I started listening to Quinn Riley’s narration for Hoops & Heartstrings yesterday and fell in love with these characters all over again. And it made me want to post the first chapter to the sequel, Half-Court Heat. Read at your own risk! (NSFW)

Mexico

The russet brown bikini accentuated her deep mahogany skin like a sunset reflecting on calm waters. The suit’s rich, earthy tone seemed to glow against her complexion, highlighting the natural radiance of her skin. It was as if the color was chosen specifically for her, perfectly harmonizing with and illuminating her beauty in the late afternoon sunlight.

Hell. Knowing her, the color had been picked just for her.

My gaze traced the contours of her reposed form. The thin string crossing her back was doing an admirable job of keeping her generous breasts in check. I silently admired the strength in her shoulders and the gentle dip before the small of her back. A bead of sweat had collected in that shallow hollow, and I felt the strangest urge to lean in and lick it away, craving the taste of salt on her skin.

My eyes continued their indulgent tour—up the smooth curve of her backside and down the steep drop of her hips. The way the fabric of her bikini bottoms disappeared into those deep curves was seriously distracting. Even though we were alone, I felt my cheeks warm.

“Enjoying the view?”

I cleared my throat and adjusted my sunglasses on the bridge of my nose, fully aware I’d been caught. I had hoped the mirrored lenses might conceal the path of my stare, but there was no hiding from her.

“You bet I am,” I shot back.

Eva was lying on her stomach along the ledge of our private swim-up pool, her chin resting on her folded arms. She looked utterly peaceful. No competitions, no cameras, no adoring fans. Just Eva, relaxed in the sun with that easy smile.

“Do you need more sunscreen?” I asked.

Her lazy grin broadened. “Sounds like a ploy to get your hands all over me.”

“I care deeply about your health,” I deadpanned.

Her fingers skimmed the top of the chlorinated water. I knew she liked the attention, even if she’d never say it out loud.

The late-afternoon sun soaked everything in warmth, making the private pool outside our hotel room shimmer. I sat on the edge with my legs dangling in the cool water—a welcome contrast to the heat. It was quiet. Just the soft lapping of water against the pool’s edge and the distant murmur of laughter drifting from the main resort.

It was our first real time alone since the playoffs had ended. From here, everything—the extended season, the brutal road trips, the constant noise—felt far away. For the first time in months, we had no practices, no schedules, no early mornings. Just us.

Eventually, I eased into the pool, careful not to splash and disturb Eva’s zen. Unlike her revealing bikini, I wore swim shorts and a bikini top that bordered on sporty. I winced when the chilled water touched my bare midsection.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” I asked, sinking deeper into the pool.

Eva lifted her head just enough to glance at me. “How about we don’t plan anything? Just go wherever the day takes us.”

“That sounds perfect.”

I imagined lazy mornings tangled in bed, the soundtrack of tropical birds and waves crashing just beyond our windows.

“Are you actually going to use the pool you paid extra for?” I asked.

Eva had insisted on covering the cost of our vacation. I’d pushed back—hard—but she’d calmly dismantled my soapbox. You can pay for the next one, she’d promised.

The idea of there being a next vacation with her made me giddy, and we’d barely started this one.

Eva gracefully rose to her feet and walked along the pool’s ledge. She didn’t strike me as the cannonball type, which gave me extra time to admire the way the sunlight kissed her nearly bare skin.

Her movements were unhurried, yet deliberate. Sleek muscle shifted beneath smooth, sun-warmed skin with every step. Even in something as revealing as her bikini, there was nothing performative about her—only a calm, physical confidence that made it impossible to look away. She carried herself like someone who knew her own worth and had no need to prove it.

Powerful. That’s the word that came to mind.

Eva descended the concrete steps, one by one. Anticipating the tropical vacation, her hairstylist back in Chicago had twisted her hair into a multitude of micro braids that she arranged in a bun to avoid getting damp in the chlorinated water.

When the water reached her navel, she let out a hiss. “Oh, that’s cold!” she complained. “You could’ve warned a girl.”

“It’s not an ice bath,” I smirked. “Getting soft with all this time off?”

Eva’s postseason had ended earlier than mine, with Chicago falling to New York in the semis. I hated that I was on the road when it happened. But if we were going to make this work, I had to accept reality: with our schedules, we wouldn’t always be there for each other’s losses or wins. Sometimes all we’d have were phone calls, late-night texts, or surprise ice cream deliveries.

“I’ve half a mind to call the front desk to dump a truckload of ice in here. I’ll turn this whole damn pool into one big ice bath,” she challenged. “Then we’ll see who’s soft.”

“Not everything has to be a competition, you know.”

Eva scoffed. “Says the girl who couldn’t handle losing a single game of HORSE.”

“That was one time,” I protested, although I couldn’t stop smiling.

Eva hummed and gave me a skeptical look.

We drifted around the pool separately, letting the water carry us, until the space became too much—like some invisible tether kept pulling us back together. Eva wound her legs around my waist, and I caught her instinctively by the hips.

I could feel the flex of her thighs against my sides, the shift of muscle as she adjusted. Her skin was warm from the sun, her thighs slick from sunscreen and sweat. It was impossible not to notice how good she felt under my hands.

I slid my hands to the small of her back, holding her easily in the water and guiding us into a slow, aimless drift. On land, she had inches on me, but here, she was weightless.

Her chest brushed mine with every breath, every movement. I tried not to stare at the way her bikini clung to her—how the wet fabric molded to the shape of her breasts, how the outline of her nipple teased just beneath the thin triangle of fabric.

She was trying to kill me. I was sure of it.

“Keep looking like that and I’m going to forget we’re supposed to be relaxing,” I murmured my warning.

Her fingers traced the line of my collarbone and dipped below the edge of my bikini top. “What if I don’t want to relax?”

I swallowed. Hard.

Eva leaned in. “You said we didn’t have to plan anything.”

“I didn’t realize that included seduction by pool float,” I breathed.

Her low laugh vibrated through me. She kissed the corner of my mouth, then deeper. Her lips tasted of lime and sea salt, and I kissed her back like I’d been craving it for weeks. Months. Maybe always.

Under the water, her hands slid over my hips, then around to grip my ass. I drew in a sharp breath as heat bloomed low in my belly.

“You were saying something about sunscreen?” she teased against my lips.

“I think we need to reapply,” I practically panted. “Thoroughly.”

She smiled, but there was something soft behind it. Her eyes searched mine, and her hand reached up, fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from my forehead. Her fingers lingered, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the sun.

“Can I say something?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Of course.”

She didn’t speak, not right away.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Not with anyone else.”

Her words were solemn, and her fingers grazed the side of my cheek. Her touch was gentle, it was like she was committing every detail to memory. I felt my heart catch, the weight of her words settling into a warm, steady ache.

“This is exactly where I want to be,” I agreed.

* * *

I leaned against the bartop and swirled the rapidly melting ice cubes at the bottom of my paloma. I’d finished getting ready in the room well before Eva, so she’d insisted I go ahead to the resort restaurant to make sure we didn’t lose our reservation. I was more than happy to abandon going out and order room service instead, but Eva had pushed me out the front door.

My attention drifted to the televisions hanging over the bar. Each oversized flatscreen featured a different sporting event. Amazingly, I wasn’t thinking about the next time I would be back on a basketball court. For the first time in as long as my memory stretched back, I wasn’t experiencing competition withdrawals.

I had a hunch it had everything to do with the woman with whom I was on this vacation.

I’d never thought of myself as an adrenaline junkie. I had no interest in skydiving or bungee jumping, but I did thrive under the pressure of a clock counting down and a rabid fan base screaming from the sidelines. But all of that seemed to soften and fade away when I was in Eva’s proximity. We still brought out each other’s competitive side, but we’d found new things to one-up each other on.

Orgasms, for example.

My memory didn’t have to stretch back too far to recall the official start of our vacation. Jet-lagged and slightly sticky from the flight, Eva had still looked impossibly good in high-waisted shorts and a ribbed tank top knotted at her waist. All I could think about was getting her alone.

We hadn’t made it an hour into the trip before I had her pressed up against the cool tile wall of our room, kissing her like I’d been parched for weeks and she was the only thing that could satisfy me. She’d laughed into my mouth, told me we had all week, but I couldn’t help it. The plane had landed, but I hadn’t.

We hadn’t even unpacked. Just dropped the bags, drew the curtains, and tumbled into bed like the heat between us couldn’t be postponed.

I stirred the ice in my drink again, then brought the salted rim to my lips, hiding a private smile. We'd only emerged for food and water that first day, and even that had taken effort. Every time I’d tried to put distance between us—get dressed, check the resort’s amenities list, rinse the sweat off—she’d found some way to pull me back in. Her mouth behind my ear. Her fingers slipping beneath the hem of whatever I was wearing. Her quiet command: Come back to bed.

So I did.

It wasn’t just sex. It was joy. It was playful and greedy and worshipful. I’d never been touched like that before, or wanted to give so much in return. She made me feel powerful and undone at the same time.

“Another, Miss?”

I blinked again, pulled back into the present by the bartender.

“Oh. Sorry.” I set my glass down. “No, gracias.”

The bartender smiled and said something polite, but I hardly registered it, still thinking about the way Eva had looked straddling my lap on the edge of the hotel bed, her braids slipping loose from their bun, her mouth curved in a lazy, satisfied smile that said we’re not done yet.

I turned away from the bar and watched the entrance for Eva’s arrival. Couples and families with young children streamed through the entryway. Each one looked indistinguishable from the next, a long assembly line of resort wear and bad sunburns.

My attention had nearly glazed over when a tall, striking woman stepped up to the hostess stand. She looked effortlessly elegant in a long, flowing linen dress. A knitted shawl, more fashionable than practical, hung loosely from her arms. The dress’s halter top fastened behind her neck, drawing the eye to her strong shoulders and the graceful curve of her collarbone. The fabric skimmed past her knees almost to her ankles, but a high slit revealed toned calves that led into delicate, strappy sandals. Despite frequent sunscreen reapplications, she looked sunkissed. Glowing. Or maybe I was only in love.

Eva’s features remained neutral as she scanned the interior of the restaurant in search of me. She looked unbothered and unworried. Her beautiful face lit up, however, when her gaze fell on me.

She’d already seen what I was wearing back in the room, but the look she gave me now suggested she was seeing it for the first time. Or seeing it differently.

I felt good. Relaxed. And, honestly, I thought I looked good, too. My fitted button-up hugged my biceps just right. The linen pants I’d chosen were sharply pressed, elongating my already long legs.

I stood a little taller as she approached, her long strides making easy work of the distance between us. She stopped in front of me, her gaze cataloging the view. Then, with a quiet sort of familiarity, she reached out and smoothed an invisible wrinkle on my shirt.

“Is this new?” she asked.

I glanced down from her light honey eyes to where her fingers had moved to the pendant on my necklace.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t even particularly stylish. I was pretty sure she just wanted a reason to touch me.

“No.”

She hummed softly, considering. “I like it. It suits you.”

The fingers that had investigated my necklace slipped down to meet my hands. Her fingers intertwined with mine. It was an intimate and familiar gesture, one that had been forbidden until only a short while ago. Since our viral kiss on the basketball court, Eva had noticeably softened and become more demonstrative, both physically and verbally. She hadn’t settled on a pet name for me yet, but I trusted we’d get there.

The hostess appeared and gestured for us to follow. We weaved through crowded tables and wide archways that let in the ocean breeze. When we reached our table, I stepped ahead to pull out Eva’s chair.

“This is new,” she murmured as she sat, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth.

I shrugged as I pushed in her chair. “It felt right.”

Eva’s eyes flicked to mine. “It’s sweet, Lex.”

I’d never done that for anyone before. Not because I hadn’t cared, but because I hadn’t thought to do it. But with Eva, it came without thinking—a reflexive urge to make her feel safe. Cared for. Cherished. The word felt too delicate, too tender, but it was the one that stuck.

The moment broke as another uniformed staff member—our waiter, I assumed—stopped by our table.

“Buenas noches, señoras! I’m Carlos, your maestro de mesas tonight!” His voice boomed just enough to draw a few heads but not enough to be obnoxious.

He plucked one of the folded cloth napkins from the table and flicked his wrist, like a matador tempting a bull, before laying it across Eva’s lap. The movement was automatic, muscle memory taking over like he’d done the motion thousands of times.

When he pulled his hand back, I witnessed how his body seemed to jerk to attention. Recognition colored his features when his eyes locked on Eva.

He made an involuntary noise. “Oh! It’s you!”

Carlos looked quickly in my direction as if to decide if I was famous or not, too. I smiled weakly, anticipating his disappointment.

“Carlos, can we get two glasses of the house red?” Eva asked.

He snapped his gaze back to Eva. “Si, yes, of course!”

Carlos vanished toward the bar, and I let myself exhale. It shouldn’t have surprised me that our waiter recognized her, even in a different country, but small interactions like that only reminded me of the level of Eva’s celebrity. My girlfriend wasn’t just a professional basketball player; she was an international brand. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to that.

I took a sip of my water and glanced around the restaurant, trying not to look like I was checking for witnesses. But it was impossible to ignore the undercurrent of attention that had begun to ripple in our direction.

Our table wasn’t in the center of the restaurant, but I couldn’t help feeling like a fish in a glass bowl. Every cell phone seemed to be tilted in our direction. They weren’t taking photos of their respective dinner plates—they all seemed to be watching us.

I held my hand over my mouth like a football coach trying to avoid a playcall from being intercepted by the opposing team.

“Is it just me, or is everyone looking at us?”

Eva only smiled encouragingly. She had far more experience being under the spotlight.

“Let them look,” she said gently. “No one else matters right now.”

I looked across the table at Eva, who sat back comfortably in her chair, seemingly unfazed by the attention. She draped her arm casually along the back of her seat. She didn’t flinch under scrutiny. She didn’t shrink or mask herself or try to make herself smaller.

Across from her, I felt the opposite. Overexposed. A little unsteady. But then her foot brushed mine beneath the table—barely a touch, featherlight—and the noise around us dulled.

“Hey,” she said softly, just for me.

My gaze lifted to hers.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low, careful.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure. I felt split in two—half of me floating somewhere above the table, trying to calculate how many people had their cameras pointed our way. The other half was under the surface, tethered to Eva, drawn to her calm like gravity.

Her fingers found mine again, steady and warm.

“Don’t disappear on me,” she said gently.

That pulled a small smile from me. “I won’t.”

“Good.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “Because I was really looking forward to dinner with my girlfriend.”

That word—girlfriend—settled something inside me. I breathed in.

I smiled. “Well, your girlfriend is about to make a bold menu choice.”

“Oh?”

“The habanero shrimp.”

She gave me a look of pure disbelief. “Lex. You’re a white girl from Wisconsin. You think mayo is spicy.”

“I have a very sophisticated palate,” I defended myself.

Eva picked up her menu with casual elegance. “Do I need to prep a glass of milk for you, or are you planning to power through on sheer Midwestern stubbornness?”

“Oh, I’m finishing it,” I said, reaching for my water glass. “I always finish.”

Her smile turned slow and wicked. “Not at the table, Lex.”

I nearly choked on my sip, laughing.

Just like that, I was steady again. Not the center of attention—just the center of hers.

* * *

We took our time walking back to our room at the end of the night. An illuminated boardwalk hugged the resort’s sandy shoreline. Miniature lights marked our path and cast warm pools of gold onto the weathered planks.

Our steps were unhurried; we paused from time to time to stare out at the inky ocean, turquoise in the day, but now dark beyond the lighted walkway.

Eva’s fingers curled around my bare bicep, warm and steady. She hadn’t let go since we’d left the restaurant. She tugged her knit shawl higher up her shoulders with her free hand. The fabric slipped over the straps of her dress, nearly the same color as the bikini she’d worn earlier, the one still seared into my mind.

“Are you cold?” I worried. A cool, ocean-kissed breeze swirled around us. The temperature had noticeably dipped after sunset, sometime between our entrees and dessert.

“I’ll be fine.” I felt the light, reassuring squeeze of her fingers. “You can warm me up back at the room.”

My tongue darted out to wet my lips before I could stop myself. She caught it—of course she did—but instead of calling me out, her thumb traced slow circles in the crook of my arm.

Another couple passed us, moving in the opposite direction—a man and a woman, arms linked like ours. The woman’s laugh floated in the night air, light and easy. My body tensed out of habit, expecting Eva to shift away, to drop my arm and put distance between us.

But she didn’t.

If anything, she tilted her head closer to mine. She continued to hold onto me, our shoulders pressed together. We weren’t just good friends or former teammates. This wasn’t something casual, either, something to keep hidden behind closed doors. This was real.

And she wanted the world to know.

By the time we reached our room, I wasn’t thinking about the cool night air or the curious eyes that had lingered at dinner. I was only thinking about her— how I couldn’t wait to show her exactly how warm I could keep her.

The door had barely clicked shut behind us before her hands were on me. Eva pulled me to her as if we had only minutes, not the entire night, to spare. Her hands slid over my shoulders and down my bare arms, a mix of tenderness and need.

I managed to shrug out of my cross-body bag, letting it drop to the floor, just as she backed me up against the wall in the entryway.

We never made it past that wall.

Eva busied herself with the buttons at the front of my shirt while I pressed hot kisses to the tops of her naked shoulders. When she finished with the last of my shirt’s buttons, I spun us around so it was she with her back against the wall.

My eager fingers explored the expansive fabric of her maxi dress. The material was light, perfect for a tropical vacation, but impractical for intimacy. I gathered the generous skirt in my hands and purposefully passed it off to her.

I leaned close and breathed my command into her ear: “Hold up your dress.”

I took a few steps back to admire the view. Eva’s long, powerful legs. Her smooth, lotioned skin. The seamless underwear that hugged her hips and tapered waist.

“You look so good like that,” I murmured my approval.

She visibly trembled.

Neither of us really dominated the other in the bedroom. Eva liked to be fucked while I didn’t particularly care for penetration, but that didn’t mean I naturally topped her. If anything, she was a power bottom who told me exactly what she wanted. How fast. How deep.

And I was a good listener.

I stepped close again to brush the tips of my fingers against the front of her underwear. My fingers gently passed over her slightly protruding clit through the satin material.

I smiled, hearing her breath catch and quicken.

"What's that line?" I rhetorically posed. "Lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets?"

"Forget the streets," Eva replied huskily. "It's all about those sheets."

I pushed the center panel of her underwear to the side. Eva's eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a soft sigh. I gently ran my fingers over her exposed clit, feeling it throb beneath my touch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she quietly admitted.

I smiled, feeling a surge of confidence at her words. My fingers continued to dance across her clit, applying gentle pressure.

“You should have said something earlier. I would have fucked you.” I leaned in closer, my lips near hers. “In the pool—I could have had my fingers inside you. Or in the shower before dinner.” I pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Under the table at the restaurant?” I suggested. “Or a stall in the restaurant bathroom? All you need is to say the word.”

Eva released an uneven breath. “Can’t have you thinking I’m some sort of nympho who can’t get through the day without your hands on me.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to deny yourself what you want,” I said pragmatically. I pressed down on her clit through her underwear and she shuddered. “But at least now you don’t have to be quiet. Now you can be as loud as you want.”

Her hips started to move—subtle at first, then insistent as I increased the pace and pressure of my touch.

I needed to taste her. I dropped to my knees on the cool tile floor and stared up at her with obvious adoration. Her eyes locked on mine, a smile of encouragement tugging at her lips.

I gently tugged her underwear down over her hips, exposing her pussy to my eager gaze.

Eva stepped out of the fabric one foot at a time, steady even in her excitement. I guided her back against the wall with a hand to her thigh. I kissed the inside of her knee and slowly worked my way up. Her scent—clean, sweet, familiar—filled my lungs, and I exhaled against her.

She threaded her fingers into my hair, letting her head tip back as I nuzzled into the juncture of her thighs. I licked a slow, deliberate line along her seam, then paused to kiss just beside it, teasing her the way she liked—gentle to start, coaxing her open.

“Lex,” she breathed. It wasn’t a plea. It was a warning.

I smiled against her skin. “I know.”

My tongue circled her clit, slow and rhythmic, and her knees buckled slightly. I caught her hips in my hands and pressed her tighter to the wall for balance, for leverage, for control.

Her breath quickened, short little exhales timed to the flick of my tongue. She grabbed my shoulder with one hand, the wall with the other. I loved her like this—uninhibited, not trying to be quiet or composed or polite.

"Oh God, that feels so good," she breathed.

Her moans turned guttural, deeper, edged with desperation. I could feel her trembling against my mouth, the strain in her thighs as she tried to hold still, as if she didn’t want to come just yet—or didn’t want to come like this.

She pressed her hips forward, insistent, her body saying what her mouth didn’t.

And then her hands were on me—gripping, clutching. Nails raked over my shoulders, not to push me away, but to pull me up.

She needed more.

She didn’t need to say the words. I knew what she wanted. I wish I had packed my strap so I could fuck her against the wall. But we didn’t really need the plastic. My fingers could handle the job.

I surged up, crashing into her mouth, and she sucked my tongue into her mouth. I knew my mouth probably tasted like her arousal.

“You taste good, huh?” I said, honest and undone.

“So do you.”

Her hand slid down the front of my linen pants and beneath my underwear. My knees buckled when solid, confident fingers slid along my slit. Her hand was gone nearly as quickly as it had made its appearance.

Something wild and feral flared in my chest to see her bring those fingers, wet with my own juices, up to her plush mouth. Eva sucked her fingertips clean and made a quiet sound of approval.

My arm went around her waist. “God, what you do to me, Eva,” I practically growled.

Her stare was bright. “It’s almost like I do it on purpose,” she declared with mock innocence.

She grabbed the front panels of my open shirt and yanked me closer. “C’mon. I need to feel your hands on me. In me.”

I unfastened the clasp that had secured her halter top at the base of her neck. The fabric slipped loose, revealing her breasts. My mouth found them instantly–her nipples already swollen and sensitive. I suckled and licked, tugging softly with my lips and teeth, and drew out the prettiest sounds from her equally pretty mouth.

My hand found its way back between her thighs, beneath her skirt. I slid two fingers between her folds, easing them inside with practiced care. The gasp she gave let me know she’d been wetter than I’d realized.

Eva moaned as I began to finger-fuck her against the wall. Her head fell back and her leg wrapped tighter around me, pulling us together so that our hips touched.

My fingers moved faster with every thrust. The sound of flesh on flesh filled the air along with our heavy breathing.

"God, I love your fingers," she groaned.

Her breathy praise was my favorite sound.

"Deeper," Eva murmured. "I want to feel you deeper."

I obliged, sliding my fingers further into her as she gasped in response. Her hips began to buck against me, meeting every thrust of my fingers as she sought to deepen the penetration.

"Harder," she breathed. Her eyes locked on mine, fierce and burning. "Fuck me harder."

I gave her everything. I increased the pace and pressure of my strokes, feeling Eva's muscles tense up in response. My thumb found its way to her clit, rubbing gently at first, then with more pressure as Eva's cries grew louder. She gasped, a loud and almost surprised noise, each time I curled my fingers inside of her.

Her control slipped with every thrust. "Yes, like that," she moaned. "Don't stop, don't stop ..."

The sounds she made—raw and unfiltered—were good for my ego, but they were also definitely loud. I hoped for good insulation between the resort rooms. There was no question as to what we were doing in our room.

"Fuck, you’re so tight," I grunted, my fingers never faltering. "I love how you feel around my fingers."

Eva's leg tightened around me, holding me in place as she rode my fingers with abandon. “Now, Lex," she demanded. "Make me come now."

I did. I pounded into her with renewed intensity, feeling Eva's muscles coiling tighter and tighter as she strained towards release. She convulsed around my fingers in a rush of heat and sound—body shaking, voice rising.

“Yes … oh, God… yes!”

The walls didn’t stand a chance against her cries. Let the whole resort wonder. There was no mistaking what was happening in our room.

And God, I hoped the night was just getting started.