Page 142 of Drop Shot

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“Are you still going to love me if I’m not a famous tennis player?”

I think he’s joking at first and laugh, but when he doesn’t react, I realize he’s serious. I sit up, hands planted on his chest and stare down at him. My hair forms a curtain around us.

“Elias—the fact you’re a professional tennis player is probably dead last on my list of reasons I love you.” I trace my finger down the slope of his nose. “I love you for so many other reasons—like the way you love your family, and the way you look out for me, and how you remember tiny things like my comment about my eyeliner but make it a big thing by learning how to do it.Youare special. Tennis is just your job.”

I’m surprised when a single tear tracks down his cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

I wipe the tear away and he leans his head into my palm, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there.

“I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you so much, Whimsy. I think I loved you before I knew that’s what it was.”

I settle back down in my previous spot with my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me and holds me.

It’s the most at peace I’ve ever felt in my life.

CHAPTER 46

ELIAS

A persistent bangingon the hotel room door wakes me. “What the fuck?” I groan, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

Whimsy comes awake, eyes wide and startled. “What is that?”

“Stay here.” I gesture for her to stay put in the bed. “Let me see what it is.”

It’s seven in the morning. Normally I would’ve been up by now, but I didn’t bother to set an alarm since I’m currently in a limbo state.

I check the peep hole and mutter, “It’s Jackson.”

“Jackson?” she sputters. “What is he doing here?”

“Let’s find out.” I open the door, not at all embarrassed for my manager to find me in boxer-briefs. He’s seen me in far worse situations in prior times.

“What’s going on?” I ask when he barrels past me.

He plants his hands on his hips. “Have you checked your phone at all since yesterday evening?”

I rub the back of my head. “No.” I stifle a yawn. “Should I have?”

“Yes,” he groans. “You exhaust me. Hey, Whimsy,” he greets my girlfriend and I appreciate he keeps his eyes averted from her even though she’s in a t-shirt. He scoops up the remote and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels until he lands on Tennis Network.

My eyes widen at the headline on the bottom of the screen.

MULTIPLE FEMALE TENNIS PLAYERS HAVE MADE ALLEGATIONS AGAINST TRAGER PACEY.

“What the fuck?” I blurt.

“Just listen.” Jackson turns up the volume.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I listen to the journalist. No names are given, they just say that thanks to me coming forward with what I had to say about Trager, they felt comfortable to come forward as well.

“It makes me sick no one felt safe to say anything until I did. It shouldn’t take a man saying something for women to be believed.”

“I know,” Whimsy agrees. “Let’s just be glad they finally felt safe to do it—regardless of the reason.”

I know what she’s getting at, but it still frustrates me.