Page 124 of Drop Shot
“You don’t regret traveling for work?” I ask her, wanting an honest answer. I pull her in close by her hip and she puts her arms around her neck.
“No. There are so many things I wouldn’t have gotten to see or do if it weren’t for this job.”
“If you ever get tired of it, I want you to tell me.” I cup her cheek, and she leans into my touch like she craves it. “I don’t want you to ever resent me.”
Wrapping her arms around my waist, she leans in closer. “I could never resent you.”
I hope that’s true.
The tennis life isn’t for everyone and I’m not oblivious to that fact.
CHAPTER 41
WHIMSY
“You got me a pink tennis racket?”I jump up and down with excitement, reaching out with grabby hands for the racket.
“Itisyour favorite color,” he replies.
“What about pink balls?” I ask, laughing when he rolls his eyes.
“The balls are the same color they always are.” He sticks some in his pocket and hands me the others. I put one under each side of my shorts.
After my mom and sister left, we decided to head to the nearby tennis club that Elias is a member of to play for fun. I figured it would also give Craig some time to adjust to being back in the apartment without people around to stress her out.
“Do you want to serve first or me?” he asks, stretching out his arms. I try not to drool over the brief glimpse of his biceps I get when his sleeves ride up.
“You first.”
I’m still getting used to serving, so I’d rather watch him before I take a turn at it.
He gets into place across the net and I do the same. He bounces the ball a few times and pauses.
“What do I get if I win?” he calls over to me.
“What do you want?” I counter.
His smile is slow, dimple prominent. “You.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to smile. “Pick something you don’t already have.”
“You on your knees for me in the locker room.”
My jaw drops at that response, and he laughs, brow lifting in challenge.
“What do you want if you win?” he asks when I’m quiet too long.
“Not that,” I blurt, my face hot to the touch when I reach up to check.
“Are you sure?” he teases. “It could be fun. Think about it—the thrill of the potential of being caught.”
“Stop it,” I hiss across the net. “People might hear you.”
He gives a significant look to the empty courts on either side of us. There are a few other people on the court farther down from us, just playing for fun as a group, but otherwise that’s it, and they’re too loud to hear our conversation.
“My point still stands,” I argue.
He laughs and returns to bouncing his ball. When I don’t move, he pauses again and looks at me with a raised brow. “Get in your correct position, Clever Girl.”
