Hustle and Heart

chapter-2: Rivals

♡Maxinne~

Journalism was a scam.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but tell that to my three-week-old sleep deprivation and the fact that even during vacation, my inbox was cluttered with internship requirements, article revisions, and emails from professors who acted like they were running a national news outlet.

"Max, you look like you’re about to pass out," Abby says, shoving an iced coffee toward me as she makes herself comfortable across the table, scrolling her phone. Probably catching up on whatever campus drama had unfolded overnight.

A fashion major with a talent for turning last-minute outfits into Pinterest-worthy looks, Abby somehow balanced being the university’s unofficial gossip hub with looking effortlessly put together at all times.

We met during our first week when she got stuck inside a campus vending machine.

Like, inside inside.

I was just trying to get a bottle of water when I turned the corner and found her half-wedged into the machine, one arm trapped behind the snack row like she’d been personally wronged by a bag of Doritos. Apparently, she’d dropped her student ID inside and decided that climbing in was the logical solution.

I groaned, dramatically dropping my head onto the table. "That's because I am about to pass out. If I have to write one more article on ‘The Importance of Ethical Reporting in Digital Media,’ I’m going to throw myself into the nearest recycling bin and hope for the best."

Abby snorted. "Why recycling?"

"Because at least there, someone might find me useful."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re being ridiculous. You need a break. Which is why you’re coming with me to the game tonight."

I blinked. "The what?"

"The game. Blackwood Eagles vs. Sylvaris Raptors. The biggest rivalry of the season."

I stared at her blankly.

She sighed. "It’s basketball, Max. You know, tall men, running around, chasing a ball, looking ridiculously attractive while doing it?"

"That’s football."

"Same concept, but with hands," she said, waving me off. "The point is, this is your chance to see the hottest guys in both universities in one place. If you’re ever going to make questionable life choices, now’s the time."

I snorted. "I don’t make questionable life choices."

"You literally sell the same cat over and over again."

"That’s entrepreneurship."

"That’s fraud."

"Potato, po-tah-to."

She gave me a look. "So you’re coming?"

I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly a sports person—trust me, I was on the girls’ football team in high school, and let’s just say it wasn’t exactly fun being the one who had the ball smacked in my face every time I set foot on the field, only to end up in the infirmary. After that, I swore off football—and sports in general. But if I ended up landing the university’s field reporter gig, which I was really hoping for, I’d probably have to work with the players. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see just how serious this rivalry actually was, plus I seriously neededa break.

I sighed. "Fine. But if I die of boredom, I’m haunting you."

**

The gymnasium was already packed when we arrived. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, overpriced popcorn, and whatever cologne the players were drowning themselves in. Students decked out in their team’s colors filled the bleachers, and the energy was practically buzzing.

"Wow," I muttered, taking in the chaos. "People take this seriously."

Abby grinned. "Rivalries are like religion here. If you’re not screaming at the opposing team, are you even a real fan?"

"Hard pass on the screaming, thanks."

We found seats near the front, where the view of the court was painfully clear. The players were already warming up—stretching, dribbling, casually looking like they walked straight out of a Nike ad.

And that’s when I saw him.

Standing on the opposite side of the court, clad in the Blackwood Eagles’ black and gold jersey, was him—the same expensive-looking guy who had lectured me about feeding strays while throwing his cigarette on the ground like a hypocrite.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

"Um, Abby?" I said, my voice slightly strangled.

"Yeah?"

"You remember that jerk I told you about? The one with the cigarette and the unsolicited life advice?"

She popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "Vaguely. Why?"

I pointed toward the court, where he was now effortlessly sinking a three-pointer, his teammates clapping him on the back like he was some kind of god.

Abby followed my gaze. Then her eyes widened.

"Oh s**t," she whispered. Then she grinned. "Max, do you know who that is?"

"Not really," I muttered. “But I for sure know that he's a pain in the ass.”

"No, you Neanderthal, that is Rafe Bentley. Star player. Absolute legend. Rich as hell. Also rumored to be the biggest heartbreaker on campus."

I groaned. "Of course he is."

Abby’s grin turned positively wicked. "This is so much better than I expected."

I shot her a glare. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

“Whatever you're thinking, just don't”. I pointed at her popcorn. "Give me that so I can throw it at you."

She cackled. "Oh, Max, this is going to be so much fun."

I sank lower into my seat, practically folding myself into the smallest version of a human possible. If I could have melted into the bleachers, I would have. Maybe I should’ve brought a hat. Or sunglasses. Or a disguise—anything to make sure Rafe Bentley didn’t accidentally glance in my direction.

Not that he'd even remember me. But just in case—for my own peace of mind—I made it my personal mission to stay as invisible as humanly possible.

Abby, of course, was no help whatsoever.

“You look like you’re trying to avoid the mafia,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter.

“Shut up,” I hissed, keeping my eyes firmly locked on the court, as if pretending to be deeply invested in the game would make me blend in.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she continued, nudging my arm. “He’s not even looking over here. And even if he did, what’s the worst that could happen?.”

I ignored her.

For the most part, my plan was working. The game was intense enough that everyone was focused on the players, and I was free to exist quietly in the background, minding my own business.

Until the final minute.

The scoreboard read 85-83, with Blackwood Eagles trailing by two points. The atmosphere grows thick with anticipation. If the Eagles didn’t score in the next few seconds, Sylvaris Raptors would take the championship—basically the Raptors has the upperhand for now but somehow I could feel the tension.

The Eagles’ point guard passed the ball to Rafe.

And just like that, the entire stadium held its breath.

I held my breath.

He was standing way beyond the three-point line—way beyond. More than halfway across the court. It was a full-court shot, the kind only people with absurd talent, confidence, or recklessness even attempted.

The seconds on the clock ticked down.

5…4…3…

And then, mid-dribble, his gaze flicked up.

Right to me.

I froze.

For a split second, his expression was unreadable. Then, just as quickly, his eyes flickered down—to my hand.

I followed his gaze, my stomach sinking.

Oh.

The Raptors flag.

The Sylvaris Raptors flag that Estelle had forced into my hands earlier, saying, "You need something to wave around so you don’t look like a total fake fan."

Gosh why does this feel uncomfortable.

I was just supporting my home team like everyone else, but the way he looked at me like I'd committed an offense—as if it was my fault they were two points behind made me grip the flag a little tighter.

His smirk twitched, then, in one fluid motion, he snapped his focus back to the game.

2…

He stepped back, adjusting his grip.

1…

He shot.

The ball arced through the air, high and impossibly clean, slicing through the tension like a knife.

The entire gymnasium went silent.

Even I forgot to breathe.

And then—The net swished. Nothing but net.

The stadium exploded.

Cheers, screams, the sound of the buzzer signaling the end of the game. The Blackwood Eagles had won—I am supposed to feel disappointed but apologetically I feel nothing, maybe It was because I barely knew the rules of basketball.

I could not help but glance at the rival team as they rushed him, pulling him into a celebratory pile, but not before he cast one last glance in my direction—flashing a mockery grin.

……

I pulled my jacket tighter as we stepped out of the stadium. The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the packed, overheated gymnasium. Most of the crowd had filtered out, some heading to their cars, others already making their way to the post-game celebrations.

Abby was busy scrolling through her phone, probably checking updates on where the after-party was. I was debating whether I could disappear home without her noticing when a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Well, well.”

I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

I looked up anyway.

Rafe Bentley stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his Eagles jacket, his usual smirk in place.

Of course. Of course I’d run into him again.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “What happened? Here to congratulate me? Just so you know that i don't accept a peck”

I let out an unimpressed laugh. “Yeah, definitely. That’s why I’m here. To personally tell you what an absolute joy it was to watch you crush my team”

He let out a low chuckle. “Your team, huh?” His eyes flicked down to the Raptors flag still clutched in my hand. He lifted a brow. “Didn’t take you for the loyal type.”

“I didn’t take you for the incredibly annoying type, and yet here we are,” I shot back.

His smirk deepened, like he was enjoying this. “Oh, come on. You can admit it. That shot was impressive.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” he repeated, incredulous. “That was a full-court, buzzer-beater championship-winning shot. If you’re going to pretend to hate me, at least do it properly.”

“I—” . “—Rafe” I was cut off by the same dark-haired girl from before, the one who had picked him up after our first encounter.

“Congratulations,” she grins, then before I could process what was happening—she walked straight up to him, and kissed him.

Not just a casual, congratulatory peck.

A full-on, over-the-top, in-front-of-everyone kiss.

I blinked.

He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her back, then pulled away with the same relaxed ease he always carried. Like it was expected. Routine. And turns back as if nothing had happened.

I scrunch my face.

His grin widens as he notices my readable expression. "You know, people say judging too much sends you straight to hell.” He said,

“I wasn't—

“ —and who might this be?” The girl cuts in, finally acknowledging me.

They both stare at me momentarily waiting for a response.

“Uh… Max?” I blink, my brain completely short-circuiting. Great. I just forgot my own name for a second. How does that even happen?

She nods casually. “I'm Vivi, there's going to be a post-game party at the sky hotel tonight. You guys should come.”

“Oh, Max here is loyal to the Raptors. She wouldn't want to be caught in the Eagles' lair.” Rafe cuts in, his tone almost taunting.

I force an eye roll. Something about him saying my name so casually just doesn’t sit right with me.

Vivienne, however, doesn’t seem fazed. She shoots him a playful look before turning back to us.

“Well, if you change your mind, the girls' lounge at Sky Hotel is always open. You’re both welcome to come and join us for some fun.”

She’s oddly relaxed about it—no pressure, no smugness. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t expected her to be one of those perfect-on-the-outside, mean-on-the-inside types you see in movies. But she’s actually… nice. Chill, even.

“I mean, Max, I’d love to go, but… you know how it is,” Abby finally speaks up, casting me a look. “Connor’s with the Raptors, and showing up at an Eagles' party would be kind of… scandalous.”

She’s not wrong. Her boyfriend plays power forward for the Raptors, and even though this rivalry isn’t exactly life-or-death, basketball culture makes it a thing. Not that I personally care—I just want to go home.

Vivienne waves a hand dismissively. “Well, if you change your mind, it doesn’t matter what team you’re on—you’re always welcome.”

And just like that, Rafe throws an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward the parking lot. “See you around, Max,” he calls over his shoulder.

“God, I hope not,” I mutter under my breath.

Abby hums in amusement. “So. That was… something.”

I give her a dry look. “Everything is something.”

She grins like she’s just waiting for me to crack. “Was it just me, or did everyone feel the tension?”

I huff. “Goodness, Abigail. You read too many romances. There was no tension.”

Her grin only widens. “Sure, sure. Say whatever you want, but I definitely picked up some flirty energy.”

I roll my eyes. “He wasn’t flirting. He clearly has a girlfriend. You’re making it weird.”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “Didn’t seem like he was taken. And if he was, he wouldn’t be flirting.”

“He wasn’t flirting,” I repeat, though even to my own ears, the words sound weaker now. “Can we just let it go? I’m starving. Let’s go to Taco Bell.”

For once, she drops it. But the smug look on her face tells me this isn’t over.

We slide into my car, and Abby sighs dramatically. “If it wasn’t for my loyalty to Connor, we’d be eating five-star food at Sky Hotel right now. Instead, here we are, on our way to Taco Bell.”

I start the engine. “Don’t disrespect Taco Bell like that.”

She side-eyes me. “You don’t understand. Sky Hotel is next level. Vivienne’s parents own the place. She throws insane parties for big games. Exclusive guest lists, ridiculous food, fancy cocktails—it’s like a whole other world.”

I smirk. “You sound a little too loyal.”

She shrugs. “Guilty. But I’m not the one with a Raptors loyalty contract, am I? And besides, I’m in this because you refuse to socialize with me.”

“Right. Blame me.”

She ignores my sarcasm. “Anyway, how are you holding up with the trip next week? I wish I could go on a university-funded, stress-free three-day vacation.”

I let out a short laugh. “More like stress on steroids. It’s only been a week since they had me working for The Woodland Chronicles, and now they’re throwing another assignment at us. I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.”

Abby winces. “Yikes. What’s the deal this time?”

“Some off-the-grid investigative feature. My editor made it sound ‘exciting’—which is just a fancy way of saying it’ll be a logistical nightmare.”

She whistles low. “Well. That sounds awful.”

I sigh. “Yeah, well, at least I’ll be getting credits for it.”

Abby perks up. “Sounds like you’ll need a major mental reset before that trip. How about a movie marathon tomorrow? My place. Zero thoughts, just popcorn and questionable plot choices.”

I hesitate, already picturing the pile of unfinished work on my desk. But then I also picture the alternative—spending my last free weekend spiraling into an overworked coma.

“Tempting,” I say. “What’s on the menu?”

She grins. “Disaster movies. The dumber, the better.”

I snort. “basically, you’re offering me a break from my actual nightmare with fictional ones.”

“At least they come with dramatic explosions and people outrunning tsunamis in high heels.”

"Fine. I’m in. But if we hit a slow-motion kissing scene right before a disaster strike, I’m throwing off your remote."

Abby cackles. “You're so unromantic. But just so you know, I have a spare.”