Outside the Lines

by Kate Christie

  “Tell me about it. I hate losing.” Emma expelled a frustrated breath that Jamie easily interpreted. The US team, currently ranked number one in the world, had failed to win a single group stage match at the Algarve Cup on their way to finishing in an embarrassing seventh place.

  “Right? It’s literally the worst,” Jamie dead-panned. She had heard Emma rant about their generation’s willful misuse of the word “literally” on more than one occasion, but it was still amusing to watch her head list to one side as she tried not to twitch in exasperation.

  “Well, maybe not—” Emma stopped, eyes narrowing, and stuck her tongue out. “Jerk.”

  “Nerd. What’s the deal with the team, anyway? Ellie hasn’t said much.”

  Since her return from London, Jamie had overheard muttered comments about line-ups, coaching decisions, and heads that would likely never find their way out of asses, but she hadn’t wanted to pry. Getting cut from the program was still a bit too fresh in her mind.

  “I think people are starting to calm down now,” Emma said, “mostly because we were all sucked into pre-season as soon as we got back. But morale isn’t good. We lost to Denmark, for Christ’s sake, and the World Cup is less than a year and a half away. You know?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie said, and reached for another piece of salmon nigiri. “I know.”

  The silence that settled between them felt awkward, and Jamie wished her last comment had sounded less sulky teenager and more supportive friend. Or date. Girlfriend? Whatever. It wasn’t Emma’s fault that she was on the national team and Jamie wasn’t. There wasn’t anyone to blame—except maybe Craig Anderson and his coaching staff. Bastards.

  “Is it bad I don’t feel completely awful about how you guys did at the Algarve?” Jamie asked, hazarding a glance at Emma.

  “Oh my god.” She paused, chopsticks in mid-air. “I can’t even believe you, Maxwell!”

  “Sorry?” Jamie skewed her face into a cross between guilt and amusement.

  Emma shook her head and laughed. “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re right. I’m not.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I may have heard more than a few people say that leaving you off the roster was a bad call. One in a long list, admittedly, but still.”

  “Really?” Jamie wanted to ask who’d had her back in Portugal, but she restrained herself. It was nice to hear, but ultimately it didn’t matter what the players thought. The only opinions that counted were those of the coaches. And the federation, to a degree that wasn’t entirely clear.

  “Yep.” Emma plucked a dragon roll off the plastic tray in her lap. “You have quite the loyal following, turns out.”

  “Including you?”

  “Naturally. President of your fan club right here.”

  “Ditto,” Jamie said, and reached for her miniature bottle of wine. Emma’s words washed over her, warm and real, reminding her once again that this was really happening. They were really happening. Living and working in different cities might leave more gaps than not during the pro season, but that was okay. Their feelings for each other had survived a decade-long separation; in comparison, a few weeks or even months were nothing.

  Well, not nothing. Being apart even for a short time royally sucked. But Jamie had faith they would figure it out.

  Beside her, Emma popped another sushi roll in her mouth and chewed. “Anyway, how was it seeing your ex?”

  “It was—civilized,” Jamie said, remembering the cool smile and brief hug Clare had bestowed upon her the day they met for coffee. “She’s dating someone, I’m dating someone…”

  Emma looked at her askance. “You are? Who?”

  “Shut it, dork.”

  “You’ll have to make me.” She checked their immediate vicinity, and then, apparently satisfied they were alone, leaned in to kiss her.

  Jamie stuck her tongue out, intending to be silly, but almost immediately she realized that french kissing Emma was not silly in the least. No, it was hot and sexy and soon she was scooting closer—

  Emma broke the kiss. “Sorry. We’re in public.”

  “No, I know. Don’t worry about it.” Jamie squashed a sigh and reached for her wine again. It wasn’t like she was a huge fan of public make-out sessions herself. But with their current logistics, she had a feeling they were going to have to seize the moment whenever—and wherever—they could. Speaking of which… “Maybe we should talk about sleeping arrangements. I told Tina she and Grant and the baby could have my room tonight.”

  Emma blinked at her. “Oh.”

  “The boys are sleeping on the pull-out in the family room, so that leaves the upstairs couch for us.” As Emma continued to stare at her, Jamie ducked her head. “I know, I’m sorry. Ellie swears she told me about Tina’s visit right after I got back from London, but that day is pretty much a blur, so…”

  “You know what? This is fine,” Emma announced. “One more reason we shouldn’t stay at Ellie’s house tonight.”

  “It’s kind of late to call up Brugge.”

  Jordan Van Brueggen, a relative newcomer on the national team, was the other allocated player at Portland. An outside midfielder, she had grown up in Colorado, played college ball in Arizona, and was one of a handful of social and political conservatives in the pool.

  Emma scoffed. “No way are we calling VB.”

  “Then where are we staying?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Emma…” They’d had this argument before in January when Emma suggested she spring for a few nights at a fancy hotel in downtown San Francisco, or even for an average room near Berkeley’s campus.

  “No, Jamie. I’m not sleeping on a couch with you tonight. For one thing, my back can’t take it, and for another, I don’t want to have to worry about Tina’s boys walking in and asking why Auntie Emma is hugging ‘that girl.’ Naked.”

  “That totally wouldn’t happen.”

  “How do you know?”

  “For one, Ian is convinced I’m a dude. I heard him arguing with his dad: ‘No, that’s a boy! He even has a boy’s name!’”

  Emma pursed her lips, clearly trying not to laugh. “Small fry aren’t so good with the gender cues.”

  “Gee, you think?” Jamie asked, and the conversation moved on to kids and bodies and the hormones that made adults love their children so intensely. Emma did most of the talking on this subject while Jamie sat back, sipping her wine and chiming in at appropriate moments. God, Emma was beautiful. And intelligent. And legitimately loaded. What was she doing with someone who couldn’t even afford an apartment of her own?

  Jamie had allowed her pride to prevail in January, but now she was tempted to rein it in. More than tempted—this was their one night together for the foreseeable future. Emma was flying to Denver tomorrow for the first of two national team friendlies that would keep her traveling for the next week. After that they would both be in-season through the end of August. Given that Portland’s first three league games were on the road and Seattle’s second three were away, they might not see each other again until their teams met in mid-May. And even that first match was scheduled for Portland, where Jamie would still be sharing a roof with Ellie.

  “Okay,” she said after they’d finished the sushi and most of the wine, “you win. Let’s stay someplace else tonight.”

  “Babe,” Emma said, her tone a cross between kind and condescending, “that was decided a while ago. Seriously, you need to learn to keep up, beanpole.”

  “Beanpole? You know you want all of this.” Jamie waved at her body, currently hidden by a bulky sweatshirt/fleece combo.

  “You’re right.” Emma moved closer to murmur in her ear, “I do want all of you.”

  Jamie felt a shiver work its way along the sensitive skin of her neck and down her back. A hotel would be fine. Definitely.

  She sprang up, faking a yawn. “Sheesh, will you look at the time?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Ready?” Jamie
asked, holding out a hand.

  Emma took her fingers and pulled herself up. “The question is, are you?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it?

  * * *

  Emma sat in the front seat of Jamie’s car, thumbing through hotel options on her phone while Jamie packed up. She clicked on one that might be promising and skimmed the amenities—suite available with a view of the Willamette River, king bed, and in-room Jacuzzi. That would do nicely. She booked the room, completing the process as Jamie slid into the driver’s seat.

  “All set.” Emma slipped her wallet back into her handbag. “Do you know how to get to the South Waterfront?”

  “Yeah, no. I’ve been in Portland for a total of ten days.”

  “GPS it is. Wait. Are you okay to drive?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I can drive if you want.” Not only did Emma weigh more than Jamie, she partook of alcohol a tad more often. Possibly more than a tad.

  Hand on the ignition, Jamie hesitated. Then she undid her seat belt. “I’m a better navigator than you, anyway.”

  Emma pretended to elbow her as they crossed in front of the car. “Nice.”

  Jamie caught her arm and tugged her off-balance, holding her close long enough to connect their lips. The kiss was brief, but Emma felt it deep inside. God, she had it bad. She pushed Jamie away, ignoring her smug smile.

  “You’re lucky I”—she started, and then stopped as Jamie blinked at her—“like you.” She continued around to the driver’s door, face-palming inwardly. That was not how she wanted to tell her. Anyway, did confessing one’s undying love qualify as first date material?

  Probably as much as getting naked in a hot tub did. And yet, that was where they found themselves an hour later: facing each other from either end of a steaming tub on the top floor of a South Portland hotel, the sky outside the indigo that always reminded Emma of watching the sunset from her parents’ old living room.

  They had managed to get in and out of Ellie’s house fairly quickly. With children present, the adults hadn’t been able to tease them too much about their sudden recollection of an unspecified prior engagement in the city, one that would keep them out so late that they would stay downtown so as not to wake everyone else up. Obviously they were doing the house’s current inhabitants a favor.

  While Tina snorted, Ellie had exchanged a knowing glance with Jodie, her fiancée, who had come home from work while Jamie and Emma were out. But they didn’t say anything as Jamie jogged downstairs to pack a bag for the night.

  Ellie waited until she was out of earshot to elbow Emma. “Don’t mess this up, Blake.”

  “I have had s-e-x before, you know,” Emma snarked back.

  And then her smirk faded as Jack, Tina’s oldest at six and a half, piped up: “What’s sex?”

  The room was silent for a moment, and then all the adults busted out laughing. Jack’s chest puffed up in pride and he began to dance around the room repeating, “Sex-sex-sex-sex,” while Emma—subtly, she hoped—flipped off her friends.

  The drive into the city had been oddly awkward, and Emma had searched for conversational topics, discarding one after another. Soccer, the most obvious, was tricky because their pro teams were rivals and the national team was in disarray. She hadn’t let on to Jamie how bad it was, but after bombing out of the Algarve, most of the older players were furious with Craig over formation choices and starting line-ups. The grumbling of recent months had grown into a veritable cacophony over many of his decisions, including cutting Jamie and starting inexperienced newbies over older, more seasoned players. With discord running rampant, Craig was rapidly losing the team’s respect.

  For once Emma would rather be with her club than the national team. The Reign organization was stable, even if the same couldn’t necessarily be said for the league. But with financial backing from the federation—something the two previous American women’s pro leagues had lacked—the NWSL had a better chance at sticking around for the long term. The Thorns franchise was stable, too, in addition to being the closest team to Seattle. They were lucky Jamie had landed in Portland with Ellie, even if 180 miles sometimes felt like it might as well be a thousand.

  Tonight, though, they would sleep in the same room. And right now, they were naked in the same tub.

  “Hi,” Emma said, sliding one hand slowly up Jamie’s taut, firm calf.

  “Hi,” Jamie echoed, watching her with glowing eyes.

  Emma gave her leg a gentle tug. “You’re too far away.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.” She watched as Jamie’s lovely body with her lovely muscles and her lovely tattoos drifted closer, closer, until all she could see was the blue of her eyes.

  “I love you, you know,” Jamie said, her voice a little hoarse.

  The words weren’t really a surprise; at some level, Emma had known. But the warmth that seeped into her bloodstream, heating every inch of her and making her throat tighten, that was a surprise. She slipped her arms around Jamie’s neck, fingertips brushing the top of her back where the phoenix tattoo started. “I love you, too.”

  She tilted her head back slightly. “Even if I play for the Thorns?”

  “Even so.” Despite the teasing words, Emma was deeply, ecstatically happy. Nothing else mattered except the two of them alone in this room—for a little while. “Kiss me?”

  “So bossy, Blake,” she said, her eyes on Emma’s lips.

  “You love it.”

  Jamie didn’t answer, only leaned in, strong arms bracing her as the tub jets whorled and whooshed, and then their lips connected, softly at first and then harder as Emma tugged again. Jamie’s body fell into hers, and she gave a surprised gasp that Emma immediately longed to hear again. Quickly the gasp turned to something else as their skin slipped and slid together under the roiling surface of the water, legs entangling, chests pressing, thighs rubbing. The heat inside Emma raced and then settled, pooling low in her abdomen as light flickered against her closed eyelids.

  It only took a few minutes of rocking together, mouths and bodies moving in synch, before Emma felt herself tipping and falling, her limbs tensing in the final moment before the orgasm washed over her, forcing a muted cry from her lips. She kept her eyes closed through the delicious waves, only opening them after Jamie pulled back.

  “Wait, did you..?”

  Emma bit her lip. “Yes?”

  “Wow.” She ducked her head and kissed her again, lips moving more slowly now. “That’s amazing.”

  “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

  Jamie pressed her hips into Emma. “Not yet it isn’t. I’m not done with you.”

  Emma inhaled sharply as the heat flared back up. Another surprise—Jamie taking control. She wouldn’t have predicted it, but she definitely liked it. Hell, she more than liked it. “You’re not?”

  “Not even close. We have the rest of the night, don’t we?”

  “We do,” Emma agreed, and tugged her back down.

  #

  “Did you set the alarm?” Jamie asked, slipping back into bed and immediately snuggling into her side.

  “Mm-hmm.” Emma turned her head to lazily kiss Jamie’s still-damp forehead. She smelled like toothpaste and lavender bath salts and sex, and it was almost enough to make Emma want to have her way with her, again. But it was after midnight and the alarm was set, and despite what they might want they each had busy days ahead—national team training camp in Denver for her, Thorns practice and a pre-season scrimmage for Jamie. They were professional athletes, and as much as they might want to stay up all night, their consciences wouldn’t let them.

  Still, they had utilized the past few hours to the best of their (considerable, Emma thought) abilities, each learning what the other liked first in the tub and then in the king-sized bed. Emma had finally realized one of her fantasies—kissing her way across the phoenix tattoo that stretched across Jamie’s back—and Jamie had reciprocated by paying equal attention to the script
on her ribcage and the spiral compass tattoo on her hip. Eventually they’d donned robes and fed each other pita chips and hummus from the “care package” Ellie had pressed into Jamie’s hands as they left the house. They’d laughed and kissed as they filled their glycogen windows and Emma had been amazed at how easy everything felt, how normal.

  Being with Jamie was what she’d expected in some ways, but at the same time, nothing like she could have predicted. Jamie was tender and sweet in bed, but she was also teasing and demanding, driving Emma to the brink multiple times before backing away and building her back up again. Little remained of the girl who had never been kissed, and Emma wasn’t sure if she was insanely jealous of or incredibly grateful to the women who had taught Jamie how to be so comfortable with her own body—not to mention, someone else’s. She had felt Jamie’s eyes on her as her fingers curled and twisted inside her, drawing gasps and sounds she was pretty sure she’d never before emitted. No first time had ever been quite as meaningful, but then again, she’d never been in love with a partner before sleeping with them. This thing between them was already more serious than most of her past relationships combined.

  How serious had become clear during dinner at the park near Ellie’s house when the conversation had shifted to Baby Julia. With the sky overhead slowly darkening into a soft purply gray, Emma had explained about oxytocin, the “love hormone” triggered by physical and emotional connection with others. Newborn babies, she’d told Jamie, tend to bring it out in anyone who gets near enough.

  “That is one awesome evolutionary development,” Jamie had commented, “though I suppose it’s necessary since babies are incapable of self-care.”