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bueckersstuff · 5 months ago

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Pairing: Paige Bueckers x OC

Genre: competition for dominance, long overdue desire, uconn royalties, angst, enemies to lovers, mad in love but denial paige, happy ending yayy

Authors Note: Hi guys, so this is a one - shot but I think it's too long to be called that. I wrote this in one sitting afraid I'll lose the plot if I chose to post it in chapters. Enjoy!

Present Day

The bass pulsed through the walls of The Tavern, a heartbeat that thrummed beneath the floorboards. Paige had barely stepped inside when she spotted her friend, Taylor, waving her over from a booth packed with soccer players.

"Finally, you made it! Where’s your teammates?" Taylor greeted, tipping her beer toward Paige. "C’mon, meet my squad."

Paige approached, her six-foot frame moving effortlessly through the crowd. She had barely scanned the faces when she spotted her.

Xena.

Legs crossed, draped over the couch like she owned the place, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned toward a wide-eyed brunette, some fan hanging onto her every word. Xena’s fingers twirled a loose strand of the girl's hair, her voice low and smooth.

Something twisted in Paige’s chest. Annoyance? Interest? She wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her jaw clench.

“Xen, stop corrupting the fans,” Taylor joked, nudging the girl playfully. "Paige, meet the legend herself—Xena. Team’s best striker."

Xena’s head lifted slowly, her dark gaze locking onto Paige’s. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, like she’d been expecting this moment.

"Paige." Xena’s voice was honeyed, edged with something unspoken.

Paige’s brows lifted slightly. "You know me?"

Xena hummed, sipping her drink. "Who doesn’t know the pride of UConn basketball?" Her tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

Paige smirked, tilting her head. "And yet, I don’t know you." She lied.

A flicker. Barely there, but Paige caught it—the briefest shadow of something in Xena’s eyes before she covered it up with a laugh. "Guess I’m not that memorable."

The air between them thickened. The team chatted around them, but the moment belonged to just them—silent, taut. Then, as if breaking a spell, Xena turned back to her fan, dismissing Paige with an easy flick of her attention.

Paige exhaled sharply, tearing her gaze away. What the hell was that?

The night bled on, filled with cheap liquor, stolen glances, and conversations Paige wasn’t listening to. Xena had disappeared at some point, but Paige hadn’t missed the way she’d moved through the club—fluid, confident, untouchable.

When Paige finally spotted her again, she was slipping through the back door, a hand running through her hair, her head tilting back as she inhaled the cold night air. Paige’s fingers twitched against her glass. Go.

She didn’t think—just acted.

The moment she stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind her, Xena was already turning back toward the entrance.

They collided.

Hands—Xena’s at Paige’s waist, steadying. Paige’s at Xena’s back, pressing. The contact was electric, an unspoken challenge sparking between them.

Xena’s breath hitched first.

“Following me, UConn?” Xena’s voice was soft but taunting, her fingers tightening just a fraction at Paige’s hip.

Paige scoffed, but she didn’t step away. "I don’t chase."

Xena’s lips parted slightly, just for a second, before she smirked. "Good. Because you’d never catch me."

Paige’s grip on her back flexed, just enough to let Xena feel the strength beneath her fingertips. "That so?"

Xena’s thumb traced over the hem of Paige’s shirt, barely noticeable. Barely innocent. "Mm," she murmured, eyes flickering between Paige’s lips and her gaze. "You don’t strike me as the kind to play fair."

Paige swallowed, her mind clouding with heat, confusion, and something deeply dangerous. "Depends on the game."

Xena exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You have no idea what you just walked into."

Paige tilted her head, eyes darkening. "Then show me."

For a moment, it felt like something was going to break.

Then—Xena stepped back.

Not a retreat. A warning.

"Careful what you wish for, UConn."

Then she was gone, slipping past Paige, leaving behind only the ghost of her touch and a storm in Paige’s chest.

Paige stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, lips tingling with words she didn’t say.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

1 Year Ago, The Tavern

The music was different that night—slower, sultrier, drowning in red neon haze. Paige wasn’t supposed to be there. It was offseason, and she had workouts early, but something about the buzz in her veins had made her reckless.

She had been waiting for her drink at the bar when she felt it—someone moving close, just close enough to set her nerves on fire.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," a voice murmured at her ear, smooth, familiar.

Paige turned her head slightly, enough to catch dark eyes, a teasing smirk, and the scent of something warm and intoxicating. She knew this girl—Xena. Some soccer player, quick on her feet and sharper with her words.

"Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me," Paige shot back.

Xena chuckled, resting a casual elbow on the bar beside her. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

The bartender slid Paige’s drink across the bar, and before she could reach for it, Xena was there, fingers brushing against hers as she stole the glass.

Paige raised a brow. "That mine?"

Xena took a slow sip, tongue flicking out to taste the rim before handing it back. "Now it is."

Heat coiled low in Paige’s stomach, something dangerous curling in her chest. She took the glass back, mirroring Xena’s movement, deliberately placing her lips where hers had just been. Xena watched, eyes dark and full of something unspoken.

That night had blurred after that. A challenge in the way they danced—Xena pressing close, Paige pulling back, both of them waiting for the other to break. And then outside, against the alley wall, lips hovering but never touching, breaths tangled between them.

Paige had wanted it. Fuck, she had wanted it.

But Xena had just smirked, fingers ghosting over the pulse at Paige’s throat.

"Not tonight, UConn."

And then she had walked away. No explanation. No promise of later. Just gone.

Paige had stood there, burning, furious, confused.

She had told herself she forgot about it. But now, standing outside The Tavern with Xena’s voice still lingering in her ears, she knew that was a lie.

Paige pushed off the wall, exhaling hard.

Careful what you wish for, UConn.

She turned and walked back inside, shoulders rolling with tension. The night went on, drinks passed between hands, conversations shallow and meaningless. But Paige felt it—the weight of Xena’s presence still lingering, even though she was nowhere in sight.

When she finally left, she told herself it meant nothing.

The week that followed, Paige drowned herself in the familiar rhythm of morning workouts and late-night shooting drills. She let Nika and the rest of her teammates pull her into study sessions and casual nights out.

But every now and then, when she wasn’t paying attention, she found herself looking. Searching.

Xena didn’t show.

On the other side of campus, Xena pretended she didn’t care.

She went about her days the same way—practices, classes, the occasional night out with her teammates. But in the quiet moments, she found herself gripping her phone too tightly, resisting the urge to check if Paige had posted something, if their paths would cross again.

She told herself it was nothing. That Paige was nothing.

But she had always been a bad liar.

Three Years Ago

Xena had always been protective of her little brother, Leo. He was only twelve at the time, still in that reckless stage where he thought he was invincible. Their family had come to visit UConn that weekend, walking through campus while their parents gushed over her scholarship and upcoming freshman season.

Xena had been distracted, half-listening, her cleats slung over her shoulder, when it happened.

Leo had been messing around, running ahead, pretending the sidewalk was a balance beam. Then, in a split second, he tripped.

Straight into the street.

Xena’s heart shot to her throat, her feet frozen. She tried to scream, to lunge forward, but before she could move, someone else did.

A tall girl in a UConn basketball hoodie—blonde ponytail swinging, reflexes sharp as a blade—had stepped off the curb without hesitation. One second, Leo was in danger. The next, he was yanked back by the scruff of his hoodie, landing hard against the girl’s chest as a car sped past, missing him by inches.

Leo gasped, his hands fisting in the stranger’s sweatshirt.

"Hey, you good?" her voice had been firm, steady, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Leo nodded frantically, eyes wide as saucers.

Xena’s parents rushed forward, thanking the girl, fussing over Leo, but Xena… she just stood there.

She should’ve spoken. Should’ve said something, anything.

But she didn’t.

She just watched as the girl gave Leo a reassuring pat on the back, smiled faintly, then walked away before Xena could even catch her name.

Later that night, when her parents kept talking about how grateful they were, how it was a miracle, Xena found herself searching online. UConn women’s basketball—blonde, tall, fast reflexes.

That’s when she found her.

Paige.

From that day forward, she kept tabs. Not obsessively, not in a way she’d admit, but enough. Enough to see the articles, the highlight reels, the moments where Paige Bueckers owned the court like she was born for it.

Enough to wonder what it would’ve been like to say thank you.

The first time she saw Paige in person again was at The Tavern.

She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t planned it. But the moment she spotted her at the bar, standing under the red glow of neon lights, it was like something in her tilted.

She hadn’t even thought.

She moved toward her, pulse thrumming, intentions clear. Say thank you. Make it quick.

But when Paige turned, locking eyes with her, everything shifted.

Up close, she was more. More intense, more magnetic, more everything.

Xena’s throat went dry. Fuck.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," she murmured instead.

It wasn’t what she had meant to say. But it was what came out.

Paige arched a brow, unimpressed. "Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me."

Xena almost laughed, almost said, I’ve been watching you for three years.

Instead, she leaned closer, let herself feel the heat rolling off Paige’s skin. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

Xena wanted to say something smart. Witty. Playful.

But all she could think about was that day—Paige’s hand gripping Leo’s hoodie, pulling him to safety. How effortless it had been for her to save him.

The words tangled in her throat.

Before she could stop herself, she reached for Paige’s drink, fingers brushing hers as she lifted it to her lips.

"That mine?" Paige asked, voice edged with challenge.

Xena held her gaze, lips parting just slightly as she took a slow sip. Fuck, she tastes good. "Now it is."

Something dark flickered in Paige’s eyes, something hot and unfamiliar. Xena should’ve backed off, should’ve turned the conversation back to what she had meant to say.

But instead, the moment spiraled—dancing, touches that lingered too long, breathless almost-kisses.

Xena had gotten so close, felt the warmth of Paige’s body pressing against hers, so fucking close.

She wanted it. God, she wanted it.

But her throat tightened with something that felt too much like guilt. This hadn’t started as a game.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do when things got too real.

She pulled back.

"Not tonight, UConn." And she walked away.

Paige had stared after her, something raw in her expression, and Xena had clenched her fists, forcing herself not to turn back.

Later that night, she had stared at her ceiling, cursing herself. Why didn’t you just say thank you?

Present Day

The stadium was packed. Paige thrived under the pressure, under the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectation. She moved like she always did—smooth, lethal, untouchable.

Until she saw them.

A cluster of soccer players just a few rows back from the court. And at the center of them—Xena, sprawled out like she had all the time in the world, watching her.

Paige nearly faltered mid-dribble.

Kk noticed. "You good?"

"Fine," Paige muttered, setting her jaw.

The game resumed, but Xena wasn’t done.

Every time Paige glanced up, there was something new—a mocking little wave, a slow, exaggerated clap when she scored, a smirk around the straw of her drink.

When the final buzzer rang, Paige had barely stepped off the court when she heard it.

"Nice work, UConn."

She turned, her pulse still thrumming from the game, sweat cooling against her skin.

Xena was waiting just outside the tunnel, leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.

Paige rolled her eyes, yanking at the towel around her neck. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena’s gaze flickered over her, slow and deliberate. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige took a step closer, ignoring the way her skin tingled with every inch that closed between them. "If you think you got in my head, you’re delusional."

Xena tilted her head, smug and infuriating. "That so?"

Paige’s fingers twitched. She wanted—fuck, she didn’t even know what she wanted. To shut Xena up? To wipe that smirk off her face? Or to do something else entirely?

Xena must have seen it. Because she leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make Paige’s breath hitch.

"Tell me, UConn," she murmured, lips almost brushing her ear. "Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

Paige’s stomach dropped.

She opened her mouth, but Xena was already stepping back, a satisfied little smirk on her lips.

"See you around," she said, like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

The moment Xena stepped into the basketball arena, she knew she was playing with fire. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

If she couldn’t have Paige’s attention one way, she’d get it another.

So she leaned back, smirking, making sure Paige saw her. The little waves, the slow claps—it was all intentional.

And it worked.

Paige’s movements were sharp but just a little off. The thought sent a thrill through Xena’s chest.

And when the game was over, when Paige finally stormed toward the tunnel, Xena was already waiting.

"Nice work, UConn."

Paige barely slowed, wiping sweat from her face. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed, but Xena saw the way her shoulders tensed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena tilted her head, drinking in the sight of her—messy hair, flushed skin, sharp edges softened just slightly by exhaustion. She wanted to touch her.

Instead, she let her words do the damage. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige’s jaw tightened.

Xena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, UConn. Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

She felt it, the shift in Paige’s breathing. The way she sucked in a sharp inhale, her composure cracking for just a second. Xena had expected a sharp retort, a push back. Instead, Paige just stared at her, something unreadable in her expression.

For the first time, Xena felt uneasy.

Then Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes, and the moment passed.

"See you around," Xena teased, flashing her signature smirk before turning to walk away.

But as she disappeared into the crowd, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just fucked up.

Because for the first time, Paige actually looked lost.

And Xena doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she walked away, again.

Days after, she tried to push it from her mind. The way Paige had held her gaze like she wanted to rip her apart and pull her closer all at once. The way Xena had almost expected her to chase after her in the tunnel, to demand an answer, to call her out for whatever the hell was happening between them.

But Paige hadn’t chased her.

She had just watched.

And that was somehow worse.

Xena wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon.

The week had been normal, or as normal as things could be. Soccer practice, classes, casual flirting with girls she didn’t care about. She had almost convinced herself that the tension at the game had been nothing. That Paige wasn’t actually affecting her.

But then—fate, or maybe just bad luck.

Xena was heading out of the student center, earbuds in, mind half-focused on her phone when—

A solid, unmoving force. A warm body against hers. Hands catching her waist.

Paige Bueckers.

The realization hit Xena half a second after impact, but by then, her hands had already found purchase on Paige’s hoodie, gripping the fabric out of instinct.

Paige had caught her. Held her steady.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Xena’s breath stalled in her chest, the proximity too much, too sudden. The smell of Paige—something clean, something faintly like sweat and mint—wrapped around her like a noose.

Then Paige’s hands flexed against her waist, just a little, before she let go.

Xena forced herself to step back, straightening, masking the split-second of unbalance with a smirk. "You should watch where you’re going, Bueckers."

Paige raised a brow. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

Her voice was calm, unreadable, but there was something in the way she looked at Xena—something new. The frustration from the tunnel? Gone. Replaced by something smoother, more deliberate.

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "So, what, you just happen to run into me? You following me now?"

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Not everything’s about you, Xena Blackwood."

That shouldn’t have affected Xena. It shouldn’t have sent a sharp thrill through her spine.

But the way Paige said it—so effortlessly dismissive, so unbothered. Fucking hell.

Xena wasn’t used to that.

She stepped closer, testing the space between them. "You sure? You seemed pretty locked in on me back at the game."

Paige’s smirk didn’t falter. She just hummed, tilting her head slightly. "Did I?"

Xena opened her mouth, ready to push, ready to find the crack in Paige’s armor.

But Paige? Paige moved first.

Not away. Not back. But forward.

The shift was so subtle, so precise that Xena almost didn’t register it until she felt the whisper of Paige’s breath near her jaw.

She stilled.

And Paige fucking knew it.

"You talk a lot," Paige murmured, her voice so low Xena barely caught it. "Always trying to get under my skin. Wonder why that is."

Xena swallowed. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, one that vibrated in Xena’s chest. Then, just as quickly as she had closed the space, she pulled back.

And that—that control, that command of the moment—left Xena pissed.

She should have been the one leading this push-and-pull. She should have had Paige stumbling, not the other way around.

But Paige just patted Xena’s shoulder, fucking patted her, before stepping around her like this was nothing more than a casual run-in.

"See you around," Paige said over her shoulder, voice laced with quiet amusement.

Xena turned, watching her go, jaw clenched.

Paige had played the game differently this time. And for the first time in a long time, Xena wasn’t sure if she was winning.

Paige almost didn’t go.

She had excuses lined up, perfectly reasonable ones. Practice had been brutal. She had an assignment due. She didn’t care about soccer.

But then Nika had grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the dorm before she could finish a sentence.

"Come on, twin," Nika had grinned. "You need to touch grass. Literally."

So now she was here, sitting in the stands with half the basketball team, watching UConn’s women’s soccer squad take the field.

And then she saw her.

Xena.

The sight of her sent a sharp jolt through Paige’s stomach—unexpected, unwelcome.

She wasn’t even doing anything special. Just standing there, one hand on her hip, eyes locked ahead, but fuck. She looked different out here.

Paige was used to seeing her in dimly lit clubs, draped over some girl with a smirk that dared you to want her.

But here, under the bright stadium lights, hair tied back, uniform clinging to her body, expression sharp with focus—this was a different Xena.

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching as the game started.

She hadn’t realized how physical soccer was.

Basketball was fast-paced, sure, but this? This was relentless. A nonstop fight for possession, bodies colliding, elbows flying. The stamina alone was insane.

And Xena?

She was fucking electric.

Paige tracked her movements without meaning to. The way she cut through defenders like they weren’t even there. The way she anticipated plays before they happened. The sheer force of her presence.

This is what she looks like when she’s serious.

Paige had seen glimpses of it before—the sharpness in Xena’s eyes when she was taunting her, the edge in her voice when she was trying to get under her skin.

But now, this version of Xena wasn’t playing games.

And Paige felt it.

She hated that she felt it.

Hated that it made something tighten in her chest.

She hated it even more when things started to go wrong.

It started small.

A late tackle here, an extra shove there. The other team was losing, and frustration was creeping into their movements.

Xena was still controlling the game, but Paige could see the shift—the rising tension, the way the opposing players were getting reckless.

And then it happened.

A loose ball. A collision.

Xena went down hard.

Paige barely had time to register it before a second impact came—a knee to the ribs, a cleat clipping against her thigh. The whistle blew, but it was too late, and the damage was done.

Xena didn’t get up.

She rolled onto her side, a sharp, pained gasp slipping from her lips, one hand clutching her ribs.

And then Paige saw the blood.

Her brain barely kept up with her body.

One second, she was sitting in the stands, and the next, she was moving.

Nika shouted after her, but Paige didn’t stop.

She was on the field before she could think twice, shoving past staff, past trainers, past everyone, until she was right there—right in front of Xena.

Xena was trying to push herself up, but she barely made it an inch before her body gave up.

"Fuck," she hissed, dropping her head back onto the grass. "That hurt."

Paige stared, frozen.

Xena’s lip was split. A bruise was already forming along her cheekbone. Blood smeared down the side of her thigh where the cleat had caught her.

She looked wrecked.

And for some reason, Paige couldn’t fucking breathe.

"Goddamn it, Xena," she managed, voice tight.

Xena blinked up at her, dazed. Then—because of course she fucking would—she smirked.

"Didn’t know you cared, Bueckers."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "Shut up."

She dropped to her knees beside her, hands hovering uselessly. What the fuck was she supposed to do?

Xena winced as she shifted, sucking in a sharp breath. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding," Paige snapped.

Xena’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, eyes flickering over Paige’s face like she was committing every second of this to memory.

"You’re mad," she murmured.

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No, I’m—" She stopped, grinding her teeth. "Fuck, Xena, yeah. Yeah, I’m mad."

Xena hummed, head tilting slightly. "Why?"

Paige opened her mouth, then shut it.

Because she didn’t know.

Because this was supposed to be Xena’s thing—getting under her skin, making her feel off-balance.

But now Paige was the one sitting here, angry and scared over someone she had sworn she wasn’t supposed to care about.

The medical team finally pushed through, kneeling beside her.

Paige started to move back, but -

A hand wrapped around her wrist.

She looked down.

Xena’s grip was weak but intentional.

"Paige," she murmured.

And for the first time, there was no teasing in her voice. No smirk. No walls.

Just her.

Paige swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

Xena’s fingers tightened slightly.

Then, so quietly Paige almost didn’t catch it—

"You came."

Paige felt those words.

A lump rose in her throat, and she wanted to look away, wanted to not feel the way Xena’s voice had softened just for her.

But she couldn’t.

So she just curled her fingers around Xena’s hand—just for a second, just long enough to anchor them both.

Then she let go.

Xena’s eyes tracked her as the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, the connection breaking as they started moving.

Paige sat there, in the middle of the field, hands curling into fists.

She had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

But she knew one thing.

She wasn’t walking away from this the same.

The moment Paige stepped off the field, the questions started.

First, from her teammates. Nika was the loudest, of course. "What the fuck was that, Paige? Since when do you care about soccer?"

Paige ignored her, pushing past them, heading straight home.

Then came the media.

She saw her name already trending on Twitter before she even left the stadium. “Paige Bueckers rushes onto the soccer field—concern or controversy?”

Clips were circulating. People were asking why she —a basketball player, someone who had no business in that game—had reacted like that.

And Paige didn’t have an answer. Because she didn’t know either.

Paige couldn’t sleep. She had tried. She had laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, turned her phone on Do Not Disturb.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Xena.

On the ground. Bleeding.

The look in her eyes when she had reached for Paige’s wrist. You came.

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side, clenching her jaw. Why the fuck did it bother her this much? Why did she feel like she had taken a hit just watching Xena go down?

Frustrated, she grabbed her phone, unlocking it without thinking.

Her fingers hovered over Instagram.

She had never searched Xena before. Not once. But now?

Now she was pulling up her profile before she could talk herself out of it.

And fuck, she hated how easy it was to find her. Hated how her username popped up immediately like Paige had been meant to do this.

Her page was a mix of game clips, candid locker room moments, and too many fucking thirst traps.

Paige scrolled mindlessly, stopping on a video from last season.

The caption was simple: “One of my best games.”

Paige clicked it.

The clip played.

Xena—fucking hell, Xena was dominant.

Paige had watched her play earlier, had seen how good she was, but watching it now—raw, unfiltered, no distractions—was different.

She was fast. Calculated. Ruthless.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She had known Xena was good. But this? This was something else.

And that made the anger creep in again.

Because this was the girl who had been knocked to the ground tonight. This was the girl who had been targeted.

Paige scrolled back up to the top of Xena’s page, biting the inside of her cheek.

Then she saw it.

A recent post. A photo dump.

Most of it was random—locker room pictures, city views—but the last slide caught her attention.

A spread of food. A simple caption: “My favorites.”

Paige stared at it.

An idea started forming before she could stop it.

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. What the fuck are you doing, Paige?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t want to know.

But somehow, she was already grabbing her jacket, slipping on sneakers, and heading for the door.

Paige didn’t ask where Xena was.

Not directly.

Instead, she messaged someone she knew from the soccer team, throwing in a casual, “Hey, is Xena okay?”

The response came back fast.

“She’s fine. Got stitched up. Why?”

Paige hesitated. Then—

"Just wondering. Heard she got hit bad."

The reply came almost immediately.

"You could just ask her yourself, you know."

Paige ignored that.

Instead, she sent a quick, “Where is she staying?”

There was a pause. Then—

"…Why?"

Paige clenched her jaw. Then, before she could overthink it, she typed,

"Coach asked me to check in."

A lie. A stupid, unnecessary lie.

But it worked.

A minute later, she had an address. And before she could think, before she could stop herself—Paige was already on her way.

The apartment door looked normal. Paige had no idea what she had expected. She stood there for a second, bag in hand, shifting her weight.

Then she knocked.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

The door opened, and there she was.

Xena.

Freshly stitched, bandaged, but still looking at Paige like she was the biggest surprise of the night.

Paige stared.

Xena arched a brow. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Paige clenched her jaw, lifting the bag. "Brought food."

Xena’s eyes flickered to it, then back to Paige.

For a beat, she said nothing.

Then—slow, taunting, amused—she leaned against the doorframe.

"You stalked my Instagram, didn’t you?"

Paige hated how hot her face felt.

"Shut up," she muttered, shoving the bag into Xena’s hands.

Xena took it, still watching her, still smirking.

Then she opened the bag.

Paige saw the exact moment she recognized the food.

The smirk faded. And for the first time tonight, Xena looked at her softly.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She hated it. Hated it because she didn’t know why she had done this. Didn’t know why Xena’s face, battered and bruised, made her want to do something, anything to fix it.

Xena studied her for a second longer.

Then she sighed, stepping back, opening the door wider.

"You coming in or what?"

Paige hesitated.

Then—before she could change her mind—she stepped inside.

The first thing Paige noticed about Xena’s room was the smell. It was clean. Not in a clinical way, but fresh—like vanilla and something warm she couldn’t place.

The second thing she noticed?

It was small. Smaller than she expected, considering how big Xena’s presence always felt.

And the third thing? Xena was struggling.

She had the bag of food clutched in one hand while the other pressed against her ribs as she limped toward her bed.

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping forward before she could stop herself. "Jesus, just sit down."

Xena let out a breathy chuckle, plopping onto the mattress with an exaggerated wince. "Damn, Bueckers. Didn’t know you were so bossy."

Paige ignored the way that sent heat down her spine.

"Didn’t know you were so bad at getting your ass kicked," she shot back.

Xena smirked up at her, eyes sharp despite the bruises forming along her jaw. "It's soccer. Shit happens. "

Paige crossed her arms. "Who was the one who tackled you?"

Xena waved a hand, tearing open the takeout container. "Some frustrated defender. It happens."

Paige frowned. "Yeah, well, it shouldn’t happen."

Xena arched a brow. "What, you gonna fight them for me, Bueckers?"

Paige scowled. "Maybe."

The smirk on Xena's lips deepened, and Paige immediately regretted saying anything.

Xena balanced the food container on her lap, shifting slightly—only to wince when the movement pulled at her ribs.

Paige sighed, stepping forward without thinking.

"Here, idiot." She grabbed the container before Xena could drop it, sitting down at the edge of the bed and placing it on the nightstand instead.

Xena blinked at her.

Paige blinked back.

And suddenly, the space between them felt very small. Too small.

Paige’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face neutral.

Xena, on the other hand? She knew.

Paige could see it in her eyes—the slow realization, the way her lips curled up like she was about to say something dangerous.

Paige needed to change the subject. Fast.

"So, when can you play again?"

Xena leaned back on her elbows, smirk still intact. "Couple weeks. Maybe less if I can sneak past the trainers."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ‘cause that’s a smart idea."

Xena shrugged. "Gotta do what I gotta do."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," Xena mused, gaze dropping—slowly, deliberately—to Paige’s mouth. "You’re here."

Paige swallowed.

Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before she forced herself to look away.

Bad idea.

Her eyes landed on Xena’s thigh—bruised, but still strong, still—fuck.

She shot to her feet, clearing her throat. "I should go."

Xena tilted her head, amused. "Already?"

"Yeah," Paige muttered, suddenly needing distance. "You need to rest."

Xena didn’t look convinced. "You sure you don’t wanna stay?"

The words were innocent enough, but the look in her eyes?

Not so much.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She wanted to. God, did she want to.

But Xena was injured, and Paige was too wired, too restless, too fucking tempted.

She needed to leave before she does something stupid.

So instead, she dug her phone out of her pocket and handed it to Xena. "Here."

She raised a brow. "What’s this for?"

"Your number," Paige said flatly. "In case you need anything."

She hummed, taking the phone. "So thoughtful, Bueckers."

Paige ignored her and waited as she typed, fingers moving lazily across the screen. After a moment, she handed the phone back.

Paige glanced at the contact name.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star

Paige huffed, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Really?"

Xena grinned. "Accurate, though."

Paige rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. For a second, she considered saying something else—something normal, like rest up or see you later.

But she didn’t trust her mouth not to betray her. So she just nodded and walked out.

Paige barely made it back to her dorm before her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, expecting Nika or one of her teammates.

But instead—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Appreciate the food, Bueckers. Didn't know you had a soft side.

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it.

But then—

Paige: Don’t get used to it.

A beat passed.

Then—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: No promises.

Paige groaned, flopping onto her bed.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. So why the fuck did she already want to see her again?

Paige hadn’t seen Xena in two weeks. Not on campus. Not at the gym. Nowhere. But the texts? Those hadn’t stopped.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Do you always take care of your enemies like this? Or am I special?

Paige: Enemies? You flatter yourself.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: I tend to have that effect on people.

Paige: Delusional.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Are you thinking about me right now?

Paige: No.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Liar.

Paige had stared at her screen way too long after that one.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Send me a pic.

Paige: Of what?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Of you. What else?

Paige had scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not happening. But the heat crawling up her neck had been undeniable.

Paige: Why do you even have my number?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: You gave it to me.

Paige: Biggest mistake of my life.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: But you’re still texting me.

Paige had shut her phone off after that one.

Two Weeks Later

Paige was leaving class, one hand adjusting the strap of her bag, the other pulling out her phone.

And then—

It started ringing. She frowned at the screen.

Xena.

She hesitated, then swiped to answer. "What—"

"Look right."

Paige froze. Her head turned instinctively.

And there she was.

Leaning against the wall, phone in one hand, a smug fucking smirk playing on her lips.

Paige’s breath hitched.

Because Xena wasn’t just here—she's fine now.

No limping. No injuries. Just standing there, grinning like she hadn’t just made Paige’s heart nearly combust.

"You’re—" Paige started, words failing. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Xena pushed off the wall, pocketing her phone. "Came to see you, obviously."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Xena stepped closer. "Because I owe you dinner."

Paige blinked. "What?"

"For last week." Xena shrugged. "Consider it a thank-you."

Paige crossed her arms. "You don’t owe me anything."

Xena tilted her head, eyes flickering down Paige’s body slowly, deliberately. "Let me take you out, Bueckers."

Paige swallowed. "You’re impossible."

Xena grinned. "And you like it."

Paige hated how true that was.

Xena drove them to some lowkey spot just outside campus—a hole-in-the-wall diner with neon lights and a too-good smell wafting through the air.

Paige raised a brow. "This is where you’re taking me?"

Xena smirked. "What, you too fancy for greasy food?"

Paige rolled her eyes. "I just didn’t take you for the type."

"And what type am I?" Xena challenged, opening the door for her.

Paige stepped inside, glancing at her. "Annoying."

Xena chuckled. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

They sat in a booth, menus in hand. Xena didn’t even look at hers. "You should get the cheeseburger."

Paige raised a brow. "And why’s that?"

"Because it’s the best thing here," she said simply. "And you look like someone who needs to be impressed."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Cocky."

"Accurate."

"Fine." Paige sighed, closing the menu. "But if it’s shit, I’m never listening to you again."

Xena grinned. "Deal."

Food came fast. Conversation flowed faster.

Somewhere between bites of what was, unfortunately, the best cheeseburger Paige had ever had, and Xena's teasing remarks about how she should "listen to her more," something shifted.

It wasn’t just banter anymore. It was easy.

It was Xena asking about her upcoming game and actually listening when Paige answered.

It was Paige asking about Xena's s recovery, about how she really felt after the injury.

It was Xena admitting, after a beat of hesitation, "It fucked me up, Bueckers."

And Paige, without thinking, reaching across the table, thumb brushing over Xena’s wrist. "You’ll be back."

Xena holding her gaze, softer than ever. "You think so?"

Paige nodding. "I know so."

And then—

The moment broke.

Xena smirked, pulling her hand back. "Careful, Bueckers. You’re starting to sound like you care."

Paige rolled her eyes, heat creeping up her neck. "Shut up and eat your food."

The drive back in the car was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged.

Xena drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, throwing her a glance. "Did you have fun?"

Paige sighed dramatically. "Shockingly, yes."

She grinned. "Knew it."

They pulled up outside Paige’s dorm.

Paige unbuckled, hesitating. "Guess I’ll see you around."

Xena smirked. "You will."

Paige went to open the door. But then—

"Wait."

She turned back. "What—"

Xena leaned over, voice dropping. "What if I don’t wanna wait another two weeks?"

Paige’s breath hitched.

Xena’s gaze flickered to her lips—brief, intentional, dangerous.

Paige’s pulse spiked. "Then don’t."

Xena exhaled sharply, fingers tapping against the wheel. "Fuck, Bueckers."

Paige smirked. "Goodnight, Xena."

And with that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached the door.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Goodnight, Paige.

It had been a week.

A whole week since that night at the diner. Since the teasing, the eye contact, and the electricity humming between them.

A whole week since Paige had last heard from Xena.

At first, she ignored the nagging feeling in her chest. Maybe Xena was busy. Maybe practice was brutal. Maybe—

But then, nothing. No texts. No calls.

Paige had tried.

Paige: Yo, ghosting me already?

Paige: Xena?

Paige: Seriously, what’s up?

Paige: Fine. Fuck this.

She wasn’t one to chase. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But then she saw her.

Paige was walking past towards the athlete's center when her breath hitched.

There, standing against the glass windows, was Xena.

And she wasn’t alone.

Some girl stood close—too close—smiling up at her.

Paige watched as the girl reached out, fingers trailing along Xena’s wrist before moving up to touch her cheek.

Xena just stood there, smiling softly, nodding at whatever the girl was saying.

Something inside Paige snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she walked inside, straight past them.

"Paige—"

Xena’s voice cut through the air, sharp, urgent. But Paige didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t care.

Not when her chest was burning. Not when her throat felt tight. Not when she knew damn well that she had no right to feel like this but couldn’t help it.

She stormed into their locker room, hands bracing against the cool metal, taking deep breaths.

Get it together.

She wasn’t yours.

Xena could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Paige clenched her fists, swallowing hard.

So why the hell did it feel like she’d just been punched in the gut?

Her teammates noticed. Nika nudged her as they laced up. "You good, dude?"

Paige forced a smirk. "Always."

Azzi shot her a look. "You’ve been weird all practice."

"I’m fine," Paige snapped, harsher than she meant to.

Her teammates shared glances but didn’t push.

After practice, as they packed up, Nika tossed an arm over Paige’s shoulder. "We’re hitting the Tavern tonight. You in?"

Paige barely hesitated. "Fuck yeah."

She wasn’t about to sit in her dorm thinking about Xena.

She needed a distraction.

And if that distraction came in the form of loud music and shots of tequila, so be it.

The Tavern

The energy hit her the moment they stepped inside.

Music thrummed through the air, bodies swaying, laughter echoing across the dimly lit space.

Paige let herself relax, let the atmosphere dull the sharp edges of her thoughts—until she saw her.

Xena was sitting in a booth, with her teammates.

A drink in hand, eyes distant, lost in thought.

No girl.

No soft smiles.

Just her.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to go to her.

She wanted to demand an explanation, to yell at her, to—

No.

She reminded herself of what she saw earlier. Instead, she headed for the bar. She had barely ordered when—

"Déjà vu, huh?"

Paige stiffened.

That voice. Low. Amused. Fucking dangerous.

She turned her head.

Xena had slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Paige could feel the heat radiating off her.

Paige narrowed her eyes ahead. "What do you want?"

Xena answers softly. "To talk."

Paige didn’t turn. "Not in the mood."

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "You sure? Because I think you’re always in the mood to fight with me."

Paige finally looked at her, and fuck, there was fire in her eyes. Not that she can help it at this point. "You think this is a game?"

Xena sighed, leaning in. "No. But I think you miss me."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "You disappeared."

Xena sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Paige—"

"Don’t fucking Paige me!" she snapped, turning in her seat. "You disappear for a week. No texts, no calls. And then I see you, all smiles, letting some girl fucking touch you I —" and Paige stopped herself, exhaling hard. "It doesn’t fucking matter."

Paige was willing herself to cool the fuck down because people are already staring.

"Can you let me explain?" Xena was trying to hold her arm but Paige kept swatting it away.

"Fuck off, Xena." Paige was hurt, though she had no right. But still, she thought they are on the same page. She felt betrayed.

Xena stilled, maybe she felt herself on the verge of also losing it. She stand beside Paige, who's still sitting.

"Come outside. Let's talk." Xena wasn't about to make them a spectacle in front of their schoolmates.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" Paige bit back hard. She wasn't about to lose to this godforsaken woman who's making her absolutely mad.

Xena sighed deeply, and loudly before looking at her eyes again. The lights passed through it, and although it was just a moment, Paige clearly saw the look on Xena's eyes.

Red-rimmed, troubled, hurt, lost, almost pleading eyes.

So before she says something stupid again, she stands up, grabbed Xena by the hand towards the back of the pub.

"Now what? I'm giving you two minutes to talk and then I'm done here." Paige deadpanned.

Xena hesitated, jaw clenching. "I lost my phone."

Paige frowned. "What?"

"Someone took it at the gym. Or I misplaced it. I don’t fucking know." Xena looked away, exhaling sharply. "And between training, school, and therapy, I just—I didn’t have time to explain."

Xena continues, eyes glassy, frustrated. "And then I see you today, and you just walk past me like I meant nothing."

Paige was about to crumble, but the thing that ticked her off still lingers. "You were happily smiling with some girl — "

"She’s my fucking therapist."

Paige stopped.

Her heart pounded. "What?"

Xena exhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. "She’s my therapist. She was checking in on me, okay? My stitches, my wrist, my fucking cheekbones. She was happy my bruises are gone, that I’m good now."

Paige swallowed hard.

Her throat burned. Her anger cracked, giving way to new emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Fucking everything at once.

Paige exhaled, voice softer now. "I’m sorry."

Xena scoffed. "Yeah? Didn’t fucking seem like it when you were out here losing your shit on me."

Paige clenched her jaw. "I thought—" She cut herself off, hands balling into fists. "Fuck, Xena."

Xena looked at her, deeply, daring her to do much worse. "You're so hot when you're jealous, did you know that?"

And suddenly, there wasn’t any space between them anymore.

Paige surged forward.

Their lips crashed together, months of tension exploding between them.

Xena groaned, fingers tangling in Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in harder.

Paige pushed her against the wall, deepening the kiss, teeth scraping, hands gripping hips—fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was all heat, all fire, all fucking want.

People started filtering out of the bar, their voices pulling them apart, but Xena wasn’t done.

She grabbed Paige’s wrist, pulling her toward the parking lot.

"Come with me."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

They reached Xena’s car, and the moment the doors shut—

They were on each other again.

Xena straddled Paige in the passenger’s seat, hands in her hair, kissing her senseless.

Paige groaned into her mouth, nails digging into Xena’s thighs. "Fuck, you drive me insane."

Xena panted, lips swollen. "Right back at you."

Paige’s hands wandered, Xena’s breath hitched—

But then—

A voice outside.

They both froze.

Laughter.

People walking past.

Paige swallowed hard, forehead resting against Xena’s. "We should stop."

Xena exhaled sharply, hands still gripping her waist. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved.

Xena smirked. "You’re not letting me go."

Paige chuckled, eyes dark. "Not a chance."

"Come back with me," Xena offered, voice low, edged with something undeniable.

Paige stared at her.

This wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. A dare.

Her body screamed yes.

Her mind? Dangerous. Stupid.

Xena smirked, reading her hesitation. "Scared?"

Paige’s jaw ticked. "Drive."

Xena’s grin was pure fucking sin.

The second the door shut behind them, it was over.

Paige shoved Xena against it, her mouth crashing onto hers, hands tangling in her hoodie, hungry.

Xena groaned, pulling her in, her grip rough, her touch possessive.

The air was thick, charged, fucking unbearable.

Paige barely registered the room, only that the back of her legs hit the bed, and then they were falling into it.

Xena pinned her down, lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing, teasing.

Paige sucked in a sharp breath, gripping Xena’s waist, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything—

A pause.

Xena hovered above her, breathless, eyes scanning Paige’s face.

A silent question.

Paige swallowed, heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Then she reached up, fingers curling into Xena’s shirt, pulling her back down.

"Shut up and keep going."

Xena’s grin was the last thing Paige saw before she stopped thinking entirely.

Paige had spent too much time fighting this.

Fighting Xena.

Fighting herself.

But there were only so many nights she could lie awake, replaying every look, every touch, every fucking feeling that Xena made her feel.

So, standing outside the athlete dorms, hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket, heart pounding like a goddamn drum, Paige inhaled deeply and knocked.

It only took three seconds for the door to swing open.

Xena stood there in sweats and a cropped UConn soccer tee, hair damp like she’d just showered, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Paige?"

No teasing. No smirking. Just genuine surprise.

Paige swallowed. "Can I come in?"

Xena hesitated for a second before stepping aside. "Yeah, of course."

Paige walked in, pacing once before stopping, turning to face her. "Okay, look."

Xena crossed her arms, leaning against the door. "Should I be worried?"

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No. I mean—fuck, I don’t know." She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "This is—"

"Spit it out, P," Xena said softly.

Paige locked eyes with her. "Be mine."

Xena’s breath hitched.

Silence hung between them—thick, heavy, waiting to crack.

"Paige—"

"No, listen," Paige interrupted, stepping closer, voice firm now. "I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want the games, or the push and pull. I don’t want to spend another fucking second pretending like I don’t think about you all the time. I just want you."

Xena just stared at her, like she wasn’t sure if this was real.

"So be mine," Paige repeated, softer this time.

Xena let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You make it sound so easy."

Paige tilted her head. "Isn’t it?"

Xena looked at her, searching, feeling.

And then she was closing the distance, grabbing Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in until their lips met, slow and deep, nothing like before—

This wasn’t fire or recklessness or anger.

This was certainty.

This was everything Paige had been waiting for.

Xena pulled back just enough to whisper, "Yeah. Okay. I’m yours."

Paige grinned, feeling light, victorious, complete.

"Damn right you are."

The world didn't change overnight.

But they did. And maybe that was enough.

The days passed, filled with stolen kisses in hallways, late-night talks in Xena’s dorm, meeting both their families. Imagine Paige's surprise when she finally learns about Leo, and how Xena has been plotting about her. Damn, the butterflies on Paige's stomach were indescribable.

Paige sat front row at Xena’s next game, arms crossed, locked in.

When Xena scored, she ran past the stands, pointing at Paige with a cocky smirk.

Paige only shook her head, smirking right back.

Xena came to every basketball game she could, watching Paige dominate.

One night after a win, Paige found Xena waiting by the locker room doors, arms crossed.

"You were a little off in the third quarter," Xena teased.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Xena leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Come over tonight?"

Paige smirked. "You don’t even have to ask."

They weren’t perfect.

They bickered. They teased. They pushed each other’s buttons.

But they also made each other better.