Page 6 of A Gold Medal in Love
“I just think it would be good if we knew what we could expect of each other,” I say with clenched teeth. “I printed out acopy of my schedule for each of us. Here’s yours.” I hand them the piece of paper with my whereabouts.
“Whoa. You think you’re training enough, cupcake?” They look at me wide-eyed as they place the paper on a bedside table.
“I have to do what it takes to win the gold medal, and I’m not going to get there by taking breaks,” I bite out, hackles raised.
“What makes a medalist is their ability to prepare prior to these two weeks. If you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re not going to figure it out in the eleventh hour, cupcake,” they tell me, and then flop down onto the bed. “Damn, these shits are uncomfortable.”
“Stop calling me that.” They just said a lot of things that piss me off, but I figure I should address the most pressing: the pet name.
“Stop calling you what?” They stop digging around in a duffel bag and look up at me, their blond strands obscuring their face before they flip it out of their face. “Cupcake?” They grin at me again. Jesus. They must get everything they want with that grin, and it pisses me off to think about it.
“Yes. Cupcake,” I agree bitingly, smoothing out my skirt.
They just laugh in response, further angering me. “Aha!” They say, pulling out a protein bar. They offer it to me. “You want one? I always have a shit ton. Charlie says I’m a garbage disposal.”
I sniff and turn my nose up. “Do you even pay attention to how many added sugars there are in that brand of bar? I only eat sugar-free protein, thanks very much.” I ignore the part about Charlie, not bothering to ask who the fuck that is.
Blake shrugs. “Sugar is fuel, too. Whatever, Cupcake.” They flop back onto the bed, bite into their bar, and turn to eye me.
I feel positively dissected and uncomfortable. Why couldn’t I have been roomed with another figure skater? We would have been frosty to each other, barely spoken to one another, and keptquiet if we were stuck in here at the same time. I have a feeling Blake is going to make metalkto them. Gross.
“You wanna come with my buddy and me to get a drink?” They ask me.
“Um. What?” I startle back.
“A drink. Beer? Or maybe—” They assess me blatantly. “---Yeah, you’re a vodka soda with lime girl if I ever saw one.”
“First of all, I’m only 18. I’m not allowed to drink. Second of all, have you forgotten your entire purpose of being here? You’re going to ruin your competition physique by injecting poison into it? That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard,” I scoff at them and sit down on the edge of my bed.
“Okay, Miss Thang. The legal drinking age in Italy is 18, so you’re gucci here. And one, okay two, maybe three beers isn’t going to stop me from being at the top of my game,” they parry, taking more bites of that disgusting protein bar.
“You’re going to havethreebeers? How are you even an Olympian? You don’t deserve to be here if you can’t even take this competition seriously,” I condemn them harshly.
“Oh? Please tell me about being an Olympian, Cupcake. I’ve never done this before, so I have no idea.” They look at me pointedly and roll their eyes.
“Just because I’m a first-time Olympian and it’s your third doesn’t make you superior to me,” I defend.
They toss their wrapper to the side, hop up from their bed, move the couple of paces across the room to my bed, and crouch down to my level. Putting their face right in mine, they lower their voice to a soft and almost sultry tone. “No, Cupcake, it doesn’t. I’m not the one with a superiority complex here, hm?”
I halt momentarily, my pulse rising. Blake’s irreverent goofiness became so serious just now. I find myself out of words, unable to even breathe, as my dark brown eyes stare into their blue ones. I’m not the only one who is trapped, though.Something is happening here, but I’m not sure what it is. Neither of us can move; we just continue to gaze into each other’s eyes.
Finally, Blake breaks the spell, abruptly standing up and pasting that trademark grin onto their face. “Well, I’m sure the next two weeks with you are gonna be thrilling. See ya later, Cupcake. I’m gonna go have a drink.” They rush out the door, letting it bang shut behind them.
“Don’t call me Cupcake!” I yell at their retreating back, but I don’t think they heard me. I’m sure I would have heard a big laugh at my continuing to protest the name. In fact, I think my vehement opposition to the name might be spurring them on.
Blake is… unprecedented. I’ve never met anyone like them before. I’m not talking about never meeting someone nonbinary, although that’s true, too. But they’re such a big personality. It’s something I’ve seen before in hockey players, but they seem to take it to the max. I think it feels so different because most hockey players are insufferable egotists, and Blake is one pace away from that, but they come off more assured and confident. Maybe it’s because their ego is attached to that almost puppy-like goofiness.
I guess it could be worse. I could be rooming with someone mean. Blake isn’t, just obnoxious. Sigh. I can do this. I can spend the next two weeks around them. Mostly because I will be avoiding them any chance I get. Which shouldn’t be hard since I’ll be busy nailing that triple.
The road to gold starts right now. And Blake Floquet will have nothing to do with it.
CHAPTER
THREE
IMANI
Olympics Day2