“They’re the closest to Ivy League we have,” her U-23 buddy Lisa pointed out, arms folded across her chest. “Plus Jamie’s a beep test ace, so she definitely should have been on a different team.”
The other players chimed in irritably, and Emma nudged Jamie where their team stood at the front of the room, slightly removed from the fray. “Aw, look, everyone wants you on their kickball team.”
Jamie laughed under her breath. “Says the pot to the kettle.”
“They’re only jealous because we make a good team.” And she smiled into Jamie’s eyes again, the usual unspoken undercurrents passing between them.
“You really do,” Avery said, leaning in to interrupt the moment. “How long have you guys known each other, anyway?”
“Ten years. More than a third of my life,” Jamie volunteered.
“It is, isn’t it?” Emma shook her head. “I can’t believe it took us this long to—” But she stopped as Ellie and Phoebe began to snipe at each other about cheating on the swimming leg of the challenge and Lacey finally intervened, calling an end to another USWNT bonding incident turned near bloodbath.
This long to what? But Jamie wasn’t an idiot, nor was she the same young girl who had first asked Emma to go for a walk all those years ago. She knew what Emma meant, and as they accepted grudging congratulations for winning the competition and found seats together for the fitness update Lacey was determined to squeeze in before dinner, she couldn’t believe it had taken this long either.
Chapter Ten
The last training session of January camp was in the books. Emma stuck the key in the ignition, scrolling through her phone as she waited for Jamie. It was still strange not to be sitting with Maddie. They had been van and bus buddies since joining the national team, which was why she had let out an audible gasp a few days before when Maddie waved semi-apologetically at her before sliding into the back seat next to Angie. But then Jamie had ended up sitting with her, and any ire she might have felt toward her roommate mysteriously melted away.
Soon Jamie tugged open the passenger door, bag over her shoulder, and Emma watched her slight wince as she pulled herself up and into the seat. She had noticed Jamie limping a little at the end of their full-field scrimmage, but she hadn’t wanted to ask about it in front of the coaching staff.
“You okay?” she asked now.
“Yep.”
She lowered her voice. “You’re totally not, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Quad or groin?”
Jamie’s gaze flew to hers. “Groin,” she whispered. “Was it that obvious?”
“I don’t think so.” She paused, glancing in the mirror to make no one was eavesdropping, but the other players were either dozing or on their phones except Maddie and Angie, who were caught up in their own little world as usual. “Is it bad?”
“I hope not.” She dropped her chin against her chest and groaned a little. “Sometimes I wonder what I did to piss off the soccer gods.”
Emma hid a smile. Jamie’s obsession with soccer deities was oddly endearing. “I doubt it was anything you did. Luck isn’t something you can control.”
“This from the woman who believes ‘everyone makes their own luck.’”
“My mother believes everyone makes their own luck,” she corrected. “I’m a bit more on the fence about the whole thing.”
“On the fence, huh?” Jamie shook her head. “I am so tempted to make an inappropriate joke right now, it isn’t even funny.”
“That’s because biphobia isn’t funny,” Emma said, mock-glaring at her.
“It’s a little bit funny.” As Emma slapped her arm, she held up a hand. “I take it back. It’s not funny in the least.”
“Damn straight it isn’t.” Emma watched Jamie out of the corner of her eye as the last member of their van group climbed in and slammed the back door. “I said, damn straight it isn’t.”
“I see you, Blake,” Jamie said as she pulled her phone from her bag.
“Whatever.” Emma checked her mirrors and pulled out of the parking lot. “That was funny. I’m funny.”
“Funny looking, maybe…” Jamie flinched away, laughing as Emma tried to smack her again. “Hey, concentrate on the road!”
“I can multitask, you know.” But she relented, allowing her hand to curl briefly instead around Jamie’s forearm before placing it back on the steering wheel. “RICE when we get back, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A few minutes later they parked in the lot in front of the hotel and piled out, talking amongst themselves. Maddie and Angie waited for them and they crossed the lobby together, Jamie chatting with Angie, Emma trying to distract Maddie from Jamie’s faint limp. Instead of taking the stairs, Emma stopped in front of the elevators. She didn’t miss the grateful glance Jamie shot her.
Apparently neither did Maddie. “What was that look?” she demanded the second their door was closed.
Damn it. “What look?”
“Jamie isn’t injured again, is she?”
“That’s a question for Jamie.” Emma averted her gaze as she crossed the room and dropped her bag on the partially unmade bed. Now that camp was all but over, there would be no more afternoon napping. Pity, really.
“She’s hurt, isn’t she? Fucking Christ. That was so not part of the plan.”
Emma turned on her. “So there is a plan! I knew it.”
Maddie flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “What? We just wanted to have someone to go on double-dates with in Portugal.”
Which, actually, sounded lovely. Before she could get caught up in daydreams of exploring the whitewashed fishing villages and sandy coves of the Algarve region with Jamie at her side, Emma stripped out of her sweaty practice jersey and grabbed a change of clothes from the dresser. “You and Angie became a ‘we’ awfully fast, didn’t you?”
Maddie flopped onto the bed by the window. “Only if you call a year and a half fast.”
“A year—” She stopped halfway across the room. “What are you talking about?”
“Apparently Angie has had a crush on me since London.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “And you?”
Maddie sighed. “Also since London.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have told you?”
She paused. Valid point. “I guess I’m happy for you, then?”
“Gee, sound a little more sure there, Emma.”
Obviously she owed one of her closest friends more than tepid support. But Maddie dating Angie was complicated for all sorts of reasons. “You can’t tell her what happened in high school, okay?”
Maddie frowned. “I wouldn’t. I promised, remember?”
“I know.” Emma hesitated again, watching her across the room. “Are you sure you want to go down this road? I mean, it is Angie we’re talking about.”
“I’m sure.”
“I don’t know if I trust her, Mads.”
“You don’t have to trust her.” Maddie’s voice took on a deep, smooth timbre, as if she were channeling Morgan Freeman or some other much-revered film actor. “You only have to trust me.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “So cheesy, Novak.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” she admitted. “Okay, fine. I’m happy if you’re happy. Better?”
“A little.” The other woman winked lazily. “I have a few suggestions on how you could be happier, too…”
“Fuck off, Maddie.”
“That’s what she said.”
“And on that note, I’m going to try to shampoo that image from my brain.”
Emma ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Craig had given them the night off, and tomorrow there were only a couple of meetings before camp officially closed. Given the lack of training sessions in their immediate future, the captains had decreed that tonight was a mandatory team bonding session, the kind that invo
lved dinner, drinks, and dancing. She was looking forward to getting dressed up and going out. It had been a grueling couple of months, and they could all afford to let off a little steam. An image of Jamie sipping her mimosa on the plane flashed into her mind, and for a moment she let herself remember her post-cocktail fantasy of kissing chocolate protein crumbs from Jamie’s lips.
Probably she should go easy on the alcohol tonight. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust herself around Jamie. She just really, really didn’t want to do anything to screw up her chances at making the team. Despite her rough start to camp, Jamie was playing incredibly well. Although if she had pulled her groin, Emma distracting her might be the least of her worries.
Still, maybe Jamie would be able to nurse her leg back before the first friendly in two weeks—assuming she made the roster for the road trip. Ellie had said her chances were good. Bill and Melanie had slotted Jamie into the starting line-up even more this time around than in December, and Ellie thought they were grooming her to eventually fill Steph Miller’s shoes as the veteran player drifted closer and closer to retirement. Or rather she’d said she hoped Jamie would take Steph’s spot. Usually Ellie got what she asked for—the perks of being not only a team captain but also the player most expected to break the international scoring record.
Emma lathered her skin with body wash and then stood beneath the hot spray, eyes closed as the suds rinsed away. The Algarve Cup was only six weeks away. Would Jamie be along for the international tournament the ’99ers had affectionately deemed the Golf and Wine Cup? Portugal in March was always beautiful, and the Algarve region was one of the more romantic spots the national team visited, perfect for long, moonlit walks and daytrips to hidden beach coves… She sighed and reached for her shampoo. Could she be jealous of Maddie and Angie? Yes. Yes, she could.
Right. She should definitely go easy on the alcohol tonight.
She didn’t go easy on the alcohol that night. She meant to, but as soon as they reached the bar a bunch of them jammed into a wide, semi-circle booth to drink to Jamie’s birthday, and Jenny had to go and buy tequila shots for the whole table. Except for Tina Baker, the last of the ’99ers to retire, who was in town visiting her in-laws and also, incidentally, eight months pregnant.
Jamie shouldn’t do shots, though, should she? Not after what had happened at the last camp. Beside her in the booth Jamie hesitated, brow furrowed as if she was also remembering her first panic attack in however many years, and Emma knew what she had to do. She pointed at the dance floor and announced loudly, “Oh my god, you guys, is that Craig over there?”
As soon as everyone’s heads were craned around, Emma grabbed Jamie’s shot and pounded it back, forcing herself to breathe through the burn in her throat without coughing. Christ. That was way too much tequila in way too little time. As Jamie reached for her hand under the table, she wasn’t sure which made her blood sing more—Jamie’s skin pressed to hers or the alcohol suddenly rushing through her veins.
“Max,” Jenny said suddenly, her eyes on the empty shot glass in front of Jamie, “when did you do your shot?”
“Oh. Uh, just now. That is…”
Emma gripped her hand tighter, willing Jamie to stop rambling. Obviously her fibbing skills still needed work. Jenny looked between them, her gaze sharp and suspicious. But then Tina made a sound and touched her belly, distracting everyone.
“You’re not about to go into labor, are you?” Maddie asked.
“Why would you even say that?” Jenny shook her head.
“Because once you’ve had a baby,” Maddie explained, her tone clearly indicating her opinion of the striker’s intelligence, “all it takes is a sneeze for baby number two to pop out. Or three, for that matter.”
Tina laughed. “No worries, it’s only a kick. This little girl has some power in her legs, though.”
“Damn right she does.” Ellie’s smile managed to be both sweet and proud. Tina had asked her that afternoon to be the latest Baker Baby’s godmother, Emma knew, so her possessiveness was understandable. Ellie’s love for all things baby was widely known. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if she got pregnant the second she retired. Unlike Tina and Steph, who had brought their young children on the road with the team every chance they got, Ellie had decided to wait until she was done with soccer to pursue procreation.
Emma leaned back next to Jamie as the conversation drifted to due dates and birth plans, stretch marks and post-baby workouts. Someday that would be her, she hoped, with the giant belly and the excited look and the sore, tired feet. Although she might already have that last one covered.
“Thanks, by the way,” Jamie murmured.
With a start, Emma realized they were still holding hands. Touching Jamie felt so natural, as if it was something she’d done every day for years. “You’re welcome. I’d say anytime, but I think two shots are my limit.”
“You doing okay?”
“Fine. A little fuzzy but in a nice way.”
“You’re nice,” Jamie nearly whispered, her forehead brushing Emma’s.
Before Emma could respond, Tina startled again. “Geez! Apparently she likes Mexican food.” She reached for Jamie’s free hand almost blindly and placed it on her baby bump. “There, feel that? That’s our future soccer girl.”
Emma heard Jamie’s breath catch, saw her eyes widen, heard her reverent, “Oh my god…” She squeezed Jamie’s hand again, her mind suddenly tripping over a fantasy of a cute house higher up the Queen Anne hill, of herself sitting on a porch swing with Jamie beside her, one arm over her shoulders, the other extended toward her belly… She shook her head a little, trying to banish the mental slideshow. Quite the specific daydream, complete with fully formed details. How long had her subconscious been working on that one?
“You have to feel this,” Jamie said, dragging Emma’s hand across her own stomach to reach Tina’s. “It’s amazing!”
Emma placed her palm carefully on her former team captain’s taut abdomen and waited. Sure enough, a slow movement soon tickled her palm, followed by a swift jab. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“No. It feels strange at first, for sure, but it doesn’t hurt. The gas, on the other hand, feels like a freaking heart attack.”
Emma pulled back as the conversation shifted again, dipping her chin almost to Jamie’s shoulder. “Cool, huh?” she murmured.
“Cool doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Jamie responded, her eyes clear and shining.
A quiet moment passed between them, and even though Emma could feel Jenny’s eyes on them, and Ellie’s too, she couldn’t bring herself to care who witnessed the emotion threatening to burst out of her. It wasn’t fair that anyone could be that radiant. Because really, didn’t Jamie realize how difficult she was making this whole not-kissing thing? Her gaze dropped to Jamie’s lips, but even as Jamie’s chin tilted infinitesimally toward her, Emma reminded herself that this wasn’t the right time or place, not when they were surrounded by teammates and she was burping up tequila. Given how badly she’d botched their first kiss, she wanted to get the second one right.
Their hands remained connected even after the moment passed, and Emma could have happily sat there all evening leaning into Jamie’s side and chatting with their friends if Maddie and Jenny hadn’t pulled her forcibly from the table and dragged her to the dance floor. And yeah, it was their thing to dance together whenever they got the chance, which wasn’t all that often these days, but still. They were leaving tomorrow and it wasn’t like Jamie could dance, not with her injured leg. If it wouldn’t have raised too many eyebrows, Emma would have ignored her two best friends and stayed holed up in the booth beside Jamie all night. As it was, she let herself be led away, shooting Jamie a last regretful, semi-apologetic glance over her shoulder.
Except who was she kidding? It totally wasn’t the last time she looked at Jamie. They had only been on the dance floor for a few minutes when Maddie took her hand again and steered her to the bar to buy a bottle of water. As Maddie dealt
with the bartender, Emma’s gaze wandered. Jamie was sitting between Tina and Ellie now, and as Emma watched, Jamie glanced toward the dance floor. She examined the crowd intently, the crease in her brow deepening.
Emma pulled her phone out and texted: “Three o’clock.” Even from here, she could see Jamie’s phone light up on the table in front of her. Jamie pulled it closer and frowned again. And then, all at once, her forehead cleared as she glanced over at the bar in time to catch the goofy smile Emma could feel plastering itself to her face.
Maddie chose that moment to lean in, effectively blocking her view of the booth. “Jesus, Blake. Are you trying to broadcast it to the whole world?”
In the face of overwhelming odds, she went with denial. “Broadcast what?”
“How much you’d like Jamie to do a different type of holding, you know, than the midfield kind,” Maddie suggested, waggling her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
Emma snickered. “That was terrible even for you.”
“Like you could do any better.”
“Pssht.” She wasn’t honorary captain of the nerd squad for nothing. “How about taking it to her box? Slipping it between her legs? Bending her like Beckham?” As the last pun emerged from her mouth, Emma frowned. That was beyond rude. Actually, they all were. Freaking tequila.
Meanwhile Maddie was snorting her amusement. “‘Bend Her like Beckham’ would be an awesome porno title. I’m totally tweeting those.”
Emma deeply regretted her own overly competitive nature for approximately the zillionth time in her life. “If you do, Maddie, I swear—”
“I’m kidding. You’re so easy. Seriously, though, keep your eyes to yourself unless you want your little secret getting out.”
“Did somebody say ‘secret’?” Angie piped up.
Really, it wasn’t that surprising that the tiny midfielder had materialized seemingly from nowhere. Angie was hard to keep track of in a crowd even when Emma was sober.
“Hmm, I think you’re hearing things again,” Maddie said.
“Why is it that only seems to happen when I’m around you?”
Game Time Page 23
