Page 50 of A Gold Medal in Love

“Red.”

Blake’s eyes get wide with surprise, but honestly, I don’t know what they expected. They trapped me, so I chose my only recourse.

“All right, Imani. If that’s what you want, I will, of course, honor your safeword. Come on, let’s go back to the room,” Blake pivots with ease. I don’t know why I’m the one who is surprised now. They’ve always been so diligent about their behavior with me—the time they trapped me in the bathroom, aside.

“I’ll walk alone,” I grit out, now pissed off beyond reason. I turn and begin a stride a gay man would envy.

“The fuck you will,” Blake growls, immediately catching up to me with those long fucking legs.

“I safed out. Leave me the fuck alone!” I try to go as fast as my little limbs can carry me.

Blake laughs cruelly. “Absolutely not. I will not touch you; we don’t even have to talk. But you’re on glue if you think I’d abandon you in the middle of one of the largest cities on the planet.”

I scream my frustration aloud, having completely given up on holding myself together. “I hate you!”

“Whatever you say, Imani,” Blake chuckles, and it just incites me to more anger.

They’re impenetrable, and it’s killing me. What’s a bitch gotta do to push the person they love away? Fucking lesbians—we don’t know when to give up. Seriously, Romeo & Juliet is so queer-coded—Romera & Juliet, you mean. Dykes will die for love.

And I do love Blake, which is the real rub. How could I not, when they take such good care of me? Hell, they care about me enough to make a scene with me in the middle of Milan, or enough to defile me in one of the most beautiful churches in the world. Every single word or action is filled with their love, and what do I have to offer in return?

I have spent my life not being enough, so there’s no way I can be enough for them. Now that they know my secret, would I even be enough if I win gold?

Slamming the door in their face when we make it back to the room, I get ready for bed and ignore their looming presence.

Blake makes it hard as they engage in their nightly routine, seemingly unruffled. They change into their PJs—a fresh pair of briefs and a tank top, all while humming a song I can’t place and bopping their head to the beat.

When we’re both in our respective beds, I want to cry for feeling so far away from them.

“So this is what we’re doing now?” I accuse, like it’s their fault I’m not being cradled in their arms as I fall into slumber.

“I’m not fucking you after you threw a temper tantrum, Cupcake,” Blake reminds me in a gentle tone.

I don’t respond, folding myself further into the scratchy sheets. Several minutes go by. “Are you asleep?”

“Not yet, no,” Blake lightly replies.

“Can I come over there?” I ask hopelessly.

“And do what?”

“Just be with you,” I mumble.

Blake pulls their blankets to make a hole for me and opens an arm for me to curl into.

I sigh like I’m doing them a favor as I slide into the spot.

Blake rewards me by kissing me on the forehead and moving my head onto their chest, the position we both like the most.

“I have a question.” I tread slowly, speaking up to the ceiling.

“I have an answer, let’s see if they match,” Blake jokes, kissing the top of my bonnet.

“Ha ha. What did you pray for that day in the church?” I wonder aloud.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” Blake asks curiously.

“Are you not going to answer?” I reply grumpily.