Page 22 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

A car waits outside to take us to the event. I could’ve easily driven us, and I mentioned that, but Jackson said to take the car.

I tug on the sleeves of my tux and then at the collar. The evening hasn’t even begun and I already feel like I’m suffocating. I’m unfortunately all too used to having to dress up, but it doesn’t mean I like it.

“Elias,” my mom scolds, her Swedish accent thicker with her annoyance. “Tug on that collar one more time and I’ll tape your fingers together.”

“Sorry, Mama.” I press a kiss to her cheek.

She rolls her eyes and swats at my chest. “Even as a little boy you’d give me that cheeky dimpled smile and get away with everything.”

I shrug. “I can’t help it that I’m so charming.”

She wags a finger at me. “Just wait until it’s your child one day.”

She’s said similar things to me in the past and I never lingered on it, but for some reason this time an image of a little girl with blond hair like Whimsy’s and my brown eyes pops in my head. It’s a crazy thought—especially considering this isn’t fucking real.

I shake my head like my brain is an etch-a-sketch and I can just erase the image from my mind, but it’s still there and this time the little girl smiles with dimples just like mine.

Fuck.

I scrub a hand over my jaw.

“You seem stressed,” my mom notes.

“I’m fine.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my tux, my shoulders practically dragging up to my ears. I never like these things, but maybe Whimsy being there with me will make it bearable.

She looks me over and makes a clucking noise before heading toward the living area where my dad is gearing up a movie for them to watch.

“Whim,” I call up the stairs. “We gotta go. The car has already been here ten minutes.”

I look at the watch on my wrist—a ridiculously expensive Rolex I was given for PR.

“Just a second,” she calls.

Ebba has been up there too, helping her get ready, and more than likely talking her ear off.

It’s not that I really care if we’re late, but the sooner I get there the sooner I can leave.

I’m turned toward the front door when I hear the sound of Whimsy’s heels hit the hallway floor upstairs. My body moves automatically to watch, waiting with bated breath for her to appear at the top of the stairs.

She’s stunning.

Her skin practically glows from within. Her blond hair is curled but pulled back in a low ponytail with hair wrapped around where an elastic would normally be. The dress is sleeveless and floor length in a warm shade of pink with flowers. It looks beautiful on her.

I swear her cheeks pinken beneath my stare, but it’s probably just the makeup on her cheeks.

She descends slowly down the stairs, looking like a fucking princess. My sister follows behind, but I only have eyes for Whimsy.

How was I so blind before to how utterly breathtaking this woman is?

It’s not only her looks, but her entire persona.

When she reaches the final stair, I offer her my hand. She settles hers in it as I carefully tug her to me, my hand brushing the bare skin of her shoulder above the dress.

“Whim…” I struggle to find words. “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Bleh.” Ebba mock gags. “Get a room.”

I roll my eyes at my sister’s antics. “Thanks for helping her get ready.”

She snorts. “I didn’t do it for you.” She pulls Whimsy into a hug. “These things can be a lot but try to enjoy it.”

“I’ll try my best.” She tosses a smile my sister’s way. Giving my hand a squeeze, she says, “Let’s go. We’ve kept the driver waiting long enough.”

“We,” I scoff playfully, reaching to open the door with my free hand.

“Okay, me, but you did too by pure association.” Her eyes glimmer with humor. I can see her nerves circling behind that humor, but she’s trying.

Outside, a Rolls Royce sits in my driveway waiting for us.

“Jeez, they really do go all out, don’t they?” she asks as the driver gets out and opens the back door for us.

“You have no idea,” I reply, helping Whimsy to pick up her dress and get situated in the car. She goes to scoot over, but I shake my head. “Stay put. I’ll sit on the other side.”

Once her dress is settled, the driver closes the door and goes around to open the other for me. I slip inside, having to laugh a little at how much room Whimsy’s dress takes up.

She laughs, trying to settle the fabric around her legs. “It’s a lot, I know.”

“It’s a beautiful dress.”

She smiles at my praise. I know Whimsy likes fashion, and I also know she likes being complimented on it. “You should. You paid for it.”

I chuckle. “This is true.”

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive until we arrive at the hotel where the event is being held.

I double check my phone for the information Jackson sent.

“This way.” I steer Whimsy toward the elevator bay. I can tell she’s nervous from the way her shoulders are threatening to rise to her ears. “Take a breath,” I whisper in her ear as the doors slide shut.

She sends a pleading look my way. “I don’t want to say something stupid. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

I gape at the beautiful woman beside me. “You could never embarrass me.”

She frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“I’m not easily embarrassed,” I say, just as the elevator dings, signaling our floor. “If you’re really that worried about it, maybe we should have a signal?” I suggest, tugging her aside in the hallway outside of the room.

“A signal?” she repeats. “Like what?”

“You could give my hand a squeeze?” I suggest.

She wrinkles her nose. “I might do that just from nerves.”

“Okay.” I hum thoughtfully. “What about if you just lightly scratch the side of your nose like this?” I demonstrate.

She purses her lips, but nods. “Yeah, okay.”

The doors at our back open and I turn to see who’s exiting only to find a harried Jackson headed our way.

“Good, I caught you,” he says, looking a little pale. “Trager is here. No funny business.” He wags a finger in my face. “I mean it.” He turns to Whimsy. “Keep him in line or I swear to God?—”

I grab his wagging finger. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Surprise flares in his eyes at my tone. I quickly drop his finger and straighten my jacket. “We’ve got this.”

I’ve let Trager set me off more than I’d like to admit and it’s made worse by the fact that while he’s the one antagonizing me, somehow he always comes out smelling like roses. Bastard.

“Come on, Whim.” I take my fake-girlfriend’s hand in mine and sidestep my manager, heading into the room.

It’s spacious, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the water.

There are standing tables as well as ones for sitting.

A buffet is set up along the left side and a live band play in the opposite corner, providing a backdrop behind the chatter of many voices.

I scan the people in attendance, but I’m really looking for one person.

Trager.

Solely so I can avoid that asshole.

“Should we grab a table?” Whimsy asks, nodding toward a free one.

I shake my head. Jackson wants me here to schmooze. He’d haul my ass up in my heartbeat and shove me into the waiting arms of someone here.

I spot Noah and Sabrina off to the side chatting with a former professional tennis player. Hugo Martin was the top French player about fifteen years ago. He’s a legend as far as I’m concerned.

“There’s Noah and Sabrina.” I point. “Let’s talk with them a bit.”

Whimsy seems relieved over the familiar faces. We head that way and Sabrina’s eyes widen in excitement when she spots us, giving a tiny inconspicuous wave.

“Oh, hey,” Noah greets as we step up to them. “Elias, have you met Hugo before?”

“A few years ago.” I extend my hand and Hugo shakes it. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I told my friends you’re one to watch. You, too.

” He swings his gaze toward Noah. “America has really put forth some great players the past few years. Trager shows promise, but…” He shrugs.

“He’s antagonistic. Too aggressive in my opinion.

I saw how that went down between the two of you.

” He shakes his head. “In my humble opinion, you were unfairly dragged for that whole situation.”

“It wasn’t ideal,” I agree. “But I should’ve kept my cool. I’m the more seasoned player.”

“Some opponents bring out the worst in us. Right, Marco?” He calls out to another former player nearby. The two of them had a stiff rivalry for nearly the entirety of their professional careers.

Marco pulls away from the group he’s chatting with and joins us, throwing an arm around Hugo. “What am I supposed to be agreeing to?”

Hugo smacks him on the chest. “That some opponents bring out the worst in us.”

Throwing his head back with laughter, Marco says, “That’s for sure. But without opponents like that what motivation do you have to try to get better? Besides, look at us now. Friends.”

Noah and I exchange a look and smile. Just a few years ago he thought of us as mortal enemies. Now, we’re good friends and play doubles together. Things can change.

Though, I don’t expect the same turn of events with Trager. Dude’s an asshole.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sabrina grab Whimsy’s wrist and whisper something to her. She nods and turns to me.

“I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.” She gives my hand a squeeze of assurance.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, because I find myself wanting to beg her to stay. I’ve always been confident in these kinds of situations, but suddenly Whimsy feels like my lifeline.

I watch the girls go.

“Dude.” Noah laughs, turning it into a cough. “You’re so down bad for her.”

My brows draw together. It’s on the tip of my tongue to refute his claim, but I realize that to him this is real.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I can’t help it. Look at her. She’s gorgeous.”

“Who’s gorgeous?”

Fuck .

Leave it to Trager to show up the second Whimsy leaves.

Don’t do anything stupid , I chant silently to myself. He’s not worth fucking your career over.