Page 34 of Drop Shot
“Blasphemous,” I mutter. “These are a must watch. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve seen them all.”
“I’m cool with that.”
My jaw drops a little. I’m beginning to think the real Elias got abducted by aliens and he’s been replaced with a doppelganger. It’s not that Elias isn’t a nice person, he is, but he’s also … a bit of a stereotypical party boy. I wouldn’t categorize him as a bad boy—even if the sports media likes to paint him as the bad boy of tennis. But he does like to party, and he certainly enjoys hooking up with women.
Sure, I know he can’t hook-up with other people right now, but he still doesn’t have to be in the safety of my apartment with me. There’s no one here to perform to as far as our fake relationship goes.
I’ve been enjoying his company, though, so I guess it’s not that crazy to assume he doesn’t mind mine either.
Maybe, when all this is said and done, we can be friends.
That’d be nice, I think.
As long as my crush disappears, but with the way he keeps hanging around I’m thinking that might be easier said than done.
CHAPTER 10
ELIAS
Whimsy falls asleep somewherein the middle of the third movie. I don’t try to wake her. I just let her sleep and rub her feet periodically when she gets restless.
Lupus.
I would’ve never guessed that she was dealing with something like that. I guess that’s why they call certain diseases invisible, because I was certainly oblivious. I know Whimsy doesn’t want my pity, and I don’t think that’s what it is, but I do wish I’d known sooner because there are things I wouldn’t have had her doing or I would’ve tried to be more conscious of how she was feeling and adjusted her work load accordingly.
I guess, with what I know of her, I shouldn’t be surprised she didn’t want any accommodations. She’s tenacious, so I can imagine she hates to let anything slow her down.
When the third movie ends, I go ahead and watch the next one without Whimsy waking up once. It ends and my stomach decides to remind me that it’s hungry since I skipped lunch. I ease off the couch, doing my best not to disturb Whimsy. She keeps on sleeping and Craig pads behind me into the kitchen. I could order takeout, but I decide to see what she has in her refrigerator since that’ll be healthier and I enjoy cooking. I figure Whimsy might enjoy a nice home-cooked meal tonight that she doesn’t have to prepare herself.
Her fridge is well stocked. I set out stuff to make a salad and find ingredients for chicken piccata. Craig hops up on one of the counter stools, judging me as I prepare everything.
I chop up the salad and mix-ins, because I’ve heard Whimsy say she prefers a chopped salad to any other. I have the time so I might as well oblige. I’m beginning to realize I’ve done a lot more listening to her likes and dislikes over the years than I thought I had.
I’m making the dressing when Whimsy sits straight up on the couch with a gasp.
“Fuck.” My hand flies to my racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She looks around with bleary, tired eyes. Her blond hair is a wild nest around her head and the pillow has left an imprint on the side of her face.
“What happened?” she asks, still looking from side to side. “Did I fall asleep?”
“Obviously,” I reply, hand to my heart, because it still hasn’t slowed from its accelerated state when she first sat straight up like something out of theExorcist.
She eases off the couch, her joints popping as she does. She lets out a groan as she stretches. Planting her hands on her hips, she surveys me from her position in front of the couch.
“And now you’re cooking dinner?”
“I skipped lunch so I got hungry,” I say defensively, clicking the tongs in my hand that I pulled out to mix the salad. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I ate the rest of your blueberry coffee cake.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I didn’t. Hence, why I’m cooking.”
She eases around the couch and into her small kitchen, eyeing the dishes.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
I grin, clacking the tongs again because I can’t help myself. “Aha! Finally! Something you don’t know about me.”
