Kate Christie by Beautiful Game Page A

already knew, anyway,” I admitted, swallowing a bite of pasta.
    “I thought you would.”
    “You did?”
    She shrugged, her face unreadable. “Well, yeah. I figured all the gay jocks would hear sooner or later.”
    In a way, I was relieved Jess was letting me know she knew I wasn’t straight. But at the same time, I hoped she hadn’t heard the gossip that Holly loved to report linking me with a handful of different women at a time. Flattering as the stories were, I hailed from Oregon, not California. Sleeping around wasn’t really my style, no matter what the campus rumor mill claimed.
    A moment later Jess asked me about our schedule this week.
    I told her we had two games, Wednesday and Saturday. It was our first full week of play, so Coach had scheduled a Wednesday game instead of the usual Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday lineup.
    In order to ease us into the swing of competition.

    50 Kate Christie
    “Same with us. Maybe I’ll check out one of your games next week.”
    “You’re going to come to a soccer game?” I asked.
    “Well, yeah. I always catch at least a couple.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “You don’t really notice what’s going on off the field, do you? I always feel like I’m totally alone out there once the match starts. I don’t even hear the crowd.”
    “That’s because you’re a tennis player. The crowd isn’t allowed to make any noise,” I teased, “or we get kicked out of the stands.”
    “Zip it,” she said, and threw a mushroom at me.
    I ducked, and the mushroom landed on the windowsill behind me. “Nice shot. I thought tennis players were supposed to have good hand-eye coordination.” I picked up a pasta shell dripping with red sauce and raised it menacingly toward her.
    “Cam!” She backed her chair away from the table.
    I popped the shell into my mouth. Then I smiled at her, hoping I didn’t have parsley stuck in my teeth.
    “Don’t worry,” I said as she pulled her chair closer again.
    “I wouldn’t trash your apartment. Otherwise you might never invite me back.”
    She smiled too, her eyes nearly golden in the sunlight angling in through the back window. “Don’t worry. You’ll be invited back.”
    We looked at each other until I felt color rise in my cheeks and glanced away. I was really here in Jess’s kitchen, eating a dinner we had prepared together. How unexpected. I felt my life shifting, spinning out of control at her smile, at the look in her eyes. More than anything just then, I wanted to hold time, to stay there with Jess in her warm apartment, Janis Joplin crooning in the background. Then the CD ended, Jess got up to change the music, and time speeded up again.
    Geez, what was my problem? I could be such a freak.
    “By the way, do you like football?” I asked.
    “It’s okay. I haven’t been to many games here. I’d rather watch NFL than college.”
    “Me, too. Monday Night Football should be on.”

    Beautiful Game 51
    Her eyes lit up. “I love Monday Night Football .”
    “The Bears and the Packers are playing. Do you want to watch a little?”
    “I really should do some homework,” she said, hesitating.
    Then she shrugged. “But I guess I can always catch up later.”
    We finished the meal and cleaned up together. She washed the dishes while I dried, putting them away by trial and error cupboard opening. She didn’t have that many dishes, I learned.
    A couple of the shelves were empty, yellow contact paper dusty with disuse.
    Grabbing a couple of bottles of Dos Equis—what was football without beer, we agreed—we headed into the living room. Jess dialed up the game on her small television and we sat back on the couch to watch. There was a local ad on for a car dealership on El Camino Real, the road that ran north-south nearly the length of the entire state of California.
    I glanced sideways at Jess. “Do you speak Spanish?”
    “I do.”
    “Say something, then.”
    “Like what?” She took a sip of beer.
    “I don’t know. Your