Page 30 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

“Can I get you anything?” Whimsy asks from the end of the bed, nervously wringing her hands together like I’m a bomb that might blow any second. My leg is elevated with ice on my knee and it’s taking everything I have not to either scream or cry.

I was playing good—great even. For the first time in months the disconnect I’ve been feeling between my mind and body was completely gone. Honestly, until this match I couldn’t have said that’s what had been happening, but I know it now.

The fall happened quickly, and I thought nothing of it. I thought the wind was just knocked out of me, but it became apparent quickly there was something more going on.

Forced to retire from the game, here I am with no idea if I’ll be healed in time for the French Open. The doctors seemed confident I would be fine if I take it easy. The problem is I can’t afford to take it easy. I need to practice. I need to fucking win.

“I’m good.” I pat the space beside me in bed. “Can we watch Jurassic Park again?”

She laughs, shoulders sagging with relief. “You really want to watch it again?”

“Yeah, Whim. That’s what’ll make me feel better.”

She climbs into bed beside me. “Well, if you insist. I’ll never turn down my favorite movies.”

She puts the movie on and adjusts the pillows behind her. “If only we had snacks.”

“We can order room service,” I suggest.

She waves away my idea. “I’m not that hungry.” She eyes my knee. “Should I change your ice? Get the heating pad?”

I reach over and pull her close until there’s not an inch of space between us. “Right now, cuddling is the only thing that’s going to make me feel better.”

She frowns. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

She settles against me, but there’s still a stiffness to her. I’m hoping it’ll work its way out as the movie progresses.

With my arm draped around her, I play with the ends of her hair.

I’m going to have to get some of that eyeliner shit she was trying to use this morning.

I watched several video tutorials on the winged style she usually dons, but I know I’m going to have to practice.

The next time her hands are giving her trouble I want to be able to help her.

She shouldn’t miss out on things she loves just because her body is having a bad day.

“I love these movies so much,” she murmurs. I feel the vibration of her voice against my chest.

“So you’ve told me.” I continue to play with her hair, and she doesn’t swat me away so I take that as a good sign.

“Dinosaurs are so cool.”

“Which one is your favorite?” I ask, my fingers now skimming the top of her bare shoulder exposed from her tank top.

“Brachiosaurus,” she answers with no hesitation.

“Which one is that?”

A sound that can only be described as pure disgust comes out of her. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that. It’s the long neck one. The first one Alan Grant sees.”

“Ah.” I nod in understanding. “I see.”

She sighs. “Do you have a favorite dinosaur?”

“The one with the frill.”

Her nose wrinkles. “The Dilophosaurus?”

“No. The one he lays on when Blondie is looking at the poop.”

She grabs the remote and pauses the movie, sitting up so she can face me. I don’t think she realizes she’s placed her hand on my bare stomach and I’m not about to tell her.

“How dare you refer to Dr. Ellie Sattler as Blondie . I’m disowning you. And that’s a triceratops.”

“Well, that one’s my favorite.” I shrug, trying to hide my grin. I love that she’s so passionate about these movies. She’s so pink and girly that it’s unexpected. “It has horns. It’s cool.”

“At least you didn’t say T-Rex.” She picks up the remote and un-pauses the screen before settling back beside me. “That would’ve been such a basic bitch answer. Triceratops is close though.”

“Yours is pretty basic. I always see that one on book covers and stuff about dinosaurs.”

She sits up again, blond hair sweeping forward. Her lips are parted in offense. “You know what?” She shakes her head. “I’m not even going to deem that with a response.”

I laugh and she gives my pec a light swat. I grab her hand, holding it there and her mouth parts more. Fuck, I want to kiss her. But I have no reason to. We’re alone in the hotel room. No one’s watching. We’re not putting on a show for the public, our friends, or Jackson.

If I kiss her now, it’ll be real.

Whimsy makes the decision for me when she turns her head away. I do my best to hide my disappointment.

“I also like the velociraptor.” I snap my fingers together. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?” she asks, brow lifting with curiosity.

“Don’t most couples have lovey-dovey names for each other? I’ll call you Clever Girl.”

“Oh, god,” she groans.

“You have to admit, it’s a good one. What are you going to call me? I deserve a pet name too.”

“Pain in my ass.”

I stifle a snort. “Try again.”

“I’ll have to think on it,” she says to appease me.

We don’t speak for the rest of the movie and when it’s over she grabs more ice for my knee before settling back into bed beside me. She yanks the covers up to her chin and rolls to her side away from me.

I try not to take offense.

This isn’t real, it’s just a job to her, and I’d do well to remember that.

“How does it look today?” I venture to ask my team doctor as he examines my knee.

He’s pushed it up toward my chest and stretched it back out numerous times. All while muttering under his breath. Jackson stands off to the side, typing furiously on his phone.

“You’ll be healed for the French Open but you’re going to have to tape it and rest ,” he emphasizes the last word. “Take the next two days off, not including today—no exercise, no practice.”

Off to the side my team of coaches talk amongst themselves. I don’t deem the doc with a response.

“My suggestion”—the doctor goes on, ignoring their pattering— “head to France and rest up tomorrow and the next day then start with some stretching and go easy the first day back. I’ll be there, and I’ll assess further but right now I don’t think there’s anything to be worried about.”

I lean my head back on the exam table and breathe out a relieved, “Good.”

Injuries are par for the course in any sport, but when you’re a professional athlete it can be detrimental.

“You can get out of here,” he tells me. “Rotate the ice and heat and elevate it when you can.”

“You got it, doc.” I give him a thumbs up.

My coaching staff pulls me aside, basically telling me the same shit the doctor just did, and finally lets me go with a warning to be ready bright and early for a light practice in two days.

Jackson follows me out of the exam area. “I’ll get your hotel booked.” He taps away on his phone.

I shake my head. “Whimsy will take care of it.”

He stops in his tracks, forcing me to stop too. “She’s not your assistant anymore.”

I flinch. Right. She’s my … whatever she is. “She can still handle it. She knows what she’s doing.”

Jackson narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to stay in an apartment, not a hotel, that’s why. She knows what I like. She’ll pick a good place to rent.”

Jackson shrugs. “Fine. Whatever keeps you comfortable.”

I head past him and outside. Noah’s hopping off a golf cart that’s used to transport the athletes around.

“How’s the knee, dude?” he asks as he approaches, reaching out to shake my hand and clap my back. I do the same with him. I guess it’s a good thing we were out early in the doubles matches.

“Could be worse,” I reply. “Good luck today.”

Noah plays his own semi-final match today.

“Thanks. You headed to Paris straight away?”

“Yeah, probably by tonight.”

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I doubt I’ll see you until I’m there, so take care of yourself and that knee.”

“I will.”

Noah nods and heads past me into the building.

“You need a ride?” The golf cart driver asks.

I shrug. “Why the hell not?”

It might be last minute, but Whimsy uses her skills to secure us an apartment in Paris.

Ebba quickly volunteers herself to join us since the place has two rooms. If Whimsy is annoyed by that fact she hasn’t shown it.

I figure she booked it so we could have separate rooms but here we are, forced to share a room again.

I follow Whimsy onto the plane. Ebba’s coming on a flight in the morning. It didn’t make sense to use private, so she booked us seats on a commercial airline.

“Do you want the window?” she asks, pausing in the aisle so another passenger can put their things in the overhead bins.

“I’ll be fine in the middle.”

She gives me a questioning look but doesn’t argue.

I notice Whimsy always takes the window seat on whatever flight we’re on.

It’s just normally we have enough time to fly private or book first class.

I’ve noticed she gets slightly sick on take-off and landing and that it must help her to look out because she always makes sure to keep her eyes glued to the window.

We reach our seats, and I take her carry-on bag and heft it up. Before I put my backpack away, I zip open a compartment and pull out a bag from one of the various shops in the airport. I settle into my seat and Whimsy eyes my paper bag with a questioning look.

“What do you have there?”

I grin. “I’m so glad you asked.” I rifle through the bag and pull out the first item I want to give her.

“Ginger Ale?” she takes it from me.

“You usually always ask for it on flights. Figured I’d beat you to it.”

She stares at the bottle like it’s more than just a soda. “Thank you.” She traces her finger around the label. “That was thoughtful.”

“And I got you this.” I hand her the small pack of anti-nausea medicine.

Her nose scrunches, perplexed. “What’s going on? You’ve never gotten this stuff for me before?”

“Well, you took care of all the bookings and I know that’s not your job anymore so I figured the least I could do was this. One last thing.” I pull out the blue brachiosaurus I spotted in the small kids section of the shop I was in.

A squeal rips out of Whimsy that has my eyes widening in surprise and a few people around us turning to stare questioningly.

“You got me a dino stuffie?” She snatches the animal right from my arms and snuggles it against her chest. “This is the best gift ever.”

“Better than all the designer crap I bought you?”

Her lips turn down as she thinks about. “Yes, because you picked it. It’s thoughtful. I love it.” She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s as innocent as innocent can be, but fuck if it doesn’t make me want to grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her for real.

She keeps the stuffed animal carefully balanced on her lap as she buckles in.

When we finally take off, she grips the dinosaur in one hand and my leg in the other.

As the plane levels out, she slowly releases her hold on me. I’m pretty sure I’m never losing the indent of her nails from the side of my leg.

“Sorry.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “I didn’t know I was holding on that hard.”

“It’s okay.” I try to rub some feeling back into my leg.

It’s a short flight, but it’s late, and the next thing I know Whimsy is asleep cuddling her stuffed animal. I smile at the sight.

“Is that your girlfriend?” The older woman to my left asks. She has a slight British accent—like maybe she was born there but then moved all around.

“Yes,” I answer.

“You two are sweet,” she says. “Keep that sweetness. It’s what makes love so worthwhile.

Sometimes people forget it’s the little things that matter.

You took care of her.” She gestures to the paper bag I wadded up and stuffed into the pocket of the seat in front of me.

“You anticipated what she needed and prepared for it. That’s special. ”

Her words take me aback and I swallow my emotion.

I’ve been selfish in my life. Perusing my sport and being the best at it has been my singular goal for a long time.

I’ve never taken care of another person.

Glancing at Whimsy, her breaths are steady with sleep.

I graze my thumb over her chin. She looks so peaceful.

“It is, isn’t it?” I whisper the question, more for myself than my seat partner.

Fuck. I think I might be so gone for this girl and it terrifies how fast it’s happened. I want to argue with myself—that my brain is just getting confused because we’re faking this whole thing—but my heart knows that what I’m feeling for her isn’t fake at all.