The tension evaporates. “Isn’t it sad the Golds are almost over? This might be our last one together unless Knox participates and you and Remi decide to come cheer him on.”
Marley looks at Reagan for a moment not saying anything. The little bit of skin under her eyes reddens and I wonder if she’s gettingready to cry. “Of course we would come and cheer Knox on if he comes back. When he comes back.”
“You better be my sister-in-law when you do it.”
“Hell yeah I better be,” Marley says. “What about you, McKenna? Are you sad to be almost done?”
“Yeah? What are you going to do after this?” Reagan chips in before I answer.
What am I gonna do after this?
“This has always been a temp job.” I wanteda marketing job, not whatever this job has become. “I’ve heard many of the assistants get job offers after they go home. Normally for marketing or PR firms. The Golds were supposed to be my steppingstone to something permanent.”
The truth of the matter is I haven’t had a lot of time to network myself to the agents and other PR firms who are here. I spend most my time running around for the athletes.I have no idea what I’ll do when I get home. I highly doubt Asbell will offer me a position to work with the Gold Medal committee when I get back to the states. I haven’t had the best track record.
And as much as I don’t want to admit it, there are some downsides to going home. What will happen to Oliver? Maybe we’ll be a Winter Games fling? Lots of them happen and then you go home and go aboutyour life. Maybe we’ll email or something. He may live in California too, but it’s a big ass state and he’s probably not there often. I learned this morning he has a second home in Utah where he stays most of the time so he can practice. I’ve never been one for long-distance relationships.
Actually, I’ve never had a long-distance relationship, but I imagine I’d be pretty bad at them. So eventhough less than twenty-four hours ago I was ready to go home and never think of this place again, now a growing part of me doesn’t want to leave.
How the fuck did that happen?
There are only a few days left of the Winter Games and then so much of my life will change. It’s a bit scary and also a little thrilling. I can do whatever I want. Well…not anything. As much as I’d love for the TravelChannel to offer me a gig visiting glamorous winery locations, so far that hasn’t happened. And I have bills to pay.
“Oh!” Marley shouts, saying it so quickly she almost jumps off the couch. “I forgot I wanted to ask you. What’s up with Isaac? Does he really get to compete in the fifty-kilometer event?”
Ugh this is not a conversation I want to have. “It looks that way. You know how it is. Theywant to deal with him back home rather than here. Asbell probably doesn’t want a bunch of reporters asking why he doesn’t compete.” It’s not like they could break his leg or make up some kind of injury. The media is a bunch of hounds. They’d figure it out eventually.
“Typical. They’re more concerned about their image than anything else.” Reagan pops open the top of her Styrofoam container andpulls out a red Twizzler. “Do you remember in the 2014 Olympics when the bobsled team panty-raided the girls floor like they were a fucking frat?”
“Such a damn mess,” Marley replies.
What is she talking about? I never heard about panty raids. Oh, I guess that’s the point.
And where in the hell did she get a red Twizzler? This damn hotel has everything. I’m over here trying to lick a proteinbar off my breakfast banana and these two have red Twizzlers.
“Do you want a Twizzler?” Reagan asks, handing one across the space as it flops around wildly in the air. “You can have one. You don’t have to give me the look like you’ll can eat it out of my hand.”
My face flushes. “Thanks,” I say taking the red twisted fruit wonder. “I miss real food so much.”
“Girl, come with us next time weeat. Nobody eats the athletes’ crap. The least they could do is feed you real food. We’ll sneak you in.”
“I don’t think I can.” Such a sad thought, but the realization of having to work with Oliver as closely as I am the next few days means I’ll be stuck eating with the athletes. I finally get an invite to all the good food and I can’t use it.
Marley bites off the end of her to Twizzler andkeeps talking. “Yeah, nobody knows what an asshole Isaac is. The world needs to know. He’s been a bully for as long as I remember.”
“He gets away with it because they cover it up. All the athletes get away with too much shit.”
The phone the US Committee requires I carry around rings in my back pocket. Probably Asbell making sure I have my eye locked in on Oliver. For good measure I search thepractice hill, but he must already be at the bottom because I don’t see his signature orange jacket.
When I check the phone, an unknown number scrolls across the screen. “Hello?” I answer, completely forgetting to use the official greeting we’re trained to answer with.
“Is this McKenna Marston?”
“Yeah…”
“Are you in charge of Oliver Slade? I have something that might be of interest to you.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” We’ve been warned fans will tell crazy stories to try and meet the athletes. If this guy’s next comment is I need to bring him to the cafeteria or something, I’m hanging up.
