Page 12 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

Waking up, a groan rips out of me. My body aches .

I know I’ve been pushing it lately—but frankly I’m always pushing it, and I guess that’s my problem.

It’s like subconsciously I’ve convinced myself that if I keep pushing myself, keep pretending I don’t have lupus, that somehow, I can magically will it away. But that’s not how it works.

I take a deep breath, slowly sitting up in bed. Craig eyes me from the opposite side with an expression that seems to say you should know better .

And I do, I really do.

I saw all the signs of a flare up coming—my joints swelling, particularly in my fingers, feeling more tired than normal, and more hair than usual swirling down the shower drain.

Lucky for me, Elias doesn’t have a match today, but the semi-finals are tomorrow so that means I need to spend the day resting up as much as I can. That way hopefully tomorrow won’t be too hard on me.

The first thing in order?

A very long, scalding hot shower to hopefully ease some of the ache.

I turn the shower on and wait for it to warm. Checking my phone, I see that I’ve slept in later than usual. I need the rest, and it’s not like I have any real work to do at the moment, but I crave routine so waking up late is a bit of an annoyance.

Checking the water, I find it warmed to my liking. Stripping off my clothes, I climb inside and audibly sigh as the warm water sluices over my stiff and aching muscles.

It took years before I finally got my lupus diagnosis.

Doctors said to my face numerous times that there was nothing wrong with me.

I was too young. Too otherwise healthy. And—in my opinion—too female.

It’s disgusting how little care and concern is given to women from medical professionals.

Men act like they’re on their death bed with a cold, and I had a disease wreaking havoc on my body and was basically told that my pain was imaginary.

While finally having the diagnosis has been great in many ways—actual medication and doctors taking what I tell them slightly more seriously—it’s also been hard dealing with the fact that I’m not even near thirty yet and I have a disease with no cure.

There are no words for the harsh reality it is to realize that your own body is a prison you can never escape.

Finishing my shower, I get out and dress in loose comfy clothes and scoop Craig under my arm so I can make some coffee. Under normal circumstances I might go to a Pilates class, or at least put a yoga video on the TV to follow along, but with a flare up I don’t plan on doing any of those things.

Craig sits on the counter, tail swishing as I add creamer to my steaming mug of coffee.

I’d prefer an iced coffee, but I’m not leaving the condo to get one and I’ve learned my lesson on making them myself.

They always end up too watery, even when I stick the coffee in the fridge to cool down or make my own coffee ice cubes.

“Let’s have a girl’s day. Hmm. How does that sound?” I scratch the cat behind the ears and she purrs, leaning into my touch for more.

Grabbing my coffee in one hand and Craig in the other, I scurry over to the couch and settle in with my favorite pastel pink blanket and turn the TV on in search of either some mindless TV or a movie to watch.

I’ve only just gotten comfy with one of my favorite guilty pleasure reality shows playing when a text message comes through from Elias.

Elias: What are you doing?

Me: Watching TV. Did you forget to stock toilet paper again or something?

Elias: NO.

Elias: I’m bored. Do you want to hang out?

Me: I’m tired.

Elias: I am too. We could be tired together.

Me: Don’t you have practice or anything?

Elias: Rest day. Come on, Whim. I’m lonely.

Me: You can come here but don’t expect me to move from the couch. Got it?

Elias: I’m okay with that. See you in 20.

I look over at Craig. “This is weird, right?” I ask her.

She gives a non-committal meow.

As promised, twenty minutes later Elias is at my front door. Unlike what I promised, I have to move from the couch to open the door for him. The only saving grace is the iced coffee he brings me.

“Craig!” The giant tennis player crouches down with open arms toward my cat.

Craig, the treacherous wench that she is, jumps from the couch with a meow and runs straight for him.

Rolling my eyes, I shut the door. “I swear you line your pockets with catnip,” I snipe.

“You wish.” He stands with Craig cradled under his arm. “I also brought you this.”

A bag dangles from the index finger of the hand that’s holding his own cup of coffee.

I ease the bag off his finger and take it over to the counter while he makes himself cozy on my couch.

So much for my solo day of relaxing, but it’s kind of cute that he wants to be here.

But also, kind of weird.

It’s not like we have anyone inside my apartment to convince we’re dating.

I take the box out of the bag and gasp when I open the lid. The blueberry coffee cake is my favorite thing in the whole world, but the bakery near our favorite coffee shop is always sold out by the time I get there.

“How did you manage this?” I gasp, scrambling for a fork. It’s still warm. He glances at me over the back of the couch. “They sell out so early.”

He shrugs, sipping his coffee before he answers. “I know the owner.”

I pause with my first bite halfway to my mouth. “How?”

“Because, despite what you think, I do frequent places on my own at times.”

“And how did you know this was my favorite?” I ask, trying to sift through my memory for when I might’ve mentioned the coffee cake to him and coming up empty.

“I listen when you talk,” he says with a little shrug. “You brought me coffee one day and you mentioned how sad you were to not get one of these.”

“And you remembered?” I stare at this man in disbelief. He can’t even remember to restock his toilet paper or reply to emails.

“I did,” he confirms. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“Yeah, it kinda is.”

He winces and presses his hand to his chest like I’ve mortally wounded him. “Whimsy. That hurts.”

“I’m being honest,” I defend, taking a bite of the blueberry coffee cake.

I have to stifle a moan, it’s that good.

“I take it that means it’s good?” he chuckles softly.

Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job.

I give him a thumbs up in response because I’m not capable of words at the moment.

Elias watches me and I feel my cheeks heat with the attention, but I don’t let it stop me from enjoying another bite of dessert.

I box the rest up in an airtight container, and set it on the counter behind me, beside the toaster.

“You’re not going to offer to share with me?” he jokes as I join him on my too small couch.

I stick my chin in the air. “If you wanted some you should’ve gotten your own.”

He laughs and passes me the blanket when he notices I’m reaching for it.

“I did,” he admits. “I already ate it.”

“Then you’re definitely not getting mine.

” I wiggle around, settling my body into the couch.

If Elias wasn’t here, I’d have room to lay down, but oddly enough I’m glad to have the company.

We’ve always spent a decent amount of time together, but never like this.

I think we might even be friends now and not just boss and employee.

“What do you want to watch?” I ask, picking up the remote. I doubt he’ll have any interest in my reality TV show and besides I’m not in the mood for it like I thought I was.

He shrugs, smiling when Craig purrs and stretches her chin for him to have better access for scratches. “Whatever you want. I am crashing your off day.”

I huff a laugh, scrolling through options. “At least you’re honest.”

I settle on my personal favorite, Jurassic Park . A marathon of all the movies sounds like a good idea to me.

The movie has only just started when Elias muses quietly, “Maybe I should get a cat. After I stop traveling. I think I’d like that.”

“You should,” I say. “Cats are the best.”

He settles against the cushion, still petting a purring Craig and quiets to watch the movie.

When the movie is over, Elias clears his throat. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom? I have to pee.”

“Go for it.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “It’s through my room. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” He hops off the couch and Craig gives a mournful meow as he goes.

“He’s coming right back,” I tell my dramatic cat. She gives me an angry look like I’m the one who personally sent him away and not his own bladder.

While Elias is in the bathroom, I queue up the next movie in the franchise.

He returns, a moment later and the somber expression on his face takes me aback.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as he rejoins me on the couch.

He rubs his jaw as he settles against the cushions. “I’m not trying to be nosy, Whim, so please tell me to fuck off if I am—but are you okay? You have a fair amount of prescriptions on your counter. Are you … sick?”

I suck my cheeks in. I forgot about the medicine sitting out or else I would’ve tucked it away. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my disease, or even that I’m trying to hide it … okay, maybe I am trying to hide it. But is it so terrible to want to pretend that everything’s okay?

I’ve never told Elias because I didn’t want him to treat me any differently or to possibly think it meant I couldn’t do my job. But since I don’t have my job anymore, I don’t see the harm in telling him especially when it’s impossible to ignore the genuine worry on his face.

“I have lupus,” I say softly, toying with the fringe on the edge of my pink blanket. “I was diagnosed about a year and a half ago.”

He blinks at me. “You’ve been working for me for four years and you didn’t think to tell me?”

I shrug, not meeting his eyes because I’ve already caught a glimpse of the genuine hurt in his dark-eyed gaze. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t do my job. I’ve had lupus for years, but it took until then to get a diagnosis.”

His voice is soft when he says, “I wouldn’t have thought that Whim. I might’ve made things a little easier for you. Tried to?—”

Pressing my hand to his mouth to quiet him, I say, “That’s exactly what I didn’t want.

Getting my diagnosis has made things easier for me.

It’s not always great, like today, but it’s much more manageable.

I knew you’d try to make concessions for me and I didn’t want that. Okay? Please don’t feel bad.”

I let my hand fall away from his mouth. “I wish you’d told me. Does Ebba know?”

Shaking my head, I let my body fall back against the couch cushions. “No. I knew I couldn’t trust her not to tell you because she’d be trying to help me.”

His frown only deepens and my stomach sinks. “I really wish you’d told us.”

“To be honest”— let my eyes drop to my lap— “even though I suspected I had lupus, getting the diagnosis was still a bit of a shock. It … changed things, I guess. Made it even more real. Suddenly this thing that had been plaguing me for years had a name and even though I was so happy to have answers, and medication to help, a part of me was really angry. I’m not …

I’m never going to be normal, you know? Lupus has no cure currently, so my life is just before the disease and after the disease now.

At least that’s how I view it in my brain. ”

I hope I’m making sense. It barely makes sense in my own head.

But the thing I’ve learned about navigating a chronic illness is, it’s so much more than what it does to your body.

There’s an extreme mental toll too. Most days, I’m okay, but sometimes I get so angry I feel like I could shatter every plate in my cabinets because how dare my body betray me like this?

How dare it fail to function like it should?

He stares at me for a long moment. I squirm beneath his steady gaze, resisting the urge to look at the TV so I don’t have to endure his scrutiny. Finally, he says, “I hope you know I wouldn’t have judged you or thought less of you. If anything, Whim, I think more of you.”

“Thanks,” I say, voice a little watery.

“You said today isn’t a great day with your lupus—what does that mean? I want to understand so maybe I can help?”

“My joints are achy and swollen,” I admit. It feels so strange to say it out loud to him. “And I’m extra tired today. Not like a normal tired like you’ve done too much and need to rest up. This is more bone deep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Normally people apologizing to me about my own illness irks me, it’s not their fault I’m sick, but there’s something in the way that Elias says it that doesn’t feel like pity.

“Thanks.” I fluff the pillow behind me.

“Is there something I can do to help you feel better?” he asks.

I eye him in surprise. I can tell from the set of his mouth that he’s serious and not just asking to be nice.

I flex my toes.

“I’m okay.”

He doesn’t miss the gesture and grabs my foot, tugging it into his lap. “I’ll rub your feet.”

“Elias,” I giggle. “You don’t need to do that. Trust me.”

“I offered, didn’t I?” he retorts, digging his thumb into my arch.

An obscene sound flies out of my throat.

“See, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins at me.

“Yes,” I admit begrudgingly. “But I’m sure you have better things to do than rub my feet.”

I’m not sure why I keep trying to talk him out of it when it feels so freaking good.

“Just shut up and enjoy it, Whim.”

I mime zipping my lips and restart the movie. Missing anything of Jeff Goldblum should be a crime.

“I don’t think I’ve watched this one,” he says about twenty minutes into the movie.

My jaw drops and I pause it. “You’ve never watched The Lost World? What about Jurassic Park III? ”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Only the original and one of the new ones.”

“Blasphemous,” I mutter. “These are a must watch. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve seen them all.”

“I’m cool with that.”

My jaw drops a little. I’m beginning to think the real Elias got abducted by aliens and he’s been replaced with a doppelganger.

It’s not that Elias isn’t a nice person, he is, but he’s also …

a bit of a stereotypical party boy. I wouldn’t categorize him as a bad boy—even if the sports media likes to paint him as the bad boy of tennis.

But he does like to party, and he certainly enjoys hooking up with women.

Sure, I know he can’t hook-up with other people right now, but he still doesn’t have to be in the safety of my apartment with me. There’s no one here to perform to as far as our fake relationship goes.

I’ve been enjoying his company, though, so I guess it’s not that crazy to assume he doesn’t mind mine either.

Maybe, when all this is said and done, we can be friends.

That’d be nice, I think.

As long as my crush disappears, but with the way he keeps hanging around I’m thinking that might be easier said than done.