Page 9 of Drop Shot
“What about you?” I ask.
“Probably the same.” He stretches and I have to look away because I’m scared the arm porn might give me a heart attack. “My parents are here and my sister.”
“It’s nice that you’re so close.”
Elias’s sister, Ebba, travels with him to almost every city. Now that she’s dating someone it’s been less often lately, but at least for the summer she plans to hit all the tournaments Elias attends.
“I’m pretty sure Ebba would club me over the back of the head before she let us drift apart,” he jokes, lowering his arms. “What about your sister? You mentioned she named Craig. Are you close? What’s her name?”
“Juniper,” I answer, smiling at the thought of her. “She’s thirteen now. My parents didn’t think they could have any more kids after me and then surprise here’s Junie.”
“Whimsy and Junie,” he muses.
“What can I say? My parents have interesting taste in names.” I stand from the couch and eye the traitor that is my cat curled fast asleep in Elias’s lap.
With a sigh, he sets her gently aside and stands. He carefully folds my blanket and returns it to the spot on the couch. There’s something about the careful care in which he cares for my cat and the blanket that I find insanely attractive. He’s not just discarding my cat and my stuff like he’s too good for them.
“I better get going. It’s getting late.”
I crack my fingers. “Okay.”
We stand across from each other, only about a foot of space separating us, and neither of us seems capable of looking away, let alone moving.
“I’ll … uh … text you about the date thing.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He nods too, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m gonna go.”
“You already said that.”
He laughs and that seems to break the spell as he turns toward my door. “See you later, Whim.”
“Bye,” I say, but he’s already gone.
I lock up the door and turn around to find Craig staring back at me with wide blue eyes.
I wag my finger at her. “Don’t say a word.”
“Meow.”
“Yeah,” I groan. “I like him too. That’s the problem.”
CHAPTER 3
ELIAS
When I openmy eyes the next morning the first thing I do is pick up my phone to text Whimsy. I need coffee from my favorite place as soon as possible and I need to see if she can schedule me a few much-needed appointments while I’m in Miami since I’ve been putting it off.
I’ve already typed out half of the message when I catch myself.
Whimsy is not my assistant anymore.
She’s my girlfriend.
Fake-girlfriend.
But fake feels like a relative term considering how we’re going to have to play this.
