Page 10 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

My event pass smacks against my chest as I speed walk toward the stadium. I didn’t expect Jackson to corner me the second I arrived at the venue. He was literally waiting on the curb, watching for me to get dropped off.

It’s Elias’s first game for the Miami Open and Jackson wants this to be our big coming out moment versus being photographed out and about somewhere.

The goal?

Elias wins to advance to the next round and rushes over to kiss me.

I’m trying really hard not to think about kissing him for the first time in front of not just a stadium of people, but numerous eyes watching from home.

I’m glad the heels I chose to match my dress are kitten heels or else I’d have hell to pay later for the speed in which I hurry through the crowd of people gathered around.

I wish Jackson hadn’t been so long-winded in his explanation.

By some miracle, I make it to the players box where Elias’s parents and Ebba already wait.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I tell them, smoothing the back of my dress before I plop into my seat.

Ebba’s brows knit, face crumpled with confusion. “You’re never late.”

Damn you, Jackson!

“My period,” I lie under my breath to my friend. “It’s really bad.”

It’s not a total lie. I do have really bad periods, but I’m still a week away from starting. But there’s no chance Ebba pays enough attention to my cycle to know I’m lying.

“Oh.” Her face falls into a frown. “I’m sorry. Do you need to go to the guest area and rest? I’m sure Elias would understand.”

I shake my head rapidly. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I can’t miss my first game as his … girlfriend.”

The word feels weird coming out of my mouth.

Ebba reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I have Advil if you need it.”

“Thanks.”

I open my purse and fish out my favorite lip oil, swiping the pink-tinted liquid onto my lips.

“Do you think he’s prepared?”

“Huh?” I turn wide-eyed to Ebba on my left.

“Elias—how’s he feeling about this match?”

Oh. Right.

She’s asking me because he’s my boyfriend and I should know these things.

In reality, Elias and I have barely spoken over the past two weeks while he’s been practicing pretty much non-stop.

I’ve only gotten a few random texts from him here and there, mostly asking me for photos of Craig and I’ve checked in with him a few times to make sure he doesn’t need anything to which he always replies, “No, Whim. You’re not my assistant anymore. ”

I can’t help it if I find it incredibly boring having so much time on my hands.

If it weren’t for the fact that I wouldn’t be able to travel with him, I would legitimately consider getting a job just to have something to do.

I’m not very good at being a (fake) trophy girlfriend.

“He’s nervous,” I lie, since I have no idea whether he is or not but it seems like the most logical answer.

Ebba frowns. “Nervous? I didn’t think he ever got nervous.”

I wiggle in my chair, the Miami sun shining down on us. It might be March, but it’s Florida so it’s still hot.

“Yeah, but he’s been playing poorly, and you know what it means to him to win in Miami.”

“True,” she replies, shifting in her own seat. “We haven’t hung out much lately. Do you think we could go shopping and grab lunch soon?”

I don’t hesitate to reply, “Yeah, of course.”

One of the best parts of working for Elias has been his sister.

Ebba is the kind of person that makes the people around her instantly feel more comfortable.

She exudes comfort and kindness. She’s also a wealth of knowledge when it comes to the ATP Tour since she’s been traveling with Elias for years now.

We became fast friends when I started to work for her brother.

“Has he found a new assistant?”

I shake my head, pulling a hair clip from my purse and twisting the long strands back into an updo. I won’t get nearly as hot with my hair off my neck.

“Not yet,” I reply. “I’ve offered to find him a new one, but he’s stubborn.”

She stifles a laugh. “He does realize he can’t have you running around doing all his bidding anymore doesn’t he?”

“Of course,” I retort. “I’m not working for him anymore. We thought that would be too weird.” I smooth my hands down my skirt.

I wish the game would start already. As much as I love Ebba, I don’t want to have to make small talk with her today.

Not when Elias and I haven’t fully fallen into a routine yet with this whole thing, and also especially not with the very real looming threat of having to kiss him at the end of the match.

“It would be,” she agrees. A sudden shudder ricochets through her. “Oh, God my best friend is sleeping with my brother.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Shh. Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.” She holds her fingers in front of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to think about it but it just popped in my head.”

“Well, pop that thought bubble, I beg of you.”

I don’t want to talk to her about my non-existent sex life with her brother.

“I’m trying,” she whimpers.

Luckily for me, it’s time for the match to start.

The first game gets underway and despite the fact that things haven’t really changed between us, I feel like I watch with more rapt attention than I ever have before.

I’ve always wanted him to win, but there’s added stakes this time that I can’t quite explain and has nothing to do with a possible kiss.

Elias barely squeaks out with the win in the first set.

Nerves assault my stomach, so I can’t imagine how he feels out there on the court.

“He’s got this,” Ebba assures me. “I believe in him.”

“He looks stressed,” her mom comments. “Does he look stressed to anyone else?”

I nod my head in agreement. All the recent losses—which aren’t even that many, but to someone like Elias I’m sure it seems like a lot—are piling up and weighing on him.

“He’ll pull through,” his dad says. “He just needs to win one more set. He can do it.”

The next set is another nail biter and unfortunately it goes in favor of his opponent.

“Come on, Elias,” I mutter under my breath. “You can do it.”

I know there’s no way he can hear me, but at that moment he looks up at his players box and finds me.

His eyes take me in, at least what he can see of me, and smiles.

I smile back and give him a small wave. He turns away, drinking slowly at his bottle of water and takes a bite of banana before the final set begins.

I’ve never been a nail biter, but I find myself chewing on the edge of my thumbnail through the entire final set. Like the previous two, it’s neck and neck the entire time, even going into a tiebreak.

It would be devastating for Elias to lose in the first-round matches. Normally, he’d be dominating against his opponent. It’s not that the other guy is bad, but he doesn’t have the same level of experience as Elias.

It becomes clear to me as they battle it out, that I’m going to have to find some way to help him get out of his head if he manages to cinch this win.

“Elias, come on,” I mutter under my breath.

And that’s when he gets the match winning point and the crowd in the stands explodes into cheers. Elias is well-liked by spectators wherever he goes, but especially as an American player on American soil.

He fist pumps the air and meets his opponent at the net to shake hands before they take turns exchanging handshakes with the umpire.

Elias claps and waves to the crowd. I hope he’s soaking in the cheers. He deserves it.

For some insane reason, it escaped my mind about the kiss until the moment he starts toward the player box. My eyes widen, knowing what part I’m going to have to play.

He jogs over to our courtside section and hops up. He’s covered in sweat and sporting a happy grin.

“Hey, Whim.”

I wet my lips, casting my nervous eyes over him. “Hey.”

“You gonna give me my kiss now?”

I can feel eyes trained our way. Thank God it’s not a game later in the tournament or the stadium would be entirely filled. Regardless, it’s full enough because Elias always draws a crowd.

I lean toward him. “Yeah?”

Crap. It shouldn’t have sounded like a question.

He cups the back of my head and gives me a split-second look that seems to say trust me .

I give a tiny nod in return and then he presses his lips to mine.

His mouth is fully on mine, thumb stroking my cheek in a gentle caress.

I can’t help but lean into his touch. He pulls away after a few seconds and winks before jogging off.

I settle back in my seat and do my best to ignore the attention I’m receiving.

Displays of affection like that at a match are rare, and usually if they do happen it’s at a final.

I curse Jackson for making us do this now of all times.

I understand it’s our best chance for exposure.

It’s not like paparazzi follow most professional sports people around, but I wish he would’ve come up with some other plan that didn’t make me the center of attention.

I wave awkwardly when the camera remains on me.

“I’m going to throw up,” I whisper under my breath to Ebba.

She bumps my arm lightly. “Please, not on my new shoes. These are Hermes.”

“I’ll do my best to hold it together.”

Elias packs up his racket and then he’s off the court with another wave to the crowd.

Ebba gives my elbow a slight bump with her own. “All right. Let’s go.”