Game Time

by Kate Christie

  “Oh!” Emma said. “I thought you would take longer to answer.”

  Jamie stared at her, blinking rapidly. “But—but you’re in Seattle.”

  “Turns out I’m not.” She smiled, the expression teetering on the near side of maniacal as her eyebrows rose higher than Jamie would have thought possible. “Surprised?”

  That was certainly one word for it.

  Without stopping to think, Jamie limped forward and practically tackled Emma, her arms wrapping around her waist and squeezing almost spasmodically. Emma latched on in return, hands gripping at Jamie’s back as she hummed what sounded like relief into her shoulder. Jamie’s throat tightened. She was here. Emma was actually here.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” she mumbled, inhaling the scent of Emma’s hair.

  “Well, someone has to look after you,” Emma said, her voice suspiciously thick. “Might as well be me.”

  Damn it, why did she have to go and say that? Jamie sniffed, trying to hold back the tears that seemed determined to escape from her tightly closed eyes.

  “It’s a good surprise, right?” Emma’s voice sounded less certain now.

  She leaned back to peer into Emma’s face. “Are you kidding? Like the best surprise ever.”

  “The best ever? Geez, James, I haven’t even kissed you yet.” Then she seemed to realize what she’d said and sucked in a quick breath.

  Was it wrong that Jamie sort of loved seeing her flustered? She especially loved being the cause. “That’s not exactly true,” she pointed out. “It’s been a while, though. We could probably use the practice.”

  “So smooth, Maxwell,” Emma breathed out, gaze drifting down to her lips.

  Jamie waited another beat, her heart racing so quickly it felt like her whole body was pulsing, and then she lowered her chin and pressed her lips against Emma’s, hesitantly at first and then more firmly, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek. Emma leaned into the kiss, her hands shifting to settle against Jamie’s ribcage where the heat of her touch radiated through Jamie’s thin shirt. Eyes closed, Jamie gave in to the shiver working its way along her spine at the feel of Emma finally—finally, FINALLY—in her arms. In that moment it didn’t matter that she might not play in the World Cup or that they would be rivals in the NWSL or even that they would be living three hours apart for the foreseeable future. All that mattered was the elation rising uncontrollably inside of her, happiness burning such a pure light against her eyelids that she couldn’t imagine it would ever fully fade.

  Admittedly, it was their first (second) kiss so it was bound to be imperfect as they moved their lips experimentally together, softness giving way slowly to a rising intensity. But Jamie easily got lost in the rhythm of Emma’s kiss and the warmth of the skin at her waist where her fleece rode up—all on its own, of course. She was thinking of how to navigate gracefully to the couch without breaking the kiss because their lips probably shouldn’t be apart anytime soon given how long they’d gone between kisses, and like, why was that anyway? How had she managed without this feeling in her life? And then Emma made an amazingly sexy sound against her mouth and pressed closer, her hands framing Jamie’s hips. Which was lovely, really, except that their combined weight shifted directly onto her bad leg, and before she could stop herself she let out a—yelp. It was definitely a yelp.

  Emma’s hands tightened on her hips as she broke the kiss. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Jamie smiled because it was physically impossible not to. “Of course that would happen.”

  Emma smiled too, eyes shining in the light from the living room. “Seems kind of fitting, doesn’t it? But as a bonus, I promise not to run away this time.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” All at once she realized they were still standing on the front porch, and while it was a better place to make out than, say, a club occupied by the entire national team, it was still a tad public. “Do you want to come in?”

  “On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You change out of those sweats immediately.”

  Jamie glanced down at the Arsenal crest. “If I didn’t know better, Miss Blakeley, I would say you were propositioning me.” She held the door open wider as Emma’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Come on. Last thing we need is a Blakewell sighting. I’d rather not piss Ellie off more than I already have.”

  “I don’t think she’s pissed at you.” Emma pulled her carry-on in behind her, gazing around the interior of the house. “Geez. This place hasn’t changed at all. Which is a good thing because I hate to say it, but I really have to pee.”

  Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “So smooth, Blake.”

  “Shut up. My flight got in early so I ended up having to kill time at Starbuck’s.”

  Which explained why her lips tasted faintly of coffee and salted caramel. “You totally had a cake pop, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t worry,” Emma said over her shoulder as she headed for the hallway. “I brought you one too.”

  She was pretty awesome, that one.

  Jamie checked her phone and settled on the couch, resting her injured leg on the coffee table. They had a couple of hours before her parents got home from work, which wasn’t nearly enough time on their own. Maybe they should go away together, have a weekend in the city at a nice hotel. Then she remembered that she was living at home for a reason. Her savings wouldn’t survive the hit of a stay in a fancy hotel, and she couldn’t let Emma pay for everything. Or she could, but she didn’t want to. They probably only had a few days together anyway before Emma would have to head home to get ready for the February road trip. The road trip Jamie would have been with her on if not for Taylor fucking O’Brien.

  Oh god, that little shit had taken her spot on the roster, hadn’t she?

  As the reality of their situation sank in, she leaned her head back against the couch and shut her eyes. A moment later she heard Emma return, but she kept her eyes closed as she felt Emma settle next to her, movements slow and careful. She didn’t even open them when Emma drifted closer and pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “Are you okay?” Emma murmured.

  “Yes.” Jamie opened her eyes and glanced at her. “No. I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, leaning away a little. “Is everything all right?”

  “Not really. Though, I mean, it’s not exactly a surprise.” She looked down at her socks rather than meet Emma’s concerned gaze. Great, there was a hole in her big toe. Nice. She was living with her parents and wearing socks that needed mending while Emma was… an actual American hero. Pushing the thought away, she took a breath and said, “Craig told me the coaches have decided to go in a different direction. As in, not with me. I’m out, Em, probably for good.” It wasn’t as hard to say out loud as she’d thought it would be. Probably she’d had enough time by now to get used to the idea.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Emma said, resting her chin on Jamie’s shoulder.

  Jamie tried not to focus on how the endearment made her feel all warm and safe and loved. “What I’m saying is that if knowing that changes anything,” she made herself say, gesturing vaguely between them, “I would totally understand.”

  Emma was quiet for a minute. Then, her voice somewhere between irritated and hurt, she said, “Do you honestly think you not making the national team could change the way I feel about you?”

  “No,” she said quickly, trying to reel her doubts back into her brain where they clearly belonged. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” Emma cupped her cheek and turned her head so that they were staring into each other’s eyes again. “Jamie, I want to be with you because you’re you. You’re kind and you’re funny and you’re sweet, and you talk about things like queer subtext and you love a capella music and you almost cried when you felt Tina’s baby kick. I flew down here because of all of that, not because of soccer. How I feel about you has nothing to do with the national team or the pro
league or any of those things. Soccer is my career. You’re everything else. Do you understand?”

  Jamie tried to keep her pathetic little heart from stuttering at Emma’s words and the almost frightening intensity in her eyes, but it was a lost battle. She was a lost battle, and that was perfectly fine. “Yeah,” she whispered, blinking back tears again. “But you forgot funny looking.”

  Emma pressed their foreheads together, her caramel-scented breath warm on Jamie’s mouth. “See? That’s why I’m here. Because you know my dad’s old jokes and because honestly, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  As Emma leaned in to kiss her again, Jamie smiled against her lips. She couldn’t help it. Emma wanted to be with her. Emma loved her, even if she hadn’t said the words. Good thing, because the feeling was more than mutual.

  “Dork,” Emma said, still framing her face between her palms.

  “Nerd,” Jamie replied.

  And she wanted to kiss her, she did, but even more she wanted to hold her and listen to her breathe in person instead of over the telephone. She wanted to be with Emma, in the moment, in this moment. So she turned slightly and slipped her arm across her shoulders, tugging at her until she settled down against her with a sigh.

  “There wasn’t a video chat with the charity people, was there?” Jamie asked after a little while.

  “Nope.”

  “You really went all out. The photos were a good touch.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said. “I like planning.”

  “I remember.” She almost said it was one of the things she loved about her, but they weren’t there yet. She had more hope now than ever before that they would get to that point someday, but for now she was content to say the words silently. She would know when the time was right, and for now that was enough.

  They snuggled together on the couch, Jamie’s hand playing with Emma’s ponytail, Emma’s fingers tracing the lines of her Sanskrit tattoo, and Jamie couldn’t quite believe the swell of emotion rising in her chest, its lightness such a marked contrast to the hopelessness that had weighed her down only a little while earlier. It was a bit much to take—possibly losing her national team dream on the same day that Emma showed up on her doorstep and kissed her. Well, technically Jamie had kissed her. Either way, the two events didn’t cancel each other out, and what was more, they didn’t need to. The coaches’ decision was obviously a serious setback, but it didn’t mean she had to let go of her World Cup dream, not if she didn’t want to. Look at her and Emma—she’d held onto that dream somewhere at the back of her mind for all these years, and now it appeared to be coming true.

  The World Cup was still a year and a half away. That meant she had all summer to convince the coaches they couldn’t afford to leave her off the team. She had a year even, if need be, to change their minds. And there, she realized, was the next goal to reach for, the one that would get her out of bed in her new city, that would keep her eating well and working out and going to bed early.

  This was something she could do. She would make a plan, set an achievable short-term goal, and hope that something changed on the national team front. Because as much as loss was a guarantee in soccer, so was winning. Emma’s words came back to her, accompanied by the wave of peace that she normally associated with meditation: “Everything will work out.” Because one way or another, it always did.

  Control the things you can and let go of the things you can’t was all well and good when it came to the game of soccer. But Emma was right—soccer was a career; the people you loved were everything else.

  And right now, Jamie didn’t plan on letting go of the woman in her arms anytime soon.

  Apparently Emma had other ideas, though. After a little while, she pushed up and away from Jamie, her lips curling slightly.

  “Where are you going?” Jamie asked, her fingers lazily tracing the arc of Emma’s collarbone because now that she had started touching her it was basically impossible to stop.

  “Getting my laptop.”

  “But why?”

  Emma hopped off the couch and looked at her in a way that could only be called askance. “You promised to watch curling with me.”

  “That’s right. That’s a thing, isn’t it?”

  Emma pulled her computer from her carry-on. “Don’t think quoting Pitch Perfect at me will get you out of our date.”

  “It was worth a try. Aren’t you forgetting something though?” As Emma paused, brow creased adorably, Jamie added, “I believe I was promised a cake pop.”

  “Oh! Right.” Emma fished in a zippered pocket and came up with a Starbucks bag. “A sweet for my sweet,” she said, presenting the paper bag with a flourish.

  “So cheesy, Blake.”

  “You love it.”

  She did. She also loved cake pops, a fact that Emma had apparently remembered from the precisely one time she’d mentioned it in her presence.

  While Emma fired up the laptop, Jamie devoured the sweet treat.

  “Mm,” she said dreamily when she finished. “That was yummy. Thanks, babe.”

  “You’re welcome,” Emma said, leaning in to taste the salted caramel that dusted her lips. “Mm, you’re yummy…” A little while later she added, “You know what? Curling can wait.”

  As their lips met again, Jamie decided that truer words had never been spoken.

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