Offside Offense

This story contains infidelity, betrayal, cheating, interracial sex, and a bit of violence. Don't like it? Read something else. There's a lot of build-up before the action starts, as well.

I wrote this in response to a request in the story ideas forum. The names, characters, and background are hers; the words and plot are mine. Many thanks to the lovely lady whose fantasy inspired the story.

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The man rushed down the pitch. His opponent charged at him, dropping into a slide at the last moment.

They collided.

There was a crunch and a scream. The man went down, turning a somersault as his leg gave out and he tumbled to the ground.

The referee blew his whistle, and Jemma ran onto the pitch from the sidelines. The man who went down was her boyfriend, Dan, and from the way he was clutching his ankle and grimacing he seemed to be hurt, bad.

When she got closer, she could see that things were serious—there was blood, on his shin, from where his opponent's cleats had broken the skin. His foot seemed locked in place at an odd angle. She hurried to his side and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, baby," she said, on the verge of tears.

Dan let out a pained gasp. "Fuck! Call a fucking ambulance," he said. The rest of the players gather around. The man who'd taken Dan down, an athletic black man named Marq, was standing a fair distance away and watching—but he wasn't looking at the man he'd hurt; he was looking at Jemma.

Normally, this wouldn't be surprising. Jemma was certainly easy on the eyes; she was a bit on the short side, a bit over five feet tall, with dark hair and eyes. She had curves to spare and a classic hourglass figure. The eye couldn't help but follow the contours of her body, from her large, firm breasts, down along her waist to her hips and ass, which were just thick enough to get hold of. And she'd dressed to highlight her figure, wearing a tight white tank top and black leggings that clung closely to her body.

But today, with an injured man lying on the pitch biting back agonized groans, it seemed out of place. Jemma was dimly aware of Marq's attention, but she put it out of her mind to focus on her boyfriend. One of Dan's teammates brought out some water and some painkillers and told him an ambulance was on its way. The ref started to ask for everyone to clear the field, but a glare from Jemma shut him up.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Dan had managed to get himself under control somewhat. He still wasn't walking, but he'd rolled onto his back and gotten his leg straightened out. The painkillers he'd been given seemed to be helping a bit, although it was clear that they brought the pain down to merely excruciating.

The ambulance drivers loaded Dan up on a stretcher and carried him off the field; his teammates and his opponents looking on in respectful silence. Jemma climbed into the back of the ambulance with him.

They rode together to the hospital, not saying much—Dan was mostly unable to talk. He was gritting his teeth and trying his best to deal with the pain, but occasionally the ambulance would hit a bump or take a turn quickly, and he'd let out an involuntarily small pained sound. The paramedics were constantly active, doing what they could for Dan. Jemma, for her part, just stayed close by and offered up moral support. Except when the paramedics needed her to move, she was at Dan's side, holding his hand tightly in hers.

On their arrival at the hospital, they hustled Dan inside. Jemma was left behind to wait. She spent the better part of an hour pacing the floor, sending out texts to Dan's family and friends to let them know what happened, and fretting fearfully about her boyfriend.

A tired-looking doctor found her in the waiting room and sat her down. An orderly brought her a cup of water as he paged through the notes on his clipboard before speaking. "Strictly speaking, we shouldn't be talking to you since you're not family, but Dan gave permission. First: he's hurt fairly badly, and it'll be a while before he's back on his feet." Jemma's face fell. The doctor continued, hurriedly attempting to reassure her. "We expect him to make a full recovery, in the long run, but it may be days before he's walking unassisted and weeks before he's able to get back on the field."

Jemma closed her eyes and fought for control of herself. She took a deep breath and said, "Can I go see him?" The doctor nodded.

-----

Even laid up in his hospital bed, Dan was a good-looking man. He was of average height, but broad-shouldered and limber. Dan played soccer and had a runner's build, all lean muscle without much excess bulk. Right now, though, he was pale and drawn, and a tube ran into his arm—no doubt an IV pumping him full of painkillers. He smiled weakly at Jemma as she came in. "Hey, you. How are you holding up?"

Jemma broke into a wide grin as she reached Dan's side. "Don't be silly. I should be asking you that question."

Dan gestured vaguely toward his leg, which was encased in a cast from the knee down and suspended in traction. "It was a bad break, but it should heal. In a few weeks, maybe a month, I'll be back to normal. In a few days I should be able to walk with a crutch, so I'll be out of here then." It seemed that Dan had accepted his injury with his customary nonchalance. "It could have been much worse. One of his feet caught me just under the knee. A bit higher and he might have done some real damage."

"This isn't real damage?"

"Heh. It's just a scrape," Dan said, a shade ironically, a wry smile on his face.

"Well, I'll stay here with you tonight anyway," Jemma said. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead and then sat down in a chair by his bedside.

Dan shifted as best he could to look at her from his hospital bed. "Weren't you going out with your girlfriends tonight?" he asked.

"I canceled. Being with you is more important."

Dan scowled and shook his head. "No, no—you can't cancel. I'm stuck here but there's no reason you should be."

"Of course there's a reason. I want to be here with you." She squeezed his hand and Dan looked at her appreciatively. He knew what she was trying to do, but he didn't want her to miss a chance to enjoy herself on his account.

"Listen, Jem, I'm probably going to pass out soon anyway from these painkillers. If you really want to spend all night sitting beside me while I'm unconscious, I won't say no. But there's really truly no reason for you to do that. I'm fine, and when you head out I'll go to sleep. So go and have fun. Do something to take your mind off all this. I promise I'll be here tomorrow, and I've got my phone handy so you can text or call if you want."

Jemma chewed at her lip in dismay. She wanted to be with her boyfriend and help him in any way she could; indeed, that was an overwhelming desire. But he was right that there was little that she could do for him, beyond offering moral support—and he didn't seem to need any more of that. "I just don't know if I could enjoy myself knowing I had left you here," she said.

"You can and you will. I insist," Dan replied, smiling at her sweetly. "There is absolutely nothing that should stop you from having a good time."

"All right, honey. But you have to promise to call or text if you need anything. I mean it—anything at all, and I'll be back here in a flash." Jemma got up and gave Dan a hug, as best she could with him in traction. "I'm glad you're going to be okay," she said, quietly, as they embraced.

"Me too."

"Do you promise to call me if you need anything?"

"Of course."

She gave him a peck on the cheek and straightened up. "All right. I'll be back here tomorrow before I go to work, if I don't come back tonight."

"Sounds good to me."

Jemma gave Dan another quick kiss, then turned to leave. She stopped by the door and looked back. "You're absolutely sure this is okay?" she asked.

Dan rolled his eyes playfully. "It's fine, Jem. Better than fine—this is the best thing you could do. Now go! Go and have fun. Have a drink for me."

Jemma nodded. "Thanks, Dan. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jemma."

-----

She took a cab home to change, and then left for the club. She was there about forty minutes after leaving the hospital. She'd exchanged texts with Dan on the way. He was watching TV and resting comfortably, and he was alone in his hospital room so he could watch what he wanted. All things considered, it could have been much worse, and by the time she arrived at the club she was almost relaxed.

The day hadn't been a good one, and she wanted to have fun. She'd changed into a tight, short, sleeveless cream-colored dress with a pattern of criss-crossing black stripes around the waist, black heels, and black stockings that rose to just above her knees. Her watch—gold--was on her left wrist, her only accessory. Her long, dark hair was down, almost reaching to the small of her back.

Her friends, Laura and Rachel, were already there; Rachel waved her in, past the line that had formed outside. Inside, the club was loud and lively. People were crowded around the bar, and the dance floor was busy. More people lined the walls or the small tables scattered around the outskirts of the club. A staircase led up to a loft area, with low couches and a second bar; people lined the railing up there as well, some talking to each other, others just watching the crowd downstairs.

As soon as Jemma made it in, Rachel led her over to the bar, where Laura was sitting on a stool. A couple of guys were standing nearby, saving two more empty seats for the girls. No surprise there; Laura and Rachel were both almost as attractive as Jemma, and they could have been sisters. They were both slim and willowy, with long slender limbs. Laura was a natural blonde, and Rachel dyed her hair a similar shade, although she had some varicolored strands running through hers. They both had brown eyes, and tonight they were even dressed similarly, in tight short black dresses.

The men saving seats for Rachel and Jemma were both tall and athletic. One was black, with close-cropped dark hair and broad, well-muscled shoulders; his arms were similarly impressive, with dark tribal tattoos on both forearms, running up under his sleeves. He was wearing a tight white t-shirt and black running pants; it was almost like he'd hit the bars right after going to the gym. His friend was white, a bit taller, but thinner as well, with blonde hair and a strong chin. The white guy was smiling, laughing at something Laura had said. Jemma couldn't see the black guy's face, but from the set of his shoulders he didn't seem quite as amused.

As Jemma and Rachel approached, Laura waved to them happily and her new friends turned to greet them. Jemma stopped dead in her tracks, staring. The black guy was Marq—the man who'd broken her boyfriend's ankle earlier that day.

Rachel gave her a quizzical look. "What's up?" she asked.

"Fucking asshole!" she said, pointing at the black man. "What the fuck are you thinking, showing up here?"

Everyone recoiled except for the target of her sudden outburst. He just gave her a sheepish grin. "Well, shit. I guess I should be saying sorry right now."

Laura, Rachel, and the other guy were all staring open-mouthed. "Uhhhh... anyone want to fill me in?" asked the guy.

"This fucker put my boyfriend in the hospital!" Jemma said, her face flushing with anger. She turned her attention back to Marq. "You broke his ankle, and then you went out drinking? Jerk."

Marq put his hands up, palms forward, and took a step back. "Hey, hold on there—I didn't plan to run into you, and I didn't plan to hurt your boyfriend. Accidents happen. But now that you're here, let me tell you I'm sorry for hurting him. Let me buy you a drink."

Jemma was not so easily mollified. "Fuck off, jackass," she said, flipping him off as she did. Marq gave her a little nod and stepped away from the chair, letting her pass.

"I'm going to leave you girls be," he said. "Don't want to spoil your night. But if you want that drink, let me know—the offer stands. And I really am sorry about hurting Dan." He backed away for a few steps, then turned and went out to the dance floor.

Still fuming, Jemma took a seat at the bar and signaled the bartender. Her friends were staring, as was the guy who'd been there with Marq. Laura spoke up first. "Is everything okay, Jemma?" she asked, a bit hesitantly.

Jemma forced herself to calm down. She took a deep breath and said. "Yeah. It's just that that jerk hurt my boyfriend, you know? And now he's out having a good time like nothing happened. I had to sit in the hospital all day making sure he was fine, and then when I get out to relax Marq's here to spoil it."

"He didn't know you were going to be here, and besides... I think he really didn't mean to hurt Dan," Laura replied, trying to play peacemaker. "And he wanted to say sorry."

The bartender finally made his way over to Jemma and company, and for a moment they were all occupied ordering drinks. Jemma used the time to reflect and get herself under control. Laura was probably right, and the mature adult thing to do was accept Marq's apology—although really, it was Dan he should be apologizing to, but he wasn't here and Marq had ruined her day as well.

But she couldn't just call Marq back over. First, she got out her phone and texted Dan. "The fuckhead who hurt you is here."

The phone buzzed a moment later as Dan's response arrived. "Kick him in the ankle for me. :)"

Jemma smiled a bit and replied. "LOL. He offered to buy me a drink to apologize."

"Go for it. Free drinks are free drinks."

"Really?"

"Why not? It's just a drink."

Jemma shrugged at that last text. Dan had a point—it was a free drink, and if she had to be at the same place as Marq she might as well get something out of it. Her friends had started up a conversation while she had been texting, and she broke in.

"I'm going to go find Marq, guys," she said. "I was too mean to him."

The other guy, the one who'd been hanging out with Marq, said "He's over there, dancing," and gestured vaguely toward the dance floor. Jemma scanned the crowd and spotted Marq quickly—he was dancing close to another woman, a Goth-looking girl decked out in all black. His hands were on her bare midriff, his dark skin contrasting with her pale flesh. The sight brought another small rush of anger through her—though it wasn't clear, even to her, if it was because he had so easily moved past the injury he'd inflicted to her boyfriend, or if it was jealousy that he was dancing closely with someone else.

She stalked over to him and stood in front of him as he danced, arms on her hips. "Hey, jackass," she said, shouting over the music. "Come buy me that fucking drink." Marq didn't seem to notice at first; he just stayed close to his pale dance partner—who for her part gave Jemma a snide look.

A moment later, though, Marq looked up at Jemma and smiled. "All right, pretty lady." He whispered something to the dark-haired woman he was dancing with and she pulled away.

"Asshole," she spat, and walked off angrily.

"You're a real charmer, huh?" Jemma asked, rolling her eyes. "Really get the ladies going?"

Marq chuckled. "When I want to. But it's more important right now for me to apologize to you." He seemed sincere, and Jemma cooled off just a bit. They made their way back to the bar, only to find that someone else had taken her seat next to her friends. There was an open spot somewhat further down the bar, so Jess signaled to her friends that she was heading there and then slipped in with Marq close behind.

"What's your poison, pretty lady?" Marq asked.

"Vodka and Coke, heavy on the vodka. And if you were really trying to apologize you wouldn't be flirting at the same time."

"It's just how I am. I don't mean anything by it."

Marq gave the bartender a lazy wave, and she made her way down to them. He ordered Jemma a vodka and Coke, as requested, and a beer for himself. A few moments later they both had their drinks in hand; Marq put them on his tab, gave the bartender a flirtatious wink, and turned his attention back to Jemma.

He raised his glass to her as if for a toast, but Jemma just arched one eyebrow at him in reply. He shrugged and took a deep drink. "Thanks for accepting this apology drink. I feel really bad about what happened to Dan."

"Not bad enough to tell him to his face."

"I don't know where he lives. I don't know where he works. I don't know if he's in hospital. How am I supposed to tell him to his face?"

Inwardly, Jemma grudgingly admitted he had a point. But she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "You could have asked."

"All right. Is Dan okay? How can I get an apology to him?" Marq asked.

"He's not okay; you put him in the hospital. Don't you remember the ambulance taking him away?"

Marq nodded. "Sure, but he might have gone home."

"Well, he didn't." Jemma's anger wasn't holding up. She took a drink, and the warmth of the vodka as it went down her throat took her mind off Dan and Marq for a moment.

"I'll go see him sometime soon, then. So I can apologize to him personally." Marq seemed contrite. The bar was filling up, though, and the crowd started to jostle them Marq and Jemma, forcing him to step closer to her. There was a small commotion as a dancer wandered off the floor and got too close to the bar, adding to the chaos. Jemma looked around and couldn't spot her friends; they must have gone off to dance, or perhaps found a table away from the bar, she thought.

Marq followed her gaze and said, "I bet I know where your friends are—my boy Ty probably took them out to the dance floor. Come on; let's go join them."

Jemma was reluctant. A drink was one thing, especially one offered as part of an apology. But dancing was something else altogether. It seemed like a small betrayal of Dan, to dance with another man, especially one who put her boyfriend in the hospital. Her reluctance won out. "I'll just go look for them myself," she said.

"Oh, come on," Marq said. Without waiting for a reply, he gently took Jemma's hand and led her out into the crowd, pushing past the people assembled around the bar with ease. When they broke free of the scrum, Jemma shivered—the air in the bar was cooler than she'd realized, now that she was free of the press of people warming things up.

He led her out to the dance floor, and it never crossed her mind to pull her hand from Marq's grip or to leave him and go off on her own to find Laura and Rachel. They paused briefly at the outskirts of the crowd of dancers, surveying the assembled people and looking for familiar faces. Jemma didn't see any, but she was still looking when Marq stepped onto the floor and turned, beginning to move with the music.

Jemma pulled her hand away and remained still, looking at him skeptically. "Was this your plan all along?" she asked.

"You know it," he replied, giving her a broad grin.

"I can't help but notice that my friends aren't here, and neither is yours."

"I'm sure they'll be here soon enough. Come on; dance with me. Just one dance."

Jemma bit her lip as she considered what to do. It still seemed like a betrayal of a sort. But she'd danced with other men before, with Dan's approval—dancing was just dancing, of course. And Dan had no problem with Marq buying a drink; he might be okay with the dancing, too. And for that matter, dancing didn't have to mean dancing with Marq.

She stepped out on the floor. Marq's grin widened, and she rolled her eyes, keeping herself at least an arm's length away from Marq and wading into the crowd. He followed, respecting her space somewhat but never letting her out of sight. The music was barely audible over the din of the crowd, but the bass beat was clear, and both Jemma and Marq moved to its rhythm.