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taure-annie · 10 months ago

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Gasoline

→ premise: Paige’s first team dinner as an official WNBA rookie has ended well - but now, in the back of an Uber, it's just the two of you and the energy between you feels different. (WNBA!AU)

→ word count: 2.3K

The team thins out slowly, one by one, as players and coaches drift from the comforting heat of the restaurant entrance to into Ubers, their mindless conversations fading with each utterance of ‘bye’ and ‘see you at practice’.

It’s damp and biting, with a faint mist hovering, leaving you shivering even in your thick jacket. Your fingers feel stiff from the chill, fumbling as you toggle through ride-share apps, willing one driver—just one—to brave the thick, traffic-choked streets for the pick-up.

Bri glances over, her body bouncing slightly as her teeth chatter, breath fogging in the air. “You still looking?” she asks, taking quick peeks at her phone - her ride is a cosy 5 minutes away.

You sigh, clutching your phone tightly against the creeping numbness. “Yeah - I’m gonna be standing here for fucking forever. You think I’m playing, but I swear this is the last time I’m coming out to this side of town.”

Bri snickers, pulling her coat tight. “Should’ve just ordered whe—” She breaks off, glancing over your shoulder with a glint in her eye. “Why don’t you share a ride with the rook - aren't you’re both on the same side of town?”

You turn, catching sight of Paige - the rook in question - standing just a few paces away, head bent over her own screen, her face bathed in soft light. She glances up at the sound of her new nickname, her eyes meeting yours briefly, and you turn back to Bri, ready to wave it off. “Nah, I’ll just wai-”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Paige cuts in. She steps closer, creating a circle between you, her and Bri. “You live around Ross Way right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding, “but it’s a bit of a drive, they’re gonna charge you crazy. It’d be too much.”

Paige shrugs, undeterred. She’s closer now. “It’s fine - better than waiting all night.”

“Listen to the rook,” Bri pipes up, her elbow nudging you as she speaks. “She’s got wisdom.”

You throw her quick look, but the protest within you dies when your Uber app still reads ‘Still finding a rider’. Would it be that bad to share a ride?

“Enter your address,” Paige hands you her phone and your fingers shakily type your address.

“Thanks,” you say, handing her phone back.

Eventually, Bri is gone. Her body warm in the back of her ride as she speeds off home and then it’s just you and Paige, waiting out the longest 7 minutes known to man.

Her hands are nestled in her trouser pockets, and she rocks on the balls of her feet. Despite her every breath being magnified with tufts of mist, her jacket hangs at the crook of her elbow.

“You’re not cold?”

She’s momentarily torn away from her unending gaze into packed streets and passes you a quick smile. “Nah - all the rounds you bought are keeping me warm enough.”

“You’re welcome,” You say, your mind briefly going into the eventual conversation you’d have with your accountant justifying the reckless spending with the words ‘team bonding’.

Soon enough, your - well, Paige's, Uber appears, rolling to a stop with its engine humming softly. Paige gestures for you to get in first, and the comforting warmth of the car rushes over you as you slide into the back seat - you silently thank Bri at this point. The door clicks shut, sealing you into the dimly lit space, and you’re only just settling in when Paige follows, close enough that she brushes against you in the tight space. Her faint perfume mingles with the scent of leather seats and the lingering trace of your own.

You’re the first to crack the almost awkward silence, feeling pushed to do solely because you’d hijacked her ride home and it’d be nothing less than rude for you to pull out your airpods. “So, how’d you find your first team dinner?”

She looks up from her phone screen. “It was good,” she pauses thinking for a moment before a corner of her lip goes up. “Do you guys usually go that hard though?”

You scoff and shake your head, “it’s literally because it’s your first dinner - we wanted to give you a good welcome onto the team.” Your head tilts back onto the headrest, feeling the almost sickly rush of alcohol wash over you. “Everyone’s too old and tired to do this every time.”

“Ah, I see,” she’s nodding with mock gravity. “Well, I appreciate it. Coach was near enough on the floor. That fucking killed me.”

“Met too,” You laugh, pulling out your phone, the cold glow lighting up your face. “I nearly died at that too. I think Bri posted it on her close friends…” You scroll through your feed, fingers stumbling over the screen as you swipe, searching.

You feel the seat shift as Paige leans in, close enough that you catch a faint trace of her perfume, something woody and expensive. Her shoulder brushes yours, and for some reason, the small point of contact is almost electric. It’s then that you’re suddenly all too aware of how small the back of the uber is, and maybe it’s the remnants of Tequila still flowing through you, but you realise just how close she is. It’s not the same kind of closeness as when you’re talking to someone like Bri or AJ. No, it’s different and what makes it so different is that you’re actually taking notice of the soft brush of her breath settling on your cheek as she glances over at your screen.

Your skin lights up in goosebumps.

The scrolling slows, your fingers hovering just above the keypad, attempting to conjure Bri’s instagram handle, but they falter as you - no, both, because there’s no way she doesn’t see her name bolded two times in your search bar. You'd typed it in wrong the first time (which explains entry 1), fumbling over the letters before quickly googling the correct spelling, but now it's right there, staring back at you.

You can feel the smirk when she speaks, “I didn’t know you were a fan too.”

“Fan? I was just doing research-”

Your still speaking when your phone is out of her hands and into her longer ones. She humming in mock agreement as she clicks on her profile, bringing the page of pictures you’d looked through up on your screen. For what it was worth, you had been doing research, nothing nefarious but in the face of said person noticing their name in your search bar, it was less than believable. It’s embarrassing really - it wouldn’t have been crazy if you had just followed her.

“There” She presses the follow button, “You can now officially keep tabs on me.” her voice is soft, playful, but with an edge that makes you feel pinned.

When she passes your phone back, the graze of her fingertips feel unjustifiably electric.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first in the team to not follow me back yet,” she says, the brief flicker of resigned annoyance betrays her ‘this-doesn’t-bother-me-at-all’ attitude. “So,” she says, her tone dropping to something a bit more curious, “what do the others really think of me? You know, the team.”

You glance at her, surprised by the sudden question, but her eyes are fixed on you, unwavering, waiting for an honest answer.

“They think you’re good. There’s respect there and we’re happy to have you on the team.”

She watches you closely, and for a moment, it’s like she’s evaluating you, sizing you up. Then she leans back with a smirk, eyes still on you.

“You don’t wanna tell me what you really think, do you?” she asks, the challenge clear in her voice.

There’s a shift in the air, and your heartbeat picks up, but you swallow, glancing at her and keeping your stare just as steady. “No, I think you’re good … You’re the first draft pick for a reason.”

She tilts her head, the playful expression not fading, but there’s a weight to her gaze now. Something sharp, something that leaves you feeling exposed and caught up in the current between you two.

You’re caught in the silence that follows, the kind that presses in on you, thick and unnerving. It’s the kind of silence that reporters use - just a gap, a beat too long, forcing you to fill it, to offer up something more, even when you don’t want to. Paige’s eyes never leave you, and the tension feels like it’s building with each passing second. It scares you.

Her lips curl into a barely-there smile, almost mocking, but her stare remains intense , just daring you to break.

But she breaks first. You’re not new to the silent tactic.

“So…?” she prompts, her voice deliberate. “Just be honest. I’m not gonna start crying.”

You feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the air.

“I think… I think there’s a lot of hype around you, that’s all.” Your words come out slow, careful and just as deliberate as her, “I mean, you’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t necessarily think it can hold when you’re really out there on the court.”

“That’s what you think? That I’m just a product of hype?”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s trying to pull more out of you, like she’s testing how far you’ll go. You glance at her, feeling both intrigued and nothing less than disarmed. You curse the alcohol.

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, keeping your tone casual, “being the ‘golden girl’ can’t be all it’s cracked up to be. College basketball isn’t the same as being in the ‘W’.”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead letting the silence hang between you two, the weight of your words sinking in. The car’s hum and the city noises outside seem to fade, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in this quiet tension.

“I guess we’ll see,” She says.

If you were asked to describe life at this moment, you’d say that you were continuously all too aware of everything and anything. And it’s all because of her.

“I don’t mind proving things,” she continues.

The car pulls up to a stoplight, and for a split second, the moment feels suspended in time with her words hanging in the small space between you both. You can’t help but think it feels like a promise - or maybe a dare. Not about the court, but about something more that you don’t want to pinpoint.

“That’s good,” you’ve broken the staring contest of sorts, now looking out the window as the car pulls off again, taking you one mile extra to escaping whatever this was.

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, but this time, her gaze is fixed, unwavering, almost daring you to do something—anything. Her lips twitch, like she’s caught between amusement and something else, something that sends a thrill through you.

For the first time, you let your own eyes fall to her lips, and that’s all it takes. You don’t even think; you just lean in, slow and steady, as if testing the waters.

Her breath hitches, her hand subtly shifting closer, and in the next instant, she meets you halfway. There’s no hesitation. It’s a kiss that comes out of nowhere, full of fire and heat, but still tentative, still testing. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades.

The kiss deepens as she brushes lightly against your cheek, pulling you just a little closer. You feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her lips, and for a moment, everything is just her. It’s different from anything you expected - it’s intense and she’s in charge, and you’re following her like you’d never produced a single thought.

Just as quickly as it started, you pull away, breathless, your lips tingling. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re unsure whether you want to be closer to her or further away. The air between you is thick, electrified with the aftermath of the kiss, and all you can hear is the sound of your breathing mingling in the small space.

“Fuck - sorry, just ignore what the fuck that was.”

But before you can pull completely away, Paige’s hand is on your jaw, holding you in place as she leans in again, this time with a quiet intensity that catches you off guard. Her lips meet yours again, more deliberate this time. And when she nips at your bottom lip, you gasp, before letting her completely take you over as her tongue glides across yours.

She’s pulling you into her and only her and you’re letting her.

“Don’t apologise,” she murmurs, against your mouth.

Her hands take over, one holding you in place and the other at your knee, inching up closer and closer with what felt like each intoxicating breath.

The car’s headlights cut through the darkness as it pulls up to the curb, the engine slowing to a stop in front of a modern, apartment building surrounded by tall, shadowed trees. You blink, slowly but surely coming back to yourself, but you’re still lodged in her all encompassing touch willing yourself to pull away.

For a moment, the air between you is heavy, the night outside the car feeling distant, almost unreal.

“I’m guessing this your …” You start, your eyes darting to the building.

“Apartment,” She finishes, breaking the stare and now it feels like she’s also back down to earth.

She’s on her phone, the Uber app recognisable as she fiddles with the interface.

“Guess that’s our stop,” Paige says.

“Our?”

She nods, “Yeah, ours”

There’s no uncertainty in her voice, no hesitation. Just the faintest hint of amusement playing on her lips as she taps away on her phone.

Before you can respond, the sound of the app’s notification cuts through the silence. Paige cancels the rest of the ride with a casual swipe of her finger. And you don’t protest.

***

A/N

Club Classics ... well, that was fun. I wonder what happens next 🤭🤭

And do any of you diva's listen to Mk.Gee?

#paige bueckers #paige x reader #uconn wbb #uconn x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers angst #ncaa wbb #ncaaw #wcbb #uconn huskies

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