The University of Connecticut—national champions again. Paige, the redshirt senior, had finally completed the story she'd started years ago.

Well... she had one more thing to accomplish. One that was now officially legal.

The NCAA trophy sat center stage on a plateau draped in UConn blue. Nika was the first to hit the makeshift dance floor. Ice on her wrist, and then Paige.

You could see her looking, no, scrutinizing you. Arms up as a shield and aversing, yet Paige still drags your reluctant self out under the disco lights.

Paige rests her forehead against yours, eyes closed for a second too long; long enough to forget the thousand people watching her be so intimate with the team’s manager.

“Dance with me,” Paige didn't ask, she urged. Heart punching your ribs, you decide to stay indifferent. “You dance?”

“I’ve won a natty and dropped 28 on South Carolina,” Paige said, tugging you toward the center by your hips, championship ring already glimmering under the strobes.

“Tonight I can do anything.” And somehow, in the middle of that spinning, screaming room, you understood that there was a double meaning behind the words she said, and she meant it.