Offside Offense

The press of the crowd slowly but inexorably forced them closer together as they drifted from its periphery to its center. By the time the first song segued into the second they were close enough to touch, although they didn't. But Jemma was looking at Marq as she danced, and Marq at Jemma, and it was clear that they were dancing together even though they hadn't made contact.

Jemma decided to tease Marq a bit. As they danced, she leaned in, and as expected his eyes flicked down from her face to the cleavage prominently displayed by her dress. It was only for a moment, but she saw it, and when he looked back up she gave him a flirtatious wink. That seemed to leave him flustered, drawing a little giggle out of her.

Pouting, she turned, her ass shaking with the music, and she imagined his eyes following her curves down and fixing on her rear as it moved. She could practically feel him looking at her, watching her ass bounce under her tight dress. And sure enough, when she looked back over her shoulder, he was openly staring. Jemma couldn't deny that Marq's interest in her was appealing; she felt sexy, knowing that she was desired so by a man who was—she could admit it—quite impressive himself.

She felt the hem of her dress starting to creep up, riding up her thighs as her hips rolled and swiveled with the music. Her arms were up over her head, and she turned slowly, baring most of her thigh to Marq's hungry gaze. The flashing lights and shifting shadows of the dance floor played over her, obscuring her face, hiding her smile as she saw him staring at her, his face a mask of desire. She kept turning until she was once again facing away from him, and then she leaned forward, the action making her dress rise even more, stopping a mere hair's breadth from revealing her lacy black thong. No one moved in between them, even on the crowded floor; Marq, in particular, was so intent on Jemma that it was almost a visible force, hedging out interlopers who might otherwise have wanted their chance to dance with the dazzling beauty in the cream-colored dress.

The crowd jostled them, and as Jemma turned to face Marq again she had to take a step closer, winding up in his arms. His hands were on her waist, hers on his shoulders, and the touch was electric. Jemma felt goosebumps appearing on her arms. He was warm to the touch, even warmer than the air on the dance floor, heated by all the people moving together.

Still they danced on, both of them breathing harder as exertion—and other things—took its toll. Marq's hands were mostly stationary, but still only inches from her ass, and proximity to such an attractive man made part of her wish for him to slide further down and give her ass a good squeeze.

As if he read her mind, Marq tried to do just that. His hands crept down, a knowing smile on his face, and Jemma was for a moment seized by a compulsion to let him do it. But she resisted, and glaring daggers at him she pulled his hands back up—but she didn't pull away, or make him let go.

Before he got the idea to do it again, Jemma turned and leaned back against him. His chest was broad and strong, and he felt warm against her bare shoulders. She leaned into him more. Marq had an amazing body, muscular, well-sculpted, and it seemed to Jemma she could feel every single bundle of muscle as she pressed her back to him. His hands slithered around her waist, pulling her in closer, and she unconsciously started to grind herself against him. His legs, like the rest of him, were strong, and the big muscles in his thighs tensed as she ground her ass into him. Her eyes closed, and the music washed over them; they swayed together, neither one wanting to break contact. The music was still fast and the crowd was still there, but it all seemed to fade away as their own natural rhythms took over.

But then Jemma stepped away from him abruptly, turning and backing away. Both of them were almost panting, more from their passion than from exertion. "No..." she muttered, and she turned and fled. Jemma pushed through the crowd and found herself near one of the club's private booths, off in a corner. No one was using it. She scanned the crowd; there was no sign of Laura or Rachel or Marq's friend. A moment later Marq arrived; he'd followed her, and he slid into a seat as though it was reserved for him.

Just then, Jemma's phone buzzed again as it received a text. As she pulled it out to check, she took a seat as well, absentmindedly. The text was from Dan: "Did you get that drink?"

She quickly typed in her reply. "Drinking it now. Marq seems to really be sorry. Said he wants to visit to apologize." She didn't mention the dance, or the moments where it grew hot and heavy, or how close she came to making a huge mistake.

Once she'd sent her reply, she looked up to find Marq looking at her. "What?" she asked.

"Who are you talking to?"

"My boyfriend. The guy you injured, remember?" she answered, tauntingly.

Marq squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "You don't need to keep bringing it up, you know? I didn't do it on purpose. I told you I'm sorry. I'd like to go tell him to his face. Can we drop it?"

Jemma actually felt a twinge of guilt at that. Her anger had cooled somewhat since she'd got her drink, and she was convinced Marq was truly sorry; it was, she considered, perhaps a bit rude of her to keep hammering him for it.

Her phone buzzed again as she answered him. She gulped down another mouthful of her vodka and Coke as she read the message, in part to stall for time before answering Marq. Dan's reply to her said: "He can come by if he wants. Tell him no hard feelings."

She answered Marq first. "I'll let it lie, I guess." Her attention was only half on him, though, as she also was typing her answer to Dan in her phone. To him, she gave a similarly simple reply: "Will do." With that done, she looked up again, taking another drink as she did. "Where are my friends?" she murmured.

Marq shrugged. "I'm sure they'll turn up." His eyes were on her, and his intent and intense gaze made Jemma feel transfixed, like a butterfly pinned to a card. "So," he continued, "tell me about yourself, pretty lady. Dan's never mentioned you to me. I was surprised to see you run onto the pitch today."

Jemma mimicked his shrug and gave him a playful wink; the vodka was hitting her, and making her feel a bit flirty. The attentions of this man, even if he had hurt her boyfriend, were exciting—Marq was undoubtedly handsome, and he seemed completely focused on her. The fact that she'd fled him only minutes ago seemed insignificant. After all, what made her get off the dance floor was the physical contact, and this was a step back from that. Plus Dan knew she was a bit flirty, and he didn't mind. In fact, he kind of enjoyed letting her flirt and then swooping in. "I don't think I want to talk about me," she said. "I want to talk about why you're flirting with a taken woman."

"Because she's flirting back."

Jemma nodded, acknowledging his point. "Maybe just a bit. It's been a rough day, and maybe this drink is helping."

"So you're saying you need beer goggles to flirt with me?" Marq asked. "I'm hurt."

"Not at all. You're hot, I can admit that." Jemma started to giggle as she realized what she'd just said, but quickly stifled it with another mouthful of her vodka and Coke.

"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself." Marq leaned forward and bit and looked her up and down, ogling her openly, and Jemma found herself getting hot. She knew, at this point, that she should get up and go find her friends, but after her terrible day, the need to relax and unwind won out over her instincts—helped, no doubt, by the vodka she'd been drinking. The fact that Marq had been the one who put Dan in the hospital faded into the background, and right now she wanted to revel in the attentions of an attractive man.

So she stayed at the table with Marq and kept up their playful, flirty banter. "You want a picture?" she asked. "Something to look at when I'm back with my boyfriend?"

Marq's smile never wavered as he got out his phone and snapped a picture. Not to be outdone, he challenged her: "Lean forward, pretty lady, so I can get one with more cleavage."

Jemma gasped in mock outrage, but did as he asked, and a moment later Marq's phone had a picture of her, leaning over the table, eyes sparkling in the dim light, her impressive cleavage on display under her cream-colored dress. Jemma's phone buzzed again as she received another text from Dan. "Hope Marq didn't ruin your night."

Even as she did it, Jemma wasn't sure why she replied as she did. She had no reason to lie to her boyfriend, but nevertheless she typed in her answer: "He's gone. I'm with Laura and Rachel again." She hit send and finished off her drink in the next moment. Marq noticed and nodded toward the bar, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. "Another of the same, if you're buying," she said. Marq got up and headed back to the bar.

Jemma another text from Dan before Marq returned. "Glad to hear it. :) Going to bed soon."

As Marq made his way back to their table, carrying a beer and another vodka and Coke, she sent off her reply. "Sleep well, baby. I'll come see you tomorrow. I think I'll be leaving soon anyway." It was another lie, but before she could contemplate why she was doing it Marq sat down—beside her this time, instead of across the table. He handed her her glass and offered up his own for a toast. They clinked glasses together and drank.

Marq and Jemma made small talk for a while, getting to know one another. Their flirting continued as well, and Jemma was glad her friends were nowhere to be found; she didn't want to have to explain to them why she was doing what she was doing—especially since she didn't think she could.

By the time they'd finished their drinks, Marq had his arm around her shoulders, and Jemma was leaning against him, the two of them laughing uproariously about the time Dan had accidentally passed the ball to a rival team during a match. Jemma wasn't sure how they had gotten there, but she didn't see anything odd about it while it was happening.

Jemma's phone buzzed once more, as she got what would turn out to be Dan's last text for the night. "Goodnight, baby," it said. "See you tomorrow."

She sent her reply: "In the cab home now. Good night!" Jemma felt guilty, lying to Dan, but she didn't want him to think that she was somehow disrespecting him by spending time with Marq, the man who'd injured him. Better, she thought, for him not to know.

"That Dan again?" Marq asked, draining the last of his beer.

"Yep. He's going to bed."

Marq snorted. "Already? It's not that late. But I guess he's had a bad day."

Jemma slapped his chest, lightly and playfully, letting her hand linger on his strong torso for a heartbeat longer than she ought. "Don't be mean. Besides, I'm not going to bed yet. I'm still so tense from today. But hanging out with you has been good. I'm sorry I was a bitch earlier."

"It's fine, really," Marq said. "I get it. I hurt your boyfriend, and you don't need to apologize for being mad. I'm glad you took me up on the drink offer, though. Otherwise I wouldn't get to spend the night with a pretty lady like you." He pulled her closer to him. Jemma knew she should pull away, but she didn't. In fact, she shifted in her seat to get even closer.

Neither of them took the lead when it came to making the next move. Instead they seemed to move simultaneously. Jemma turned her face toward Marq at the same time as he lowered his head. His hand slid down her back as her lips parted, just slightly. They moved toward each other, and Jemma's eyes fluttered closed just as their lips met. Marq and Jemma melted into one another, their first kiss slow and sensuous—surprisingly so, given the capacity for aggression that had been on display from Marq earlier in the day.

It lasted for the better part of a minute, and during that time Jemma felt Marq's hands on her—one on her back, rubbing her, while his other hand rested on her leg at midthigh. Her hands were on him, too, on his leg and on his broad, muscular chest. When the kiss ended, neither of them moved their hands. They looked at each other, and Marq broke the silence. "Mmm, you're a good kisser, pretty lady. Let's do that again."

Jemma pushed herself back from Marq, sliding away from him. She was aghast at what had just happened. "No way—what the fuck do you think you're doing, kissing me?"

Marq snorted. "Is that what you think just happened? You kissed me."

"Fuck off, asshole. Let me out." She squirmed past him, not even waiting to see if he would do as she asked. Wriggling past him meant that she had to slide over his lap, and there was a moment where she thought that Marq was going to grab her and hold her there—or perhaps that she'd do it herself. But it passed and she stood up. "I'm going. I better not see you again, shithead, or I'll tell Dan you tried to grope me." Marq raised his hands in defeat and Jemma spun and stormed off.

She had no idea where her friends were, and after a few minutes of marching around the bar her anger started to fade into confusion and guilt. I need to get my head straight, she thought, need to get some fresh air. She made her way to the exit and stepped out into the cool night.

Her friends weren't out there, either. The street was mostly empty. A dozen or so people were standing around in little clumps, smoking and chatting with each other, and a few others fiddled with their phones. She dug through her purse for her phone and placed a call to Dan's hospital room.

As it rang, she heard the door to the bar creak open behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Marq, who was keeping a respectful distance back from her, though she was clearly the focus of his attention.

"What the fuck do you want now?" she snarled—just as a sleepy-voiced Dan answered the phone.

"Huh?" said Dan. "Jemma? What's going on?"

Jemma blushed, mortified. "Oh, sorry baby. I was talking to this asshole"--that word came out harsh, clipped, obviously directed at Marq, who winced a bit—"who's been following me around all night."

"Are you okay?" Dan asked.

"Of course, baby. I just wanted to talk to you. I hope I didn't wake you," she answered.

"You did, but it's fine. Want me to come down there and scare this guy off?" he joked. Dan seemed to be in good humor, even though he'd been woken up by Jemma's call, and even after everything he'd been through.

"Thanks, baby, that's sweet of you," Jemma said.

Meanwhile, Marq mouthed, exaggeratedly, "Is that Dan?" Jemma nodded. Marq moved in close and whispered in her ear, "Gonna tell him we kissed?"

Her eyes narrowed and she pushed Marq away. "Dan?" she said into the phone. "I have something to tell you."

"Oh? What?" he asked.

"I, uh.... I had too many drinks and I... well, I..." I kissed Marq, she thought. But what she blurted out was "I danced with a guy. I'm sorry!"

Dan seemed puzzled. "All right. Why are you telling me?"

"I just felt bad. You're in the hospital and I'm out dancing and having fun. I wish you were here."

"I wish I was there too. But you don't need to feel bad. I told you to go have a good time tonight and I meant it." He yawned. "Listen, babe, these drugs are putting me to sleep. I'm gonna go, okay? Love you."

"Love you too," said Jemma, and she hung up.

Marq was standing near her, smirking. "Why didn't you tell him?" he asked. Jemma opened her mouth to answer, but Marq cut her off. "I think it's because you know it was your idea to kiss me, wasn't it?"

The deadly glare Jemma gave Marq should, by rights, have driven him away in terror if not left him as an ashy outline in the wall, but Marq didn't seem to care. "Fuck off," she said, and gave him the finger. "You're a prick."

"Maybe. Maybe that's what you like." He stepped closer, close enough for his height advantage to become notable; she had to either step back or look up to him. She chose the latter, standing her ground and continuing to glare at him. "Come back inside. See if you can keep your hands off me this time."

"No, and go fuck yourself." She tried to push him back, but didn't accomplish much. In fact, all that happened was that she ended up having to take a step back, and he rocked slightly on his heels—and Jemma wound up with her hands flat against Marq's chest. Marq's strong, broad, muscle-bound chest.

"I guess you really can't keep your hands off me, huh?" Marq asked, tauntingly. "And don't tell me to fuck off again. It's getting old." He stepped back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Look, pretty lady, I'm just playing with me. Come back inside. Let me buy you one more drink, then I'll get you a cab home. No harm, no foul."

Jemma knew it was unwise. She was pretty sure that Marq was going to make another move on her, and when he did, well, she might give in. He was hot, and while she knew she shouldn't be aroused by his single-minded pursuit of her she kind of was. But there was something else, too, something about the way he confronted her that made her feel like she had something to prove. She wasn't quite sure what it was; perhaps she had to prove that she was Marq's better by getting him riled up then abandoning him, or perhaps she had to prove that she was able to resist temptation, or that she really did love Dan, or something else entirely. But whatever it was, to prove it she'd have to take Marq up on his offer, even though it was probably a bad decision.

"All right. One more drink. And if you so much as lay a finger on me again I will break it off and stick it up your ass," she said with a glare. It didn't seem to have the impact she wanted. He just stood there, a confident—perhaps even cocky—grin on his face, his thumbs tucked into his pockets, blocking the straight path between her and the bar. Narrowing her eyes, she brushed past him, making sure to nudge him back with her shoulder as she passed.

Marq followed her back inside and guided her back to the table. A few people had gathered around it, but one glower from Marq scattered them and they once again had the table to themselves—insofar as that meant anything in the crowded club. He left her alone for a few minutes while he got more drinks. Jemma fretted about what to do. She couldn't just leave. It would look like she'd gotten scared and run, and she didn't want to give Marq even that tiny victory. But accepting the drink was a bad idea too.

She resolved to take the drink, down it fast, and leave. She wasn't going to respond if he tried to engage any more, and she absolutely, definitely wasn't going to do anything else she would regret. She wasn't going to kiss him, or let him kiss her, or let him put his hands on her, or lay her hands on his strong chest, or...

Marq returned and set down the drinks on the table. He'd somehow wrangled a tray from the staff, and there were four drinks on it—two beers for him, and two more vodka and cokes for her. "I said one drink," she said. "You've been spending too much time at the gym if you can't count to one properly."

"Happy hour. Two for one special," Marq said, by way of explanation. Jemma was suspicious—she'd never heard of the bar doing a happy hour, and certainly not this late. And no one else seemed to be carrying double drinks back from the bar. On the other hand, she knew Marq could be charming; maybe he'd convinced the bartender to give him something extra.

In any case, if it was okay for her to drink one drink she could handle two. She'd polish them both off nice and quick and make her escape. Marq would have lost his little game, and tomorrow she could go and see Dan and treat him extra-nice until he'd recovered and beyond.

She grabbed one of the vodka and cokes and drained half of it in one gulp. Then she slammed the half-empty glass on the table—making a bit splash out onto her hand—and said, challengingly, "What? Aren't you drinking anymore?" Marq smiled and picked up one of his beers, holding it up in a mocking salute before chugging the whole thing all in one go. "Anyone can do that. Beer's easy. Try it with hard liquor," she said.