Page 58 of Drop Shot
Clearing my throat, I roll away from him and sit up. “I’m going to head up to bed.”
He rises up, using his elbows as support. “Is everything okay?” His eyes practically caress my skin as he checks on me.
“Everything is fine.” I stand, making sure not to get my feet tangled in the bottom of the blanket. “Just tired is all.”
I scurry away, fleeing like a frightened animal as I hurry into the house away from him.
The only problem is I can’t outrun my feelings.
CHAPTER 18
ELIAS
A car waitsoutside to take us to the event. I could’ve easily driven us, and I mentioned that, but Jackson said to take the car.
I tug on the sleeves of my tux and then at the collar. The evening hasn’t even begun and I already feel like I’m suffocating. I’m unfortunately all too used to having to dress up, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
“Elias,” my mom scolds, her Swedish accent thicker with her annoyance. “Tug on that collar one more time and I’ll tape your fingers together.”
“Sorry, Mama.” I press a kiss to her cheek.
She rolls her eyes and swats at my chest. “Even as a little boy you’d give me that cheeky dimpled smile and get away with everything.”
I shrug. “I can’t help it that I’m so charming.”
She wags a finger at me. “Just wait until it’s your child one day.”
She’s said similar things to me in the past and I never lingered on it, but for some reason this time an image of a little girl with blond hair like Whimsy’s and my brown eyes pops in my head. It’s a crazy thought—especially considering this isn’t fucking real.
I shake my head like my brain is an etch-a-sketch and I can just erase the image from my mind, but it’s still there and this time the little girl smiles with dimples just like mine.
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my jaw.
“You seem stressed,” my mom notes.
“I’m fine.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my tux, my shoulders practically dragging up to my ears. I never like these things, but maybe Whimsy being there with me will make it bearable.
She looks me over and makes a clucking noise before heading toward the living area where my dad is gearing up a movie for them to watch.
“Whim,” I call up the stairs. “We gotta go. The car has already been here ten minutes.”
I look at the watch on my wrist—a ridiculously expensive Rolex I was given for PR.
“Just a second,” she calls.
Ebba has been up there too, helping her get ready, and more than likely talking her ear off.
It’s not that I really care if we’re late, but the sooner I get there the sooner I can leave.
I’m turned toward the front door when I hear the sound of Whimsy’s heels hit the hallway floor upstairs. My body moves automatically to watch, waiting with bated breath for her to appear at the top of the stairs.
She’s stunning.
Her skin practically glows from within. Her blond hair is curled but pulled back in a low ponytail with hair wrapped around where an elastic would normally be. The dress is sleeveless and floor length in a warm shade of pink with flowers. It looks beautiful on her.
I swear her cheeks pinken beneath my stare, but it’s probably just the makeup on her cheeks.
