Page 15 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

The Miami heat is threatening to suffocate me and it’s only March. The weather today is particularly brutal with not one cloud in the sky for coverage. If I wasn’t having a flare up, I don’t think I’d be handling it quite this poorly. I fan myself as conspicuously as I can.

The match is close to finishing up if Elias keeps his wits about him. He’s two points ahead of his opponent in the final set and he only needs another two points in order to win the match. But I’ve seen some crazy things happen in a tennis match, so his win isn’t guaranteed until it’s over.

Ebba leans over and I get a whiff of her floral perfume. With the headache that’s pounding behind my eyes it’s almost too much. “Are you okay?” she asks softly.

“Fine. Why?” I lie.

“You don’t look very good,” she says.

I pout my lips in her direction. “Rude.”

She swats my knee lightly. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ll be okay,” I say. “It’s just been a long match.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me, but she quiets and focuses back on the game. Hopefully the match distracts her enough to keep her attention off of me for the duration.

When Elias pulls out the win he raises his hands in the air, clapping with the crowd.

I feel incredibly happy for him any time he wins because I know how much it means to him, but somehow, it feels different now that I’m not just his assistant.

I know our romance is fake, but I already feel like I can call him my friend when I wouldn’t have before.

Since Elias is heading into the semi-final he stays on the court for a quick interview. He answers the interviewer’s questions, but his eyes narrow in my direction where I sit in his players box. I squirm beneath his stare. I don’t like that he can see right through me.

He finishes his interview and waves to the crowd before he gathers up his stuff and heads down the tunnel.

“I need the restroom,” I say to Ebba before making a quick exit.

I manage to get out ahead of her before she can question me, and enough people file in behind me that I know she won’t be able to catch up if she tries.

I think I’m in the clear as I skirt past the bathrooms, heading for one of the indoor areas reserved for players, their teams, and VIPs. Once I get somewhere cool and dark it’ll get better.

Elias comes out of nowhere. One second, he’s not there, and the next he’s grabbing my arm and pulling me off the path and around the side of the building.

And to think I was so close to AC.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at him. He’s sweaty, his shirt sticking to his skin. “Why aren’t you in the showers?”

“You’re sick.”

I clench my jaw. It’s not a question. “I have a migraine,” I bite out. “It’s hot.”

He frowns, looking me over like he’s searching for any sign I might be lying.

“You’re still flaring,” he accuses. “You should’ve stayed home.”

“You’re not paying me to stay home,” I remind him.

He rolls his eyes. “Your well-being is more important to me than making fuckface Jackson happy.”

“Don’t call him names,” I mumble. “He’s a decent manager.”

“Not when I know it’s because of him that you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I’m supposed to be at your matches,” I mutter, looking down at the pointed toes of my heels. “So here I am.” I look up at him and his lips twitch at my pathetic attempt at spirit fingers. “Your own personal cheerleader.”

His lips purse and he leans in, caging me into the wall. He rests one arm above my head and with his other hand he pinches my chin. “I’m taking you home, Whimsy.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You need to shower and you have interviews and you need to meet with your team.”

His eyes narrow on me. He knows I’m right. “You’re not staying here.”

My chin juts out stubbornly. “I’ll find a cool, quiet spot and I’ll be fine. That way if you need me, I’m here.”

His eyes narrow. “I need you taking care of yourself. I’m getting you a car and you’re going home and you’re going to text me when you get there. Got it?”

I want to argue. God, I want to fight him so bad on this just for the principle of it.

If I hadn’t told him about my lupus he wouldn’t be this concerned, and before, when I was his assistant, I would’ve made sure not to go to the game today and be in the heat.

I would’ve stayed in one of the air-conditioned spaces and gotten work done.

“Fine,” I agree, but only because the migraine is pulsing behind my eyes and I know that means I’ll be useless very soon.

“Good girl.”

His lips graze my cheek with the words, sending a shiver down my spine. Despite the way I feel, I still have to squeeze my thighs tight.

He pulls away from me and grabs his phone from his pocket. He types rapidly on the screen.

“Car’s on the way.”

I drop my eyes. “What kind? I’ll go wait.”

He shakes his head. “I’m making sure you get in that car, Whim.”

“So bossy,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “I don’t need an escort.”

“It’s for my peace of my mind,” he says, voice softer this time.

It’s kind of hard to argue with that.

He takes my hand, guiding me through the throngs of people and ignoring the chants of his name.

He doesn’t let go until the car shows up and he stows me safely inside. He raises his hand in a wave as I go.

It’s not until I’m almost home that I realize, of course, he was only holding my hand for show.