Better Than Olympic Gold

There’s something beyond words about winning Olympic gold. I’m pretty sure that goes without say, but I’m still going to say it anyway. It was hard to believe, hard to know what to do, hard to stop screaming with victory.

As my teammates and I topple on top of one another in the throes of utmost excitement I catch a glimpse of a similarly celebrating girl in the stands. She has brown hair and that is about all I can see before I’m smothered by the other guys.

“MARK PAVELICH! We fucking won! We fucking won!” Jim Craig chants over and over in disbelief.

“Time to party like its motherfucking 1999!” Shouts Rizzo.

We scramble off each other and attack our coach with all consuming pride.

The ecstasy of winning Olympic gold carries us through the media and press and way late into the night. The whole team is gathered at a local bar, sloshing down beers and continually congratulating one another. And it’s as I go to pat Jimmy on the back for the umpteenth time that my eyes catch on brown hair and simply stunning eyes.

I jerk upright and stumble over to the girl, no clue what I’m doing or any idea of what I’m going to say, but just desperate to have a chance to see her face again.

“Uhh… I won the Olympics!” I mumble completely incoherently. The dark haired girl turns to look at me.

She looks from the medal wrapped around my next to my blood shot eyes. “I know,” she grins at me. “I was there. I watched. I cheered.”

“I know! I saw you there,” I tell her and seconds later realize how creeper-ish that must have sounded.

She giggles and places a slight hand in front of her mouth to shield her laughter. I want to grab this girl and kiss her until her mouth turns blue. I don’t know her name. I don’t know her age. I don’t fucking care.

“How could you possibly see me? I was in the stands,” she asks once she’s composed herself enough to speak.

“I looked in the stands and then there you were.” Wow, I sound like a brightest hockey player in the bar tonight.

“Oh,” she nods, “Of course,” and she breaks out giggling again.

“Can I buy you a beer or something?” I ask, frantic to keep her around as long as possible.

“I think you might have had one too many yourself,” she notes.

“Nahh, I’m fine,” I give her my most winning smile.

“Then sure, I suppose I can enjoy a drink with one of the winners of the 1980 Winter Olympics,” she links her arm through mine and I steer our way toward the crowded bar. My team is deep in conversation with one another, but they all turn to watch me approach with a girl attached to my arm.

“Wow,” Jimmy whispers none too quietly, “And here I thought the guy was a complete dunce when it came to women.”

“Shut up Jim! They can hear you!” Rizzo punches his friend and slips off his stool, landing with a dull thud on the ground.

“Nice friends,” the girl comments, snickering slightly. “But I suppose when you win the Olympics you have every right to get as shit faced as you please.”

“Here! Here!” The guys cry in agreement.

“So, uh, what would you like to drink?” I ask, leaning on the bar to get the bartenders attention.

“I’ll have whatever you’re going to have,” she smiles at me, her hand sliding up my arm.

“Uh, right,” I swallow hard. “Uh… what’s your name?”

She laughs at my blunt inquiry, “I’m Emily. And you are Mark Pavelich,” she informs me.

“You…. You know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you are!” she teases good-naturedly. “You and the rest of the USA team are the reason I drove over twenty hours to be in New York to watch you guys play hockey!”

“Really?! That’s crazy,” I tell her.

She blushes and looks down at her feet. Feeling incredibly stupid I order our drinks and usher her toward a small table near the back of the bar.

“So uhm… isn’t it great that we won?” I take a large gulp of my beer.

“Yeah,” she’s laughing again, “it really is.”

“Whose your favorite player, seeing as you drove twenty hours to get here, you have to have a favorite player.”

Emily sips on her beer pensively, “Well up until tonight, my favorite player was Mike Ramsy… but I think you might have changed my mind.”

I feel my self-esteem deflate a little, not sure where she’s going with this. “Oh.”

“Because you know, I always thought you were the cutest. And I see now that you’re also the funniest… well maybe the sweetest, and you know, that kinda stuff can really turn a girls head,” she traces the back of my hand with her finger tips.

“Is that so?” I lift my eager eyes to hers.

“Mhm.”

“So…I guess this means I owe Mike an apology.”

“What for?” she asks curiously.

“For stealing the most beautiful girl in the room from him,” I lean in closer to her.

Emily blushes and turns her face, biting the corner of her pretty pink lips.

“I mean it,” I continue. “The moment I saw you in the stands I knew I had to meet you. I never thought I would get the chance, but then I look around this bar and I see you, standing not ten feet from me, looking beyond comparison.”

“Even better than Olympic gold?” she jokes.

“Way better than Olympic gold,” I assure her, running my hand up the length of her thigh.

She smiles, “You know just the way to flatter a girl, don’t you Mr. Pavelich?”

“No,” I shake my head slowly. “I know just the way to kiss a girl.”

She raises her eyebrows in a delicious expression of surprise.

“I’d really like to show you sometime,” I tell her causing that pearly pink blush to seep back into her cheeks.

“Are you always so direct about your intentions?”

“When I joined the US team, I told the guys that I was in it to win gold and nothing else. And when I saw you this afternoon I told myself that I was going to kiss you before the night was through.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Show me what it feels like to kiss a gold medalist,” she leans across the small round table, closing the distance between us, leaving only an inch between our lips.

I place a hand on either side of her face and draw her soft lips to mine. I kiss Emily like I have never kissed any other girl. I kiss her like she is the only girl left on Earth. I kiss her like I know I am going to marry her. I kiss her like I’m madly in love with her. And she kisses back like she knows every thought that is running through my head.

When I pull back she let's out a nervous laugh. “Congrats on winning gold Mark,” she whispers.

And I reclaim her lips, feeling more victorious than I did just a few hours before on Olympic ice.