Page 107 of Drop Shot
“The offer is always on the table,” he assures me.
Even though I have no plans in talking to a therapist about what happened, I appreciate his care.
“Thank you,” I say when I find my voice again.
“You’re welcome.”
He stands there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us seeming to know what to do or say. After a long minute, he sighs and heads to the bathroom. The shower cuts on a moment later, even though from the looks of him he’s freshly showered.
I hear him mumbling something to himself in the bathroom, but I don’t get up to investigate.
Picking up my iPad I return to my drawing, I try to focus on the sketch I’ve been working on all afternoon. An old friend from high school remembered that I enjoyed drawing and reached out to see if I would be interested in illustrating their first children’s book. They offered a fair price for the work, so it seemed like a no brainer. Since I’m not running all over doing things for Elias, at least this makes me feel like I’m working.
When he finally pads back into the room, he can’t seem to stop yawning. He climbs into bed beside me—because of course Jackson is still ensuring every room we have only includes one bed just in case some crazy person would try to check with the hotel. I think he’s being overly paranoid, but it’s not my place to argue with him.
Elias fiddles with the pillows behind his head, attempting to get comfortable. His eyes stray over to my screen.
“What are you working on?”
“An old friend reached out a few days ago about having me illustrate her children’s book. I said yes, so I’m working on a few sketches in different styles to see what she might like most.”
I’m not expecting Elias’s blinding grin. “That’s great, Whimsy. Really amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
I can feel the blush warming my cheeks. I’ve never done well with someone praising my art. I suppose it’s because I never feel it’s good enough. I always find areas where I feel I can improve upon my technique. I think it’s why I’ve come to love digital art so much—it lets me try out different styles and easily make changes in layers instead of ruining the whole work.
“Thank you. She might not like it.”
He frowns and the expression is slightly jarring because he’s usually smiling off the court or locked in and focused on the court. Frowning is not one of his go-to expressions.
“Why wouldn’t she like it? It looks fantastic.”
I shrug. “Not every style is a right fit for everyone. It’s why I’m sketching a few different ones and hoping one will stick.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Long enough that I start to squirm and accidentally draw a long line across my drawing.
“Shit,” I curse and hastily delete it.
Laying on his side, he props his head in his hand. “I don’t know if anyone has told you, but you’re kind of a people pleaser.”
I snort. “Don’t worry, my mother likes to remind me of that fact often. She’s tried to get me to change, but it’s just a part of who I am.”
“You’re too nice.”
I save my artwork and close up my iPad, laying the device aside. Crossing my arms over my chest, I glower at the man beside me in bed. I kind of like this though—being above him.
Crap.
Why did I have to go and think that? Now images of me on top, rocking my body against his, how in control it would feel to have such a powerful man beneath me are going to plague my dreams.
I manage to find my words again. “Is there something wrong with being nice?”
“Toonice,” he corrects. “And it is when it’s to your own detriment.”
I duck my head, unable to meet his eyes. He has a point. I know it, but it’s not something I can easily change.
“I’ll work on it,” I mumble, knowing good and well I probably won’t.
His amused chuckle fills the air as he leans over to turn off his bedside lamp.
