Page 28 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

I have no doubt that Jackson set up this dinner solely for the purpose of having us photographed.

I’m sure we’ll show up tomorrow splashed across some sports blog where they’ll talk about the wonders of Elias’s tennis skills while discussing my looks.

After all, that’s usually all those types of writers think women are good for.

Taking a sip of wine, I look around the room and take everything in. The restaurant is beautiful with a prime view of the beauty of Madrid.

Elias and I have been far too quiet if we’re being watched—which I’m sure we are.

It suddenly feels more awkward between us than it ever has and I can’t help but think it has something to do with the kiss. I mean, I was doing what I had to, right? They don’t know this is fake. It would be weird for me to refuse to kiss my boyfriend.

And Elias … the way he held my cheek, deepened the kiss, it seemed like he was into it.

But I could’ve read the situation entirely wrong.

Or he’s concerned that I’m freaking out about it. Maybe he thinks I’m reading too much into it and I’m going to get confused and forget all this is fake?

I clear my throat and his warm brown eyes swing my way. “You … the kiss.” I take a fortifying breath. “I want you to know that I’m not confused about what this is. The kiss meant nothing. We’re just doing what we have to. I know this isn’t real.”

I expect to see relief on Elias’s face. The flash of hurt is not.

“Trust me, Whim. I know.” He adjusts the collar of his button down.

He dressed up for our date. I did the same, of course, but for some reason I didn’t expect him to put in the same amount of effort.

“I’m not upset about the kiss,” he says.

“So, please erase those thoughts from your pretty little head. It was a good kiss.”

My cheeks heat and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “It was, wasn’t it?”

I want to crawl under the table and hide at my admission, but as far as kisses goes it was top tier.

Maybe even the best I’ve ever had. That might be slightly pathetic that kissing my fake boyfriend is better than any I’ve had with a real boyfriend, but I don’t care. I’m going to call it the Elias effect.

“It was,” he agrees with surprising ease.

Our food is placed in front of us and my stomach rumbles at the smell, reminding me I haven’t eaten nearly enough today. I spent the majority of my day sketching before I headed to the practice courts and when I get in the zone, I tend to forget everything else.

“If Jackson is somewhere watching us, which I wouldn’t put it past him, then we’re not doing a very good job of selling this couple thing. He might fire me.”

Elias’s eyes flash with anger. “I’d never let him fire you. You’re too important.”

My stupid heart leaps at his words which is ridiculous. I know he means I’m important for what he needs, not that I’m important to him.

With a sigh, he says, “All right, let’s say he’s watching. Let’s give him a show, all right?”

He waits for my nod before he stands and moves his plate closer to mine. Next comes his chair. A second later he plops down in it, so close that our arms touch, nearly flush.

“I’m so in love with my girlfriend”—he murmurs huskily, lips brushing my ear with every word— “that I can’t help but get closer.”

I lean in, brushing my nose against his. Maybe it’s my imagination but I do feel like we’re being watched.

“That’s good.” He brushes gentle fingers over my cheek. “Look at us. So in love.”

“Mhm,” I hum, my eyes closing. I hate that every part of me wants to kiss him again.

“Can I kiss you?”

I’m pretty sure my heart stops all together. I freeze, lips parted in shock.

“Did you hear me, Whim?” His fingers softly graze my arm. “Can I kiss you?”

My breath leaves me in a shaky exhale. The urge to ask why is on the tip of my tongue—but of course I know why. We need to put on a show.

“Okay.”

He cups my cheek gently, thumb grazing my bottom lip before he leans in and gives me a tender kiss. It’s warm and delicate and perfect and over all too soon.

He pulls away, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

We eat our dinner and when we’ve cleared our plates, I expect that to be it but then Elias orders dessert. I’m not a huge fan of sweets but I enjoy it.

When he’s paid for the meal, he offers me his hand and guides me outside into the dark street. Music plays from nearby, the air filled with laughter and happiness. He squeezes my hand.

“Want to check it out?” He nods in the direction of the music.

I follow his gaze. “Are you sure? It’s late. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m okay,” he assures me, straightening his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

I let him lead me toward the source the of the noise and we find a large open space where people are gathered—some sitting on benches, some at nearby café tables, and others dancing along to the music.

“Come on, Whim, what do you say? Dance with me?”

His infectious smile is impossible to resist. “All right.” He tugs me further into the plaza, joining the area where others dance. “I’m not a good dancer,” I warn him.

“Lucky for you, I’m fantastic.”

I roll my eyes. “Always so full of yourself.”

“When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” His hands settle on my waist, and I look around nervously.

Everyone dances with such effortless ease.

No one’s stiff or self-conscious. They move with the beat like it’s engrained.

The warm press of Elias’s thumb on my chin forces my gaze back to him.

“Don’t worry about them. It’s just you and me out here. All right?”

I nod.

“Good girl.”

His hand settles back on my hip and he guides me gently to the beat of the music.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

His words of praise do something to me that I don’t want to delve into right now.

“See.” He grins. “You’re doing it.”

“Because you’re helping me,” I protest.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Now, put your arms around my neck.”

I do as I’m told, and our bodies press together, fitting perfectly. If it weren’t for my heels I would be on my tiptoes in this position.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” he murmurs against the top of my head.

I don’t answer him. I’m too busy trying to make sure I don’t step on his feet.

“Relax,” he croons. “I feel how stiff you are.”

I force my gaze up to his and away from the shuffle of our feet. “I don’t want to step on you.”

He chuckles. “You’re not going to.”

“How do you know?” I argue back.

A squeak flies out of me a moment later when he lifts me in his arms so my feet dangle a few inches off the ground.

“That’s how I know.”

His lips are dangerously close to my mouth. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me.

His eyes flicker down to my lips and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

“You’re going to have to put me down. You can’t just hold me indefinitely.”

He rolls his eyes at my comment. “You’re light as a feather. It’s no big deal.”

I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. I have to remind myself that this isn’t real, because it very much feels like lines are being crossed and my stupid brain and heart are getting confused.

Not real, not real, not real . I chant the words silently to myself.

But man do I want it to be.