Page 26 of A Gold Medal in Love

“If you decide to do this with me, I’ll want to hear ‘thank you, Sir,’ got it?” I say, as calmly as I can, so as not to betray how much I want to hear those words.

“Yes, Sir,” she utters, and I halt.

“Fucking Christ, Imani. I only want to hear it if you agree,” I correct.

She cackles at my discomposure, and I smile in return.

“Yep, big fucking brat. Now, I’m off to the pub, hopefully with my wayward best friend. Think about what we discussed—really think. I’ll see you later,” I give my salutations and, without changing, just pick my hat up from where Imani discarded it on the floor and make to leave.

I feel a squishy thing that must be a pillow hit me in the back, and I turn to see Imani pouting.

“I’m not Cupcake anymore?” She narrows her eyes at me.

I walk over, push her back on the bed, and kiss her, lingering longer than I rightly should. When I’m done, she’s breathless and gobsmacked. I pull back from her and let the curtain of my hair frame her face, encapsulating the two of us in a strained moment full of promise. “You’re always Cupcake.”

With that, I swagger out the door, hearing the sounds of her whimpers salute me goodbye.

I shouldn’t, but I really want her to say yes to me. She doesn’t have to say yes to it all. That was the point of the conversation that just unfolded. But I can do a lot with a little… and honestly, all I’m hoping for is just one “Sir” uttered from those plump plum lips.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

IMANI

Olympics Day7

Tuesday, February 10, 2026

Walking into the hockey arena, I’m immediately assaulted by how different the energy here is. I’m not too excited about admitting it, but I may have decided that, between practices, I would maybe go check out one of Blake’s preliminary round games. I hate myself for it, but I just want to see how Blake is on the ice. Are they the goofy, playful person they are during their usual moments, or does the Dommy Dark Daddy energy come out when they’re… what the fuck do they play? I know there are different positions, but I couldn’t begin to imagine what they’re called.

Maybe that’s better. I couldn’t bear to be seen as giving simp vibes. I’mnotthat girl. Ugh. I’m not eventhisgirl. What the fuck am I doing here? Blake and I are nothing, less than nothing. I’m just some girl who gets wet when Blake lowers their voice and reads me for filth. Honestly, that sounds disgusting to say, even in my brain, where no one can hear it.

Okay. Let me just… It’s fine. There’s a chance I’ve already been seen here, so it would be even weirder if I up and leftnow. “Imani Gray, now showing signs of flakiness. Could the competition be getting to her?” Or whatever the fuck they would make up to say about me because they can’t find actual sports news to report.

I buy two bottles of water from a vendor, calculating how much water I’ll have had today if I drink them. It’s not as much as yesterday, but there’s still time. Maybe I’ll get another water at halftime, or whatever the fuck they call it in hockey.

Looking around, I find myself in a sea of red, white, and blue. There are no other colors, so at least I blend in since I wore my Olympics-approved tracksuit after morning practice. It does strike me as strange, though, since I believe we normally have an opponent at the Olympics. I might not know a lot about hockey, but I’m pretty sure the hockey team doesn’t play itself.

Turning toward the woman who is brandishing an American flag in the seat next to me, I shamefully ask, “Ma’am, can you tell me the team we are playing in this game?”

“Czechia, doll!” She answers in the most Southern of accents. Coming from Miami, I’m not really from the South, but I would recognize a Georgian dialect if I ever heard one, and this woman is for sure a peach.

“Thanks a bunch,” I try to answer as positively, but I can tell I’m doing that awkward plastic smile again, because she sniffs and turns away from me.

Well. I guess she isn’t going to help me understand this game. Fuck. I turn to my left, but it’s a dude bro who is so white you just know his pawpaw was (or still is) in the Klan.

So I’m definitely alone for this exercise.

I let my mind wander as I take in the noisy crowd, so unlike a figure-skating crowd. Are they going to be like this the whole time? Do they quiet down once the players get onto the ice, or…?

This is kind of a lot. I might be able to get into it if Blake were here grinning at me the whole time.

OMFG. This simp shit hasgotto stop.

Except… I know exactly the moment Blake comes onto the ice. Despite second-guessing myself, I look up on the big Jumbotron and sure enough, starting defenseman, number five, Blake Floquet.

I take a shaky gulp of water as I watch them skate into position behind other players for puck drop. And it’s like I can see Blake’s characteristic grin from here as they jostle the opposing team’s players while they dominate the arena.