The story that follows was inspired by the U.S. Women’s National Team’s performance in the 2011 World Cup Final against Japan. All characters and situations are fictional. “Silver” contains an explicit love scene between two women. For more information about my writing and publications, visit http://www.nellstark.com.

Silver

Sweat dripped into my eyes, but the sting didn’t compare to the pain in my legs. Resisting the urge to glance up at the massive scoreboard, I focused on my mark—a tall forward who had been subbed into the game ten minutes ago. She was fresh. I was running on fumes. The score was tied, and any second now the whistle would blow to send us into overtime. Until then, all I had to do was make sure she didn’t score off this corner kick.

The crowd sounded like the roar of the ocean. Intermittently, I caught the syllables of my own name before they were swallowed by the surf. Just a few more seconds, and I could drink some water. Just a few more seconds, and we’d have a brief chance to regroup. This was the World Cup Final. I could hold on for a few more seconds.

Leaning into my opponent, I watched the kicker raise her arm. The ball sailed up into the night sky, curving in a perfect geodesic over the six yard-line. My mark exploded toward the spot, but I held my ground, edging her just out of reach. At the last second, I used her momentum to push me back toward the ball. As I rose into the air, I prayed for contact.

A sharp pain in my chest knocked the breath from my lungs, and I crashed to the ground. My lower back spasmed painfully as I scrambled to my feet, trying to return to the action. The air vibrated with sound as I searched for the ball.

And then I saw the swaying of the net. Our keeper lay sprawled on the ground, hands extended. Empty. The ball had found the left corner of the goal. Numbly, I lined up for the kickoff, knowing we were out of time. The whistle blew once, then again.

Game over.

Confetti rained from the sky like ash. Cameras flashed. Even as I shook the victors’ hands, tears mingled with the sweat on my cheeks.

Later, after the press conference and the team meeting, after I’d convinced my roommate that her errors in the second half hadn’t set off a chain reaction that culminated in our loss, I went in search of Wings. Sandra Winger, who categorically refused to answer to anything but her nickname, was a fleet-footed forward whose meteoric rise in the professional league over the past two seasons had earned her a place in the starting lineup of the national team. She wasn’t our youngest player, but she was close. I had five years on her, and also a crush.

As the only “out” athlete on the team, I was a bit of a flirtation magnet. The straight girls practiced on me, and most of the queer ones had expressed an interest at some point. I wasn’t a bad catch, I supposed: fairly good-looking in that androgynous way and a starting midfielder to boot. I wasn’t one of the team’s poster children, and I wasn’t flashy, but I was a hard worker and a playmaker. I held the record for number of assists.

Despite the interest I’d felt from some of my teammates, though, I had yet to date one. I’d been tempted a few times, but the possibility of a soured relationship impacting our performance always made me gun-shy. Mostly, I just kept my head down and stayed focused. I was the girls’ wingman, their designated driver, and the one they turned to as a sounding board for all their drama. On those rare occasions when the loneliness rode me extra hard, I’d go to a gay bar and find a woman who didn’t mind that I wouldn’t be staying for breakfast.

But there was something special about Wings that made me want to break my own rules. She was smart and funny, full of fire and ambition. The life of the party, yet not superficial in the slightest. When my parents had called during camp to report the death of our beloved family dog, Wings had been the first one to realize something was wrong with me. After practice that day, she had sat with me in the equipment room for a whole hour, just listening to me tell pet stories. She’d put her hand on my knee and leaned in close and murmured, “I understand. Dogs are people, too.”

And it was true: she did understand. She saw me—not just as a teammate, but as a person. A woman. That’s when my crush began.

As much as I liked her, I also respected her on the pitch. Her dynamic performance over the past few matches had catapulted her into the media spotlight, and I could tell she was enjoying herself. She had yet to develop a sense of perspective about losing games, though. Not that any hot-blooded mortal would be able to take the loss of the Cup in stride, but if I felt as though some vengeful god had reached into my chest to scoop out my heart with his bare hands, I could only imagine her emotional state.

There was no response when I knocked on her door and no answer when I called her cell. I wandered down to the lobby, where I hid behind a marble pillar to avoid the press while quickly surveying the sitting area and bar. I doubted she’d be down here where people would recognize her and ask questions for the official record, but I had to be sure.

Had she left? Gone out to a bar in search of a way to dull the pain? I checked out my reflection in the mirror next to the elevator bank: Team USA sweats, faded gray T-shirt, black flip-flops. No way could I go out. There was only one other place to check before I’d have to call it quits and maybe try to get some sleep. Lord knew I was tired enough—my lower back was on fire and my legs felt like they belonged to an octogenarian. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the swaying net. Insomnia was infinitely preferable.

With half an hour left until midnight, I wasn’t surprised to find the pool empty. The weight room was similarly deserted, and the only denizen of the cardio area was a middle-aged man huffing and puffing away at the elliptical machine while watching late-night TV.

And then I heard the sound. It was a rhythmic thumping noise, and it was coming from the direction of the racquetball courts. Suddenly hopeful, I forced my aching quads into a brisk walk. As I rounded the corner, the sight of her made me stop in my tracks.

Her olive skin glistened with sweat as she hammered a soccer ball against the wall of the near court. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. As always, she moved with power and grace, never missing a beat as she met each rebound of the ball with her instep. When I realized that she was alternating her left and right feet, my admiration grew. But she had been a starter for the duration of the tournament, and there was no way her body could take this kind of punishment after the game we had played today.

I opened the door to the court. “Wings.”

She tossed me a quick glance without ever breaking her stride. “Go away, Haley.”

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“So? What the fuck does it matter at this point?”

My sigh echoed off the walls. “You’ve got at least two more Cups in you. Don’t do something stupid right now that’ll jeopardize your chances.”

She put a vicious arc on her next shot, and it hit the wall so hard I felt the court rattle. Thankfully, she caught the ball on its return trip and turned to face me. 

“How can you be so calm?”

I knew I had to be honest. Wings didn’t want any Obi-wan bullshit from me.

“I’m not calm. I feel sick and I’m afraid to sleep.”

She just stood there, blinking at me. Her almond-shaped eyes were the color of dark chocolate, and I wondered whether she had any inkling that she was about to become a poster child for the Asian-American demographic. Our team was wildly famous right now; that much had been clear to me since we’d made it into the finals. The question was, how long would our star endure, now that we had allowed the Cup to slip away?

I stepped onto the court and let the door slam shut behind me. “Talk to me.”

She refused to meet my gaze. “Fuck, Haley, don’t you know what they’re saying?”

“Who?”

“The media! They’re already crucifying us, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Not wanting to spook her, I forced myself to stand still. “You’re not wrong. The pundits, the analysts…a lot of them are going to watch the footage over and over and tell us exactly where we fucked up and how if we’d just done this or not done that, we could have won. But you know what, Wings?”

“What?”

“In the hours since that final whistle blew, you and I have already been over the match a hundred times in our heads. We know our errors and what they cost us better than anyone. So who cares about the media?”

She dropped the ball on the floor, trapped it neatly with her left foot, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “What about the fans?”

“The true fans are proud of us. If you need proof, start keeping track of your marriage proposals on Twitter.”

For half a second, she looked as though she might smile. But then gravity won out, and her full lips curved back into a frown.

“I keep seeing them. The shots I hit wide. In my head.”

The agony in her voice ripped into me, and I fought the impulse to go to her. “You can’t play ‘what if.’ It will destroy you.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“You play what’s next, babe. It’s all about what’s next.”

Wings dropped the ball, its bounces echoing hollowly between the close walls as she stalked toward me. She looked furious, but before I could apologize for the accidental term of endearment, she grabbed the front of my shirt, rose onto her tiptoes, and crushed her mouth to mine. Any objection I might have raised was incinerated in the heat between us as I met her with everything in me.

The kiss went on forever. I was lost. Finally, she pulled away, gasping, her eyes searching mine.

“I don’t want to hear any protests.”

“No,” I agreed, feeling even more winded than I had in the ninetieth minute. “But we can’t do this here.”

“We can go to my room.” As she spoke, Wings caressed my collarbone with the very tips of her fingers. “Carol’s staying with her family tonight.”

 Her soft little touches were driving me crazy, so I pulled her close and ran my hands up and down her back. I wanted to explore every inch of her—to have perfect knowledge of her body’s intoxicating blend of softness and strength. I’d caught inadvertent glimpses in the locker room but had always quickly turned away, afraid of betraying my desire. Now, as she tugged me toward the door, my heart was a jackhammer against my ribs. Soon, there would be nothing between us but sweat, beading up in homage to our passion. Above me, below me, I would take her any way she wanted. Soon.

When I shivered at the mental image, she wrapped one arm around my waist. I moved to put some space between us as we entered the corridor, but she retained a firm grip. I didn’t want to break the mood, but if she wouldn’t take the hint, I’d have to lay all the cards out there.

“Wings, you might not want to—”

She squeezed my hip. “No one’s going to see us, and even if they do, I don’t the fuck care.”

“Your potential corporate sponsors might.”

She gave me the same look she’d given the ref in the eighty-third minute, right before he’d booked her for dissent.

“Then I guess they won’t have the pleasure of my face behind their product.”

Part of me wanted to argue that she shouldn’t be so cavalier about her future—that many of the largest and most glamorous doors would probably slam shut in her face if she came out. The rest of me was relieved that she wasn’t self-conscious and didn’t want to hide. Her honesty allowed me to relax, and I slid one arm around her, slipping my hand into the side pocket of her sweats. Beneath my palm, separated from my skin by only a thin layer of fabric, I felt the powerful contractions of her muscular thigh.

Exhilaration was a sunburst in my blood, filling the sorrowful places. When the elevator doors opened to reveal an empty car, I pressed her against the back wall and dipped my head to claim her mouth. My thumbs swept in small arcs across her ribcage, and she trembled beneath my touch. As the car began to slow, I wrenched myself away from her, panting. The urge to continue touching her was almost insurmountable, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

By the time we reached her room, desire had taken possession of me. My vision telescoped until all I could see was Wings: the elegant slope of her neck, the strength of her rippled arms, the barest hint of toned skin at her waistline. I wanted her with a ferocity that frightened me.

Her hand shook as she slid her keycard into the door, and I felt comforted by her clear display of nerves. As the door shut behind us, she tried to back me into it, but I resisted. For a few moments, we struggled like we might have done on the pitch before I finally felt her surrender. In the space of an instant I had captured her hands and pressed her into the wall. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her ragged breaths betraying the depth of her need. I leaned in slowly and she groaned as our lips touched.

The kiss began lightly but spiraled out of control within moments. When she plunged her tongue deeply into my mouth, I sucked on it. Hard. A shudder wracked her frame, so I did it again. Her soft groan made the hair on my arms stand up, and I pulled away, gasping. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. I wanted to tell her how perfectly she kissed. I couldn’t articulate a single syllable.

Somehow, she knew. “Come on.”

Wings drew me further into the room and stopped at the foot of the first bed. When she grasped the hemline of her tank top, I covered her hands with my own and found my voice.

“No. Let me.”

I undressed her slowly, taking every opportunity to explore her skin as I began to remove the layers between us. As I peeled off her pink Nike sports bra, I let my thumbs rub briefly across her nipples. She gasped and bit her bottom lip.

“Do that again,” she whispered.

I slid the bra over her head. “Ask nicely.”

For a second, I thought she might refuse. Her dark eyes flashed, and my arousal spiked at her latest show of defiance. She was clearly used to being in control, and I almost surrendered.

And then she spoke. “Please.”

How could one rasping syllable sound so sweet? Emboldened by her plea, I reached for her. Her nipples were large and dark, and they hardened at my touch. When I dared to pinch them ever so gently between thumb and forefinger, her knees buckled and she sank onto the bed.

“You’re so responsive.”

“For you, Haley. For you.”

The last vestige of my uncertainty fell away, desire snapping the bands of my restraint. I tumbled her onto the bed, and together we tore at my clothes until no barriers stood between us. Her skin was hot silk against mine, the sensation so intense my head spun. As I melted against her she made her move, both hands pressing me down toward the sheets.

“Oh, no. No you don’t.” Drawing on my greater height and strength, I gained just enough leverage to flip her over. Planting my hands on either side of her face, I grazed her earlobe with my teeth and was rewarded by a full-body shiver.

“I’m used to being on top,” she hissed.

“Any other time, that’s exactly where I’d want you.” I trailed kisses along her jaw line. “But not tonight, baby. Not tonight.”

Tonight my lifelong dream had been within reach. I’d done everything in my power to grasp it, only to watch it slip away. Tonight, with my world in chaos, I needed some measure of control.

She ran her fingers through my hair. “I never used to like that word. ‘Babe.’ ‘Baby.’ I always thought it was juvenile. But I like the way you say it.”

“You are a juvenile.” I nipped at her chin, then stifled her protests by trailing a line of kisses down the center of her body, dipping my tongue between her ribs even as I worked her nipples between my fingers. By the time I reached her navel, she was panting with need.

Gently, I closed my teeth around the tantalizing ridge of muscle that framed her abdomen. “I love the taste of your skin.”

Her hips bucked. “Please!”

I raised my head to meet her gaze across her torso. Muscles merged with curves, fusing strength and tenderness. The perfect canvas of femininity.

“Please what?”

“Your mouth.” Wings spoke as though the words were being pulled from her. “On me.”

I dipped my head and gave in to her desire. At the first touch of my tongue, her thighs went rigid. I kissed her wetly, thoroughly, stroking her legs with the pads of my fingers even as my palms held her open to me. She writhed in my grip, each soft moan stoking my own arousal.

“Inside,” she gasped. “Need you—”

Thrilling to her visceral request, I eased one fingertip a mere fraction of an inch into the tight embrace of her body. She shuddered beneath me and shifted her hips in an effort to take more, but I refused to let her set the pace. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pushed deeper.

She grew impossibly hard beneath my tongue, and her chants of “more” soon turned into a wordless keening that obliterated my patience. I had to have her—to feel her dissolve into ecstasy beneath me. Now.

In one smooth thrust, I filled her completely. My head spun as her body clutched at me, rippling around my finger in a series of powerful contractions.

“God, Haley—”

And then she was beyond words.

When she finally went limp beneath me, I kissed my way back up her body. I pressed my lips to hers and her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi there,” I murmured. “You’re incredible.”

Wings laughed weakly. “I think that’s my line.”

She cupped my face in her hands and pulled me in for another kiss, then slid her palms down my sides. My body burst into flame beneath her touch. She heard my breathing hitch, felt my muscles tremble, and smiled.

“Need something?” Her tone was disingenuous.

“Touch me. Just a little.”

She slipped one hand between my legs and I groaned, shifting restlessly against her. Her other hand pressed lightly against the small of my back, and beneath the flames of my desire I felt embraced, encircled, cherished.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please.”

Her eyes darkened. “It’s so hot when you beg. So fucking hot.”

Her fingers found me. She touched me lightly at first and I pressed my forehead into the dip between her neck and shoulder, shuddering at the storm of sensation. When she pressed and circled more firmly, I gasped open-mouthed against her skin.

“Come for me, Haley.” Her mouth was hot against the shell of my ear. “Come.”

Groaning her name, I gave myself over to the ecstasy.

Some time later, she lay curled in my arms, tracing elaborate patterns across my sternum. I breathed easily, free of the weight that had settled on my chest at the sound of the final whistle.

“This is officially no longer the worst day ever,” she said.

I turned my head to glance at the clock. “Technically, we’ve reached tomorrow.”

She laughed. “Well then, tomorrow’s off to a good start.”

I trailed my fingers along the curves of her triceps and allowed myself to enjoy the peace we had found together. Beneath my contentment, disappointment and sadness roiled like the clouds of a distant storm. But for the moment, I basked in the sunlight.

Wings propped herself up on one elbow. “So…what happens now?” Her tone was light, merely curious, but her eyes held shadows.

I gazed at her steadily. “What do you want to happen?”

She turned away, and I admired the elegance of her profile even as I prayed for some sign that this had been more than a one-night stand born of the need for comfort after an earth-shattering loss.

“I think I’m falling for you,” she blurted, staring down at me with an expression half-way between vulnerability and defiance.

I blinked up at her. “You are?”

She nodded. “I am.” A pause. “So, now you have to say something.”

“I fell for you a long time ago.”

A slow, brilliant smile was my reward. “Really,” she said, drawing out the syllables.

“Really. Back at camp.”

She settled back into my arms, the hot slide of her skin against mine rekindling my arousal.

“You did a good job of keeping that under wraps,” she said.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

She settled her pelvis against mine, and I couldn’t have suppressed my gasp if I’d wanted to.

“Still worried about that?”

“N-no.”

“Want to keep this on the DL when we get home?”

I curled my fingers in her hair and pulled gently, just enough to see her eyes. “That’s entirely up to you, baby.”

“I want to hold your hand on the Today Show. Think Ann Curry would mind?”

I grinned in delight. “You’d have to do a lot more than that to rattle Ann Curry.”

She leaned in to kiss me, slow and deep—a kiss that promised so much more than a single night of unforgettable passion. We had lost the World Cup, but gained something with the potential to be even more precious.

Wings tried to move closer but I held her back, needing one more answer before we gave ourselves over to the rising tide of our shared desire.

“Can I call you Sandra now?”

Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Don’t even think about it.”

Breaking my hold, she kissed the laughter from my lips.

The End