Page 66 of Drop Shot
I narrow my eyes on her hand as it digs into her calf. “I’m having a massage therapist sent up.”
“What?” Her brows knit. “For me? No. I’m fine.” She waves away my concern like a pesky fly hanging over her plate.
“Whimsy,” I say her name with a low warning. “Let me take care of you.”
I know she has a supportive family, but Whimsy is the kind of person who is always taking care of everyone else.
Look how she took care of you as your assistant? You never knew what she was going through.
And sure, yeah, I feel like an asshole for that. Is it so wrong that I want to make up for it now by taking care of her? She doesn’t have to handle her hurts alone. If I can do something, like hiring a massage therapist, to make her feel better why wouldn’t I do that?
Her shoulders sag and she gives a tiny nod. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I echo. I step closer to her, gently griping her wrist. I lower my mouth to the corner of hers. She’s frozen. I’m not sure she’s even breathing. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I don’t know what made me do that.”
“It’s okay,” she says stepping away from me. “I think it’s normal to mistake real and not real when you’re pretending to be a couple.”
“Sure,” I mutter, edging closer to the door. “You’re right.” The air feels thick with something I can’t decipher. “I’ll see you later.”
I slip out the door, heading down the hall to the elevator.
“What were you thinking?” I mutter to myself.
I pull out my phone and quickly make the arrangements with a massage therapist. The entire ride down in the elevator I can’t stop thinking about what a colossal idiot I am, leaning in and kissing her like that. Sure, it wasn’t fully on the lips, but it was still a kiss. Sort of.
I’ve never been this unbalanced before.
When it comes to women, I’m always confident and never confused. But Whimsy has completely turned me upside down and inside out. By the time I make it to the bar where Noah sits waiting, already nursing a drink, I’ve managed to work myself up even more instead of chilling the fuck out.
Noah takes one look at me, brows knitting, and asks, “What has that stressed look on your face?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I gripe, signaling the bartender.
If Jackson saw me right now, he’d probably drag my ass back to my room. I can do some stupid shit when I’m drunk, but I only plan on having a drink. Two max.
Noah chuckles, wrapping his fingers around his glass. “Nice try. We’re talking about it.”
I frown, but I’m saved from saying anything else for the moment by the bartender. I order and Noah gives me a reprieve until my glass is in front of me.
“What has you all twisted up in knots? Come on, tell dear old Noah.”
“Old is right,” I gripe.
“Hey.” He punches my shoulder.
I laugh, rubbing my arm. “You’re the one that said it first,” I defend. “How’d you get away from Sabrina and Maddie? You three are a package deal.”
He sighs, taking a sip of his drink. “They’re having a girl’s night with your sister. Hair, facials, nails—the whole shebang. I’m barred from the room until…” He looks at his phone. “Ten o’clock.”
I shake my head and make a whipping sound. “You’re whipped, dude.”
He sighs but can’t hide his smile. “I am and I love it.”
Noah lost his wife to cancer years ago. We weren’t friends at the time, but I knew the loss affected him deeply. It’s been nice to see him find love again.
He eyes me up and down. “Don’t think you’ve successfully deflected me.” He arches a brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
I know how he is and he’s not going to let this go easily. I raise a finger in warning. “You can’t tell Sabrina about this. I mean it.”
