Page 45 of Drop Shot
I roll my eyes at that ridiculous statement. “It’s your house and your bed. If anyone sleeps on the floor it would be me. But…” I swallow down my nerves. “We’re both adults. We can handle this.”
When we got here, and I headed for the guest room I always stay in, his mom caught my arm and smiled when she said, “Oh, Whimsy, don’t stay in the guest room on our behalf. We know you guys share a bed. We’re not dumb.”
And that’s what led me here, red-faced and staring at his bed.
Somehow this is worse than sharing a bed in a hotel because thisishis bed. It’s far more intimate. I wonder if he’s ever let a woman into this space. He usually reserves his hookups to hotels—which unfortunately I know way too much about thanks to being sent numerous times to stock him up on condoms when he forgot to get them.
“Are you sure?”
The fact he looks at me with so much genuine concern somehow makes it worse.
“Positive.” My voice squeaks.
Elias shrugs and sets my bag down. “If you’re sure.” He’s still trying to give me an out.
I nod. The fact his family is going to be staying here the length of this tournament makes my stomach churn. We’re going to have to fake this thing even more than usual.
I wet my lips and look to him. “You realize your family thinks this is real, right? We have to be on at all times.”
He nods, setting his hands on his hips. “I can handle that. Can you?”
I paste on a smile. “It won’t be a problem.”
“You can shower if you want.” He hooks his thumb toward the bathroom. “I’ll wait.”
I bite my lip. “I can use the guest?—”
He shakes his head. “No, Whim.”
“You’re so bossy,” I mutter with an eyeroll.
He chuckles. “Go shower.” He gives my hip a poke. “I’m going to unpack.”
I rifle through my luggage for a change of clothes. I slept on the plane, and I’m used to the travel after doing this with him for the past several years, so the jetlag doesn’t bother me like it used to.
I settle on a pair of light blue linen pants with a flowy white sweater.
I carry my toiletry bag into the bathroom with me. The primary bath is beyond nice. Sleek charcoal tiles decorate the walls and floors, giving it a moody air with the light that glows behind the mirrors and beneath the cabinets. I flick on the big light. There are two sinks, equally as bare, but I know he usually uses the one on the right closest to the door so I take the other side and set out some of my things. We’ll be here a few weeks so I might as well get comfortable.
When I’ve unpacked my stuff, I take a deep steadying breath. I need to get over how weird this feels. It’s one thing lying to the public. It’s another lying to his family and mine. I know we decided to, but I might be regretting that decision.
Turning the shower on, it heats up in record time. I carefully remove my clothes from the flight and toss them in the hamper.
The shower is heavenly and much needed after the hours of travel.
Flying by private jet is a luxurious experience and not nearly as draining as flying on a normal plane, but it’s still travel, and travel is exhausting. It’s the constant sitting in one spot that does me in the most. Especially with my joints. Luckily, the flare seems to be under control.
I don’t want to leave the shower, but I’m sure Elias is waiting for his turn, so I reluctantly shut the water off and dry myself before dressing. I find him in the bedroom, finishing unpacking his suitcase. He looks over at me with a soft smile.
“Good shower?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s all yours.”
“I’ll finish this first.” He nods to his stuff.
“Do you…” I hesitate, my fingers finding each other with a nervous dance. “Do you care if I unpack my stuff in here too?”
He looks over his shoulder, brow arched. “I feel bad you even have to ask that. There’s plenty of space, Whim. Dresser, closet, put your stuff wherever you want.”
