The phone buzzed on the campus coffee shop table, and Zoe looked at it without picking it up right away, which was what she did with any message when she was around people.
The name on the screen made her change her mind.
She picked up the phone and read the text.
The smile arrived before she could do anything to stop it.
It was brief, but visible enough for the three people seated around the table to stop talking at the same time.
"Who is it?" Daniela asked from across the table.
Daniela was the one who asked while the others were still processing. The other two, Maya and Sofía, already had their eyes fixed on Zoe with the same question.
The three friends who had taken her to the party last time and had subsequently disappeared inside the house while Zoe ended up in the backyard talking to someone she hadn't planned on meeting.
"Nobody," Zoe said.
"That smile isn't for nobody," Maya said.
"Nobody of importance," Zoe said, picking up her coffee cup.
"That's worse," Sofía said.
Zoe set the phone face down on the table and picked up her coffee cup as if nothing had happened. The three of them stared at her without moving, with that keen attention of friends who have been together long enough to know when someone is lying about something that isn't serious but prefers to keep to themselves anyway.
"Is it the guy from the party?" Daniela asked.
Zoe didn't answer, which was a way of answering.
"It is!" Maya said.
"The one who vanished the next morning," Sofía said. "The basketball player."
"He didn't vanish," Zoe said.
"You told us that when you woke up, he was looking for his clothes on the floor."
"That isn't vanishing. That's leaving."
"It's the same thing."
"It's not the same thing."
The three stared at her without moving.
"I have to go," Zoe said, grabbing her phone and her backpack off the floor.
"Where?" Daniela asked.
"To class."
"Class starts in forty minutes."
"I have things to do before class."
She walked out of the coffee shop before any of the three could ask more questions.
In the hallway, she paused next to the vending machine and typed her reply.
It took less than a minute.
Then she slipped her phone into her backpack pocket and kept walking toward the exit.
She didn't think much more about it.
Or she tried not to.
Not completely.
—
The restaurant was located in downtown Lexington, three blocks from the main square, featuring the kind of subtle facade typical of places that don't need to draw attention because the people who know them already know what they are. Aaron arrived eight minutes before seven. He asked for a booth in the back near the window overlooking the side alley, where light was dim and there was less chance of someone recognizing him the way people had been recognizing him since mid-season. He picked up the menu and looked at it without processing it.
Zoe arrived at seven-three. Aaron saw her walk in from the back.
She wore her curly hair down and had a dark coat that she hung on the rack near the entrance. It took her a moment to locate him because the back tables were slightly in shadow. When she found him, she walked over without rushing.
Aaron watched her approach.
He said nothing yet.
"You're late," Aaron said.
"Three minutes," Zoe said, taking a seat.
"Yeah."
"I got to the party before you did."
"I got to the party later."
"And you stayed longer."
Aaron didn't respond to that, but he didn't dispute the point either, which was a way of admitting it. Zoe picked up the menu the waiter had left on the table and opened it without looking at Aaron yet, carrying the calm of someone who knows she is being watched and has decided not to turn it into a game.
They ordered.
The waiter left.
Aaron picked up his glass of water.
Zoe observed him for a moment before starting.
"So," Zoe said, resting her elbows on the table. "March Madness."
"In three days."
"Nervous?"
"No," Aaron said.
Zoe looked at him.
"A little," Aaron said.
Zoe nodded.
It was the answer she expected, probably.
"When did you start playing?" Zoe asked.
"At five years old. Back when I was still in kindergarten."
"In Queens?"
"In Queens."
"What was Queens like?"
Aaron thought about how to describe it.
"Loud," he said. "And small. The apartment was small—it was just my mother and me in two rooms. But on the park court it was big, with a hoop on every corner, and there was always someone playing no matter what time of day it was."
"Does your mother watch your games?"
"When she can. She was at the Providence game. When we played in Brooklyn."
"By herself?"
"With Paola and Héctor. They're friends of hers. And with Mía."
"Who is Mía?"
Aaron unlocked his phone and searched through his photos. It took a moment. The photos from the past few months were mixed with game footage and tactical breakdown screenshots. He found the one he was looking for from December, in his mother's apartment kitchen on Christmas: Mía sitting on his knee with a stuffed gray elephant in her hands and the expression of someone who doesn't quite understand why people are taking pictures of her yet, but is willing to tolerate the process.
He handed the phone to Zoe.
"This one," he said.
Zoe looked at the photo for a moment.
"She's tiny."
"Two years old."
"Is she your niece?"
"Not exactly. She's Paola's daughter, who has been my mother's best friend since before I was born. Paola is like an aunt to me even if we're not related by blood. So Mía is like a niece, more or less."
"Do you get along with her?"
"She's obsessed with me."
Zoe looked at the photo for a couple more seconds before handing the phone back.
"She's adorable."
"Don't tell her that or it'll go to her head."
"She's two years old."
"Exactly."
Zoe laughed. It wasn't a loud burst, but something shorter and more genuine than that. Aaron recognized it: the same kind of laugh he had heard in the backyard at the party that first night, when he had said something without intending to be funny and it turned out to be.
"What about you?" Aaron said when the conversation about Mía reached its natural conclusion.
"What about me?"
"Your family."
Zoe leaned back in her chair.
"I'm an only child." Zoe rested her elbow on the table. "Always have been. Doesn't bother me." She paused. "My parents live in Louisville. My mother teaches at the college of education, and my father runs a construction company he started from scratch fifteen years ago. I go see them every two or three weeks when my major's schedule permits, which is less than I'd like."
"Do you miss Louisville?"
"I miss my mother's cooking more than anything else." She made a vague gesture toward her plate. "Louisville itself, not so much. Lexington isn't bad."
The food arrived.
The two ate without speaking for a moment. It was one of the things Zoe had noticed that first night: Aaron didn't fill silence out of obligation. He didn't add unnecessary words just to occupy space. That was rarer than people thought.
"What happens if you don't win the first game?" Zoe asked at one point, without taking her eyes off her plate.
Aaron raised his eyes from his plate.
"I don't know. I haven't thought about that."
"Liar."
Aaron looked at her for a moment.
"I've thought about it," he said. "But there's no useful answer to that question before playing the game."
"And what is a useful answer before the game?"
Aaron set his utensils down on the plate.
He leaned back in his chair.
Zoe observed him without saying anything, holding her glass of water between her fingers.
"People expect a lot of things from this team," Aaron said. "And now they expect a lot of things from me specifically. ESPN. The analysts. The NBA coaches who come to the games. The scouts. Everyone has an opinion on what I'm going to do in the tournament and what I'm not going to do, and everyone talks like they know. And that's fine, I get it—it's part of getting to this point." He paused. "But there are moments when it's a lot. Moments when you feel the weight of all those expectations at once and you have to remind yourself that the only game that matters is the next one, and that everything else doesn't exist until that game is over."
Zoe listened without interrupting. Without asking if he was alright. Without saying he shouldn't worry. Without doing any of the things people usually do when someone talks to them about pressure because they don't know what else to do. She just listened, which was the only thing Aaron needed at that moment.
"The Kansas State game is in three days," Aaron continued. "I don't know what's going to happen. Nobody knows for sure—that's the thing about the tournament. What I do know is that I'm going to walk out onto that court and do what I know how to do. And if there's anything that genuinely worries me, it's not whether I'm going to live up to what ESPN expects, but whether the team will be ready to respond when the pressure multiplies in those moments when games are decided."
Zoe nodded slowly, her elbows on the table and her full attention on him.
Zoe studied him for a moment. "Do you always talk like this?"
"Like what?" Aaron said.
"Like someone who is fifty years old."
Aaron looked at her.
"My mother tells me that exact same thing. That I talk like I'm fifty."
"And what do you say?"
"That she's right."
"Then your mother is right."
Zoe didn't ask any further questions about expectations or the tournament. Aaron didn't mention them again either. That part of the conversation had reached where it needed to go, and both understood that without either having to say it.
They kept eating. The conversation shifted directions on its own, without either forcing anything or trying to keep it on any specific topic. It moved from games to post-college plans, and at some point they drifted into an argument over whether it was possible to drink coffee after eight at night without affecting sleep, in which Zoe held a firm stance based on personal experience and Aaron had data that Zoe ignored.
At some point in that conversation, Zoe had leaned toward him across the table, elbows resting, eyes on him.
At some point after that, something under the table shifted.
Zoe's leg began to move slowly until it rested against Aaron's.
Unhurried.
Aaron registered it.
He kept looking at her without saying a word.
Zoe kept talking about eight-o'clock coffee as if nothing had changed, her voice carrying the exact same tone as before, though both knew something had shifted.
"If you want," Zoe said in a low voice, without taking her eyes off Aaron's, "I could help you relax a little before everything starts."
Aaron looked at her.
Then he looked at the table.
He looked back at her.
Something in the conversation had ended, and something different was about to begin.
"Check, please," he said to the waiter.
—
Later, Zoe was lying on her side with the sheet up to her waist, and Aaron was lying beside her.
Both staring at the same ceiling.
The room was dark except for the light filtering in from the street through the half-drawn blinds.
Neither said anything for a moment.
There was no need to.
"What are we?" Aaron asked, after the silence had lasted long enough.
Zoe turned toward him to get a better look.
"I don't know," Zoe said. She turned to look at him better, her hair still slightly disheveled and the sheet pulled up to her waist. "What do you want us to be?"
"I don't know either," Aaron said. "But I don't mind not knowing. Not right now."
Zoe considered that for a moment.
"I'd like to keep getting to know you," Zoe said finally. "No labels yet. No pressure from either side." She made a vague gesture with her hand that she didn't quite finish with words, but the intent was clear.
Aaron considered that.
Then he nodded once.
Once was enough.
They both knew it.
"Works for me."
It was the simplest answer Aaron had given all night.
And the most direct.
And the most honest.
It was true.
Zoe smiled slightly.
Silence followed.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
Zoe settled in beside him.
Her head slightly turned toward him without quite resting entirely on him.
Aaron didn't move.
The room was quiet.
"What about the tournament?" Zoe asked without opening her eyes.
"The tournament is in three days," Aaron said.
"Then you still have time."
"Something like that."
Zoe closed her eyes.
Aaron kept looking at the ceiling.
He thought about tomorrow's practice. About Kansas State. About Calipari. About Julius. About the bracket.
About everything coming in four days.
Then he stopped thinking about it.
Not all at once.
It happened slowly, like when the volume on something is turned down until it can no longer be heard.
Until nothing was left.
And that was fine.
Outside, Lexington remained a midnight city.
Aaron Reed lay in the dark, thinking about Zoe breathing softly beside him.
And thinking that, for the time being, that was enough.
It was enough for tonight.
The rest could wait.
Authors thought
Okay, guys, here's a new idea for Aaron's team in the draft: the Trail Blazers. And before anyone says anything or questions how they could pull this off, they'd do it by trading Aaron for LaMarcus Aldridge when the Cavs acquire him instead of Love. After all, Aldridge also wanted to leave the Blazers, and he did just that the following season by joining the Spurs. So think about it—how would Aaron and Lillard look on the same team? Let me know what you think in the comments.
What did you think of today's chapter? Give me your opinions and thoughts.
For football fans, check out my other fanfic, *The Golden Standard*, and discover the story of Wyatt Sterling.
Don't forget to subscribe to my Patreon to get more than 15 chapters in advance! https://www.patreon.com/c/merchant17
I created a Discord server! For those who want to join, the link will be here and on my profile https://discord.gg/X8sKyHpzz I also added some character images on Discord, so go check them out!
For everyone subscribing to my Patreon: if you're using an Apple device, avoid doing it through the app! Apple charges a commission, and you'll end up paying more. It's better to subscribe through the website instead.
I would also love to hear your thoughts on both stories so far, and if you have any suggestions
I also fixed the Discord link so joined