The look of pure exasperation that earns me could fell a lesser man, but I am built for this. Mabel hates it when I go all cosmic on her, which only makes me want to do it more. Next time, I’ll be sure to bring up our zodiac signs again. She goes nuts when I remind her that as a Cancer, she’s the perfect match for a Pisces like myself.
Mabel stomps off, heading towards the stands when I call after her.
“You forgot your lián róng su!”
She turns, huffing adorably as she stomps back and tries to snatch the package from me, but I dangle it right out of her reach.
“I’m competing soon. Aren’t you going to tell me to break a leg, Marshmallow?”
“Yes, Rye Bread. I truly, sincerely hope you break a leg today.” She jumps, snagging the shortbread andsauntering away, leaving me breathless, that spark of hers igniting in my veins until my entire body is alight with the sizzling burn of Mabel Quinn. Pulling the gold chain hanging from my neck out from under my layers of clothing, I discreetly press a kiss to the secret charm I keep close to my heart.
And just like that, I’m ready to take on the competition and pave my way to a gold medal. And like every time before, I wonder if Mabel knows the only reason I’m as good as I am at our sport is because of her. While I wait for my run, I spot her again in the crowd, this time standing alone and nibbling on the treats I brought her, and I send her a telepathic message.
It’s all by you, all for you, Mabel Quinn.
I top the leaderboard with a score of 95.75 and later, in the presser, someone asks me about my pre-run routine. I stare down the lens of the closest camera, unable and unwilling to stop the maniacal grin from spreading across my face.
“You know? Before I compete, I always get a hankering for a nice, toasty marshmallow.”
And later that night, when Mabel sends me a picture of herself lying in bed and flipping me the bird, I set it as my phone’s wallpaper and stare at it until I fall asleep.
4
PRETTY, WITTY, AND A HELPLESS VICTIM
MABEL
Las Vegas, January 2026
“Oh god. Oh god, Danny, yes. Right there. Right there, don’t stop. That feels so good. Oh, fuck, I can feel the release coming, oh my god.”
“Mabel, I swear to god, if you don’t stop talking dirty to me, I’m going to scream bloody murder. This is becoming a hostile work environment.”
I chuckle into the hole in the face cradle, my laughter cut off by another low moan as Danny, my best-friend-slash-massage-therapist works the knot in my right calf. I’ve been playing up my noises, knowing that it makes Danny laugh and that it helps me focus through some of the more intense, painful moments of our work together, but sometimes, itreally feels too good to fake it. Warmth spreads through my body like sipping hot chocolate in front of a fire on a snowy night, leaving me with goosebumps and in such an intense state of relaxation that I might just become one with the massage table and never leave.
“I can’t help it, Danny Boy. You’ve got magic hands. No man has ever made me feel the way you do, baby.”
“Clearly, no man has made you feel anything good in a long, long time. That’s why it feels like you’re having an orgasm when I’m just trying to work the knots out of your tight-as-fuck calves. You are dick-starved, babe.”
I shift up onto my elbows and turn to glare at him.
“Hey, don’t be biphobic. I’m not just dick-starved, I’m also pussy-starved. No guys, gals, or non-binary pals have been anywhere near me or my lady garden in far too long.”
“I don’t understand how. The way you moan and groan while we work is getting me a little hot and bothered. It might be Stockholm syndrome, but I think it’s time I introduced you to my maternal grandmother. She always said that the right woman would come along someday and cure me of my homosexuality.”
“Don’t even joke. You are perfect just the way you are, my love. And besides, you aresonot my type.”
“I’m everyone’s type, Mabes. And you are all finished. Hit the shower and then I’ll curl your hair. I’m thinking of a nice little side pin-up since you’re going to be photographed to death on your way into the restaurant.”
I sigh into the face cradle, and Danny pats my behind.
“Stop being a drama queen. It’s just dinner with your parents.”
“My parents and the Finchs,” I grumble, pulling the sheet that Danny draped over me around my shoulders like a blanket.
“You love Ramona and Robert.”
“Of course I love Ramona and Robert. It’s their son I could do without.”
