Page 42 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

I pop a grape into my mouth, sitting on the small balcony outside the hotel room when Elias bursts through the door. He looks around for me and spots me outside, quickly heading my way with a determined stride.

It’s the interim between the HSBC championship ending and Wimbledon beginning, which for Elias means life as usual—practice, stretching, working out. For me, it’s meant continuing to work on my sketches and spending time with Ebba, Sabrina, and Noah’s little girl Maddie.

Elias won the championship, but if anything, he’s seemed more nervous than ever as we head into Wimbledon. The past two wins haven’t provided him relief. Only more anxiety.

“Hey,” he says as he slides the door open and joins me on the balcony. “Are you busy?”

I close my laptop. “Not really.” I reach for another grape. “Why?”

“I was thinking,” he starts slowly. “That you might want to come play tennis with me.”

I snort. “I don’t play tennis.”

Not that I’ve ever tried, but I can imagine it being a bad idea.

“So?” he prompts, crossing his leg. “I’ll teach you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

A look of incredulousness settles on my face. “Don’t you want a break?”

He shrugs, leaning back in the chair. He’s so at ease in his body and I’m envious of that. He always moves with such liquid grace. There’s nothing clunky or awkward about him. Just pure confidence.

“I’d rather hang out with you.”

My heart warms at those words. It’s unfair to my already complicated feelings, that’s beneath all his cocky bravado he’s actually squishily adorable.

And yes, I’m fairly certain he would never let me live it down if he knew I called him squishy.

“And you want to teach me tennis?”

“Yeah.” It’s so hard not to smile when he looks at me with such a happy, carefree expression. “I do.”

With a sigh, I hold up a finger, “I’m saying yes but only because I have a cute tennis outfit I’ve been dying to wear.”

He claps his hands together. “Whatever it takes.”

An hour later, we step onto a court at a nearby park. There’s no one else around, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need anyone seeing me make a fool of myself.

It’s hot, so I already know I’ll be a sweaty mess by the time we leave here, but the fact that Elias hasn’t been able to rid himself of his goofy grin since I agreed, makes it all worth it.

I bend down to adjust the laces on my tennis shoes. I always have the tendency to tie them too tight on the first go around.

Beside me, Elias pulls two rackets from his Wilson bag. “My rackets might be a little heavy, but I have faith in you.”

“Thanks,” I drawl sarcastically, taking one from him when I stand.

“I’m forceful with my hits, so I prefer a heavier racket,” he goes on to explain. He pulls a few balls from his bag and sticks them in his pocket. “Take these.” He hands me a few.

I give him a deadpan stare. “Where am I supposed to put these.”

He chuckles good naturedly. “That’s an athletic skirt, right? With shorts under it?”

“Yeah?” It comes out as a question.

The next thing I know, Elias is pulling my skirt up and shoving two tennis balls under the edge of my shorts.

“Rude,” I accuse, but it falls flat because I can’t stop laughing.

“You’ll get over it.” He winks and bounces one of the balls. “You take that side of the court and I’ll take this one.”

I notice he purposely puts me in the shaded area. Good man.

He hollers out a few quick instructions, telling me how to adjust my hold and the proper placement for my feet.

I’m not sure why I feel so nervous, but my question is answered when he serves the ball and it comes flying at the speed of light toward me. I scream and toss the racket before I drop dramatically onto the ground.

“Shit,” he curses.

The sounds of his footsteps jogging over to the net has me slowly peeking in that direction.

“I’m not a professional tennis player,” I remind him. “I’m just a newbie.”

“I know, I know,” he chants. “Totally my bad. I’m not used to pulling my speed back. I’ll do better this time. Promise.”

With a sigh, I get up and collect my fallen racket.

“Please, don’t kill me,” I mutter.

His chuckles carries back to me on the wind as he gets in position to serve again.

Thankfully, he does as promised, and hits it much lighter this time—so much so it doesn’t even make it across the net.

“Give me a minute,” he says, collecting the ball. “I can do this.”

I watch his movements and anticipate the ball so when he serves this time, I’m ready.

I might not have played tennis before, but I’ve watched enough of it to pick up on the sport. I let the ball bounce once and then I hit it across the net to Elias.

He grins as he hits it back and I run to get the ball.

By some miracle I make contact in time and even though Elias could’ve easily gotten it, he lets me get the point.

Not that we’re actually keeping score. This is just for fun—and already it’s way more than I expected.

Do I like tennis? Maybe I do. Or maybe I just like playing with Elias.

“Can I try serving?” I call over the net.

“Go for it.”

I pull one of the balls from my pocket and give it a few bounces.

“Move your left foot back more,” he calls out. “Bring it forward when you go to hit the ball.”

I nod in understanding, adjusting my stance.

I bounce the ball several times again before holding it against my racket. I toss it and completely miss.

Laughter bursts out of me and I run after the ball.

Even though I hadn’t planned on spending my day on a tennis court getting sweaty, I’m not at all mad about this change in plans.

“You’ve got this,” he encourages, bent low and waiting for my serve.

I take a deep breath, and try again. It makes it over the net this time, but barely.

“This is harder than it looks,” I gripe.

Elias grabs my stray ball and tosses it back over the net to me. “Try again.”

I’m glad he’s such a patient teacher.

I reposition myself at the baseline and prepare to attempt my serve again.

This one goes better, not great, but it does make it to where Elias can hit it back.

I sprint to catch the ball, extending my racket to hit and it smacks into the net on my side.

“I don’t think I’m very good at tennis,” I groan.

Elias chuckles. “You’ve never played. You can’t be great at everything on the first try.”

I frown, because that’s always been something I’ve struggled with. If I’m not good at something right off the bat it drives me insane.

“I don’t like to lose.”

He chuckles, bouncing a ball with his racket. “I’ve noticed. Ready?”

“I guess.”

He serves the ball and it lands to my right. I hurry to get to it before it bounces a second time.

“Look at you!” Elias sounds ecstatic when I hit it—pretty forcefully—back to him. “See, you’re getting it. Dare I say, you’re a natural.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Despite the fact that I spend a lot of mornings at the hotel gyms or doing yoga in the room I feel entirely out of shape running around after the tennis ball. How Elias manages this for three, sometimes five, sets I’ll never know.

We play for about an hour before he calls it a day, and packs up the supplies.

“Would you play with me again sometime?” he asks, sliding the rackets back into his bag.

“Yeah, I would. I had fun.”

His smile has his eyes twinkling. Being the one on the receiving end of a smile like that is a special thing. What was I thinking turning him down? I have to be out of my mind, right? Who turns down the guy they’ve had a crush on for years?

“I’m glad you had fun.”

“Thanks for forcing me out of the hotel room.”

He brushes his finger over my cheek—the quick gesture yanking every bit of oxygen from my lungs. “You’ve been holing up in there working too much. You needed to get out.”

Back at the hotel, when we arrive to the room, he sets his stuff down and announces, “I’m going to the pool. Do you want to go?”

I’ve always enjoyed pools—especially saltwater pools—there’s something about being in water and the weightlessness that helps my muscles especially if I’ve been having a flare up, which thankfully I haven’t.

My gut is telling me to turn him down—that I’m playing with fire, but the words, “Yeah, the pool sounds great,” comes out of my mouth instead.

Elias lets me use the bathroom first to change.

The bikini I packed is a blue and white gingham number that ties at the front.

It’s been a while since I wore it, and I forgot how cheeky the bottoms are.

Thank goodness I thought to bring in a pair of loose white shorts and a t-shirt.

I know he’ll see me in the bikini at the pool, but somehow that feels different than stepping out of the bathroom into our shared room barely wearing anything.

Elias is lying on the bed when I leave the bathroom—ankles crossed and already in his swim shorts, perfect abs on full display. There’s not an ounce of fat on him. I’m certain I could bounce a quarter off his pecs if I wanted to.

“Ready to go?” he asks, hopping up.

“Just a second. Let me pack a bag.”

While he’s putting his shoes on, I grab one of my bags and load it up with my laptop, iPad, a sketchpad, and my kindle just in case I decide to do more than hang in the pool.

Slipping my feet into a pair of sandals, I follow Elias to the door. He holds it open for me to pass under his arm. Down the hall, we wait for the elevator in silence to take us to the pool level.

I hate this after how much fun we had at the tennis courts. Things have been awkward between us, and I know it’s solely because despite me turning him down, there’s no denying the chemistry.

The doors slide open and I follow him to the pool. I’m surprised to find that the only other people there are Noah, Sabrina, and Maddie.

“Did you know they were going to be here?”

He shakes his head no. In fact, he looks a little disgruntled by this turn of events.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Noah hollers from the pool. He’s immediately shoved under the water when Maddie jumps on his shoulders. He comes up sputtering. “Jesus Christ, kid. Are you trying to kill your dad?”