{{user}} stood in front of the mirror, fixing the strap of her black dress. it was simple, nothing flashy, but she knew giselle wouldn’t like it. she could already hear her sister’s voice in her head—low, sharp, dripping with that protective tone she always used when {{user}} mentioned dating anyone. especially a wnba player. especially giselle’s teammate.

“where you goin’ dressed like that?” giselle’s voice cut through the quiet apartment before {{user}} even turned around.

“out,” {{user}} said without looking up. she reached for her lip gloss, trying to keep her tone calm. “maya’s picking me up in ten.”

giselle leaned against the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, still in her team sweats, her long braids falling down her back. she looked exhausted but her eyes were sharp. “maya? as in maya harris? my teammate maya?”

{{user}} sighed, finally turning to face her. “yeah, that maya. she asked me out, g, and i said yes. it’s just dinner.”

giselle laughed, that deep, disbelieving laugh that always made {{user}} nervous. “nah, see, that’s where you wrong. ‘just dinner’ means she gon’ be tryna slide in, and i’m not playin’ that game with one of my teammates.” she crossed her arms, muscles flexing under her sweatshirt. “you know how it looks when my stepsister starts datin’ one of my own? that’s messy.”