Page 93 of Drop Shot
“No?” he repeats, stunned. He pulls his hand from my face. “Right.” His head drops. “This is a job. That’s all.”
“No.” I shake my head rapidly. “No, it’s just…” How can I tell him about the crush? That if he broke my heart, it would be devastating? I’m just trying to protect myself. “Ilikeyou. You know I do, but like we said at the club, we can’t do this. I thought you understood that?”
I feel like crying having to let him down like this, but I know it’s what I have to do.
Elias scoots away from me and those few inches feel like a mile. “Right. Yeah.” He looks down. “Forget I said anything?” I detect a quiver of embarrassment in his voice. “I’m tired is all.”
“Tired,” I repeat. “Totally. Makes sense.”
We’re both so full of shit.
“I’ll … uh … sleep on the couch.”
“And have your sister and her asinine boyfriend think we fucked each other’s brains out and then what? Had a fight?”
He sighs. “Good point.”
We roll over to opposite sides of the small bed. I clutch my dinosaur to my chest and squish my eyes shut, willing sleep to come.
CHAPTER 30
ELIAS
“Jesus Christ!”Noah ducks out of the way of my serve. “Are you trying to kill me?”
I ignore him and pull another ball from pocket. I volunteered to be his hitting partner today. I needed the cathartic release after my own practice where I stewed the entire time over Whimsy.
I told her I wanted to make things real, and she said no.
I can tell she likes me as more than a friend, so I can’t figure out why she’s so hesitant to give this a real shot. Maybe I’m delusional, but I don’t think her reservations come from a place of fear over her income. It’s something else. Something deeper.
I serve again and Noah hits the ball back over the net. I’m there in an instant, sliding over the clay and reaching out my racket to smack the ball after it makes the first bounce.
Back and forth we go.
I’m aware I’m playing way too hard and aggressive. This isn’t a match. But I can’t seem to stop myself.
Fisher yells out, “Enough!” and when the ball returns to Noah he doesn’t hit it back over the net.
Fisher might be Noah’s coach, but he storms his way over to me. He’s the same age as Noah and probably could’ve outplayed all of us if he hadn’t gotten a career ending injury early on.
Fisher stops in front of me. I expect to see anger on his face, but instead I’m shocked to find worry there instead.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in a surprisingly gentle voice.
I suck my cheeks in and lift my right foot, smacking my shoe with my racket to dislodge some of the clay and then doing the same with the left. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit.” His hands settle on his hips. “Something’s clearly going on. You look like you’re out here asking for an injury and you’re already operating on a compromised knee. Like it or not, you need to be careful and that was the furthest thing from it. You’re done for the day.”
“What?” I blanch.
The last thing I want to do is go back to that Parisian apartment and have to see Whimsy. In fact, Keaton would be a welcome sight after last night.
“You’re. Done. For. The. Day.” He enunciates every word. “Grab a water, go shower, and get something to eat. I mean it.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You have to take care of yourself. Your body is your tool. We don’t need you beating yourself up out here in practice. Got it?”
I nod woodenly and join Noah on the sidelines. He passes me a bottle of water that’s dripping from the melting ice in the cooler. We both lean back and take slow sips of the liquid.
“It’s something with Whimsy that’s got your panties in a twist?” Noah probes.
