Page 11 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

“That was too close for comfort, man.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by Jackson cornering me after my much-needed shower post interviews, and yet, I am.

“I won, didn’t I?” I retort.

“Barely. Let’s chat.” He tries to pull me off to the side, but I shake off his hold easily enough.

“I’m not in the mood, right now. I’ve done everything you’ve asked for me—Whimsy, the kiss—what could you possibly want now?”

“We need to talk strategy,” he prattles, smacking his hands together, one on top of the other. “I think perhaps we need a shakeup in your coaching staff?—”

I hold up a hand cutting him off right there. “No. You are my manager. You’ve never played tennis a day in your life. There’s nothing wrong with my team. It’s just me.” The last part comes out practically a whisper.

I’m unable to describe how in my head I am about my game these days without people thinking I’m crazy.

“I’m just saying, you haven’t been on like you usually are. Between your game being off and the meltdowns”—he whispers the word like it’s shameful— “I think you should consider restructuring things.”

“I’ll think about it,” I lie, clapping him on the shoulder. “I need to go find my family and my girlfriend ,” I drawl the word, trying to remind him that I’m already doing a hell of a lot that he’s asked of me.

I leave Jackson behind. I have no doubt he’ll hunt me down again soon, but I’ll take any reprieve I can get.

I’m tired and frustrated since the win didn’t come easily and I want to check with Whim and make sure she’s okay after the kiss.

Jackson got to me before he did her about it, so I didn’t have a chance to ask her before my match if she was okay with it.

I tried to communicate silently with her beforehand, to make sure she was on the same page.

The last thing I wanted to do was kiss her and it not be something she was okay with.

I’ll feel better once I can chat with her.

I find my family and Whimsy in one of the community areas, sitting at a table chatting.

“Hey,” I say as I approach, setting my bag down as I pull out a chair next to Whimsy. She looks startled by my appearance. I widen my eyes, reminding her to play along. “Hi, baby.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.

“Congrats on your win,” she says, her body stiff at my side. I don’t miss the narrowing of my sister’s eyes. Whimsy is going to have to do a better job than this playing along or we’re going to be found out by my family before this whole gig really gets going.

“Thanks.” I reach for her hand. I thought this faking thing would be easier for her than me, but I think I was wrong. Whimsy’s so good at everything she does, that I didn’t think this would be any different. Is the idea of dating me that abhorrent?

“How are you feeling?” my mom asks. “That was a close game.”

I rub my jaw with my free hand. “I’m glad it came out in my favor, but I’ve got to play better next time.”

Practice more. Practice harder. Play better.

There is no alternative.

Worry lines etch the sides of her mouth. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” I add. “Don’t worry about me.” I throw in a smile. “I’m just in a bit of a rut. I’ll get out of it, no biggie.”

I feel Whimsy’s eyes on me, boring straight through me. It feels like an itch on my skin, one I want to ignore but can’t.

When I meet her blue eyes, they’re full of understanding.

“Maybe you should join Noah and Sabrina on their morning runs,” my sister suggests.

“Fuck, no,” I curse. Noah Baker and I might’ve had a rivalry for years—and I guess we still have a bit of one when it comes to singles—but he’s become my friend and now my doubles partner.

Despite that, the last thing I want to do is join him and his fiancée on their runs.

I’m pretty sure it’s foreplay for them and I don’t want to be a spectator for that.

“Elias,” my mother admonishes. “Language.”

I arch a brow. “I’m an adult mom. Relax.”

“And other people are around.” She gives me the look —the one all mothers have somehow perfected.

I mime zipping my lips and throwing away the key. My sister rolls her eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Am not,” I argue.

My parents give echoing sighs.

“You know,” my dad says, voice deep and tired sounding. “I thought one day you kids would grow up and stop arguing. I was wrong.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ebba says in a sing-song voice that tells me something savage is about to come out of her mouth next. “You’re wrong a lot.”

Our dad covers his face with a hand. “Can I go back in time and not have kids?”

Laughing, my mom places a hand on his arm. “Sorry, babe. Too late.”

With a sigh, I stand from the table. “As fun as it’s been chatting, I’m headed home. Whim?” I prompt, giving her an out to not be stuck with my insane family any longer than she already has.

“I should go too.” She pushes back her chair and stands.

“All right.” My mom gets up and pulls me into a hug. “We’ll see you at your next match.”

I wrap my arms around her. “Love you, Mom.”

My family might drive me halfway insane on most days, but I love them. They’re good people and I know I’m lucky to have a family that cares as much as mine does. A lot of people aren’t so fortunate.

Whimsy waves goodbye and I reach for her hand as we walk away. I can’t help but wonder why it feels so natural to do so. I’m certainly struggling a lot less with this fake relationship than she is.

As if to confirm my own thoughts, she stares down wide-eyed at our clasped fingers before those big blue eyes dart up to hold mine.

“Don’t look so panicked, Whim.” I give her hand a soft squeeze. “You’re my girlfriend, remember? Holding hands is normal.”

Her eyes quickly dart away. “Sorry.” A moment later she adds, “It’s just weird. I mean, you’re like my boss … or were my boss.”

We turn down a hall and I quickly pull her into a private alcove. We’re close, chest to chest.

“Whimsy, be fucking honest. Are you okay with this? I don’t want you to feel taken advantage of.

I don’t want you to feel like there’s an issue with power dynamic here.

The kiss? If that upset you, tell me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

I can tell Jackson to eat shit and that we won’t make public displays like that again or I can tell him to shove it altogether. ”

“It didn’t upset me,” she says softly. “I’m sorry I’m not good at this.” Her eyes drop between us and she stares down at our shoes like they’re the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. “I’ll get better. Promise. Just give me time.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to meet my eyes and that worries me. I don’t want her feeding me pretty words because she’s worried about me being mad or something.

Using my index finger, I guide her chin up until she’s looking at me. “If you ever feel uncomfortable, please tell me so I can remedy the situation. I mean it. I don’t want this to make you feel used or … I don’t know what else. Just speak up. Okay?”

She gives a jerky nod. “I will. It’s just new, that’s all. It’s been a long time since I was with someone, so I’m not used to the touchy-feely stuff.”

I stare down at her, looking for any hint that she’s lying. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. I’m okay. Promise. I know you wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.” She frowns at her own words, and I wonder what that’s about.

“If at any time that changes and you want to end this no questions asked, I’ll deal with the consequences.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” she says on a breath. “It’s not that serious.”

“Still,” I insist. “I think we should have a code word or something. If it gets to be too much and you want out.”

Her pinks lips pout and my eyes zero in on the shape of them. Somehow, I never noticed how pretty her mouth is. “A code word?” she taps her heeled foot. “What are we? Twelve?”

I shrug. “My mom does like to say I never grew up. But come on.” I give her a light nudge. “It’ll make me feel better.”

She frowns, arms crossing over her chest. “It has to be something we’d never normally say in conversation.”

“There’s no we about it. Just you.”

She scrunches her lips, looking out of the alcove. It’s a private corner where no one has walked by so far.

Wetting her lips with her tongue, she says, “I have no idea. You come up with it.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Um…” I look around, but there’s not much to see on the open side of the alcove other than a potted plant. Tapping my chin, I try to come up with something. “I guess you could say strawberry.” It’s the first word that pops in my head because of the color of her lips.

She arches a brow and I can tell from the slight twitch in her lips that she’s trying not to laugh at me. “Strawberry,” she repeats. “Sure, I guess that will work. For the record though, I think this is silly.”

“It makes me feel better.”

She laughs softly. “That’s all that matters. Can we go now?”

“Yeah.” I follow her out of the alcove. “Do you need a ride?”

“I took an Uber here. I can just get another.”

Shaking my head, I grab her elbow to steer her to follow me to where I parked. “I’ll drop you off.”

“Are you sure?”

I wave away her concern as I drop her elbow. “Positive. Besides, this way I can see Craig.”

She adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “I’m beginning to feel used for my cat.”

“It’s not my fault she loves me.”

Laughing, she puffs out, “Whatever you say.”