Page 36 of Drop Shot
I settle back on the couch with a blanket and the cat in my lap.
The smart thing would be for me to go back to my own place, but I don’t want to be there right now. I like spending time with Whimsy and Craig. It makes me wonder why I didn’t spend more time with her before. I mean, we were together plenty, but it was … different.
The sound of the shower running carries out into this space. I hate that my thoughts go there but I can’t seem to help myself as I picture a naked and wet Whimsy in the shower.
What is wrong with me?
I’m not blind. I know Whimsy is attractive—insanely drop-dead beautiful if I’m being honest—but since she was my employee, I maintained a strictly professional relationship with her. Sure, I might’ve flirted some—I’m a natural flirt, I can’t always help it—but I was always careful to keep a clearly defined line between us. Whimsy proved quickly to be exceptional at her job. I wasn’t about to jeopardize that by sleeping with my assistant.
But she’s not my assistant anymore and sheismy fake-girlfriend.
The shower shuts off and it bursts my thoughts like a bubble. It’s not long before Whimsy rejoins us in a pair of soft looking lounge pants and matching long sleeve top. Her long blond hair is pulled back in a scrunchie, a few stray pieces falling loose to frame her face. I itch to reach out and touch it. To see if her hair is as soft as it looks, but I manage to keep my hands to myself.
I start the next movie. She doesn’t comment on the fact that I’ve basically taken over her television. But she’s the one who suggested the movie marathon in the first place.
When the movie finishes, I purse my lips. Laughter bubbles out of the woman at my side and I swing my gaze her way.
I arch a brow. “What?”
“You hated this one.”
My lips press together, humming thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say I hated it, but in all honestly, it’s my least favorite.”
“Same,” she agrees, queueing up the final movie. Although, I guess it’s not actually the final since she’s informed me a new one is coming soon. “Do you want some popcorn?”
“I can get it.”
She rolls her eyes. “My joints are sore but I’m not bedridden. It’ll be good for me to get up and stretch.”
“All right. I’ll use your bathroom then.”
She waves me on with a soft gesture of her fingers.
When I enter her bathroom, it doesn’t escape my notice that she’s tucked her prescription bottles out of sight. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so nosy, but I was genuinely worried.
Her bathroom smells good and I’m not sure if it’s from her hair products or a body wash. I’m tempted to pull her products out and do a sniff test, but I know that would bereallyweird.
I pee and wash my hands, rejoining her in the kitchen. The popcorn still spins in the microwave, and she’s pulled out a tub of ice cream and toppings.
She blushes when she catches me eyeing up the spread. “I wanted ice cream. I’m having a bad day, so I deserve a sweet treat.”
I raise my hands innocently. “I’m not judging.”
“No,” she agrees. “But you probably never indulge in ice cream.” Hands on her hips, she eyes her spread. “You know what would be great with this ice cream?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Fresh chocolate chip cookies.” The next thing I know Whimsy is pulling out a yellow-colored tub from the refrigerator. “Can you grab my cookie sheet?” She points to a cabinet.
I open the one she indicates and easily find it. The kitchen might be small, but it’s kept impeccably organized. I pass it over and she gets to work dropping little balls of dough onto the surface.
“Could you make some extra cookies for me?” I ask and I hope I don’t sound like a little kid begging their mom to stop for a happy meal on the way home.
She arches a brow. “Seriously?” I nod. “Hell yeah.” She adds more plops of cookie dough onto the surface.
When the oven has finished preheating, she slides the pan in and then turns to snag a handful of popcorn.
I know I shouldn’t be enjoying myself as much as I am, but I can’t help it. Whimsy is such a light. She’s pure happiness and sunshine brilliance in a person.
“You do eat sweets then?” She crosses her arms over chest, assessing me.
“Not often, but yes. I’m lucky I’ve never had a big, sweet tooth. I did scarf down that coffee cake, remember?”
