Outside the Lines

by Kate Christie

  “It’s okay,” Jamie insisted. “I informed her that as a straight, married woman, she doesn’t get to have an opinion on how we manage our relationship. It’s up to us—and, I guess, the coaches.”

  And the federation, and the fans, and and AND… Emma tightened her grip on Jamie’s hand briefly, then loosened it as Jamie winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She exhaled a short, sharp breath of frustration. Why did it feel like everything was spiraling out of control?

  “Emma,” Jamie said, “it really is fine. I love my sister, but she’s a music professor who has no idea what it’s like to be a team player, no clue the level of compromise and sacrifice required to do what we do. She’s the one who doesn’t get it.”

  Emma stared back at Jamie, searching for any sign that she agreed with her sister even a tiny bit. But Jamie held her gaze unflinchingly, her expression sincere. “Okay,” she said at last, nodding.

  When they stopped in front of the hotel, Emma checked the perimeter carefully before saying her farewells and stepping out of the car. Jamie took longer, kissing her parents and assuring them they shouldn’t get out, that she and Emma had to get back to their rooms for curfew.

  “If you’re sure,” Emma heard Jamie’s mom say.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m sure.” Jamie gave her mother a last peck on the cheek and then exited the car with promises to text them in the morning. She followed Emma into the hotel, stopping to wave one last time at her parents.

  “Christ,” Jamie groaned as they finally made it into the elevator, “I forgot how exhausting they can be! Family.”

  “Can’t live with them.” She left it at that.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” She reached over and kissed Emma’s cheek, jumping back as the elevator stuttered to a stop. “Thanks again for coming to dinner.”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” she replied, wishing the doors would magically open onto her condo hallway. But the doors opened onto their hotel floor, and they were officially on team time once again.

  “See you tomorrow?” Jamie asked as Emma stopped at her room, fishing in her purse for her card key.

  “See you tomorrow.” Emma held her hand up for a high five, mouth twisted into a rueful smile.

  Jamie caught her fingers and tugged her closer. “Love you, Blake.”

  “Love you too, Max.” She opened the door reluctantly. “Sweet dreams.”

  “Sweet dreams to you too,” Jamie replied in a sassy voice. And then she was strolling away down the hallway with a last flirty wink over her shoulder.

  She was too much. But Emma would take her any way she could.

  Chapter Six

  Jamie shouldered her duffel and tugged her suitcase behind her to the Heathrow taxi line. At least it wasn’t raining—definitely a plus when it came to November in England. She checked her messenger bag for the thirty-second time, making sure she had her passport. Lately she’d had nightmares about losing it and getting stuck in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language. Three guesses where that particular nightmare came from.

  After a summer of crisscrossing the United States for the NWSL, the fall had felt like a rotating door of different countries: Utah in September (not a foreign nation per se, but the snow-tipped mountains and smiling blonde citizens did make it feel like Scandinavia), Poland and the UK in October, and now Switzerland and the UK again this month. If she’d made the CONCACAF roster, her October travels would have been confined to the continental United States with Emma and crew, but she had failed to make the team once again.

  The news hadn't torn her up as much as she'd expected probably because Jo had told her that if the roster were larger, she would have made it. At twenty, the World Cup qualifying roster was among the smallest for an international competition, second only to the Olympics’ eighteen. Jo had also informed her that her 2014 in a US jersey might not be over yet. She was a “likely candidate” for the national team’s trip to Brasilia in December to play in the International Tournament of Nations—yet another foreign excursion. The coaches were taking twenty-four players to Brazil, and Jo seemed to think that Jamie had a good shot at making the cut.

  Her phone beeped and she perked up as she read the text. Emma wanted to video-chat. They’d barely spoken for the last few days while Jamie was in Switzerland, and she’d missed Emma more than was probably healthy.

  “Yes!” she texted back. “Please!!!”

  Skype buzzed and she answered it, gazing eagerly at the pixelated view of her girlfriend on the screen. “Hi! Oh my god, hi!”

  “Hi yourself,” Emma said, smiling. “What’s up, cutie? It’s good to see your face.”

  “You too.” Jamie scooted up in line. She was almost to the front, finally.

  “Where are you?” Emma asked. “I thought you were supposed to be back in London already.”

  “I got held up at baggage claim. Can you freaking believe it? They lost my bag, the bastards. But only temporarily. Somehow it ended up on another carousel.”

  “What about the rest of your team?”

  “They ditched me.”

  “Even Britt?”

  “Yep. I actually can’t blame her. Our flight was delayed. It’s been a massively long day.”

  “Aw, poor baby. I wish I were there. I would totes give you a massage.”

  Jamie scrunched up her face. “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t. You love me. Hey, I gotta go. Text me when you’re settled and we can chat some more, okay?”

  “Okay. Wait, where—”

  But Emma had already blown her a kiss and ended the call.

  “—are you?” she finished, and sighed. Dang it. The first time they’d video chatted in almost a week and Emma had to cut it short. Still, Jamie was holding her to their chat later. Sure, she’d be stuck in a room the size of a closet crashing at the basement apartment of one of her teammates, but she could close the door to achieve a modicum of privacy. That door had come in handy on the night of Emma’s birthday a few weeks earlier when Jamie had Skyped her—naked. What were the kids calling it these days? Oh, yeah: skexing, AKA sex via Skype. Nowhere near as good as the real thing, but it would have to do for now.

  When she reached the front of the line, she barely waited for the approaching taxi to stop before loading her gear into the back seat and climbing in after it. “Edgware,” she told the driver as he pulled away from the curb, relieved when he only nodded and kept his eyes on the road. At this point she was too exhausted to even feign politeness. She imagined that if Heathrow was a regular route, the driver would be used to catatonic travelers.

  She might have dozed a bit in the warm back seat that smelled of Thai food, or maybe she was technically daydreaming as she pictured Emma the last time she’d seen her. After September’s residency camp ended, they’d spent the next two weeks together holed up in Emma’s condo, only leaving the building to work out, buy groceries, and, occasionally, socialize with Dani or members of the Reign. It had been an amazing break from their crazy summer schedule, and had made Jamie’s non-selection for qualifiers easier to handle.

  They’d had such a great time together in Seattle that she’d almost invited Emma to join her in Europe after CONCACAFs. But she knew Emma was looking forward to downtime after the tournament, and besides, as a USWNT poster child and Nike-sponsored athlete, Emma had press junkets and a meeting with her agent and other Very Important Person commitments to handle in the brief off-season the federation granted.

  And so, at the beginning of October, Jamie had headed to Europe with Britt, unsure how long their Champions League run would last. While the Emma and the US were narrowly winning their first World Cup qualifier against Trinidad and Tobago, Jamie and Arsenal were making up a two-goal deficit at home against their Polish opponents in the Round of Thirty-two. Jamie could barely believe it, but they’d scored three goals in twenty minutes to come from behind and win on aggregate.

  Now, three weeks later, they’d once again fallen behind on the away leg, this time in
the Round of Sixteen. With last night’s match in Zurich ending 1-2, they would have to win their home match by two goals if they wanted to advance to Champions League Quarterfinals in March. Zurich was flying to London tomorrow and the match would take place the following day, less than seventy-two hours after the first leg. The one good thing about the quick turnaround was that they would know their fate sooner rather than later.

  Her phone buzzed, a text from Britt: “Did they ever find your bag?”

  Whoops. She’d promised she would text once she was on her way. “Sorry. Yes!” she typed back.

  “Excellent! Come to ours for a nightcap?”

  Frowning, she pondered her response. She wanted to sleep, like, badly. Realistically, though, would her temporary roommates let her? The closet she was crashing in bordered the living room of the apartment four of her Arsenal teammates were currently letting, and the odds that the others wouldn’t be up past midnight watching DVRed Premier League matches were next to nil. That meant she would be up past midnight watching DVRed Premier League matches, too.

  “On my way,” she texted back. “See you in fifteen.”

  Maybe she would even give in and sleep on the couch at Britt’s girlfriend’s cousin’s place in Camden, as they had been bugging her to do. It was a mighty comfortable couch.

  “Sweet!!!!!” Britt texted.

  Her exclamation point usage felt a bit excessive given they’d lost yesterday and spent today in travel hell, but then again Allie, Britt’s girlfriend, had flown in from DC for the Zurich matches.

  The driver accepted the trip revision without comment, and soon they were stopping in front of a nondescript terraced house on a cramped block not far from the famous Camden Market. Jamie paid for the ride, pocketed the receipt, and lugged her bags up the brick walk. Someone buzzed her in, and she headed for the flat at the rear of the building, glad Allie’s cousin lived on the first floor. The last thing she wanted right now was to haul her luggage up a flight of stairs.

  The flat door was slightly ajar. As she pushed her way inside she sang out wryly, “Lucy, I’m home,” in a poor imitation of Ricky Ricardo. Or, more accurately, of Lorelai Gilmore doing her rendition of Ricky Ricardo. The greeting was a throwback to the days when she and Britt had shared a garden flat within spitting distance of Meadow Park, Arsenal Ladies FC’s training ground.

  Lizzie, Allie’s cousin, waved enthusiastically at her from the kitchen while Britt and Allie avoided her eyes, seemingly frozen on the couch. Before Jamie could ask about their weirdness, she noticed a familiar purse on the coffee table. Wait. Was that Lizzie’s, or could it be…?

  “Surprise!” an even more familiar voice sang.

  Jamie spun, dropping her bags as she discovered Emma smiling at her from just behind the door. “Oh my god! You’re here!” And then she was sweeping her girlfriend into a tight hug, laughing as she twirled her around. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “Believe it, babe.” Emma hugged her back, lips warm against her neck.

  “What are you doing in London?”

  “I wanted to see you play! It’s not every day your girlfriend plays in Champions League, you know.”

  “This is so awesome!” She set Emma down and simply stared at her, taking in her pink cheeks, sparkling eyes, honey-colored hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. “It is so good to see you. You have no idea.”

  “I think I might have a slight idea,” Emma said, reaching for her hand. “Come sit for a minute. Lizzie’s making us tea before we head to the flat.”

  “The flat?” Jamie echoed, shrugging out of her jacket as Emma guided her across the room.

  Emma tugged her down onto the couch, squishing in beside Allie and Britt. “I rented a place in Hampstead through the weekend.”

  “But my flight leaves on Thursday.” Even as she said it, she realized how ridiculous she sounded.

  “That’s what change fees are for, silly.” Emma snuggled into her side. “Assuming you want to have a European vacation with me…”

  “I don’t know. Twist my arm.” Jamie leaned forward to regard Britt and Allie. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

  Britt, whose inability to keep a secret was legendary, nodded. “And I didn’t even screw it up!”

  “Well done, babe,” Allie said.

  “Way to go,” Jamie agreed, and then sighed, all of her accrued negativity from the day seeping away into the atmosphere. Just like that, she was warm and comfortable and stationary, Emma’s body pressed into hers, the week stretching ahead a good deal brighter.

  The tea kettle whistled, and Jamie watched as Britt and Allie hopped up to make tea—and, presumably, to give them a moment.

  “Good surprise?” Emma asked softly.

  “The best,” she said, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead. “It’s funny—I almost showed up in DC for your birthday, but then I remembered how you feel about surprises.”

  While Emma liked showing up on other people’s parents’ doorsteps and announcing her intention to kiss those people, she had never been much of a fan of being surprised herself.

  “I don’t dislike surprises,” Emma objected. As Jamie tilted her head, she added, “Well, maybe a little.”

  “Besides, you guys had your last group stage game that night, and I didn’t want to distract you.”

  “We were playing Haiti.”

  “I know, but you still hadn’t advanced. I was being respectful.”

  Emma blinked up at her. “You actually thought about flying back to the US for my birthday?”

  “Well, yeah. It would have had to be quick, but I could have made it work.”

  “I would have loved that. Not that I didn’t enjoy the care package and your scintillating sexy times dance.” Emma bit her lip, but not out of appreciation. Instead, Jamie was all but certain, she was trying not to laugh.

  Admittedly, Jamie’s dance routine had been rough around the edges, but it had been the wee hours of the morning in London, and she had been stuck in a closet. Irony duly noted.

  “Whatever. You know you want all of this,” Jamie said, gesturing to her Arsenal Ladies FC sweats.

  “I do,” Emma agreed, as she always did. “But for the record, you’re welcome to show up unannounced any time.”

  It was Jamie’s turn to blink at her. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Huh.” Jamie looped one of Emma’s curls around her finger. “I might hold you to that.”

  “I hope you will,” Emma said, gazing up at her.

  “Those are some serious heart eyes,” Britt commented from the kitchen.

  “I know,” Allie said, and Jamie could hear the smile in her voice. “Aren’t they sweet?”

  They were, she thought, gazing back at Emma. No doubt about it.

  #

  “Holy shit.” Jamie dropped her bags on an expensive rug and surveyed the flat, eyes wide. “This is… It’s… Jesus, Emma. How much does this place cost?”

  Emma waved a hand and swept past her, turning on lights as she went. “I don’t remember. Dani found it for us while I was in LA.”

  The previous week, Emma had gone to Southern California with Jenny, Maddie, and Angie to film a Nike ad campaign that would air over the holidays. The life of an international soccer star, Jamie had teased her at the time. Taking in the luxurious flat now, she realized that the title was perhaps more fitting than she’d realized.

  To the left of the entrance was a sitting room decorated with bright, modern (Jamie surmised) art pieces that likely cost more than her entire annual salary—each. That wasn’t saying much, but still. She moved forward, noting two more sitting rooms off the entrance, one with brighter artwork and a large-screen television that took up most of one wall, the other decorated in more muted tones with a distinctly mature feel. Like the room you would retire to if you were a stuffy business type having a dinner party with your colleagues and their spouses. The floors throughout the flat were sanded and polished
dark wood, the rugs deeply piled, the ceilings high. Bright white molding complemented light gray walls, lending a cool, tranquil air to the rooms. The light fixture in the entrance way—the foyer?—was an honest-to-god chandelier. She felt like she’d stepped onto a movie set for a modern revival of Pride and Prejudice, only a gayer, chicer version.

  “Check this out,” Emma said, grinning over her shoulder as she headed through a doorway straight ahead.

  If Jamie had thought her eyes couldn’t get any wider, she’d been wrong. The back half of the flat was taken up by an open-plan kitchen, dining area, and game room complete with a full-sized pool table. The exterior wall was almost entirely floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a spacious patio illuminated by fairy lights. Beyond the patio was—what? Jamie strode to the sliding doors and stared out over the spot-lit garden, surprisingly large even for this part of London.

  No. Fucking. Way. “Is that—”

  “A soccer field? In miniature, but yes.” Emma’s smile broadened. “But wait, there’s more,” she added, channeling a cheesy TV infomercial.

  And indeed there was. The master bedroom off the kitchen included an en suite bathroom equipped with a glass-walled shower and a jetted tub. Down a short flight of stairs, the daylight basement offered a small cinema with comfy arm chairs arranged in stadium seating, a fitness room with weights and cardio machines, and an additional bedroom.

  “Holy shit,” Jamie breathed for what felt like the hundredth time as she catalogued the fitness equipment. Whoever owned this place had gone all out. She couldn’t believe they rented it out to strangers, but the exorbitant rental cost probably ensured a certain level of clientele.

  Back in the kitchen, Emma filled the electric kettle and set it to boil. “I asked to have it stocked with your favorites,” she said, opening a tin marked Tea on the counter and holding it out for Jamie to survey.

  Sure enough, inside were packets of English breakfast, blueberry green, and ginger turmeric tea. For some reason, that personal touch moved her more than the flat’s superlative amenities.