Page 48 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

“Elias!”

Juniper barrels into me the moment we enter her parents’ house. Whimsy watches us with an amused smile.

“I’ve been replaced,” she says as I hug her sister.

“Never,” I mouth back at her.

“Come on, Elias.” Junie takes my hand, giving it a sharp tug. “I want to show you my room.”

“You showed him your room last time,” John calls out.

“And I’ve moved things around since then,” Junie argues back. “Do you want to make some bracelets with me while you’re here?” she asks, tugging me toward the stairs.

“I’d love to make bracelets.”

Whimsy laughs and kisses her sister on top of the head as she passes. “I’m going to go see if my mom needs help in the kitchen. Have fun with Junie.”

I let her little sister lead me to her room, where she proceeds to give me the run down on everything she’s changed since I last saw the space—which isn’t much, but she’s thorough, I’ll give her that.

When she’s finished her long-winded spiel, she takes me back downstairs to make bracelets.

“We’ll see how many we can make before dinner’s ready.” She pulls out a chair and sits.

“It won’t be many,” Jules calls out, and even though I can’t see her, I can hear the smile in her voice.

“You’re going to have to show me how to do this again,” I tell her as she slides the box of beads nearer to us.

“You forgot already?” she huffs out with an eye roll. “I expected more of you.”

“I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Junie.”

She gives my hand a pat. “You better remember for next time. I won’t show you a third time.”

A soft snicker has my head swinging in that direction and I find Whimsy peeking around the corner from the kitchen. Her lips are upturned in an amused smile.

“You’re in trouble,” she mouths.

“Your sister is a terror,” I mouth back, and she laughs again before heading back into the kitchen.

“Hey.” Junie snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Are you going to pay attention or not?”

“Sorry. I’m all yours.”

She purses her lips in doubt. I listen intently to her instructions, though, but struggle to create a bracelet.

My fingers are far too big for this, but I keep at it, because it seems to make Junie happy.

She makes the bracelets in record speed, getting four done in the time it takes me to do one and a half.

“You really need to work on your technique,” she tells me animatedly, hands flying as she speaks on the way to help carry food outside to eat dinner. “You’re way too slow.”

I press a hand to my heart, faking offense. “Hey, I’m new at this. You have to give me time to get better. How long have you been making bracelets?”

She gives a dramatic, bone rattling sigh. “A long time.”

I snap my fingers. “Exactly. It’s like tennis. I can’t expect you to be a pro.”

“But it’s bracelets,” Junie gripes, taking the salad bowl her mom hands her. “It’s not that hard.”

Her exasperation with me is amusing.

“Juniper,” her mom scolds. “Be nice.”

“I am nice,” she mutters, heading outside.

Whimsy laughs at her sister’s retreating figure. “I love her so much.”

“She’s a blast,” I agree.

Whimsy grips my wrist and stands on her tiptoes, lips pursed for a kiss. I’m more than happy to oblige.

She pulls away with a soft laugh, carefully wiping away some of her gloss from my lips.

This feeling in my chest—of completeness and a happiness that only Whimsy gives me—has me wondering why I was so anti-relationship before. But maybe I was always waiting for her and didn’t know it.

She hands me a bowl to carry outside, and we join her family.

Losing in the first round of Wimbledon might’ve sucked, but honestly, I’m not as sad as I probably should be, because if I hadn’t lost, I wouldn’t be here with her and her family right now, and this feels like exactly the place I need to be.

After dinner, I offer to help wash the dishes, but Junie commandeers me for more bracelet making. When Whimsy and I finally manage to leave, the tips of my fingers are sore. Bracelet creation is serious business.

When we leave, it’s completely dark out already despite the longer summer days.

“That was my high school.” Whimsy points out as we pass by the building.

“Really?” I ask, surprised. I like getting to know these tidbits about her. There are things I’ve picked up just by being near her all these years, but there are still things like this that I don’t know.

“Yeah.” She points to the football field. “I was a cheerleader.”

I pull the car off the side of the road and put it in park. Draping my arm over the steering wheel, I turn to face her. “You were a cheerleader? This is new to me information.”

She gives an unbothered shrug. “I didn’t think it was important.”

I scoff. “Do you still have your uniform?”

“No,” she laughs. “We had to return them.”

“Fuck,” I groan, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “There goes my fantasy—maybe we can buy you a Halloween cheerleader costume?” I suggest.

“Oh my god.” She shoves my shoulder. “Please tell me you’re not picturing me in my cheer outfit right now.”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Elias,” she laughs. “You’re insane.”

“I’m a guy, baby. You told me you were a cheerleader and you think I’m not picturing what you looked like in that tight little uniform and imagining taking it off you? Now who’s the real crazy one here?”

I shut the car off and she asks, “What are you doing?”

“I want to see the football field.” I undo my seatbelt and nod for her to do the same.

“Why?” Her tone is skeptical.

“Indulge me.”

With a sigh, she unbuckles her seatbelt and meets me outside the car. Hand in hand, we take the sidewalk over to the field where we sit down on the bleachers. I lean back, resting my elbows on the seats behind me and look out onto the field.

“It’s just a normal football field,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Nothing exciting.”

“But you were here. That makes it exciting to me.”

I try to picture her standing on the edge of the field performing a cheer routine.

“Do you remember any of your cheers?”

She cocks her head to the side, thinking. “A little, but no I’m not getting out there and showing you if that’s where you’re going with this.”

I chuckle. “Way to shoot me down.”

“Where did you go to high school?” she asks, somewhat changing the subject.

“No place like this. It was a private school.” And I don’t mean it as a dig.

I would’ve much preferred a public school to the stuffy private one our parents insisted on sending Ebba and me to.

Sure, an excellent tennis program came with it, but the school itself was vigorous.

I’m not dumb, but I do hate studying. “It was a bit miserable most of the time. Except for tennis.”

“Has it ever been lonely for you? Tennis being so much of your life, I mean.”

I’ve never been asked that before, so I take a moment to really think about what she’s asking before I answer.

“Maybe.” I know it’s not the best answer, but it’s the only one I’ve got. “It’s not something I’ve given much thought to. I love the sport and the travel and everything that comes with it.”

“Like the money and girls?” she asks with a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but these days it’s only one girl on my mind.” I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb over her bottom lip. “And honestly, you’re on my mind more than tennis. But don’t tell my coaches that or Jackson.”

She gives me a soft smile I’ve learned she only reserves for me. “Your secret is safe with me.”

I pull her in for a kiss and wrap my arms around her, not letting her go even when the kiss is over.

“You can see the stars so well here,” I comment. We’re not that far outside of Miami, most people would still call this Miami, but we’re far enough from the city that the sky is entirely different.

“I love it here.”

“Is this where you’d want to come back to live some day?” I ask, combing my fingers through her hair.

“Maybe. I haven’t given it much thought. What about you?”

“I think it would be nice living here. Close to the city, but a small-town feel. It’d be a great place to raise kids one day.” She stiffens in my arms and I know what she’s thinking. “We’ll have kids one day,” I vow. “In whatever way that looks like for us, we’ll have them.”

She leans her head on my shoulder, some of that stiffness melting from her body. “You see that with me? A family?”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if my mind wasn’t there. I’m in this, Whimsy. You’re the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

It’s not a confession of love, but it’s pretty damn close to it.

And I think I might—love her, that is. She’s the first thing I think about when I open my eyes, and the last thing that crosses my mind before I fall asleep. For the first time in my life, there’s something more important than tennis, so that has to count for something, right?