Page 28 of A Gold Medal in Love

“No, Mummy,” I whine. “The person uses they/them pronouns. It’s just one person.”

“Okay, so who is this ‘they?’” She gleefully asks.

“No, stop. I don’t have time for this. No one in America cares who I pick up; they care who I beat to get to number one,” I bluster.

“Imani, what’s the point of getting that medal if you’re not even enjoying yourself? Would you please let this person take you out, show you a good time,feed you a good meal?Youareeating, aren’t you?” She demands from me.

“Of course, Mummy,” I lie immediately. “I just told you that we went to dinner. Can’t go to dinner and not eat anything, can I?”

“All right. And you’re sure that Coach is treating you right? We can get someone else if he’s not, you know,” she assures me, though I know she’s already paid a fuckton and I won’t waste her money.

“We literally can’t. I’m days away from my final competition. This is the big show,” I argue.

“You’re being evasive again.” She raises her voice, but only just.

“Mummy. He’s fine. He’s going to take me there,” I insist.

“You know, I’ll love you just the same if you don’t get a medal at all, you know.” She softens her voice.

“No, I’m going to win. I have to.” I harden my voice. And I do have to. She’s sacrificed so much for me to get here. I have to make it all worth it—every shift she’s taken, every spare cent she’s allocated to my training, and every missed holiday. She’s devoted her life to getting me here. The least I can do is repay that love by going home with a shiny medal—theshiny medal.

“Okay,” she says with a resigned sadness. “But have some fun with this girl—this person?---along the way, okay? For your Mummy who can’t be there? Do this for me.”

“This is all for you,” I reassure her firmly.

“You’re right. You’ve done me proud. You’re there, representing this country that gave us a second home. You’re there for all the little Black immigrant girls to look up to. You’ve already done everything for me and everything for your legacy that you need to. The next step is to just have some fun in between all those grueling hours of competition and practice. Please, Imani. Enjoy your Olympic experience. Make it a story worth telling,” she begs me.

“I—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Oh, baby, I’ve got to go. I’m so proud of you! I love you so much!” And with that salutation, she hangs up the phone.

I stand there blankly with the phone still held to my ear. Mummy just pretty much… told me I should make her proud by fucking Blake?

Okay, well. That’s batshit. I don’t care what she tries to say; I need to win gold.

But maybe… maybe I can do it on my knees for Blake.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

BLAKE

After my usualcelebratory shotgun in the locker room, I hightail it back to my room so that I can throw my gear bag in the closet and then head out for some grub. I’m still hyperfixating on the song that’s been my recent earworm, so imagine my surprise when I key open the door, bopping to The Aces, to find Imani in the submissive Nadu position—naked.

I quickly close the door so no one sees her, and drop my bag on the floor, leaning back to observe her. She must have flat-ironed her perm out, because it’s out of her traditional bun and creating a curtain around her downturned face, and I have to say that it’s pretty nice to see this girl with her hair down for once. I mean that in all the ways possible. Her dainty little tits are pebbled into dark pencil eraser tips, making me want to put my mouth all over them. Hands resting on her kneeling and deliciously muscled, spread thighs, her palms are upturned as though in wait of my orders.

“Well. This was not on my Olympics bingo card,” I purr as a greeting, still perusing all the angles of all that brown skin put on display just for my viewing pleasure.

Imani’s face snaps up, lips twisting in anger. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Tell me, Cupcake, what exactly did you have in mind when you put yourself in a scene without asking for consent?” I question, cocking my head and flicking a brow up.

I watch her deflate. “Oh. I see what I did wrong.”

“Well, you’re very smart, so I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to,” I commend her.

Imani shakes out her squirms as she rises from her position. “Should I… put clothes on?”