Game Time

by Kate Christie

  “Then what are you doing, Emma? Because it doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.”

  She considered Maddie’s question. “Honestly? I don’t have any idea.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. In theory, we’re trying to be friends.”

  “And how’s that going?”

  “Fine. If you don’t count the constant urge to hold her hand and tell her how pretty she is.” There was the whole being in love with her thing, too, but she didn’t plan on admitting that to anyone yet, not even to Jamie. Especially not Jamie.

  “Been there done that.” Maddie paused, and her voice changed. “Hold on. Where’s the calendar?”

  Emma sighed. “Why do you need a calendar?”

  “Because Emma Control Freak Blakeley admitted she’s winging something. Gotta be a first.”

  “You couldn’t just be nice, could you?”

  “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

  Emma repositioned her earplugs and slid the eyeshade back into place. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  “Sweet dreams. I’m sure they will be.”

  She held up her middle finger, smiling as muffled laughter rose from the other bed.

  But saying she was going to sleep was one thing. Succeeding at the undertaking was another matter. In the dark everything looked different. Along with the occasional rattle of the windowpanes from a passing truck, with the sporadic sound of water moving between walls came the thoughts she would rather avoid. In her bed that smelled of Jamie—cinnamon and a hint of coconut, maybe—Emma remembered all the reasons they weren’t supposed to be together. She remembered Sam and the police station, the faceless harassers on Twitter and the look on Sam’s face as she left the loft for the last time. She remembered France and the way Jamie had cried all over her sweatshirt the day she shared what had happened to her shortly before they met. She remembered Tori and the veiled comments she was still fielding nine freaking years later. She remembered her commitment to the team, and she remembered telling her mother she would never jeopardize team chemistry so close to the World Cup.

  But then she pictured Jamie, with her soft smiles and her warm eyes. Jamie, who only a few days ago had looked at her like she wished they never had to see each other again. That look had nearly killed her. If she could, Emma would have taken back those first few days of camp when she had been so concerned with her own feelings that she hadn’t stopped to think how her behavior might impact Jamie. And while Jamie had insisted that her off day had nothing to do with her, Emma wasn’t sure that was true. She got it, she really did. Jamie could have been having a bad day all on her own because there are some things that people don’t ever get over—like being assaulted in the back room of a bar, or losing your barely middle-aged father to a heart attack before you had the chance to forgive him. But as soon as they’d made up, as soon as they’d decided to move forward, Jamie’s shoulders had relaxed and her smile had come back.

  Ignoring her was impossible, and avoiding her only made things worse. Clearly there was only one good option. The fact that it aligned with her deepest hopes, well, that was purely coincidental.

  And while yes, their wounds would always be with them, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy. With enough time and healing, with an adequate supply of love and joy, most human beings could get past most things. You still carried the memory of pain in the back of your head, and it was still ready to leap to the forefront if anything else traumatic or awful happened, but for the most part it lay dormant, a reminder of what you had survived—like surgery scars or, in some cases, tattoos. You carried it with you, and if you were lucky, somewhere along the way you found people willing to help shoulder the burden.

  She was lucky—soccer had brought her not only her closest friends and current career but Jamie. Jamie, who still looked at Emma sometimes the way she had all those years ago—like everything someday would be okay. Or, even better, the way she had tonight while they cuddled in her hotel room: like everything already was okay.

  #

  Jamie knew she was playing with fire. Or, more precisely, with her future on the national team. Teammates weren’t supposed to date. There wasn’t an actual line item on the federation’s contract, Ellie had told her when she oh so casually broached the subject, but involvement with a teammate was actively discouraged. In her own defense, it wasn’t like she had a choice. When Emma wasn’t speaking to her she’d played like crap, and now that they were doing something that could loosely be termed friendship (if friendship involved corny daydreams about going on dates and, say, adopting a rescue mutt together), she was playing well again. In fact, she was playing “awesomely,” which she knew because Mel had pulled her aside and told her as much.

  If she was in trouble either way, she might as well do what made her happy off the field while simultaneously helping her kick ass on it.

  Four days down, four to go, Jamie told herself at breakfast the morning after she and Emma watched Pitch Perfect with Maddie and Angie on what had felt suspiciously like a double date. Instead of reassuring herself, though, acknowledging the ever-present countdown only made her feel worse because if she didn’t make the team, when would she see Emma again? Not, how would she deal with the let-down for failing to achieve a life goal but how would she deal with having her excuse to see Emma ripped away?

  Yeah. So much for being focused on soccer.

  Scenes from the previous evening came back to her as she sat down at an empty table and tried not to watch Emma in her adorable flannel pajama pants and pink bunny slippers making her adorable way through the breakfast buffet line. At first, she’d tried to hold herself separate from Emma the night before, aware that they were reclining ON EMMA’S BED. TOGETHER. But once Emma had snuggled up against her, she’d rapidly acquiesced to the other woman’s touchy-feely tendencies. A few days into their reclaimed friendship and Emma was as handsy as she’d ever been—and Jamie was as okay with her handsiness as she’d ever been. Which was highly okay. No use pretending otherwise. She was highly okay with most things involving Emma Blakeley.

  Her level of okayness was apparently evident to others, as she discovered when Maddie slid in across from her and declared, “Before Emma gets here, I want to know one thing: What are your intentions with my friend?”

  Jamie stared at her. “Wha—what?”

  “You heard me, Max. Because if you hurt her, I will end you.” And Maddie narrowed her blue eyes, one eyebrow arched in the pose Jamie had witnessed on the cover of more than one magazine.

  “I don’t have—I don’t really…” But before she could force out a suitable grade school response like none of your freaking business, Maddie lost the battle she was apparently waging with her own face and smirked.

  “No—did you do it without me?” Angie dropped her plate on the table. “Dude, you said you were going to wait!”

  “Sorry, babe, had to strike while the iron was hot.”

  “Ew,” Emma said, sitting down beside Jamie. “Hot irons—I told you not to talk about your BDSM stuff before I’ve had my coffee. Seriously, Maddie.”

  “BDSM?” Angie’s forehead creased.

  “Ignore her. She’s joking,” Maddie said.

  “Right.” Angie peered down at her bacon.

  “Honestly, Ange, I’m not into that kind of thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. What consenting adults choose to do is between them.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Emma sounded genuinely worried. “Have you guys not had the branding talk yet? My bad. I just assumed. You usually have by this point.”

  Maddie wasn’t laughing anymore, and it was all Jamie could do to keep from squeeing and confessing her undying love—not literally, of course—to Emma for flipping the table on the bodacious blonde.

  “Emma,” the blonde in question said, “stop trying to freak out my girlfriend.”

  Jamie watched as Emma frowned slightly. “Honestly, Mads, shouldn’t you have told her about your— pr
edilections before you made it official? I would have thought you’d have learned after what happened with Parker.”

  “Parker?” Angie’s head shot up. “As in, Parker Van Howell from the men’s team?”

  Maddie ignored her, gaze sharpening on her friend. “You saw me messing with Jamie, didn’t you?”

  Emma shrugged and took a sip from her coffee mug. “Maybe.”

  “You are such a bitch.”

  “Takes one…” Emma winked, and Jamie finally let herself giggle.

  “So wait,” Angie said. “There’s no sexytimes branding and no Parker, right?”

  Maddie huffed. “Trust me, you would know by now if there was.”

  Angie’s face relaxed as she let out a pent-up breath. And then, unexpectedly, she started laughing. “Damn, Blake,” she said, and held up her hand for a high five. “You’re sneakier than I thought. You almost had me.”

  Emma slapped her palm. “I won’t point out how quick you were to believe the branding thing, Wang.”

  Angie shrugged, her lips quirking. “Knowing this one, would it really be a shock?”

  “Good point.” Emma glanced at Jamie. “Eat up, Rook. You need to put on some weight if you’re going to keep up with the big dogs.”

  Jamie rolled her eyes and turned back to her food. At least Emma hadn’t called her a bean pole this time, she thought, and eagerly shoveled a forkful of roasted potatoes into her mouth. For a moment there with Maddie glowering at her from across the table, she’d almost lost her appetite. But it had rebounded quickly. It usually did.

  Maddie wasn’t finished, however. When Jamie reached the van for practice a little while later, she paused, looking in through one of the open rear doors. Usually she and the U-23s sat in the first row, with Emma driving and Maddie controlling the radio from the passenger seat. But today her seat was taken.

  “I think you’re in my spot,” she said, frowning at Maddie.

  “Take mine, Rook.” Maddie nodded at the seat next to Emma. “I didn’t think you would mind shotgun. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

  “Yeah, this way you won’t get car sick,” Angie added, waggling her eyebrows.

  So that was the plan. Which, if she thought about it, wasn’t such a bad plan.

  “Well, thanks,” she said, trying not to seem too excited at the change. She opened the front passenger door and glanced in at Emma. “Can I…?”

  “Of course. Maddie wouldn’t allow anyone else to take ‘your’ seat.”

  “So you’re okay with this?” Jamie asked, climbing in.

  “Totes.” Emma smiled at her and it was all she could do to restrain a giggle. Jesus, where had that even come from? “Even though Maddie and I were the longest van buddy couple on the team—until Yoko there had to come along and break us up.”

  “I heard that,” Angie said. “Enough with the racism, Blake. Not all Asians look alike, you know.”

  “Or do they?” Jamie asked over her shoulder.

  Angie flipped her off while the players around them snickered.

  As Emma pulled the van away from the curb, she lowered her voice. “What did Maddie say to you at breakfast, anyway?”

  “Nothing.” Telling Emma that Maddie had given her the best friend lecture would just make things awkward between them. It wasn’t like they were dating. Yet, her mind insisted on whispering.

  Emma’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  “I’ll tell you about it at some point. Just, not now. Okay?” Right. Because being mysteriously lame was always better than going with the truth.

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  The van turned onto the main road and Emma stared out the windshield. Jamie fiddled with the radio controls, wondering if she should reconsider her stance, as it turned out not telling Emma might be more awkward than broaching the subject Maddie’s prank had raised. Although, as she imagined Emma throwing her head back and laughing wildly when Jamie told her, or even worse the moment of silence before she patted her hand and told her sympathetically that she didn’t feel that way about her, that they were only friends, remember, she was glad she’d kept her silence.

  At the training center they piled out of the van and headed for the practice field. While Emma went to get her ankle taped, Jamie grabbed a seat on one of the benches to go through her sunscreen regimen. She had a 60 SPF roll-on bar for her face and neck; 15 SPF spray-on for her arms and legs, and 30 SPF lotion for her ears and the top of her head. Once, during youth camp in Texas, she’d neglected her part, and by the end of the week she had burned her scalp so badly that it peeled, giving her the look of someone with a particularly nasty case of dandruff. Never again, she had sworn. Especially not with the cameras that followed their nearly every move.

  When she was ready, she glanced around for Angie, her warm-up partner. But in keeping with the day’s theme, Angie and Maddie were already warming up together a little ways away, passing the ball back and forth with quick, skilled touches. No way. Angie had ditched her for her girlfriend. Again.

  “Seriously?” Emma paused beside her. “Are they actually doing this?”

  “Apparently.”

  Why were her friends and family members always trying to set her up, anyway? Her sister had given Laurie, her college girlfriend, Jamie’s phone number, and Britt and Allie had introduced her to Clare. Did no one think she was capable of finding a girlfriend on her own?

  Hmm. Probably she shouldn’t dwell on that question.

  “Do you want to warm up together?” she asked despite the fact it was obviously what Maddie and Angie were angling for.

  “Sure,” Emma said, toying with her ponytail.

  Crap. Emma only played with her hair when she was nervous or uncomfortable.

  “We don’t have to, you know,” Jamie said. “I can totally find someone—”

  Emma’s hand on her arm stopped her. “No, don’t.” She smiled, her hand lingering on Jamie’s bare skin. “I want to.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Okay, then,” Emma echoed. “I’ll grab a ball.”

  And that was how she and Emma became seat buddies and warm-up partners—because their best friends at camp were dating and apparently thought they should be, too.

  On the docket that afternoon was a “Fitness Update” meeting, but when the players showed up as instructed to the designated conference room, Lacey assigned them to small groups for a “friendly competition.” As if any of them were capable of approaching a contest with something other than ruthlessness. It wasn’t just soccer, either. Bowling, pool, obstacle courses, paint ball, mini golf—you name it, and the women on this team would find a way to fight almost to the death.

  From youth camp and the U-23 team, Jamie knew that it wasn’t unusual for the coaches to interrupt their two-a-days for a different sort of activity, one that would allow the staff to evaluate their leadership skills, creativity, and teamwork off the pitch. During her years in the national pool, she’d participated in relay races, soccer tennis tournaments, swimming contests, and other competitions, and had emerged from each feeling rested by working different pathways in her brain. The games also allowed players who might have little contact on the field to work together, another important step in creating team cohesion. And then there were the bragging rights that were up for grabs. You could never underestimate those among a group of women who hated to lose almost more than anything else in life.

  Today’s gladiator-in-training competition was a scavenger hunt, and somehow Emma and Jamie ended up on the same team with a mix of veterans and newbies. Emma was quickly voted team leader, and they looked through the list of challenges and associated time limits, divvying them up based on personal strengths. It was Emma’s idea to check off the most esoteric items on the list by enlisting the aid of the hotel’s front desk staff.

  “Hey Gloria,” Emma said, smiling at the woman in her white collared shirt and tasteful gold jewelry. “How’s your day going?”

  “Good, Emma,”
the woman said, smiling back. “What can I do for you ladies today?”

  “We were wondering if you might be able to help with this little contest.” Emma held out the list emblazoned at the top “MISSION USWNT: Chasing Gold.” As Gloria looked it over, she added, “Any ideas where we might find a beach ball? And, say, a crab or a fish?”

  “Hmm. Does it have to be an actual fish, or would a fish-shaped flotation device do?”

  “Flotation device!” Five voices shouted at once.

  Gloria laughed. “You’ve come to the right place, my friends. Our lost and found has almost anything you might need in the way of beach supplies.”

  Emma grinned at Jamie and hooked their arms together. “Stick with me, kid,” she murmured into her ear as they followed Gloria around the side of the desk and through a door marked “Employees Only.”

  And it was a cheesy line, maybe, but Jamie shivered anyway at the feel of Emma’s breath on her neck, warm and intimate. “I intend to,” she murmured back. She knew the look she gave Emma wasn’t really a look one friend would—should—give another. She knew that Avery, the back-up keeper, was watching them with raised eyebrows, and that Jess, one of the newbies, was staring at them like they were a train wreck. Maybe they were and maybe they weren’t, but at that moment she didn’t care. She wanted to be the one Emma looked for each time she entered a room, the one Emma seemed to reach for almost unconsciously whenever they were near each other. What was more, she wanted Emma to be the one she texted in the middle of a team meeting, the one she sat with at breakfast quietly before either of them had had enough caffeine to converse. She wanted them to belong to each other equally and undeniably. And the truly great thing? She was starting to think that one day sooner rather than later they actually might.

  They won easily; their scavenger hunt team name wasn’t Nerd Squad for nothing. Later, as the results were tallied and the level of their winningness was revealed, the other groups complained about how unfair it was to have Emma paired with Jamie and Avery, who had graduated from Stanford while Jamie was still in high school.