Page 31 of Drop Shot
Elias: NO.
Elias: I’m bored. Do you want to hang out?
Me: I’m tired.
Elias: I am too. We could be tired together.
Me: Don’t you have practice or anything?
Elias: Rest day. Come on, Whim. I’m lonely.
Me: You can come here but don’t expect me to move from the couch. Got it?
Elias: I’m okay with that. See you in 20.
I look over at Craig. “This is weird, right?” I ask her.
She gives a non-committal meow.
As promised, twenty minutes later Elias is at my front door. Unlike what I promised, I have to move from the couch to open the door for him. The only saving grace is the iced coffee he brings me.
“Craig!” The giant tennis player crouches down with open arms toward my cat.
Craig, the treacherous wench that she is, jumps from the couch with a meow and runs straight for him.
Rolling my eyes, I shut the door. “I swear you line your pockets with catnip,” I snipe.
“You wish.” He stands with Craig cradled under his arm. “I also brought you this.”
A bag dangles from the index finger of the hand that’s holding his own cup of coffee.
I ease the bag off his finger and take it over to the counter while he makes himself cozy on my couch.
So much for my solo day of relaxing, but it’s kind of cute that he wants to be here.
But also, kind of weird.
It’s not like we have anyone inside my apartment to convince we’re dating.
I take the box out of the bag and gasp when I open the lid. The blueberry coffee cake is my favorite thing in the whole world, but the bakery near our favorite coffee shop is always sold out by the time I get there.
“How did you manage this?” I gasp, scrambling for a fork. It’s still warm. He glances at me over the back of the couch. “They sell out so early.”
He shrugs, sipping his coffee before he answers. “I know the owner.”
I pause with my first bite halfway to my mouth. “How?”
“Because, despite what you think, I do frequent places on my own at times.”
“And how did you know this was my favorite?” I ask, trying to sift through my memory for when I might’ve mentioned the coffee cake to him and coming up empty.
“I listen when you talk,” he says with a little shrug. “You brought me coffee one day and you mentioned how sad you were to not get one of these.”
“And you remembered?” I stare at this man in disbelief. He can’t even remember to restock his toilet paper or reply to emails.
“I did,” he confirms. “Is that so unbelievable?”
“Yeah, it kinda is.”
