been—was unshakeable. That she’d never have to think about this—about feelings for anyone else, about wanting anyone else, about what it means to like someone new when the ghost of someone old still lingers in the back of her mind.

But here she is, less than a month later, having just made out with Paige Bueckers in a hot tub last night.

God.

“I just don’t want you to rush into something,” Peyton says, her voice careful, measured. “Not when you’re still—”

“Figuring my shit out?” Jo offers.

Peyton huffs out a soft laugh. “I mean, yeah.”

Jo exhales softly, running her gloved hands over her thighs. She knows Peyton’s right. She knows she’s not really emotionally available right now. It would be stupid to jump into something—anything—so soon after the end of a near six-year relationship. It wouldn’t be fair—to her, to Paige, to anyone.

But it’s also Paige.

Paige, who makes her laugh in ways she forgot she could. Paige, who takes care of her when she can hardly take care of herself. Paige, who looks at her like she’s something worth looking at, like Jo is worth knowing, like Jo is worth wanting.

Paige, who kissed her back last night and felt like something Jo had been searching for, even though she wasn’t supposed to be searching for anything at all.

“I don’t know,” Jo murmurs finally, shaking her head. “I just—I don’t know.”

Peyton studies her for a moment, then nods, like she understands. “That’s okay,” she tells her. “You don’t have to.”

The lift slows as they approach the top of the mountain, and Jo is more than ready for the conversation to end. She grips the safety bar, rolling her shoulders back, already shifting into action mode. As soon as they hit the snow, she pushes off smoothly, coasting to a stop a few feet away. She drops onto one knee, strapping into her board, movements quick and practiced.

She feels Peyton’s eyes on her.

“What?” Jo asks, snapping her goggles into place.

Peyton raises a brow. “What, are you just gonna leave without them?”

Jo knows exactly who she means—Paige, Mia, their parents. She keeps her expression neutral as she shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says. “If P or Mimi need help, they have Mom and Dad. Let’s go.”

Peyton doesn’t argue, but Jo can tell she wants to. She hesitates for a second longer than necessary, like she’s debating whether or not to call Jo out for clearly avoiding Paige. But in the end, she just sighs, pulls down her own goggles, and says, “Alright.”

And then they’re off.

Jo cuts through the snow carefully, the wind rushing against her face, the world blurring at the edges. When you’re snowboarding, there’s no thinking, no feeling, no space for over analyzing. Just movement. Just speed. Just the sharp, exhilarating rush of letting go.

So, that’s what she does.

JO’S SITTING on the bed in the bedroom, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. It’s the only thing she can focus on right now. Her thumbs move over the screen without any real intent, the blue light flickering, almost like it’s keeping her tethered to something—anything. She doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to feel. Doesn’t want to worry.

The day has been a blur of distance. Too many spaces between her and Paige, though she’s the reason for most of it. But every glance felt loaded, every second stretched longer than it needed to. Jo told herself it was for the best, that she needed space, needed time to think, to process. But deep down, she knows that the silence felt more like a slow burn, a slow and uncomfortable ache that she couldn’t—still can’t—escape.

And then the door is opening and Paige walks in.

It clicks shut behind her, the sound final, and Jo’s stomach does a flip. She doesn’t look up immediately. She stays glued to her phone screen, even though she can feel the weight of Paige’s gaze.

Paige sighs, the sound almost too heavy for such a soft, small thing. It fills the space between them, and that’s when Jo finally looks up, her heart beginning to race.

She watches as Paige scratches the back of her neck, one of her nervous habits. Jo forces herself to breathe. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation. All she knows is that her entire body is on edge.

Then Paige asks, “Uh… can we talk?”

Jo swallows, the anxiety catching in her throat. She doesn’t even know how to answer, what to say, so she just nods. She scoots back a little on the bed, making room for Paige to sit. It feels like the most awkward thing they’ve ever done, like there’s too much space between them already. But she forces herself to breathe, forces herself to be still. “Yeah,” she says, voice a little too tight.

Paige sits down on the mattress, and then goes quiet, looking at the floor. Jo doesn’t say anything either, unsure of what should be said. She tries to form the right words, tries to form anything, but it all feels like it would just come out wrong, clumsy. So, she stays silent.

Paige is the one to break it. “We’ve been avoiding each other all day,” she says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” Jo murmurs, the word barely leaving her lips.

“I don’t wanna do that anymore,” Paige says, her voice softer now, almost a little uncertain. The words hang in the air between them, like a fragile promise.

Jo’s heart stutters in her chest. She wants to say something, something that won’t make this worse, something that will make Paige—and maybe herself, too—feel better. “Me neither,” is all she’s got, but it’s true.

Paige lifts her eyes to meet Jo’s. Her gaze is intense, a little searching, but also guarded, like she’s trying to read Jo’s expression, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. And then Jo sees it—that look. The kind that makes her insides twist, that makes her want to curl into herself and die.

It’s the way Paige’s eyes linger on her face, the way she takes in the lines of Jo’s expression, as if she’s deciding whether or not she’s about to let Jo down easy.

Jo doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want Paige to pity her. Doesn’t want her to give her some soft, carefully worded rejection, something that’s meant to ease the sting. She doesn’t want that look to mean that what happened last night didn’t mean anything, that it was a mistake.

So, Jo says it before Paige can get the words out, before anything else can be said.

“Hey,” she says quickly, too quickly, like she’s scrambling to control the situation. Which, she kinda is. “It’s fine. Seriously. We don’t have to, like, say anything or whatever. What happened happened. Let’s just not be weird.”

It’s a half-hearted attempt at sounding nonchalant. And maybe it’s a little too causal, a little too defensive, but Jo can’t help it. She needs the reassurance that nothing has changed—that this won’t ruin them. She needs Paige to tell her it’s okay, that they’re still them—that she hasn’t messed this up entirely.

But Paige doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares at Jo for a long, drawn-out moment. It’s as if she’s trying to figure out if Jo really means it, if this is what she really wants, or if she’s just saying it to avoid confrontation.

Jo starts to doubt herself, stars to wonder if she came off wrong, if Paige actually wanted the kiss more than Jo thought.

But then, Paige shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says slowly, like the word is almost twisting around her tongue. “Yeah, exactly.”

Silence falls over them again, like a blanket. Jo doesn’t like it. She’s tired of it. So, the words spill out of her before she can think better of it: “Do you want your Christmas gift?”

The question feels like it might be a lifeline, something to break the tension, something to shift the conversation away from all the uncertainty she’s feeling.

Paige blinks, caught off guard for a second. Her eyes flick to Jo’s, and then she straights up a little, her shoulders pulling back in a way that looks like she’s remembering something important. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, do you want yours?” she asks, voice lighter now.

Jo can’t help but laugh, just a little. It’s a short, breathy sound, but it feels like a small release, like she’s letting go of some of the anxiety she’s been carrying. “Well, duh,” she says, trying for playful, a smile tugging at her lips.

That seems to shift the mood some, and then they’re each standing up, going to their bags. Jo grabs the wrapped box, and sits back down on the mattress. Paige follows, sitting beside her, a much smaller box in her hands.

“Okay, open mine first,” Jo says, her voice more confident now, more sure of herself. She hands the box to Paige, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Paige takes the gift, her fingers brushing against Jo’s hand as she does, and Jo’s heart skips a beat at the contact.

When Paige opens the box, her jaw drops a little, and Jo can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s exactly what she hoped for—Paige’s surprise and delight, the way her eyes widen as she takes in the gift.

The shoes are exactly what Paige had been obsessing over for months, the ones she had tried to get but had sold out before she could grab them. Jo, on the other hand, had been lucky enough to snag them before they were gone for good, and now here they are, right in front of Paige.

Paige’s voice is soft, almost in awe, as she stares at the shoes. “Joey…” she says, her tone slow and filled with something Jo doesn’t know. It’s more than gratitude, more than just being impressed. It’s like there’s something deeper in the way she says it.

“Do you like them?” Jo asks.

Paige’s eyes meet hers, a flicker of something there—something that makes Jo’s heart thud a little faster. “I love them,” Paige confirms, and the smile that spreads across her face makes Jo’s chest constrict. The blonde nudges her own small box toward Jo, saying, “Your turn.”

Jo opens it slowly. When she sees the necklace, her breath catches in her throat.

It’s a diamond-studded clover necklace—delicate, simple, but beautiful. Jo runs her fingers along the edge of the charm, feeling the smooth coolness of the metal. It’s perfect. On the back of the clover, the word steady is engraved, small but clear, and Jo’s stomach sinks just a little, the weight of the word—the weight of the gift—settling.

Paige watches her closely, her expression soft, as if she’s trying to gauge Jo’s reaction. “I know you get anxious before games,” she says gently, like she’s afraid Jo might somehow not like it. “I thought… maybe this could be your good luck charm. A reminder to stay steady.”

Jo’s heart hurts at the thought—how Paige knows her so well, knows the way her anxiety flares before a game, knows the way she holds herself together even when she’s not sure she’s capable of it. This feels like something more than just a gift. It feels like Paige sees her, understands her.

The knot in Jo’s throat tightens. “It’s perfect,” she says. And it is. More than she can put into words.

But at the same time, it stirs something in her, something she can’t quite control. The fact that Paige knows her this well, that she’s thought of something so specific and so meaningful—it makes Jo want her more, in a way that’s dangerous. The kind of wanting that burns slow, that builds over time, that’s impossible to ignore.

Paige smiles softly, and Jo’s heart skips a beat. “Help me put it on?” Jo asks, her voice a little shaky even though she tries for it to not be.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. She nods, and Jo turns slightly to the side, lifting her hair out of the way. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as she secures the clasp, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine. Paige’s fingers linger there, just a moment longer than necessary, and Jo feels a heat settle in the pit of her stomach.

When she turns back to face Paige, she finds that the distance between them has closed just a little. Paige is closer now, her gaze intense, like she’s studying Jo with an almost unreadable expression. There’s something in her eyes—something that makes Jo’s pulse quicken, something that makes her wonder if Paige feels it too.

And then the blonde is shaking her head, the motion slow, like she’s trying to pull herself together, trying to sort through whatever’s going on in her head. “Okay,” Paige starts, and she sounds uncertain and shaky, so unlike herself, “I know you said that we don’t have to say anything—but I… I can’t not.”

Jo feels her eyes widen a little as she takes in the words. She looks at Paige, really looks at her—sees the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she’s holding back, the way Jo can see she’s biting the inside of her lip.

Paige swallows, her eyes not leaving Jo’s. “Because I liked it, Jo,” she says, her voice quiet but somehow steady. “I liked kissing you. And I was really glad that you kissed me. I—I don’t wanna just forget ’bout it.”

Jo feels her heart stop and stutter in her chest cavity. The words stab through her, consuming her like a virus. She’s still silent, still staring at Paige, trying to make sense of the words. I liked it. Her head spins at that, the sheer honesty of it.

“Really?” she manages to get out, her voice sounding strained, uncertain. She needs confirmation, needs to hear it again.

Paige nods, the motion slow but sure, her eyes still locked on Jo’s. “Really,” she repeats, and there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s laying herself bare for Jo, like she’s giving her this piece of her heart and hoping that Jo doesn’t crush it in the process.

For a moment, they just stare at one another, neither of them saying anything, neither of them moving. Jo feels the pull of Paige’s gaze, the way it tugs at her chest, her stomach, her being. It’s like they’re suspended in this moment, where everything is possible and yet nothing feels safe. She doesn’t know what to do with it—it’s so unfamiliar. Jo feels heat creeping up her neck, feels the way her palm have started sweating, but she can’t look away from Paige. She can’t stop herself from wanting this—whatever this is.

But then, her brain snaps into focus, a sharp reminder of everything they can’t do, everything that stands between them. “P, we… we can’t,” Jo says, her voice low, almost too quiet to hear. She feels her heart pounding in her chest as she says it, but she knows the words are necessary, knows she can’t just let this moment slip by without addressing the reality of the situation. “It’s not smart. We’re both dealing with our own emotional problems, and we’re teammates, and we’re roommates, and we—we can’t.”

The words feel like a sudden weight that’s fallen over the room. Jo’s stomach lurches as she watches Paige’s face fall slightly, the light dimming from her eyes for just a second before it flares back to life. It’s the look of someone who wants something—badly.

Paige shakes her head, her face resolute. “I know. I know that,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “We… we don’t gotta be anything more. We can just be… best friends who kiss?”

Jo feels a laugh bubble in her throat at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. But as she looks at Paige, she realizes that she’s not joking. She’s serious. She’s offering something—something that could make the ache in Jo’s chest go away, just for a moment, without any strings, any commitment, anything that could really ruin them.

“Is that the best idea?” Jo asks slowly.

Paige shrugs. “Prolly not,” she admits, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. But then her gaze sharpens a little, her expression becoming more focused. She leans forward just a fraction, her body language pulling Jo in, even as she tries her best to keep her distance. And then, quietly, Paige says, “But now that I know what it feels like, I just wanna do it again.”

Jo feels her lungs clench, her breath hitching slightly. Every inch of her body is screaming at her, telling her to pull away, to put some distance between them. But she can’t move. She can’t breathe. All she can do is watch Paige’s lips, watch the way she’s leaning closer, the way she’s asking without asking, the way she’s giving Jo a choice without giving her a choice at all.

Before Jo even realizes what she’s doing, she hears herself say, “Me, too.”

And just like that, Paige is kissing her again.

Jo’s brain short-circuits the moment it happens. It’s like she’s been set on fire, every nerve in her body lighting up at once. Paige is warm, solid, and everywhere—her hands gripping Jo’s shoulders, pulling her in, her lips moving against Jo’s with a kind of certainty that makes Jo feel dizzy. It doesn’t start hesitant like last night. This isn’t about testing the waters. It’s intentional—like Paige knows exactly what she wants, and she’s done pretending otherwise.

Jo lets her take the reins without even thinking about it. She likes the way Paige moves, the way she presses in closer, tilting her head just right to deepen the kiss further. Jo does her best to breathe properly as Paige shifts, her fingers skimming down Jo’s arms before settling on her waist, her grip firm but not forceful. The touch alone sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, makes her stomach flip in a way that should probably concern her but doesn’t, because all she can focus on is Paige—the way she smells like something clean and warm, the way she tastes like mint and something sweeter, something her.

Jo’s hands move on their own, sliding up the curve of Paige’s back, feeling the way her muscles tense and shift beneath her fingertips. It’s intoxicating. It’s too much and not enough all at once. She’s never felt like this before—like she could drown in a person and not even care. It wasn’t really like that with Asher.

The bed is suddenly shifting beneath them as Paige moves, pressing in closer, slotting herself more firmly against Jo’s body. Jo barely has time to register the shift before Paige’s hands are on her shoulders again, guiding her, pushing her gently until Jo’s back hits the mattress.

Jo inhales sharply at the change in position, a sharp thrill shooting through her chest as she feels the weight of Paige hovering over her. It’s dizzying, having Paige above her like this, her hands braced on either side of Jo’s head, her body caging Jo in but not in a way that feels trapping. No, it’s the opposite. It feels steadying, like Paige is something solid in the middle of all the chaos in Jo’s head.

Paige pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at Jo, her breathing heavy, her lips pink and a little swollen. “This okay?” the blonde asks, her voice a little gravelly, a little breathless.

Jo can’t do anything but nod, can’t do anything but stare up at Paige and try to memorize the way she looks right now—hovering above her, hair falling into her face, lips parted like she’s barely holding herself back.

Paige makes a soft sound—relived, maybe, or just impatient—and then she’s kissing Jo again, pressing her back into the bed. And then she’s slotting a knee between Jo’s thighs, pressing down—not too much, not enough, but also just enough that Jo feels it everywhere. A slow-burning heat unfurls in her stomach, her breath stuttering against Paige’s lips.

Paige deepens the kiss more, her tongue sweeping against Jo’s in a way that makes her whole body tighten. Jo’s hands grip at Paige’s t-shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. Paige’s hands skim up Jo’s sides, light and teasing at first, the touch barely there. Jo kisses her harder, leaning into the way Paige’s fingertips trace just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, like she’s seeing just how much she can get away with.

It’s then that her hands slip beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, palms pressing flat against her ribs, and Jo nearly gasps into her mouth. It’s striking, the contrast of Paige’s warm hands against the cool skin of her stomach, the feeling of Paige touching her like this, in a different way than ever before.

Jo sucks Paige’s tongue in her mouth, their teeth clashing just a little, making Paige groan. Paige’s hands reach up further—and then they’re cupping Jo’s tits.

It’s not careful, the way she does it. Not uncertain. Not hesitant in the way it might be with most people. No, it’s instinctive. It’s like Paige didn’t even think about it, like she just needed to do it, like it was inevitable. Jo stills, her breath stalling in her throat, because this is just a little more than “best friends who kiss.”

Paige must realize it too, because she also freezes Her breath fans warm against Jo’s lips, her forehead pressing against hers, both of them unmoving now. Paige’s hands are still beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, still there, and neither of them are saying anything, neither of them are pulling away.

Jo’s chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. She can’t think straight, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the way Paige feels against her, the way Paige’s hands feel on her.

Paige exhales, slow and a little shaky, murmuring, “We should probably stop, yeah?”

Jo’s head spins, her body still thrumming. But she nods, because she has to, even though every single nerve in her body wants to just keep going. “Yeah,” she breaths out. “Um. Yeah, we should.”

Paige stays still for another second, like she doesn’t want to move, like she’s debating whether she even can. But then she finally pulls her hands away, rolling off of Jo, onto her back beside her. Suddenly, Jo feels cold. Feels the absence of her immediately. But before she can even process that loss, Paige is tugging her right back in, wrapping a firm arm around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies are flush together again.

Jo lets her. This is familiar territory. She turns into Paige, burying her face into her neck, gripping at the hem of her t-shirt. She feels Paige’s lips in her hair and Jo sighs, melting into her further.

This is fine. This is good. This is normal. And maybe it’s none of that, maybe it’s entirely new and bad. But Jo can’t find it in herself to care. Because being here, like this—she could get used to it.

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hcsiqs · 2 months ago

Text

FINALLY JO

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Ski Trip

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.8K

❀ ━ warnings: i don’t think any actually

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i lowkey hate this chapter and i feel like i didn’t make it meaningful enough but im not rewriting it so here yall go BIG STUFF COMING NEXT CHAP THO

IT’S DECEMBER 20TH, and Paige has been procrastinating on packing all day, though she’s hyper-aware of her flight to Maryland tomorrow evening after their game. The plan was simple. She’d spend Christmas with her dad and Drew like she always did when her mom’s side of the family had something else going on. This year, it was a beach trip to the Bahamas—Ryan and Lauren had begged for it after they didn’t get a summer vacation, and even though her mom had hated the idea of leaving Paige out, she’d caved.

“It’s just this one year,” her mom had told her over the phone a couple of weeks ago, sounding guilty. “Next year, we’ll all do something together, I promise.”

Paige had told her it was fine, and it had been. It wasn’t like her mom had planned it that way, and besides, Paige had been looking forward to some quality time with her dad and Drew.

But now, as she sits at the small table in her and Jo’s apartment, her phone pressed to her ear, that plan is crumbling right in front of her.

Her dad coughs—again—and Paige frowns at the sound of it. “I’m telling you, P, it’s bad,” he says, his voice raspy and hoarse. “It’s not like Drew and I have a cold, it’s bronchitis. We’re super contagious, and the last thing I want is for you to get sick, too. You’d bring it back to the team, and…” He trails off, but Paige knows exactly what he’s thinking.

If she brought bronchitis back to Storrs, it would be a disaster. Paige knows how quickly that would spread through them, because they’re always around each other. One sick player turns into three, and suddenly half the roster is on the bench. Which would be bad—because half their roster already is on the bench.

Still, it doesn’t make her feel any better. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and forces her voice to sound steady, even though the frustration is bubbling underneath. “I get it, Dad. It’s just…” She sighs, rubbing a hand across her face. “It’s Christmas. I wanted to see you guys.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” her dad says, and he really does sound it. “If there was any way to make it work, I’d tell you to come, but I can’t let you risk it. You’re not just my kid—you’re, like, a national treasure. Even with a busted knee. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than hanging out with your sick old man and your germy little brother.” He tries to laugh, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit.

When it finally passes, he speaks again, softer this time. “Look, I hate this. You know I do. But maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to get sick, and I don’t want you here with me and Drew, bored out of your mind while we sit around coughing our lungs out. You should spend Christmas somewhere fun. I’m sure at least one of the girls will still be around campus, right?”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone is going home for the holidays. Azzi’s flight to Virginia is tomorrow, and Caroline’s driving back to Massachusetts the next day. Ice is already gone, Geno allowing it since she can’t even play in tomorrow’s game. And it’s not like Paige can crash at the homes of her coaches or staff, either. She’ll be here. Alone.

“Yeah, maybe,” she lies instead. “Don’t worry about me, ’kay Just take care of yourself and Drew. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Her dad sighs, and for a second time, the line goes quiet. “I’m sorry, P,” he says again, and there’s a tiredness in his voice that makes her feel guilty for even being upset. “We’ll FaceTime you on Christmas morning. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbles. “Tell Drew I said hi. And Merry Christmas.”

“I will.”

She barely gets out a goodbye before hanging up, and the moment the call disconnects, Paige puts her head in her hands, elbows resting on the table.

It’s not like she doesn’t understand. Her dad is right—going to Maryland would be a bad idea. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. She’s supposed to be with her family for Christmas.

But now? She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. It’s not like she can book a flight to the Bahamas to be with her mom’s family.

So what does that leave? Staying on campus by herself? Wandering around Storrs in the freezing cold while the rest of her teammates celebrate with their families?

The thought puts a pit in her stomach, and she presses her palms harder against her face, as if that’ll somehow stop the wave of sadness crashing against her. She knows it’s not the end of the world—she’s an adult; she’ll survive—but it’s been a hard year, and she wanted to end it with her family beside her.

Suddenly, pair of warm and familiar arms drape loosely around Paige’s neck, startling her. She exhales sharply, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. She can feel Jo’s chin resting lightly on her shoulder, her breath warm against Paige’s cheek. Jo doesn’t seem to notice the way Paige tenses under her touch or how Paige’s stomach twists itself into knots.

“What’s up? Why’re you all sad?” Jo asks, her voice soft but still edged with that usual playful lilt that makes it hard to tell if she’s being entirely serious.

Paige swallows hard and keeps her gaze forward. Her fingers drum nervously against the table. “My dad and Drew are sick, so they’re not letting me come home,” she admits quietly, her voice tighter than she means for it to be. “I’mma be here all alone for Christmas.”

Jo pulls away abruptly, and Paige instantly misses the warmth of her arms. When she looks up, Jo’s eyes are searching hers, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. “Wait, you’re not going to Maryland?” Jo asks, like she hasn’t just heard Paige say it.

Paige shakes her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nope,” she confirms, a little bitterly, popping the p.

Jo stares at her, unblinking, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle in her head. Then something shifts in her expression, and Paige can see it—the exact moment Jo’s brain kicks into overdrive. A slow grin spreads across Jo’s face, and her eyes brighten like she’s just come up with the best idea in the world. Paige feels herself get curios, because she knows Jo well enough to know that this particular look means she’s about to be dragged into something.

“Wait, no,” Jo says, her voice rising in excitement as she straightens up. “It’s fine. You’re not gonna be here alone.”

Paige frowns, confused. “What?”

But Jo’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now, her excitement infectious even though Paige has no idea what she’s getting at. “Oh my god, wait! This is perfect. Peyton’s fiancée is sick, too, so he’s not coming on our ski trip like he was supposed to. Come with my family! It’ll be fun! We can snowboard together!”

Paige blinks, her mind spinning as she tries to process what Jo just said. A ski trip? With Jo’s family? The idea sounds… nice, but also terrifying. Sure, she’s met most of Jo’s family before, but that was before she realized she was completely, helplessly in love with her. Being around them now, with Jo acting all warm and familiar, feels like it might be too much.

“Jo,” Paige says slowly, trying to let the younger girl down gently. “I can’t. I don’t wanna intrude—”

Jo cuts her off with an exaggerated deadpan look. “I love you.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the chest. Her brain freezes for a split second, and she knows she’s staring at Jo like an idiot. Of course, Jo doesn’t mean it like that—she never does—but it doesn’t stop Paige’s heart from stuttering in her chest.

“So my family loves you, too,” Jo continues like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’ll be fun. You’re not intruding on anybody. Besides, if you wanna feel all guilty about it, then you can pay me back by driving us up there so I don’t have to.”

Paige narrows her eyes at that. “Wait. You were gonna drive up there?”

Jo shrugs casually, as if her driving isn’t an actual safety hazard. “Yeah.”

Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “God, now I have to go,” she mutters, half to herself. Jo tilts her head in confusion, so Paige adds, “I can’t let you drive all the way up there. You’re, like, the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Jo gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest dramatically. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, I’ve only almost killed us, like, twice.”

“Three times,” Paige corrects, unable to stop the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Whatever,” Jo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, you’re coming, and we’re gonna have the best time ever. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Paige sighs, knowing she’s already lost this battle. The truth is, the idea of spending Christmas with Jo doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, it sounds kind of amazing, even if the thought of being around her family makes her a little nervous. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pretending to sound annoyed even though she’s not.

Jo grins triumphantly before squealing, planting a quick, friendly kiss on Paige’s temple.

Paige tries to ignore the way her heart skyrockets at that. This ski trip might be the death of her.

JO STRETCHES her legs out as much as she can in the passenger seat, knees knocking lightly against the glove compartment. Her fingers drum idly against the screen of her phone as she scrolls through her playlists, searching. It’s the 22nd, and they’re only about a half-hour into the three-hour trip to the ski resort in New York where she’ll spend Christmas with her family—and, now, with Paige too.

Paige is driving, looking entirely too focused on the road. Jo leans over just slightly, flipping through songs before finally landing on what feels like the obvious choice: Harry Styles. The opening notes of Golden start to play through the speakers, and Jo immediately starts singing along, drumming the rhythm against her thighs.

Paige groans from the driver’s seat, her tone exasperated. “Nooooo,” she complains like a child, scrunching her face at the sound of the music.

Jo rolls her eyes and lightly swats Paige’s arm. “Don’t disrespect him!” she scolds. “That’s my man.”

Paige glances over at her with one of those fond, half-annoyed smiles Jo’s grown so used to over the years. She rolls her eyes again, but at least she doesn’t change the song. Jo smirks to herself, victorious, as she turns up the volume a little.

The snow-covered scenery passes by in a blur, the outside world feeling far away and muted. It’s just her and Paige now, and Jo finds herself relaxing more and more as the car hums along the quiet highway. Eventually, Paige seems to stop pretending she hates the music. She starts humming softly under her breath—off-key, of course, but Jo thinks it’s charming.

As the minutes tick by, the conversation between them slows, and the silence stretches. But it’s not awkward—it rarely ever is with Paige. Jo lets herself sink into it, leaning her head against the window and watching the world go by. Snow blankets the ground and clings to the branches of trees, glittering under the pale sunlight. It’s all so pretty, and Jo feels a swell of contentment in her chest.

She’s excited about this trip, and not just because she loves Christmas or snowboarding or even the cozy cabin her family rents almost every year. No, this year is different. This year, Paige is coming, and that thought alone makes her feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Jo can’t quite explain it, but something about the idea of spending the holiday with Paige—and all of her favorite people at once—fills her with an almost overwhelming kind of joy.

She loves Paige. The words flash in her head so casually that it takes her a second to realize what she’s just thought. Jo blinks, staring out at the endless stretch of snow-covered ground, and suddenly feels… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought—or said—those words before. She’s told Paige she loves her plenty of times, always with that same casual confidence that comes with a close friendship. But for some reason, the words feel different now, like they’re tugging at something deeper inside her, a part of her brain she hadn’t noticed before. She frowns slightly, her breath fogging the window as she shifts in her seat.

Curious, almost cautious, Jo glances over at Paige. Paige looks good. The thought slips into Jo’s mind unbidden. Her gaze lingers—too long, maybe—on Paige’s profile. Her slicked-back bun reveals her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones, and her skin glows softly under the light reflecting off the snow. Her blue eyes—they look so blue right now—stay locked on the road, narrowed ever so slightly in focus. Even her hands, gripping the steering wheel with casual ease, look… nice? The rings on her fingers catch the light, glinting softly, and Jo feels her stomach do this weird, fluttery thing she can’t quite explain.

Jesus, she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her right now.

She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to stop herself. Paige shifts slightly in her seat, and Jo’s eyes dart back to the window like she’s been caught red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” Paige’s voice cuts through Jo’s thoughts, low and teasing, and Jo jerks her head back around.

Paige is smirking at her now, one brow raised as she steals a glance her way before refocusing on the road. Jo’s face flushes, heat prickling at the back of her neck, and she scrambles for something to say.

“Shut up,” Jo mutters instead, weakly, before lightly swatting Paige’s arm again. Paige just laughs, the sound low and easy and too pretty for Jo’s liking.

Jo turns back to the window, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. She shouldn’t feel this weird. This is Paige. She’s never felt strange like this around her before. So why is it happening now?

Her reflection stares back at her in the window, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t have an answer, but the question lingers in her mind, gnawing at her as the scenery blurs by.

THE CAR creaks to a stop, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and Paige cuts the engine. Her hands rest on the steering wheel for a second too long as she stares at the cabin in front of them. It’s huge, with rustic wooden beams and wide windows that glint in the soft afternoon sunlight. Against the backdrop of snow-covered trees and a looming mountain, the place looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Not for the first time, Paige wonders just how much money Jo’s family actually has. She exhales softly, glancing over at Jo, who’s already unbuckling her seatbelt and muttering something about how cold it looks outside.

“Ready?” Jo asks, grinning as she swings the passenger door open. She doesn’t wait for Paige to answer before stepping out, boots crunching in the snow.

Paige follows, shivering as the cold air hits her. They make their way to the trunk, pulling out their luggage and the carefully wrapped presents. Paige grabs her suitcase and Jo’s backpack, while Jo hefts a duffel bag and a stack of gifts precariously balanced in her arms.

As they start up the snow-dusted path to the cabin, Paige feels a knot of nerves twist low in her stomach. She’s been around Jo’s family before—met her parents briefly, spent an afternoon with her little sister Mia—but this is different. A whole four days with them, at Christmas no less, feels more a lot closer. It makes her jittery.

The knot tightens as they get closer to the door. Paige’s boots crunch loudly in the quiet, the sound almost distracting enough to drown out her thoughts. Almost. She glances at Jo, who seems completely at ease, her face lighting up as she takes in the cabin and the familiar setting. Jo doesn’t seem nervous at all. There’s no reason for her to be, really. Paige wishes she could say the same.

Before they even reach the porch, the front door bursts open.

“Mia—” comes a faint voice from inside, but it’s already too late.

Jo’s little sister Mia comes charging out of the cabin, her boots slipping slightly on the snow but her momentum unstoppable. “You guys took so long!” she yells, her voice high and dramatic in the way Paige remembers. “We thought you got into a car accident and died!”

Jo snorts, her face splitting into a grin. “That was your theory?” she asks incredulously.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a possibility!” Mia shouts back, skidding to a stop in front of them. She looks up at Paige, her wide brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi, Paige,” she says, her tone immediately softening into something warmer. “Do you remember me?”

Paige crouches slightly, balancing Jo’s backpack on her knee as she smiles at Mia. “Of course I remember you, Mimi,” she says. “How could I forget?”

Mia beams, and Paige can’t help but smile back. She liked Mia the first time she met her, and apparently the feeling was mutual, because Mia immediately latches onto her hand like they’re best friends. Jo groans beside her.

“You’re not allowed to replace me with Paige,” Jo says, her voice dry. “I’m your sister, remember?”

Mia rolls her eyes, an action so similar to Jo’s that it makes Paige laugh. Before Jo can retaliate, another voice cuts through the chilly air.

“Mia, you are such a menace,” says a woman stepping out onto the porch, pulling a jacket on. She’s tall and thin, with sleek dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Paige recognizes her immediately—Peyton, Jo’s older sister. The one who dances in New York.

Mia gives Peyton a look, saying, “No, you.”

Peyton doesn’t respond, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the porch railing. She smiles at Jo, saying, “Hey, Joey,” before her eyes land on Paige. She nods toward her, her smirk softening into something friendlier. “Hi, Paige. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s stomach flips slightly at the wording. “Nothing bad, I hope,” she says, sending Jo a look before turning back to Peyton. “Nice to meet you.”

Peyton raises an eyebrow, glancing at Jo like she’s amused by something. Jo pointedly ignores her, busying herself with readjusting the presents in her arms. Before Paige can think too much about it, Jo’s parents appear in the doorway, their voices warm and welcoming as they call out greetings.

The knot in Paige’s stomach starts to loosen as Jo’s mom pulls her into a quick, affectionate hug, and her dad shakes her hand firmly. They’re warm, easygoing, and clearly thrilled to have her here. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and by the time they’re all inside the cabin, surrounded by the crackle of a fire and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen, Paige feels the last of her nerves melt away.

She might have been nervous about intruding, but now, as Jo’s family laughs and chatters around her, Paige thinks this is exactly what Christmas is supposed to feel like.

IT’S LATE, and the house is quiet now. Jo likes it—the silent hum of her family settling into their rooms, the muffled crackle of the fireplace in the living room below. But mostly, she likes the way it feels to be here, with Paige.

The bathroom is small and warm, steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. Jo leans over the counter, squeezing a dollop of black face mask onto her fingers. Paige mirrors her on the other side of the sink, her blonde hair still pulled back in its bun, loose strands framing her face. Jo’s been hyper-aware of her all day. It’s not like anything new has even happened, so she doesn’t know why things suddenly feel different. But it does. It’s like everything Paige does—the way she laughs, the way her blue eyes catch the light, the way her fingers brushed Jo’s earlier while stealing a cookie from the baking tray—feels sharper, louder, harder to ignore. Almost like a switch has been turned on in Jo’s head.

“Okay, hold still,” Jo says, stepping closer. Paige tilts her head downward slightly, her blue eyes locking on Jo’s, and Jo tries not to notice how close they are. She smears a stripe of the black mask across Paige’s cheekbone, biting back a grin when Paige wrinkles her nose.

“You’re being so aggressive about it,” Paige says, her voice teasing. She dips her fingers into her own little bowl of the mask and smears a line down Jo’s nose in retaliation.

Jo huffs, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitch into a grin. She swipes another streak across Paige’s forehead, her fingers lingering against her skin. It’s such a small, fleeting thing, but it feels like electricity sparking up Jo’s arm. She pulls her hand back quickly, hoping Paige doesn’t notice how her breath catches.

Paige’s lips quirk, but she doesn’t say anything. She just smears another bit of the mask across Jo’s jaw, her hand steady and confident like she always is. “You’re a terrible client,” Paige mutters, her voice dry but soft, her blue eyes flicking briefly to Jo’s. And Jo, again, feels that strange, sharp awareness settle over her. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t new. It’s not like she hasn’t been this close to Paige before—hell, she and Paige cuddle in the same bed nearly every night.

But today, it’s like her brain has decided that Paige is a little too much. Too pretty. Too funny. Too… Paige. Jo doesn’t know what to do with it, so she keeps quiet, keeps working on the mask, hoping the feeling will pass. It doesn’t.

She steps back slightly, assessing her work, and Paige tilts her head again, clearly trying to get a good look at herself in the mirror behind Jo. Her smile is gummy, and Jo’s chest squeezes in a way that feels alarmingly foreign. It’s fine. This is fine.

“You look kinda funny,” Paige tells her.

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, you look funny.”

“You both look funny,” a new voice says.

Jo looks toward the bathroom door and nearly groans out loud. Mia is standing there, leaning against the frame with her hands on her hips. Her hair is braided, and she’s wearing pink pajamas with unicorns on them. Jo loves her sister, but Mia has the uncanny ability to show up at the exact wrong time. Every time.

Jo watches as Paige grins at Mia, her eyes sparkling under the harsh bathroom lights. Paige’s hand reaches out, steady and sure, wrapping easily around Mia’s small wrist as she pulls her closer. “Come look funny with us,” Paige says, her voice teasing but warm, and somehow, Mia lets her. Mia—who has never warmed up to anyone outside of their family as quickly as she has with Paige—lets her.

Jo leans against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, observing the way Paige lifts Mia effortlessly onto the counter. It shouldn’t be surprising by now—Paige’s knack for fitting in, for making herself comfortable in any room, any space. But it is surprising. Jo doesn’t understand how Paige has done it, how she’s managed to turn Mia into a giggling puddle of affection when Jo can barely get her little sister to listen most days.

It shouldn’t bug her. It shouldn’t make her chest ache the way it does, seeing Paige there, standing so close to her family, fitting into the picture like she belongs in it. Like she’s been in it all along. Jo feels something twist in her stomach as Paige dips her fingers into the little bowl of face mask and dabs some of the black paste onto Mia’s nose, grinning when Mia squeals. It’s like watching someone carve their name into a tree that’s already been there for years. Permanent. Unshakable.

Jo’s heart stutters, and she doesn’t know why.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” Paige says, laughing as Mia squirms. Jo’s still leaning against the counter, arms crossed a little too tight against her chest, trying to ignore how soft Paige’s voice is, how easy she makes it look—being good with kids, being good with Mia.

Paige looks over her shoulder at Jo and grins. “You gonna stand there the whole time, or are you gonna help me?”

Jo doesn’t trust herself to say anything, not with the way her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She pushes off the counter and grabs the bowl from Paige’s hand, stepping closer. The three of them are a little crowded now, Paige and Jo standing shoulder to shoulder, Mia giggling in the middle of it all. Jo’s hyper-aware of how Paige’s arm brushes against hers every time she moves, how Paige’s perfume—subtle and familiar—lingers in the small space between them.

Jo focuses on the task, smearing the face mask carefully across Mia’s cheeks. “Stay still, Mimi,” she mutters, but her voice is softer than usual, her irritation dulled. Mia grins at her, like she knows Jo can’t ever stay mad at her for long. Paige snickers next to her, and Jo doesn’t need to look to know there’s a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Aight, done,” Paige says, stepping back slightly to admire their work. Mia beams at her reflection in the mirror, her face covered in streaky black paste. Jo sets the bowl down, already turning back to the sink, when she catches it—the look Paige and Mia share. Mischievous. Almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t,” Jo says, narrowing her eyes at them, but it’s too late. Mia’s already scooping some of the mask onto her tiny fingers, and Paige follows suit, dipping her own hand back into the bowl. Before Jo can move, they both strike.

“Guys!” Jo exclaims as they swipe the cold, sticky paste across her lips, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. She wipes at her mouth furiously, glaring at them both. “It’s not supposed to go on the lips!”

“Sorry, Joey,” Mia giggles, and Jo groans at the sound of it. She hates when Mia calls her that, hates when most of her family does. Though, she has to admit, it is better than JoJo.

But then Paige says it. “Yeah, sorry, Joey,” Paige echoes, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, her lips curled into a grin. And it’s different. It hits Jo differently, like a warm gust of wind cutting through the chill. The way Paige says hasn’t ever made her cringe. It’s never annoyed her. Instead, it makes her heart trip over itself, stumbling into something that feels suspiciously like want.

Jo stills, her hand still pressed against her lips, her brain suddenly moving too fast and too slow at the same time. Paige’s grin softens slightly as she steps back, wiping her own fingers clean on a towel, completely oblivious to the way Jo’s entire world is starting to tilt off its axis.

Jo can’t stop the thought that rises, unbidden and unwelcome. I like the way she says my name.

And then, like a sudden slap to the face, the truth hits her. It doesn’t creep in. It doesn’t build slowly. It slams into her all at once, leaving no room for doubt or denial.

She likes Paige.

Her chest tightens, and she almost feels like she can’t breathe. Oh my God. She likes Paige. Not just as a friend. Not just as her teammate or her roommate. She likes her in a way she never, ever thought she would.

It’s the kind of realization that knocks everything out of focus, that makes her head spin. Because this isn’t just some fleeting, surface-level thing. It’s not a crush she can shrug off. It’s Paige. And it feels like the ground under her feet has cracked wide open.

It doesn’t make any sense to her. She’s always thought she’s straight. She’s never even entertained the idea of liking girls. She always had Asher, and even though they’re broken up now, that wound is still fresh.

But the realization is there, and it’s as real as anything else. She likes Paige.

Jo glances at Paige out of the corner of her eye, half hoping that maybe she’ll catch on, that she’ll notice something’s wrong and say something stupid or reassuring or Paige-like. But Paige is just there, wiping Mia’s hands with a towel, laughing softly at whatever Mia just said, completely unaware that Jo is facing one of the most startling realizations of her life.

And Jo? Jo is completely, utterly fucked.

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