Unadulterated Something, page 32
“Eager, are we?” Campbell teased as she instead busied herself with Emma’s breasts.
“For you? Always?” Emma answered honestly as she kicked her pants and underwear aside and pushed Campbell back onto the bed. Her heart swelled at the way Campbell’s legs spread as she settled on top of her, and she sighed as those strong legs wrapped around her hips to pull her closer. She captured Campbell’s lips in a searing kiss that seemed to go on forever, and smiled when she pulled back to asked, “What do you want?”
“This,” Campbell breathed as she ran a tender hand along Emma’s jaw. She rolled her hips, and her breath caught as the move rubbed her clit against Emma’s stomach. “You.”
“Just like this?” Emma asked, nuzzling her cheek as she lightly drove her hips forward.
Campbell hummed and nodded. “Yes.” She smiled against Emma’s lips and added, “For now, anyway. Maybe later we can add something else…”
Emma huffed a soft laugh and dipped her head to taste Campbell’s smile. Her heart swelled as Campbell’s tongue danced around her own, and she winked at her when she pulled away just far enough to promise, “I can absolutely do that,” as she guided them into a languid rhythm that promised hours upon hours of pleasure.
Emma pursed her lips as she flipped idly through the Netflix guide to see if there was anything worth killing time with before Campbell’s game.
Despite their best efforts, the days until it was time to drive Campbell to Logan for her flight to Norway passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye, and Emma was grateful, at least, that it was a red-eye so she could see her off. The drive to Boston was a quiet one as the weight of their impending separation sat heavily on their hearts. Neither of them acknowledged it, however, because they both knew that two and a half weeks was nothing in the long run—a blip on the calendar that would soon be remedied—but the ghost of what had happened the last time Emma had driven Campbell to the airport hovered like a specter over what should have been a sad, but generally manageable goodbye. And once she finally managed to let go of Campbell, it took more self-control than Emma knew she possessed to not leave her car in the long-term lot and chase after her, lack of luggage be damned, but she somehow managed the task.
She may have cried just a little on the drive back to school, but she had managed to convince herself that she was okay by the time she pulled back onto campus.
And, for the first week of Campbell’s trip, she was. But then spring break hit and Stonebridge emptied as the vast majority of the school’s staff and students headed off on excursions designed to enhance real-world understanding of various topics from architecture to biology. Three-quarters of the students who didn’t sign up for the trips left for the week as well—either to go home for a few days or to meet their families at exotic locations she could only dream of being able to afford—leaving her to wander a campus that looked more like a ghost town than anything else.
“I’m baaaack!”
Emma turned to look at Val, who was striding into her apartment with two pizza boxes balanced over her head on the palm of one hand and what looked like a six-pack of Emma’s favorite root beer dangling from the other by her hip. “Victorious, too, it would appear. Well done.”
Val stuck her tongue out and set her haul onto Emma’s kitchen table. “I can and will drink all your root beer, you know. I only promised to keep you company; I didn’t say anything about keeping you happy.”
Emma smiled. Val had called her the day before to tell her that, since Jon was out of town for work for the week, that she was driving out for a few days to watch the knockout round of the tournament with her. They had made an ungodly amount of noise cheering for the US squad in their win over Finland the day before, and today’s semifinal between Canada and Sweden would decide who they would face in the gold medal game on Friday. “Pretty sure nobody asked you to come out here,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, even though she’d been secretly thrilled for the company.
“Says you,” Val shot back with a smirk. “Many people, I know. Many secrets, I keep.”
“Okay, Yoda,” Emma laughed.
Val flipped her off as she turned toward the kitchen. “You got a bottle opener in here?”
“Um, middle drawer by the stove,” Emma said as she pushed herself up off the couch and made her way to the table. She opened the boxes to see which pizza was hers. The first one she inspected was definitely not hers—pineapple did not belong on anything, let alone pizza—and hummed happily when the second box revealed her favorite prosciutto and goat cheese pizza. “Who told you to come out here, then?”
Val winked at her over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased as she bumped the drawer shut with her hip and tossed the bottle opener to Emma. “Catch.”
Emma swiped the opener out of the air and pried the caps off two of the bottles as Val joined her at the table. “I would, actually,” she admitted as she pushed one of the bottles toward Val. She dropped into her chair and pulled her pizza closer, fully intending to eat the whole thing right out of the box. “Was it Campbell?”
“Like Captain Canada has time to call me when she’s on the phone with you every chance she gets,” Val sassed, waggling her eyebrows. She dragged her pizza box closer and plucked a limp piece of pineapple from the mess to pop into her mouth. “Deliciousness.”
Emma gagged dramatically and laughed when Val gave her a well-deserved glare. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. But seriously—who’ve you been talking to?”
“Sophie.”
Emma nodded. That made sense. A pulled groin had pushed Sophie from the roster two weeks before the team was to leave for Norway, but the Canadian broadcasting unit had brought her on to do play-by-play for their livestreams. She had an insight into the Canadian team that was, for obvious reasons, unparalleled, and a broadcast journalism degree from Dartmouth that gave her the perfect tools to handle the gig. It was, she knew from talking to Campbell, a dream gig for Sophie that she was hoping to parlay into something more permanent with a television station somewhere. “Ah, well…that makes sense.”
Val took a comically large bite of pizza and nodded. “Yup,” she said as she chewed. She held up a finger to show she had something else to say but thankfully saved it until after she’d swallowed. “Anyway, she told me to check on you because I guess Campbell is being just as pathetic with the whole ‘I miss my girlfriend, boo-hoo’ bullshit however many thousand miles away.”
“Your support means everything to us, too,” Emma drawled, rolling her eyes. She didn’t bother to protest the whole pathetic thing—she knew she was being pathetic, she just hated that she wasn’t able to hide it as well as she had thought she was.
Val sniggered. “If it makes you feel better, Beca and Lars thought it was cute.”
If Emma didn’t have an open pizza box in front of her, she would have done a literal head-desk to hide the blush she could feel beginning to warm her cheeks. “Why did I invite you over here again?” she asked drolly instead.
“You didn’t,” Val declared happily, pointing a piece of pizza crust at Emma for emphasis. “I invited myself. You just made the mistake of getting me clearance at the gate.” She winked at Emma as she tossed her sliver of crust into her box and picked up a new piece. “But you do realize that you could totally just, oh, I dunno, fly to fucking Norway and go get your girl—right?”
“Yeah, because that’s a cheap ticket.”
“Yeah, because you’re totally wasting your entire paycheck on rent.”
Emma laughed. “You know my paycheck is adjusted for the room and board I’m not having to pay for myself. I’m not bringing home that much at the end of the month.”
“You’re bringing home enough for one fucking plane ticket!”
“I just flew to Winnipeg!”
“So fly to fucking Oslo!”
Emma shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “What is this?”
“An intervention.”
“With one person? I thought that was a group thing?”
“I’m that good. I don’t need backup.”
It was all Emma could do to not laugh at the utterly serious expression on Val’s face, but the last thing she wanted was to encourage whatever this was. Because Val was right—there was nothing keeping her in Massachusetts this week. But she couldn’t just run to be at Campbell’s side whenever they were apart. Which could very well be more often if this tournament goes well for Campbell and her program asks her to help coach future teams. “Right.”
“You know we’d all help with the plane ticket if it’s really a money thing, right?” Val said in a kinder tone. “Hell, Momma Beauchamp would probably buy it for you herself. She loves Campbell.”
Emma did smile at that. “She has good taste.”
“Just like her daughter,” Val agreed. She kicked Emma’s foot under the table. “You do know that chicks dig big-ass romantic gestures like flying across a fucking ocean to get to them, right?”
Emma shook her head. “And how do you know that?”
Val dropped her pizza and grabbed her boobs. “Um, have you seen my gorgeous rack?”
“It’s been a few years, but yes, I have.”
“Want me to flash you? You know, for old time’s sake?”
Emma laughed. “No, thank you.”
“Your loss, Beauchamp.” Val picked her piece of pizza back up. “They’ve gotten bigger since I stopped playing.”
“Really? Mine haven’t.”
“That’s because you still work out like you’re the next Jessie Graff or something.” She kicked Emma’s foot again and waggled her eyebrows. “Get your girl, Cap.”
“Val…” Emma sighed.
“Okay, okay.” She plucked a particularly gross-looking chunk of pineapple from her pizza and tossed it into her mouth. “I’ll drop it.”
The for now was clear in her expression, but Emma was willing to take whatever she could get at this point.
By the time they finished eating lunch, it was evening in Norway and time for the game to start. Emma set her laptop up to stream the game to her television and, once she was sure it was working, dropped onto the couch next to Val. “Do you think they’ll win?”
“With Campbell-freaking-Jordan as their coach?” Val scoffed. “Of course.”
And, as if the gods were sending them a sign, the camera panned to the Canadian bench and zoomed-in on Campbell as she gave her team last-minute instructions. Even though they’d been FaceTiming whenever they were both free and Campbell had WiFi, Emma’s heart still fluttered at the sight of her.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s very pretty,” Val teased in a warm tone.
“She’s beautiful,” Emma murmured.
The referee whistled at center ice, and players skated into position for the opening face-off. Once play had started, Val nudged Emma with her elbow and leaned in close to mock-whisper, “Get your girl, Beauchamp.”
“Valerie.”
Val sniggered. “What?”
And so it went for the rest of the game. Every break in play, every time the camera panned the Canadian bench, every time Sophie said Campbell’s name, Val would lean in and chant, “Get your girl.”
It was…annoying, kind of, but mostly endearing, and every little chant chipped away at Emma’s resolve to be a goddamn adult and not go rushing to Campbell’s side like they were starring in a big ol’ lesbian rom-com. So, of course, the game was tied 3-3 at the end of regulation and had to go to a twenty-minute, sudden-death overtime.
After a fifteen-minute intermission for the teams to regroup and the Zamboni to do its thing.
“Get your girl.”
Sophie broke down what the Canadian side needed to do to win.
“Get your girl.”
The camera panned to Campbell, who looked utterly breathtaking in her concentration and intensity as she followed her squad back to the bench.
“Get your girl.”
The Canadian center won the first face-off.
“Get your girl.”
Sweden had a solid attempt two-minutes into the period, but the absolutely blazing slap shot was snapped out of the air by the Canadian goalie.
“Get your girl.”
Canada counter-attacked at speed, and Emma leaned forward as Sweden got caught in a line-change.
“Get your girl.”
Wrist-shot. Low. Glove side.
“Fuck yeah!” Emma cheered, jumping to her feet as the net rippled and the horn sounded. She turned to Val, grinning like an absolute madwoman. “They did it!”
Never in her life had she been so goddamn proud and happy to see Canada come out on top.
Val nodded. “Yeah, they did.”
The camera panned to the Canadian bench, where Campbell was standing, arms aloft, face split in a beaming smile, the victor. Canada would move on to play the US in the gold medal game.
“She did it,” Emma breathed.
“She did,” Val agreed. She wrapped an arm around Emma’s waist and leaned her head on her shoulder. “Get your girl, Cap.”
Emma bit her lip as the camera lingered on Campbell, her heart swelling with love as she drank in the sight of her joy until it seemed like every pulse had picked up Val’s chant.
Get your girl.
Get your girl.
Get your girl.
She shook her head and grabbed her laptop off the table.
“What are you doing?” Val asked.
“I’m gonna see about getting my girl,” Emma declared as, with one last look at Campbell’s face on her television, she closed out the livestream and pulled up an airline booking site.
“Fuck yeah, you are!” Val cheered as she swiped her phone off the table.
Emma glanced at her as she waited for her page to load. “What are you doing?”
“Texting Sophie,” Val replied as her thumbs flew over the screen. “Mission. Fucking. Accomplished. Captain America will be arriving sometime before the gold-medal game. Send,” she recited. “There.” She tossed the phone onto the couch and wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist. “You’re gonna get your girl.”
“Yeah I am.” Emma smiled and kissed Val’s forehead. “God, I can’t wait to tell her.”
“What?” Val nearly knocked Emma’s laptop from her hands as she went from hugging her to shoving her in the blink of an eye. “You can’t tell her! Big-ass romantic gestures are surprises, Em! Geez!”
“But she’s gonna call soon…”
“And you are not going to tell her about it.” Val leveled Emma with her most serious look. “Trust me, Beauchamp. You just showing up and surprising her is going to sweep her off her goddamn feet.”
“But…”
“If you ruin this, I will absolutely drag your ass in my maid of honor speech…”
“Who said you’d be my maid of honor?”
“Seriously?” Val scoffed.
Emma laughed. “Okay. Fine.” She bumped Val with her hip. “But, for the record—”
“You are going to keep this super-amazing-awesome detail to yourself until Sophie manufactures a way for you to surprise Campbell in Oslo,” Val cut her off. Her phone buzzed on the couch cushion behind them, and she turned to grab it. “Ah-ha!” She turned it so Emma could see the screen.
It was a reply from Sophie. Fuck yeah! DO NOT let her ruin it by telling Campbell! Get me the details for her trip, and I’ll arrange everything else from here. THIS IS GOING TO BE AWESOME!
Not telling Campbell that she would be at the gold medal game had been torture, but Emma had to admit that there was definitely something thrilling about walking up to the ticket window at the arena and knowing that Campbell had no idea she was even in the country. It reminded her of Christmases from when she was younger, when she and Brody would wake up in the middle of the night and sneak down the hall to see if Santa had come, her chest buzzing with an anticipation that had become harder and harder to replicate as she grew older.
She smiled at the woman working the window when it was her turn. “Yes, hello. My friend was supposed to arrange a ticket for me? Emma Beauchamp?”
The young woman did a rather obvious double-take and nodded as she hurried to shuffle through the collection of envelopes on the desk. “Yes, of course,” she said in lightly-accented English. She drew an envelope from the stack and then, with a quick glance in Emma’s direction, turned to pull a sheet of paper from the printer on the opposite side of the small office. She licked her lips as she slid the envelope through the small opening in the glass. “Your ticket.”
“Thank you so much.”
“And…” The woman’s voice trailed off, and then she cleared her throat softly as she slid the piece of paper and a pen toward Emma as well. “Could I, perhaps, get your autograph?”
“Of course.” Emma took the paper and pen. “What’s your name?”
“Martine.”
Emma nodded as she wrote, To Martine. Dream big. Live fearlessly. And always be true to yourself. before scrawling her signature underneath. “Here you go.”
Martine’s eyes widened as she read what Emma wrote, and her smile when she looked back at Emma was awed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hope they let you out of here to see the game. It’s gonna be a good one.”
“The final always is,” Martine replied with a little nod.
Emma gave her a little wave before she turned to leave. There was only half an hour before the game was set to start, so there was a decent line forming to get into the arena. She took advantage of the wait to log onto the building’s WiFi with the password Sophie had given her, and sent off a quick text to let her know that she had arrived.
She needn’t have bothered, however, because Sophie was waiting for her when she cleared the ticket-checkers.
“Hello, stranger,” Sophie drawled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Fancy seeing you here.”
