Page 5 of A Gold Medal in Love
“Anyway, can you give me the information of the person who did the room assignments? I’m sure I can charm them into changing it out so I’m with Charlie, and Gray can be with whoever else who isnot me,” I change the subject back.
Coach sighs. “If anyone could work their magic, it’s you, but I refuse to unleash you on someone who is dealing with way more important matters during this compressed competition schedule. You’ll survive.”
“Will I? If I go missing, make sure to question the tiny little slip of a woman who skates on weapons of death every day of her life,” I tell her.
“You spend your life on ice skates, too, Blake—as a defenseman. You’re more likely to be violent than she is,” she points out.
“Howdareyou.Off the ice, I’m the sweetest, biggest teddy bear of a person. I’d never,” I gasp in outrage.
“Blake? Get out of my face and meet your roommate. I’ll see you—alive and well—for prelims bright and early.” With that, she turns and walks away.
Well. Fuck.
CHAPTER
TWO
IMANI
Well.I did it. I’m here, in Olympic Village, in my room, unpacking my bags as an Olympic figure skater. I’m an Olympian. Me. Nothing in my life has ever felt more right.
I wish Mummy were here with me, but she couldn’t afford to come. I guess staying in Milan for nearly a month was a big ask of her. It’s fine; I know she’ll be watching me obsessively from home. And she’s only a text or a phone call away. The time difference is six hours. That seems pretty manageable.
I finish arranging my costumes in the closet, putting them in the order in which I’ll wear them, and run my hands over their textured fabric. I take out the dress I wear for Mummy when I bring her to the rink for special one-on-one performances. It’s so obnoxious that it makes me laugh, but it’s her favorite of my outfits. It’s extra as fuck, with so many sequins and feathers, in a bold orange that complements my skin so much it’s sinful, there’s no skirt, and the midriff is done to look like I’m bare.
I’m absolutely not allowed to wear it here. Just like most skaters, I’ve had it drilled into my skull to be creative with my costume while also playing it safe. We can get points deducted if our dress is too garish—and this is capital “G” garish. But I can’thelp but love it. At this point, it feels like the secret side of my skating, since I only wear it to perform for Mummy.
I sigh and hang it back up, closing the door to the closet and looking into the small room that boasts two of the tiniest twin beds I’ve ever seen in my entire life, separated by a scant amount of walking room.
As I do, the door that leads to the hallway opens, and I turn to greet my roommate, even though I’ve been informed I’m not rooming with another figure skater, but instead a member of the women’s hockey team. This should be an interesting experience. I’ve never really gotten along with the hockey girls. People think that we should have things in common since we spend our time on the ice, but the culture is so different that I find I cannot relate to them.
But I’m horrified when the person who walks in the door ismale. I don’t know who he is and how he got into this room, but he’s wearing a baggy Team USA tracksuit and a backward hat. Tattoos creep out from around the top zipper and sleeves, making his tall height seem even more imposing.
“Sup,” he up-nods me as I stand there stunned.
I cough into my fist pointedly. Surely, he’ll realize he’s gotten the keys to the wrong room soon. I mean, I’m clearly a woman. And this is the last place they’d want coed room assignments.
He haphazardly throws all his bags onto the bed and comes near me with an outstretched palm. “Cool to meet you, I’m Blake.” The tenor of his voice is accented with a blinding grin that I suppose he’s used to using on scores of women, but I will not be one of them, thank youverymuch.
I eye him with distaste and raise my hand, only to smooth my hair back into my bun. “Listen, I’m sure you’re very… lovely. But as you can see, I’m a woman. I think there’s been a mistake. I’m supposed to be rooming with Blake Floquet, another woman, not you, a man.”
“Right.” He takes his outstretched hand back and uses it to pull his hat off, revealing long and luscious blond hair. “I’m not a man. I’m not a woman, either. Although this is the correct room.”
“Well. You have to be one or the other, don’t you?” I cross my arms and cock my head.
“Not really. There are plenty of people who don’t fit into a binary—gender fluid, genderqueer, agender, nonbinary, intersex, etc. I’m nonbinary, and I use they/them pronouns,” they tell me.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry. I didn’t—I mean. I’ve never met anyone—Yeah. Okay,” I stumble over my words.
They grin at me, shake out their limbs, and hold a hand out to me yet again. “So. Now that that’s settled, you wanna try this again?”
I place my palm in theirs, their callouses scraping against my delicate skin. I shift uncomfortably and pull back quickly. “Imani. Gray. Figure skater. First-time Olympian.”
“Blake Floquet. Hockey player. Third-time Olympian.” Then they smile at me, and this one is softer, less aggressive, warmer, and welcoming.
I nod succinctly. “Nice to make your acquaintance. Should we go over our schedules to make sure we don’t interfere with each other’s routines?”
Blake raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m pretty sure that both of us will be in and out of here constantly—no need to bog ourselves down with trying to remember the exact times. The events run during the day, and then we sleep at night. We find some spare minutes to practice and eat, rinse and repeat. What more needs to be said?”