Page 12 of A Gold Medal in Love

Blake cocks their head and surveys me intensely. Their scrutiny makes me so uncomfortable that I squirm in my seat.

Fortunately, we are saved by the waitress’s arrival.

When it’s my turn to order, I tell her, “A salad, no cheese, no meat, dressing on the side.”

Both Blake and she look at me in horror, but it’s Blake who pipes up. “Are you a vegan?”

“No,” I answer, but offer no further information.

“She’ll have chicken on her salad,” Blake informs the waitress.

“I said no meat!” I protest.

“Thanks so much.” Blake ignores me, dismissing the waitress, who looks at both of us warily and then decides to ignore my protests as well.

I slump in my seat, thinking about the additional calories. If I eat this chicken, it would be so lackadaisical of me, which I cannot afford to be during these crucial two weeks. I decideto take my frustrations out on the person causing this internal debate. “You can’t just order me around.”

They look at me intensely, and I almost look behind me to see if they can see through me. “Tell you what. I’ll pay for this meal. And you can decide what to do about the dreaded meat when the order arrives. But I will remind you that you can’t be successful on that ice if you’re not properly fueled—which includes a steady injection of protein.” They punctuate their words with a raised eyebrow.

I need to change the subject and fast, and for a couple of reasons: I need to get Blake off the topic of my eating habits, I need to stop feeling so hot when Blake gets serious and orders me around, and I really need to stop squirming because I think theyknowthey’re getting me worked up. “Are you going to help me with my interview situation or just lecture me on how you’re a superior athlete?”

They press a hand to their heart. “Cupcake, I can do both. It’s called multi-tasking, and I’m exceptional at it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” I roll my eyes at their overdone antics. I can’t believe I’m actually into this right now.

“Ciao, bellas!” We are interrupted by an enthusiastic greeting from a white brunet man with a professional camera slung around his neck.

“Ciao!” Blake greets him.

I can’t help the sneer that I grace him with as I eye his camera, expecting some terrible scam to make this dining experience even more hazardous to my health.

“A honeymoon couple, I presume? Please, bellas, pose for a picture to capture this moment in time!” The photographer beams at us, overexuberant.

“Oh, wait, no—” I try to stop this train wreck from occurring, but Blake is already grinning at me in delight.

They clamber over to my side of the table, throw an arm around my shoulders, and lean their body into mine.

The photographer moves to the opposite side of the table, brings his camera up to eye level, and announces, “Formaggio!”

I’m smiling automatically, trained for years to act the part when a camera is placed in front of my face, even as fake as I know it will be.

I can’t keep track of what’s happening. Blake is so close to me. My heart is pounding in my chest. Some man thinks we’re on a date. Is there a part of me that wants this to be a date? I resolve to stay as still as possible until Blake releases me. But suddenly, they turn their face toward mine and inhale deeply.

I startle in my seat. “Did you justsmellme?”

They laugh and shrug. “You smell good, Cupcake.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” I snap, not liking how my skin heats at the compliment.

They lean right into me, and I’m completely aware of how close their lips are to mine. “Tell me, what would you do if I sat here for the entire meal?”

“Not eat a single bite,” I say with certainty.

“Mm. Not worth it, then,” Blake decides, and swaggers back to their side of the table.

I breathe a little easier with them having moved away from my side, but I’m still wondering what in the absolute fuck is wrong with me. When did I decide that I was into… whatever the fuck Blake is? They’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And I remind myself that not just a day ago, I was resolved tostay away from them.They’re nice to me during a breakdown, take me to lunch, and suddenly I want to hop into bed with them? No. Just no.

Our food arrives, and I eye the creamy polenta on Blake’s plate. “Do you know how much fat is in that?”