Page 39 of A Gold Medal in Love

Friday, February 13, 2026

If Charlie was giving me shit for how distracted I was during prelims, I can’t imagine what she’s thinking as she watches me from the stands now. I know she’s just itching to dig into me about where my head is at for the USA’s quarterfinal game against Switzerland.

Let’s clarify that I, personally, think I’m beasting on this ice right now. Hockey is in my blood—I was raised by an NHL superstar, after all—but even if I hadn’t honed this machine through 28 years of studied practice, that wouldn’t be enough to close all the browser tabs in my mind. I’m never more focused than when multiple things are stimulating me. If you know, you know—my ADHD lovelies know what I’m talking about.

It’s only the first period, but I’m determined to take Switzerland the fuck down. It’s not like they’re going to make this an easy win for us, but I am determined to meet Charlie in the final. One bite at a time, we will defeat our opponents, until I can get the ability to beat the fuck out of my best fucking friend.

It’s called bestie bonding. I don’t want to hear it.

I hop over the boards and onto the ice, letting the sex with Imani play in the background of my mind as a movie. As I corner Switzerland’s center forward and block her in, taunting her with the bulk of my body, I picture Imani’s beautiful face as she was tortured by orgasm.

And make no mistake, shewastortured. Every slide of my fingers inside of her was a pleasurable pain as she tried to hold herself together in the middle of a crowded church where our actions were a forbidden and illicit treat. I didn’t just fuck her body last night, I fucked her mind. And Christ, was it beautiful.

For me, that’s the incredible intersection between sex and kink. Why would I not worship my partner in their entirety? I don’t just want someone’s body or their moans; I want to elevate their spirit to the highest plane of existence they’ve ever been on. I want my very essence to bite into the rawest part of my subject—the parts of themselves they’ve never let anyone else see, nevertheless have been treasured for. Everyone deserves to be held, and I mean that in all the ways: metaphorically, spiritually, and physically. When I release a submissive from my care, I want their standards to have been raised by their experience with me. Is it the Dominant or lesbian in me? Well.

I finally steal the puck from the forward I’ve been babysitting, and pass it to Saint, skating away from the Swiss girl, and into a better position in case the shot goes wide. Unfortunately, it does, but we quickly rally.

The first period standings have given us more SOG (shots on goal), but our opponent is up, the score sitting at two-to-zero. I guess it’s going to be one ofthosegames.

The first period can set the tone for the game. Still, it’s just as likely to galvanize the losing team into getting their shit together and absolutely decimating their competition in the two remaining periods. As the team captain, you can bet your ass I’mgoing tomakethe latter option viable after I get my say during intermission.

I wind up right next to the goalposts, so Saint surprises me with a pass to me. Despite my daydreaming, I’m incredibly tuned in to this game, so I flick my wrist and try to sink the biscuit, but the Swiss goalie deftly catches the shot in her glove while the buzzer sounds.

All of my team groans and stomps their way to the locker room while I shake out that dreadful first period and try to get myself hype. My duty to the team is to getthemsomehow hype so we can win this game.

Standing right beside the door, I allow every woman to pass me as I give them all high fives upon entry, waiting to be the last one in. Their responses range from grimaces to shaky smiles, but I take none of it personally. I’ve got my girls' backs.

When everyone is inside, I transition my mental shakes to physical ones, hopping on the knife-edge of my blades to get the remnants of bad vibes out, cracking my spine and neck. This next part is on me.

I walk in, meeting every eye that raises to mine. Some of my teammates display openness, while others are visibly angry. All of their looks reflect a burning desire for me to give them the hope they’re lacking right now.

“My bros. We can all agree that we just had a rough first period. This is not what we want our quarterfinal game to look like,” I begin, and receive grunts, nods, and scoffs. “Every person on this team is playing their best game, I promise you that.” At this, I receive some surprise with a smattering of outright disbelief. “No, no, hear me out. Every time you get onto that ice, you give this team 100% of yourself. I trust y’all as my teammates, because I know you’re putting your whole body and soul into this game every time you play next to me. But here’swhat we’re not doing: we’re playing 100% as individuals, and not 100% as a team.”

The reaction I receive now is an outpouring of curiosity. I meet every eye once again. “The Olympics are always a hard time for team sports. We train the whole year with one team, only to be shuffled into a composite where we haven’t intuited each other while playing together. Here’s the thing. I know y’all know each other’s nuances. You’ve played together for every year you’ve been in the PWHL. I need you to look around at your teammates. Think of their weaknesses, think of their strengths. If you’ll trust yourselves to remember, you’ll realize that instead of targeting those weaknesses, you can protect them. Instead of handicapping their strengths, you can beef those up.”

Every eye in the room openly assesses everyone else, and I imagine little dossiers popping up in every one of my teammates’ minds. “We’ve been keeping our shit together until this game, but now things get harder. There’s more on the line. I get that. Do you not think I want to bite into that medal just like you do?” I hear some scattered laughter at this. Good, they’re taking my words to heart if they’re no longer on the defensive. “Only together, as a whole, can we play as Team USA. I know, in my heart of hearts, that we can not only win this game, but bring that gold medal home. We can make our community proud. We can makeeach otherproud.”

I stand there, body vibrating with energy, as I await their response.

The team seems to ponder my words, then someone starts banging their stick onto the locker room floor, and before I know it, every USA player is wailing their excitement as they thrash their sticks into the slip-resistant surface, the chant of “Team USA” beating in my ears.

After we win the game with a second-period comeback, I run around the room smacking asses and kissing foreheads, receiving good-natured laughter in response. Charlie watches with an annoyed expression under the doorframe.

After stripping, I stare her down while I walk my shower beer into the other room, ready to scrub the game sweat off of me. Whatever good energy gave us that win will hopefully stay, though.

When I return from the stall, she’s taping her stick, geared up from the waist down.

I throw my towel onto the bench, then sit next to my best friend, leaning back on my hands and making myself cozy.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Blake,” Charlie gripes, referring to my naked body on full display for the whole of the locker room. “Is that figure skater not doing enough for you? You have to flaunt it for the team, too?”

“Well, that’s a trick question, Char. I’m always ready to showcase the goods,” I reply, looking down to watch as I make my abs flex in the fluorescent light.

“I came all the way to Milan for a vacation from you. Unfortunately, you came with me,” she mutters.

I grin at her. “How do you feel about your game?”

“Better than you felt about the game you just played,” Charlie retorts.