Page 9 of A Gold Medal in Love

CHAPTER

FOUR

BLAKE

After I chirpChar (she doesn’t let me call her that, but I keep trying) for getting some last night (honestly, so proud), we sit in the bar watching what might end up being the worst interview of the entire Olympics. I stare at the screen open-mouthed as Imani stomps off the screen, and the interviewer continues to make digs at her as she leaves.

I turn to Charlie, who is nursing her beer next to me.

She grimaces and takes another drink of her beer. “You’d think in 2026, the blatant infantilizing of feminine athletes would stop,” she murmurs.

“I don’t think I’ve seen it that bad in quite some time. The interviewer was like a dog with a bone. A racist, sexist dog with a bone,” I muse back, finishing off my drink.

“I remember the early days when it was similar for us. ‘What will the boys think when you’re in such a masculine sport?’” She mimics.

“Oh, how joyous it was to correct them when we could tell them we had no interest in boys.” I reference both of our coming-out stories.

She cracks a rare smile. “Too bad Imani can’t have the same delicious experience.”

“It would be harder for her, I think. In such a girlypop fem sport? I mean, yeah, it would be sick to be gay as fuck in an environment that wants demure little princesses from its athletes, but I’ve seen how hard it is to be gay as a male in that sport,” I sigh.

“I can’t even imagine going against the grain like that, especially when she’s already turning the sport on its head by being elite in what is falsely considered a white sport,” Charlie points out and takes another small sip of her first drink.

“Female sports are hard enough. Add any kind of minority experience to that, and it becomes jarring. You know how hard it was for me to come up in locker rooms full of homophobia. Some of us wear our queerness like a mantle, and it’s impossible to take off. I’ve never passed, although I’m past the point where I feel ashamed about that,” I reminisce.

“Mhm. Thank goodness for years of therapy,” Charlie praises me, and raises her half-full drink for a cheers.

I raise mine to meet it, but then shrug at its emptiness.

“Another?” She queries, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah. Imma check on Cupcake,” I inform her, sliding off my stool and playing with the zipper on my jacket.

“Cupcake,” Charlie states the name, lowering her voice to a scolding tone.

I flash her a grin. “You already know who that is.”

“Is this a ‘taking her under your wing’ thing, or a ‘laying the groundwork for sleeping with her’ thing?” She asks, voice level.

“Why can’t it be both?” I wiggle my eyebrows and lean in to kiss her cheek goodbye.

“It shouldn’t be either. You have your own shit to worry about, Blake. Like, your own medal,” she reminds me.

“Ah, it’ll be fine. Imani’s straight, right? I can flirt a little. For science!” I call behind me as I swagger away.

“You always say that, you fucking menace!” Charlie calls back as the glass bar door snicks closed behind me.

When I walk into the small shared room, I find Imani facedown on her bed, making keening noises.

Oof. Well, it looks like the ice queen has cracked. And not in a fun way.

I cough loudly to let her know I’m in the room, but when she doesn’t even acknowledge my appearance, I sit down on the edge of her bed right by her shoulder. “How we doin’?” I ask, but it’s only a formality. She’s dogshit right now. We both know that.

“Can you just fuck off?” She asks harshly into the pillow. It’s not as vehement as when she was talking to that piece of shit interviewer, so I’ll take it.

“Nah, don’t wanna. How about I stay here with you so you won’t be alone?” I try. She’s not my first ice queen. Everyone wants to feel like they’re important. I can do that for her right now.

“Just leave!” Unfortunately, her muffled voice has lost its authority.