As Emma’s brow shot up, it occurred to Jamie that she had just admitted she hadn’t had a serious girlfriend until halfway through college. Yeah, that wasn’t something she had ever intended to tell Emma.
“Plus,” she added quickly, trying to change the subject without actually changing it, “all the queer subtext in Pitch Perfect is totally up my alley.”
“Queer subtext?” Emma repeated. “Now this I have to hear.”
“Aw, man, don’t get her started on subtextual references,” Angie groaned, sliding in to the empty seat on Jamie’s other side.
“Just because you can’t wrap your little brain around queer theory doesn’t mean everyone else is as intellectually challenged,” Jamie said.
Angie flipped her off and dug into her pancakes, her little moans of contentment making Jamie lean away and Maddie drift closer. Ew.
“You were totally a Gender Studies major, weren’t you?” Emma asked.
“Minor,” Jamie corrected her. “And it was Queer Studies, not Gender.”
“Ah.” Emma nodded thoughtfully.
Ellie’s eyebrows rose. “Blake, you’re not thinking of trying to recruit Max to the nerd squad, are you?”
“Why not? She went to Stanford.”
“Easy, guys. I have to make the team first,” Jamie said, and then wished she hadn’t as silence fell around the table. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up the elephant in the room.”
Emma smiled reassuringly. “We’ve all been there, so at least it’s a familiar elephant. You know, like Dumbo or Horton.”
As Angie’s face lit up, Jamie elbowed her. “Don’t get any nickname ideas, Wang.”
“Me? She’s the one who compared you to Dumbo.”
“Maybe you need to work on your listening comprehension skills,” Emma said. “Or is the rumor true?”
Angie eyed her warily. “What rumor?”
“I heard athletes at Florida can earn a degree without ever attending a single class,” Emma said.
“Good one, Blake.” Ellie nodded approvingly and held up her hand for Emma to high-five.
“Shut it, both of you,” Angie grumbled, and launched a piece of muffin at Emma.
Maddie reached out at the last second and snagged the pastry out of the air, smiling suggestively as she lifted her fingers to her mouth and sucked the morsel from them in a way that had everyone but Angie looking away as quickly as humanly possible. The subsequent next-level flirting was hard to ignore, though, and eventually they made sarcastic comments and left the pair on their own. Not that Maddie or Angie seemed to mind, Jamie noticed as she, Ellie, and Emma left the conference room to get ready for practice.
By the end of the final training session that afternoon, Jamie was pretty sure that if she heard one more person mention her on-field chemistry with Emma, she was going to smack them. Already in the past week a coach and several players had commented on the way they supported each other and worked together to create offensive chances. Now, on the last day of camp, Steph had decided to pry into their history.
“You weren’t on the same team in the WPS, were you?” she asked, following Jamie off the field.
“No. But we did play together a little in high school,” Jamie said, hoping that no one would press her to define a little. They had worked out together the two times they’d visited each other her sophomore year, and that was about it.
“I thought you were from San Francisco,” Gabe said, stripping off her shin guards as they reached the sideline. A Colorado native, Gabe was a year older than Jamie, so they had played together sporadically in their youth pool days.
“I am.”
“If Emma’s from Seattle, then how did you guys play together?”
“ODP and the youth pool.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but close enough that she could feel the heat climbing up her neck. She ducked, pretending to struggle with her double-knotted laces. God, she was such a bad liar. She’d always required elaborate planning to sell even the smallest fib.
Just then, Ellie dropped down on the bench between them and draped her arm across Gabe’s shoulders. “Hola, muchacha. Want to grab dinner tonight? Bring your brother along, if you want. I haven’t seen him in forever.”
“That sounds great. He’s been asking about you,” Gabe said, smiling sideways at the older woman.
Rumor had it that Gabe and Ellie had dated for a while when the younger woman first joined the team. They seemed like good friends now, though, so Jamie wasn’t sure if the gossip was true or not. Either way, she took advantage of the distraction to slip away. Another Emma-shaped bullet, dodged.
She was almost to the parking lot when she heard her name being called. Melanie Beckett, the defensive coach, was jogging toward her.
“Hey, Max. Feel like walking back to the hotel with me?” Mel asked.
“Sure,” Jamie said, even though she’d been looking forward to hitching a ride back on one of the team vans and taking a nap before dinner. Her flight for London left the following day but didn’t arrive until early Tuesday morning, which meant she had a long couple of days ahead.
“How has your camp been?” Mel asked as they fell into step together.
Jamie was conscious of her soccer sandals making slapping sounds against the bottoms of her feet. “Really incredible. The older players have been so gracious, and the competition has been amazing.”
“The WSL isn’t quite as deep, is it?”
“No,” she admitted. “Arsenal’s close, though. Practice pushes me sometimes more than league matches. Champions League helps too. Can’t beat playing against the best clubs in the world.”
The assistant, who was in her early forties and sported the crow’s feet typical of middle-aged soccer coaches, nodded. “Have you given any thought to coming back home to play?”
“You mean in the NWSL?”
Mel gave her a look that said she knew she was stalling. “Yes, in the NWSL.”
“Well, yeah, of course. It would be great to play near my family and friends again. They obviously don’t get to see me play very often.”
“The reason I ask is that Craig, Bill, and I think you’ve made a real case for yourself at camp the past couple of weeks. Now we need to hear from you: How committed are you to playing for this program?”
Jamie stopped on the broken sidewalk and turned to face the national team coach, no longer aware of the traffic rushing by on the wide Southern California street. “I am one hundred percent committed.”
Mel smiled a little and nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She started walking again. “In that case, can I give you some advice?”
“Absolutely.”
“Move back to the States,” she said bluntly. “Sign with the NWSL and play with and against these women week in and week out. Be available for every training camp and friendly. That’s your best avenue to making this squad. Staying overseas makes it that much harder—to be seen by our staff, to bond with the existing pool of players, to develop chemistry with them on and off the field. This camp was a good start, but if you want to be part of this program, you’ll have a much better shot if you come home.”
“Do you really think I have a chance at landing a permanent spot?” Jamie asked.
She nodded. “I do. As you know, there are a number of players on the bubble for the World Cup. It’s always possible for player contracts to be terminated due to retirement or for other reasons.”
Jamie nodded, her hand tightening on the strap of her duffel. This wasn’t the first time she’d thought about leaving the WSL. It was just the first time that a national team coach had asked her to do so. Why was her gut twisting and her chest tightening? Shouldn’t moving one step closer to achieving a life-long dream feel more like joy personified than the beginning of a panic attack?
Mel rested her hand on Jamie’s shoulder as they approached the hotel. “I’d like to tell you that you have some time to think about all of this, but you don’t. We’re hoping you want to come back in January, and idea
lly you would have the pro league situation worked out by then. As this is the middle of the NWSL’s Discovery Period, it’s the perfect time to send out feelers. From what I’ve heard you shouldn’t have any trouble finding a team to snap you up. Assuming you can get out of your WSL contract, that is.”
Jamie nodded. “I have a year left, but I think I could work something out with the GM. To clarify, you’re not offering me a roster spot, correct?”
“Correct. What we’re offering you is a chance to play yourself onto this team. What you do with the opportunity is up to you. I for one am rooting for you. Your chemistry with some of the starters is unreal for someone who’s been abroad or injured as much as you have. That’s another thing, Maxwell. We need you to stay healthy.”
“That’s the plan.” As the coach’s words sank in, Jamie’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. She forced a smile. “Thanks, Coach. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The only guarantee I can offer right now is that you have a lot of work ahead of you.”
Back in her room a little while later, Jamie stripped and stepped into the shower where she leaned against the tile surround, letting the warm spray soothe her. From conversations with Ellie, she knew there were twenty-four athletes on contract with US Soccer at any given time, and that eighteen of those spots were guaranteed a tier one (premium) salary. In almost all cases, the contract specified that players be allocated to the NWSL. If she came home to play, would she really be in line for one of the coveted roster spots?
It wasn’t like she hadn’t already known that leaving the WSL for the NWSL would probably be better for her career. But with her contract situation and the timing of her injury the previous fall, she hadn’t seriously considered making the move. England—and English football—had been good to her. After her ACL injury, when rumors of the demise of the WPS were flying fast and furious, joining the nascent FA WSL had made sense. But three years made a huge difference. Now what made sense—according to the federation—was coming home.
With this realization came another: Clare was not going to be happy about this latest bit of news. Jamie thought about calling her, but not only was it the middle of the night in London (yet again), it would be immeasurably better to discuss the implications when she got home. The person she wanted to talk to most was Britt, but that was tricky too because Britt lived with Clare’s best friend. Even if it hadn’t been the middle of the night, Jamie couldn’t risk Allie somehow finding out about her conversation with the national team coach before Clare did.
Ellie was packing when Jamie emerged from the bathroom clad only in her bathrobe.
“Hey, champ,” the striker said. “Did you leave me any hot water?”
This was an ongoing joke. Trained by the fact that the shower in their flat operated on 50p coins, Jamie took the shortest showers in the history of showerdom, according to Ellie. Meanwhile, the thirty-something captain relied on regular ice baths and long, hot showers to revive her aching joints and muscles.
“Yep,” Jamie said, and lay back on her bed, arms under her head.
Ellie eyed her. “You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“End of camp letdown or something else?”
“Something else.”
“Can I help?” Ellie asked, dropping onto the edge of her own bed.
“Maybe.” Sitting up against her pillows, Jamie briefly summarized her chat with Mel.
“Wow,” Ellie said when she’d finished. “No wonder you look shell-shocked. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Do you think you can get out of your contract?”
“I have a clause to let me out for national team service, but I would need something in writing from the federation.”
“Carrie Fitzsimmons should have a letter on file from last year when Gabe wanted out of her Tyreso contract.”
“Yeah, but Gabe was already officially on the roster.”
Ellie waved her hand. “Fitzie owes me. Besides, if all goes well, you’ll be on the roster soon, too.”
Jamie sat up straighter, staring at her as the beginnings of excitement began to pool in her stomach. Rachel Ellison seemed to want her on the team. Rachel Ellison wanted her as a teammate. “Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely, if I have anything to say about it. And if you keep your nose clean and stay healthy. Think you can do that?”
Her grin felt almost painfully wide as she launched herself at Ellie. “Of course! Thank you, man! Seriously.”
Ellie patted her back. “Easy, killer. I don’t think either of our girlfriends would be happy with you springing an all-but-naked hug on me.”
Jamie backed off quickly, tugging on the hem of her robe. “Oops. Sorry.”
“For the record, you’re not my type.”
“As if,” Jamie said, laughing.
On one level, she was still semi-amazed by her ability to joke around with the national team captain. But after the last two weeks and especially after her earlier conversation with Mel, she was starting to feel more and more like she belonged on this team. It helped that she had come in with a ready-made group of friends she had known since college. Or in Angie’s and Emma’s case, since high school.
Then again, were she and Emma friends? After the past couple of weeks, it kind of seemed like they might be. For a moment she pictured Clare’s reaction to hearing that she and Emma had managed to get past their differences. She wasn’t sure which would upset her girlfriend more—learning that she was thinking of moving to the US or hearing that she was becoming friends with Emma again.
Ellie went to take a shower while Jamie got dressed. Angie had said something about going out to dinner in Manhattan Beach with a group that included Steph Miller, among others. Jamie got along with most people, but with a long flight and a huge decision in her immediate future, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with undercurrents of tension that she had never quite learned the knack of detecting. Besides, she was genuinely exhausted. A quiet couple of hours on her own to process everything sounded amazing.
Ellie understood her need for space, but Angie, predictably, didn’t see it the same way. When Jamie told her she didn’t think she was up for a night out, Angie turned away from the mirror where she’d been checking her hair. “Wait, what?”
“I’d rather get packed and go to sleep early tonight,” Jamie said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, folding her laundry.
“But this is our last chance to hang out!”
“Only for a few weeks.” She smiled a little as she folded her boy shorts into squares.
“A few…?” Angie jumped onto the bed, disturbing the neat piles. “Dude! Does that mean you’re coming to January camp?”
Jamie nodded, grinning. “Mel asked me after practice.”
“This is so freaking cool!” Angie punched her in the shoulder. “I knew you were going to make it eventually. I told you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t have a roster spot yet,” Jamie reminded her.
“No, but you totally will. Now you have to come out with us. We have some celebrating to do.”
“Next time, okay? I have a super long day tomorrow.” And almost as long of a night after that, she thought, picturing Clare again.
It took a while, but Jamie finally convinced Angie to accept her refusal—“But only because Imma see you next month”—and leave the room peacefully. Once she was gone, Jamie called in an order of Thai food and finished packing, her mind returning to her girlfriend. She honestly wasn’t sure what would happen when she got back to the UK. She couldn’t see Clare giving up her job, family, and friends to follow Jamie to America. At the same time, Jamie wasn’t about to give up her national team dream to stay in London, either. It wasn’t an option, no matter how committed she was to their relationship.
Was that why Clare was avoiding her? Because she already knew how this—how they—ended? The thought settled inside her chest, rounding her shoulders and taking the edge off her exc
itement at being invited back for January camp. Her college coach had a framed quote from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on his desk that she thought of now: “The good and the great are only separated by their willingness to sacrifice.” But was sacrificing her present for an ambiguous future her key to greatness, or would she end up not only disappointed but forever wondering what if about Clare?
She heard the assistant coach’s voice again: “The only guarantee I can offer is that you have a lot of work ahead of you.” And, “Move back to the States. That’s your best shot at making this squad.”
If moving home could help her chances at playing in the World Cup even a little, there wasn’t much of a choice, was there?
The front desk staff called to let her know her food had arrived just as she managed to get her duffle closed around all her new practice gear. Wallet and room key tucked into the pocket of her hoodie—another team issue—she headed downstairs to pay the delivery person. She was almost back to her room when she heard a sound in the vending machine alcove. A sense of déjà vu shadowed her as she slowed and looked in. Sure enough, Emma was standing there in her matching US Soccer hoodie, scooping cubes into an ice bucket.
“It’s not out of ice, is it?” Jamie asked. Then she wondered if Emma even remembered their first meeting in a hotel not all that far from this one.
Emma glanced over her shoulder, brow clearing when she saw Jamie. “Not this time, fortunately.”
She did remember. It shouldn’t have been important, but it was.
“I didn’t think I’d run into you tonight,” Emma added.
“Me, either. Why aren’t you out with those guys?”
She shrugged and tossed the scoop back into the machine. “Wasn’t in the mood. What about you?”
“Same.”
Emma moved toward the hallway, her voice light. “You’re embarrassed about yesterday, aren’t you?”
Jamie gazed down into hazel eyes that were simultaneously so familiar and so foreign. “Yesterday?”
“Hello, does six to three ring a bell?”
Game Time Page 8
