Page 51 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

ELIAS

“Wimbledon was brutal to you, huh?” Noah asks, a slight jest in his tone.

I wipe sweat from my face with the towel. We’ve been practicing for our US Open doubles match. We’d planned to play together at the Cincinnati Open, but luckily for me Noah agreed a break would be good for both of us ahead of the US Open.

“Fucking Trager,” I mutter. “And hey, it wasn’t too nice to you either,” I jest. Noah did at least make it to the quarter-finals, so much better than my pathetic short-lived run.

“You can’t win them all.” He reaches for his water bottle with a groan. “I’m getting too old for this.”

My eyes threaten to bug out in shock. “You’re not old, dude. Don’t even joke about that. Besides, Christensen is almost forty and still going,” I say, referring to a Danish player.

“It’s a lot on our bodies,” he says softly, and I fear he might seriously be considering retiring soon.

“It is,” I agree. “But we love it.”

“Yeah,” he muses. “I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot lately—about the future.

There … uh …” He clears his throat. “There was a moment there where we thought Sabrina might be pregnant and I guess it just got me thinking when I have another kid what do I want? With Maddie I was still so young and wanted to pursue my career, but adding to the family … I don’t know.

I kind of just want to be there , you know?

Not traveling. Not prioritizing tennis. Just being a dad. ”

“You seriously think you might retire?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it was a scare and it got me thinking. We’ve talked about it and we really don’t want to have a baby until after we’ve been married at least a year, but you never know.”

With a sigh, I lean my head back. “If you retire who the hell am I supposed to poke fun at?”

“Yourself?” he suggests unhelpfully.

“Fuck you,” I laugh, lightly punching his shoulder.

Fisher comes over, a small smile playing on his lips. “You guys were good today.”

“A compliment.” I press a hand over my heart. “Does it come with a sticker?”

Fisher chuckles and scoops a water bottle out of the cooler for himself. “Ask Maddie—she probably has one.”

Maddie, Noah’s daughter, likes to give him stickers when he wins and loses.

When Fisher’s walked off to chat with the rest of our coaching team, Noah asks, “How are things with you and Whimsy? Have you told her how you feel yet?”

“It’s real. Very real.” I take a long sip of water. “And it’s better than I could’ve imagined.”

He claps me on the back. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” I can’t help the smile I always sport when I think of Whimsy. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Noah’s smile matches mine. “These women really know how to become our whole world, don’t they?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. They sure do.”

“We need to get everyone together for dinner soon,” he suggests, reaching down into his bag for a towel. “It’s been too long since we’ve all done anything—Ebba included.”

“It’s hard when we’re so busy.”

With so many hours spent on the courts it’s hard to make time for friendships as terrible as that sounds.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I guess it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

I laugh and bend over, stuffing my equipment in my bag. “Who would’ve ever thought you’d be the one trying to get everyone together?”

“I know, I know,” he groans. “What have I become?”

I pat his shoulder. “Noah Baker. Our little social butterfly.”

“Shut up,” he gripes, shoving me off.

I just laugh. It’s so easy and fun to get under his skin.

After a quick shower and changing into fresh clothes in the locker room, I take a car back to the hotel to meet Whimsy for dinner.

I’m not expecting to run into Trager in the lobby of the hotel. Normally, I’m able to avoid him pretty well. I guess I usually have luck on my side, but not this time.

“Well, well, well.” He smirks, looking me up and down. “What a shame to be out so early in Wimbledon, but I guess the better player won.” He puts a hand to his chest.

I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his words have gotten to me.

“You were out in your very next match, so I’m not sure why you’re bragging.”

That gets to him and his face knits with anger. It’s gone quickly, though, replaced by his mask of superiority.

“I saw that sweet little girlfriend of yours.” He nods toward the hotel’s restaurant I’m supposed to meet her at.

“Fuck, doesn’t she have a tight ass. Firm and bouncy.

Just like her tits. Think I can take her for a spin when you’re done with her?

I bet she looks pretty on her knees, doesn’t she?

” He smirks and pats my shoulders like we’re good friends just talking about hookups.

“I can just imagine the noises she’ll make for me once she’s bored of you.

I bet she’ll beg me real good for it.” He grabs at his dick.

“Be sure to pass her over once you’re done. ”

Fury rams through me, so hot and vicious that I can’t stop it.

My fist slams into his face, the satisfying crunch of his nose reaching my ears.

I’m aware that I’ve probably just made a colossal mistake, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Elias!” I hear Whimsy’s gasp.

“Don’t you ever”—I point at the fucker in front of me who holds his bleeding nose— “talk about her—or any woman for that matter—like that ever again. Do you hear me, you worthless piece of shit?”

He gives a garbled response and then hands are tugging on me, pulling me away.

“What was that, dude?” Noah yanks me from the bleeding Trager. He must’ve arrived here right after me.

“You should’ve heard what he said about Whimsy,” I snap defensively. “He’s disgusting. I’m not sorry for punching him.”

“Shh,” Noah hushes me, and I realize belatedly that some members of the press are seated at the bar and witnessing this whole thing. Phones are out too from a variety of people nearby.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

This is bad, really bad, but I wouldn’t take it back for anything. Trager deserved it for talking about Whimsy like that. I’m sick and tired of him running his mouth all the time. He needs to be put in his place.

Unfortunately for me, this isn’t a good look—especially when the whole reason Jackson insisted on this whole fake girlfriend thing in the first place was to make me look better not worse.

But I’ll never be sorry for sticking up for Whimsy or any other woman.

“What was that about?” Whimsy asks, appearing in front of me. Her hands flutter about my body like she’s searching to see if I have any injuries.

“He was talking shit.” I sound defensive, possibly too defensive. “About you,” I add. “I won’t let anyone run their mouth about you or any other woman like that. It’s not okay.”

“Elias.” My name is a careful exhale and her eyes go soft. “Baby.” She touches my cheek, her fingers cool and gentle against my skin. “You don’t need to defend me.”

“I know you don’t need me to.” I finally shrug out of Noah’s hold on me. Trager is long gone to go whine and complain to someone. “But what he said wasn’t okay.”

She bites her lip and grabs my hand, tugging me toward whatever table she was already seated at. I look back at Noah and note the concern on his face. I give him a reassuring smile, but I notice the anxiety doesn’t ease from his taut shoulders.

It hits me then—that punching a fellow player could result in suspension which would affect Noah and our doubles match.

Oh, fuck.

It’s one thing to fuck myself over, it’s a whole other to bring someone else down with me.

“Should we go upstairs?” she asks, as both of us notice how much attention is still on us.

“Yeah, probably.” I hate that I’ve also managed to fuck up our dinner, but with so many people looking at me with disgust and surprise it’ll be better if we don’t stay.

In the elevator, Whimsy takes my hand, leaning her head against my arm. I close my eyes, soaking in the feeling of her—how calm and centered she manages to make me feel.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I admit when the doors open on our floor. “But I couldn’t let him talk about you like that.”

“It’s okay,” she says, and I know things are okay with her but it doesn’t mean they’re okay elsewhere. I can’t even blame this on my old on the court temper getting to me. This was different. This was pure instinct to defend the woman I care about—the woman I love.

Whimsy unlocks the room and steps inside as I follow.

“I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?” I pace the length of the room. “I won’t apologize for defending you, though.”

“Hey,” she says softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed to tug off her heels. “Whatever happens. We’ll get through it.”

This could be terrible—far worse for my reputation and career than smashing some rackets and mouthing off.

“I’m sure Jackson will have a plan,” she goes on.

There’s a knock on the door as if she’s magically conjured him. I don’t have to look through the peephole to know it’s him.

Whimsy sends me a sympathetic look as if she too knows it’s him.

I open the door and he barges right in without preamble.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He seethes, phone squeezed tight in one hand.

“Good to see you, too,” I mutter, shutting the door and turning to him with my arms crossed over my chest. I’m being defensive which is probably the worst thing I can do.

“You punched another player,” he groans.

“In the hotel. In front of guests, other players, and media. Have you lost your ever-loving mind? You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile and focusing on the doting boyfriend angle.

Not throwing fists at a fellow player!” He bellows the last part, face red.

“I shouldn’t have to follow you around to every fucking match because I’m scared you’re going to do something stupid.

Here I thought you were finally on the right track, and I might be able to give you some more breathing room, and you go and do this.

” He tosses his arms in the air. “I don’t know how I’m going to get you out of this one. ”

“I’m sorry,” I say and he shuts up, looking at me with eyes that are wide with shock. “I’m sorry for the mess, but I’m not sorry for punching him. You should’ve heard what he said about Whimsy. It was disgusting.”

Jackson pinches his brow. “That doesn’t make it okay.” He sighs, hands falling to his hips. “I’m not sure what the repercussions of this are going to be yet, but I hope you’re prepared to deal with them.”

“Should we put together a press conference to get ahead of things?” I ask. I’m willing to just about anything. Trager deserved to be punched and I have no regrets there, but the reality of losing my career because of him leaves my stomach feeling sour.

Jackson twists his neck like maybe he can crack the tension out of it. “It’s not the worst idea in the world. I guess I can’t convince you to read off a speech I give you?”

I’m already shaking my head before he’s done speaking. “Not a chance.”

He sighs, shoulders drooping. “I’m going to see what I can do.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

His eyes narrow on me for a moment like he thinks I might be sarcastic, but when he realizes I’m genuine he gives a nod. “You’re welcome. It’s what you pay me for, after all.”

I let him out of the room and then I’m alone with Whimsy. She doesn’t waste a second in wrapping her arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my shirt.

“Sorry?” I cup her cheeks, forcing her to take a step back. “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

She bites her bottom lip, tears swimming in her eyes. The last thing I want is for this girl to be upset on my behalf.

“You shouldn’t have defended me and now you’re paying the price for it.”

“Baby,” I murmur softly, my fingers delving into her soft hair. “Don’t think like that. It’s not your fault at all. The only person at fault here is Trager. No one should talk about anyone the way he did. He’s an arrogant asshole with no thought or respect for anyone else.”

Her eyes are earnest as she stares up at me and my heart tumbles over itself.

This girl.

God, do I love her. I want to tell her so bad, but I don’t want to say it right now, not right after the whole Trager thing. It’ll have to wait, because when I finally tell her how I feel I want it to be solely about us.

“Do you want me to order dinner?” she asks and I reluctantly let her go.

I’m not feeling hungry after the entire fiasco, but I know Whimsy and she’s trying to find a means of distraction. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Do you want anything in particular?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the phone.

“You know what I like. Just pick something.”

While she puts the order in, I look out the window of our room.

My stomach feels heavy, but I’m not sorry for sticking up for Whimsy.

I would’ve done the same for any woman. I’ve been a bit of a playboy over the years, I won’t deny that, but maybe it’s because of my mother and sister, but I respect women too much for any of that shit he said to ever come to my mind, let alone to say it out loud.

The phone clicks as she sets it on the receiver. A moment later her arms wrap around me from behind.

I know she might not see it—but whatever comes of this, I’m going to be okay because I have her.