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Alexandra swiped a down jacket from the living room couch, shaking it out.
“Tsk tsk,” said Kira, mock-chiding her. “You’re starting to act less like a guest and more like someone who lives here.”
Alexandra bit her lower lip. “Well, I’ve spent every night here since…what, Sunday? I’ve got a third of a closet of clothes here, a toothbrush, shampoo…so, uh, yeah, I’m starting to feel less like a guest.” She zipped the coat, sound of the zipper covered by Kira donning her own overcoat.
“Gonna be colder than an ice cube in the Arctic out there tonight,” said Kira. She opened the door, stepping into the hallway. “Careful on the carpet. The condo association had a shitfit once when my old cleats scuffed it up.”
Alexandra looked at her shoes, a pair of black-and-green turf cleats fresh from the box. “Seriously? Even turf cleats?”
“My place has decent floors. This thing,” she said, gesturing to the worn wall-to-wall fabric, “Probably cost twenty bucks for the whole building. In 1975, I’d guess.”
Alexandra had never looked closely at the carpet. Kira was right: it was a brownish-orange monstrosity that put the bare in threadbare.
“And they got mad at you for scuffing this thing? How did they even notice?”
Kira pressed the elevator button for the underground parking garage. “I had an old neighbor. Old as in former, but also old as in once had dinner at the White House when Truman was President. She hated me. Hated me. You can imagine why,” she said, interlacing her long fingers with Alexandra’s.
“Used to complain to the condo board about everything I did. Miss Manning left her muddy boots outside in the hallway. Miss Manning’s pop music can be heard in my unit outside approved hours. I cannot imagine what Myrtle would have said about last night.”
“Miss Henderson makes Miss Manning cum far too loudly, for unreasonable lengths of time, and at wholly inappropriate hours,” said Alexandra, adopting the same mocking tone.
They stepped out of the elevator, headed yet again for Kira’s decade-old Jeep Wrangler.
“The chances Myrtle said the word ‘cum’ even once in her life are about the same as those of the Pope opening Christmas mass at St. Peter’s next month by spreading his arms and saying ‘Assfucking. We gather for this sacred mass to celebrate the practice of assfucking.'”
“Miss Henderson talks too loudly about how wet her cunt is, how big Miss Manning’s tits are, and she does this at the breakfast table.”
“The College of Cardinals has decreed that, in lieu of communion wafers, we’ll be handing out condoms at this mass.” Kira paused. “For the assfucking.”
Both women doubled over in laughter as Kira started the engine. I’m so glad she has the same sense of humor I do, thought Alexandra. The same awful sense of humor.
“Hey,” continued Kira, “You actually did say that stuff at the breakfast table, didn’t you? About my tits, I mean.”
“Mhm. Today, in fact.”
“And I thought I was a fan of morning sex,” said Kira. “And had a dirty mouth.”
“Says the woman who just had the Pope extolling the virtues of anal sex and responded to my breakfast commentary by literally telling me to eat her cunt while she finished her pancakes.”
“They were some good pancakes,” said Kira.
“It was some good cunt.”
Kira coughed. “Well, seeing as I can’t get your mind out of the gutter and on to the task at hand, do you actually want to talk about this team we’re playing, or just show up and wing it?”
“Fine,” said Alexandra. Actually, I wouldn’t mind showing up and winging it in a recreational indoor soccer league, but apparently this team is so serious that they have game plans.
“OK, so just to warn you, you won’t start. We can sub whenever we want when the ball is out of play. We play that by ear.”
“Any opportunity for pancakes?” I fucking know how and when to play soccer, even indoor.
“Fine,” echoed Kira, passing a slow-moving truck. “Team we’re playing tonight is good. It’s a bunch of alumni of one college program. Wisconsin-Whitewater, Wisconsin-Stevens Point, one of them. You get the…uh, point. Bunch of five-nine, twenty-something blonde girls with an idea what they’re doing and who aren’t afraid to use their elbows.”
Alexandra crossed her legs, staring at the highway lights. “So, what you’re saying is you’d fit in.”
“I’ve five-ten, thank you. And if I had a Wisconsin accent, I’d probably jump off a bridge. Seriously, you’d think these girls had never left the Central time zone their entire lives.”
“So?” said Alexandra.
“Half of them are named Madison, and the other half are named Emily or Emma. They piss me off.”
“Well, canlı bahis şirketleri that part I understand,” drawled Alexandra. “I’m sure they like your accent, too.”
“Wait, what? I have an accent?”
Alexandra covered her mouth with her palm. “Kira, I…” Don’t say “I love you, but…”. Just skip that. “Yeah. I knew you were from Texas before you told me. It’s not much, but it’s there.” She paused. “And just so you know, I do like it.”
“You’ve distracted me.”
“Last weekend, you were literally giving me a striptease while I drove you back from the airport,” said Alexandra. “I don’t think you’re one to complain about distractions.”
“Fine, my accent, tell me more.”
“You have a little bit of a Texas drawl. Especially after you drink. I like it, especially when I drink.”
Kira drove, eyes fixed ahead. I hope she’s not mad, thought Alexandra.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, finally. “Ever since I went to college, I’ve been fighting it. Seriously, the judgments people make about women with Texas accents…”
“False modesty,” said Alexandra. “I’m from Pittsburgh. ‘Go Stillers, ya fehkin’ jag-off!'”
“Wait, do y’all really talk like that?”
“Me? Hell no. Some of my friends back home, absolutely.”
“I withdraw my objection,” said Kira.
“So, these lovely ladies with their annoying voices against whom I get to make my Chicago-area recreational indoor soccer debut. Is there anything I need to know other than that you don’t like them?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Kira. “We’ll be a bit shorthanded tonight with the holiday next week. We’ll play 2-1-2, so everything runs through Lucía. Keep the ball on the ground as much as possible, and use the sideboards. When we need to flood the midfield, it’s a forward dropping back to the wing, not a defender going up. Defense first.”
Yes, I know how to play soccer, Alexandra’ mind repeated. “Sounds good,” her mouth said.
“OK, now back to my accent and how hot you find it,” laughed Kira.
Most of what Kira said turned out to be accurate. Their opponents were almost uniformly tall and blonde, and after pulling on a blue jersey, Alexandra started the game as one of only three substitutes.
“So, New Girl, you’re a defender?” The nameless teammate was an inch shorter than Alexandra, with a chestnut ponytail and the rapid voice of someone used to hurried communication.
“That and midfield,” Alexandra replied.
“Useful,” she said, tone softening. “I’m Meg, and she’s Shannon. We’re both primarily forwards.”
“Alexandra,” she said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
“You too,” said Shannon. Five-three, one-forty, but fit. Looks like she could run through a brick wall, thought Alexandra. “We’ll probably all sub on together, so you’ll just switch in for Kira or Mette, whichever one wants to come off first.”
“Works for me.” All three women turned back to watch the action. Alexandra tried to follow both sides’ tactics and ball movement, but her eyes kept flicking back to Kira.
She’s quite good, Alexandra thought, wondering why she had doubted that her girlfriend — a former Division I collegiate player — wouldn’t be. She watched as Kira flawlessly tracked attackers, stepping into passing lanes and nodding headers back into midfield for Lucía to initiate attacks. And damn, she looks sexy as hell doing it. The running had activated her leg muscles, calves bulging under her long socks.
Focus, Alexandra. Soccer. The game turned into a blur, though: Kira, fighting off an attacker’s elbow with a fierce one of her own. Kira, threading a pass that turned into the game’s first goal.
“Subs now,” said Lucía, reaching for a water bottle. “Good to see you again, Alexandra.” So she remembers me. When Kira and I ran into her on the street. After we’d had sex in a bookstore.
Alexandra stepped onto the artificial grass pitch and adjusted her shin guards. A hand landed on the small of her back.
“Hey,” said Kira, catching her breath. “You’re on for me. Stay left; Mette’s got her side. Their subs are much weaker than their starters, so be aggressive.”
“You…” Alexandra stopped. No point talking to her girlfriend’s back.
Play restarted. The ball found Alexandra immediately, an overhit pass that she controlled and fed forward to Lucía. Then came a contested ball down the sideboard. Alexandra had pulled ahead of her opponent and cleared the ball when an elbow blasted her ribs, slamming her into the boards. Bitch, this is a hockey rink, but it’s not hockey.
Another long ball came to Mette on the opposite side. Under pressure from two attackers, her tall, pale teammate flicked the ball across, leading Alexandra canlı kaçak iddaa into the midfield. Fluid. Perfect pass. Also, hottie alert. Yikes.
Attack. Middle’s open. Lucía stayed to her right, and Alexandra drifted left with the ball, forcing the outnumbered defenders out of position.
There. The ball was off her left foot, headed diagonally ahead for Shannon, who blasted it into the top corner, past a helpless goalkeeper. Run through a brick wall? Fuck that, she could kick a soccer ball through a wall, too.
A yell of excitement came from the bench, Kira’s voice among them.
“Hey, nice ball, New Girl,” said Meg, giving Alexandra a quick one-armed hug. Others followed. When Alexandra caught Kira’s eye on the bench, she received a beaming smile and a wink in response.
The goal seemed to break the ice, both in the game and in Alexandra’s relationship with her teammates. She played most of the match — some on the left paired with Mette and some on the right paired with Kira.
“You’re on the wrong side of the bed,” whispered Kira during one stoppage in play. “Might punish you for that later.”
Please do, Alexandra thought, the idea never quite leaving her mind through an entire sequence of play. By the time eight minutes remained, her team had a solid 8-3 lead and Alexandra was again resting on the sideline. The ball launched over the boards and out of play.
“Hey,” said Lucía, appearing in front of Alexandra. “You play mid too, yeah?”
“Good, go do it,” said the black-haired woman, hopping over the boards as if she hadn’t been running almost continuously for nearly an hour.
“New girl!” chorused Meg and Shannon. Alexandra blushed. If this is the worst the hazing gets, I can handle it. But seriously, I must be playing alright. Midfield in a 2-1-2 is a big task.
It turned out to not be such a big task. Mette and Kira fed passes into open space and Alexandra used her speed advantage over Madison/Emily/Emma to take it from there. Only two solid saves from Madison the goalkeeper — whose name apparently really is Madison — kept the score as it was.
Then, with one minute remaining, Kira headed a long ball back into midfield, perfect for Alexandra to run onto. She elbowed past a flatfooted opponent — fuck you, Emily — and flashed glances left at right at Meg and Shannon.
The defenders split, tracking the forwards. Fine. Fuck you too, Madison, she thought, winding up and blasting a low shot towards the right corner. The ball smashed into the netting.
Nine-three, and game fucking over, Alexandra thought.
“Nice shot, slut,” she heard whispered in her ear, arms briefly around her waist. Mmm, Kira smell. Ugh, not here, not now, not that feeling.
The rest of the team surrounded her, congratulatory hugs and taps on the head.
“Africa, you did the damn thing!” said Meg, extending a congratulatory fist-bump.
Africa? thought Alexandra, tapping hands.
“Sorry,” laughed Mette, casting Meg a sideways glance. “We do Mean Girls quotes around here. It’s kind of a requirement.”
Quick, quick! Mean Girls quote, now! Come on, Henderson. Ah, got it. “On Wednesdays, do we wear pink?”
“Oooh, she’s a keeper,” replied Mette. A little bit of an accent. Somewhere foreign. Tall. Dark hair, ice-blue eyes. Gorgeous. No, Alexandra. Just no! Finish the game.
She did, closing out the match with a shot that goalkeeper Madison just managed to block before the referee — where the hell was he when I was getting elbowed in the ribs? — blew the final whistle.
A moment later, fingers teased the small of her back.
“Hey,” said Kira.
Alexandra turned. Did anyone else see that? “Hey. Nice pass.”
“Nice finish. Although I already know quite well that you finish nicely.” She paused long enough for a blush to spread across Alexandra’s face. “Anyway, when we win, we get drinks after.”
“In sweaty soccer gear?”
“Sometimes. Usually not. Most of us live closer in, so either we go somewhere in the Loop or to someone’s house,” said Kira.
“Tonight it’s Mette and Meg’s place. Which is lucky for us, as they live like eight blocks away.” Another hesitation, a stare over Alexandra’s head. “I told them I’d tell you the address. Didn’t promise you’d show up. Didn’t…”
“I’ll come, stupid,” said Alexandra. “I appreciate that you don’t want to out me to people I don’t know, but I’m your girlfriend, for God’s sake. I’m not shying away from that. Besides, I think Lucía already has the idea.”
“True,” said Kira, green eyes flashing. “But the chance of Lucía going from Evanston to our ‘hood and back for alcohol — which she doesn’t drink canlı kaçak bahis — and conversation, which she doesn’t especially like, are about the same as these chicks letting you walk out of here and never playing again. Which is to say, zero.”
“Yeah. Welcome to the team, Alexandra. I love doing that to you.”
You and your double fucking meanings, Kira.
Kira adjusted the rearview mirror and started the engine. “You were fantastic,” she said. “Like, it’s weird that we’ve been dating for a while, we’re both soccer players, and I had no concrete idea how good you are. I’m impressed. Seriously.”
“Same,” said Alexandra. “I don’t think you were out of position once. Did they score with you out there?”
“Nope, all three were with you and Mette out there. And I’d put two of those on Wally before blaming any on you.”
“Allison — the goalkeeper’s — last name is Wallace. Having ‘Wall’ or ‘Wally’ as a nickname isn’t so bad when your job is to stop shots.”
“Fair.” They were on their way, heater taking effect. Alexandra noticed it had been cranked to its maximum level.
“It’s a fairly long ride,” said Kira, making eye contact. “I thought we could make it a little more…interesting.”
“Interesting,” repeated Alexandra. She felt her body tighten, an involuntary response to something in Kira’s voice.
“You remember last weekend.”
“I do.” You sat in the passenger seat. Did a striptease on the way back from O’Hare. Left me so wet I assumed I’d left a wet spot on the driver’s seat.
“How did it make you feel?”
“You know damn well how it made me feel,” replied Alexandra. “I hadn’t seen you in two days and you’re over there unbuttoning my shirt from the passenger seat.”
“Mhm,” said Kira. “Made you want to finger yourself when you were driving, didn’t it?”
Alexandra nodded. She’s got that look in her eyes. The one that says “I’m in charge now.”
“Well,” said Kira. “You’re not driving now.”
And you’re not unbuttoning my shirt or giving me a writhing striptease, either.
“You want me to…”
“Yes,” said Kira. “Alexandra, remember the things you say to me when we fuck. Things like ‘I’m your slut,’ perhaps?”
“Yes.” Alexandra’s heartbeat quickened.
“Yes.” No hesitation.
“And I’ve told you I was going to push you to be more daring sexually, because that’s what we both want?”
“Why do you want it?” The Wrangler’s engine thrummed as Kira navigated through Saturday night traffic. Despite the near-freezing air outside, Alexandra felt hot. She cranked the heater all the way for a reason. A lump formed in Alexandra’s throat.
“I want to be a better girlfriend for you. A hotter, sluttier version of when we met.” It’s like she flips a switch. A minute ago we were talking about soccer. Now I’m getting turned on. Quickly.
“You’re already that. But you still want more?”
“God yes. I want so much more.”
“Put your money where that slutty little mouth is, Alexandra.” They were stopped at a red light, no car alongside. “I’ll put the Gaga mix back on. Make yourself cum before we get home and I have a special surprise for you tonight. Do it naked and I have surprises for you tonight and tomorrow.”
Alexandra checked over her shoulder at the traffic around them. The Wrangler’s windows were tinted, but were they dark enough?
“If you’re looking around and wondering if the windows are dark enough, you’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”
“By the way, they are. No worries some Wisconsin bitch in her Civic is going to see you.”
Not sure I’d mind that much if they did, Alexandra thought. A couple of them were right in my wheelhouse. As is at least one of my teammates. A mental image flashed. Two. At least two of my teammates.
Alexandra took a deep breath, turning sideways in the seat. Pulled her shirt off, tossing it by her feet. Her pulse quickened. It still makes my heart race every time I take my clothes off in front of her.
She stared at Kira, who pretended not to notice. Alexandra pulled off her cleats, then her socks, tossing her shin guards onto the growing pile. Last came her shorts, sliding down her legs and pooling at her feet.
“So, you going to turn on the fucking music yet?” She heard the edge in her voice. Yes, fuck you, I do want to do this.
“Depends,” said Kira. “You going to take off your fucking underwear?”
Oh, right. Alexandra shimmied her hips. The fabric slid down her legs, landing on the pile. The bra followed.
“Good girl,” said Kira. Music started, bass thumping. Alexandra spread her thighs, opening them towards Kira. Fuck. I’m already wet. Not sweaty. Sticky. Slick. Turned-on.
The Lady Gaga mix coursed through the sound system. Alexandra’s mind replayed Kira gyrating to it, rubbing her body on Alexandra’s.
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