Page 48 of A Gold Medal in Love

Good. The tears are drying. We are okay. Everything will be okay.

I open my mouth, and she slowly inserts the utensil tip. Serious again, I moan. “Cupcake, this tastes better when you feed it to me.”

She licks her lips, then bites the bottom one.

“Yeah? C’mere. Taste the flavor on me,” I purr, and lean in to grasp her chin, licking into her mouth.

We finish the meal by feeding it to each other, with periodic intermissions of soft kisses and whispered praises.

While I’m paying, she sneaks off to the bathroom, and I suddenly panic. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but what if I’m hurting more than I’m helping? What if I’m causing her to trade restriction for purging?

I follow her and knock on the door.

“Almost ready!” Is the loud response I get, leaning closer into the door to hear her answer. I pause and frown at the words Imani is mumbling that I am certainly not meant to hear. “You’re supposed to look nice, but instead our sir is probablyembarrassed to be seen with you, you fat pig.” I hear what sounds like a smack against flesh. “Look at these saddle bags! Never mind that we are a disgrace to be seen with, but what’s Coach going to say when we are spilling out of our costume?” A bang reverberates through the wooden paneling of the door—a hit against the mirror, I’m thinking. “Get your shit together. You can’t keep eating just because they flash those pretty dimples at you or because they bribe you with sex. Do. You. Hear. Me?”

I quickly back away from the door, having heard enough to induce me to resolve.

It’s official—I am so completely out of my depth. I need to figure out how to get Imani professional help—and soon.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

IMANI

As soon asI come out of the bathroom, Blake grabs the nape of my neck and marches me out of the restaurant, herding me back to our room.

“Imani—” they begin, and I immediately know that I don’t want to hear whatever follows those words.

I smack Blake’s hand off my body and skip ahead of them, making a beeline for the Village.

“Imani, get back here right fucking now,” they growl.

Feigning lightness, I turn around and stick my tongue out at Blake. Quickly, I give them my back and run away. Inside, I am vibrating with fear. What is this regarding? The interviews? I’ve gotten better. A serious talk about us? I’m scared to have it. The worst possible scenario pops up in my mind, though, and I choke on air—what if Blake wants to talk about… my eating?

I know I haven’t done a good job of hiding it with them. Most of our meals are centered around them trying to get me to “get some nutrition.” I never thought it would be so hard to hide, but I didn’t account for being in… a thing… with another athlete. I can’t bullshit Blake; they eat for maximum performance; they have a nutritionist, too. Sure, they’re achieving a different body type than I am, especially as a defenseman (look at me learninghockey!Disgusting), but the ideology is much the same. The fact of the matter is… I might have run out of excuses with them. Blake watches me too closely for them not to notice what seems as apparent as a ticker tape parade.

I feel both my arms grasped at my elbows, stopping me in my tracks. Blake’s low voice sounds serious in my ear. “You can run from me, but you’re not running from this conversation.”

“What conversation?” I respond with saccharine sweetness.

“I think you already know, or you wouldn’t be bratting so fucking hard right now,” Blake continues in a measured manner.

“What’s the matter, Sir? Don’t you like it when I say no?” I taunt them, wiggling to try and escape again.

“You know I do. This isn’t about kink or sex, though. We need to have a serious talk right now. I’m not Sir; you’re not Cupcake.” Blake’s calloused palms press into my arms, reminding me that I’m carrying far too much fat on them.

“I don’t want not to be Cupcake; I like not being Imani with you,” I whine, trying for all I’m worth to find an exit strategy as my pulse ratchets higher and higher. Maybe if I can just make it to the room; maybe if I can just weigh myself—that’ll calm me down. I need to feel like I’m in control. And then I need to give my control to Sir. They just need to stop this path of questioning. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we finished the night with me tied up?” I try to whisper as seductively as I possibly can, even though I’m fairly certain my voice shakes.

“Imani. You’re not going to get out of this conversation by bratting,” Blake growls, sounding as frustrated with me as I am with them.

“But what if I can?” I wheedle, grinding my ass against their stomach as I press my back into their tits, desperately trying to create enough friction to overtake their concern and replace it with desire.

Blake wraps their arms around my front like a human straitjacket. “I… care about you. Do you know that?” Their head comes to rest on top of mine. I feel utterly surrounded, and for once with them, it doesn’t feel good. I feel backed into a corner like a caged lion, ready to bite as soon as I’m approached.

“I don’t know that,” I deny, wondering if I can course-correct this dialogue into something that takes the heat off of my behavior.

“Hm. I do, very much,” Blake assures me, moving their head to give me several slow kisses on the cheek.