Page 25 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

A day before my final in the Argentinian Open, Catalina left for her tournament in Dubai.

She won it a few days after I lost the Argentinian Open, but I couldn’t be with her because directly after that tournament, I flew to Rio for the next one.

She came afterward to join me, sitting in my box, as promised, for the final.

Perhaps it’s superstition—I’m an athlete after all, it’s practically part of the job description to have some superstitions—but whenever she’s around, I seem to win tournaments.

When she’s not, I lose them. It’s pure coincidence, rationally I know that, but I’d much rather believe Catalina truly is my lucky charm.

Mi mariquita.

We haven’t spent any alone time together because we’ve been apart for the past couple of weeks, but for the next two tournaments, the Indian Wells Open and Miami Open , Cata and I will be together the whole time.

We’re both taking part in them, which means I can finally take her on another date either before or in between the tournaments.

Depends on when she’s available and if she wants to see me.

Fuck, I hope she wants to see me.

“I swear, this whole relationship thing is a fucking joke,” Manu says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“What happened?” I ask, surprised by her willingness to speak to me at the moment something is frustrating her instead of keeping it all down until she’s figured out what’s wrong and how she’s feeling exactly.

“I don’t know. Ever since we broke up, Madalena has been texting me, sending me all of these sad videos.

I don’t even understand why she’s still texting me.

She’s the one who broke up with me , not the other way around,” she explains, flopping down on the bed in her hotel room.

She’s also in California for the tournament, playing doubles with her partner Alessandra.

“Maybe she regrets it?” I ask, but in truth, I have no fucking clue why people do what they do in relationships. I don’t even know why I’m acting the way I am at the moment, and my relationship is fake.

“Whatever. It’s time I finally block her anyway. She doesn’t deserve another second of my time.”

My sister’s determination is followed by some angry tapping on her screen before she throws the phone at the head of the bed and falls backward until she’s lying down. Grabbing a pillow, she places it over her head and screams into it, all of her frustration coming out with the sound.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” I ask, nudging her knee with mine where it’s hanging over the edge of her bed.

“No, go train with Catalina.” Manuela sits up and wipes her face.

“And do me a favor, Santiago. Don’t fuck it up again.

She may forgive you once, somewhen down the line, but Lina is not the type of person to forgive an idiot twice,” she says, making a wave of panic and dread shoot through me at the thought of Catalina never forgiving me, never letting me in again.

“If she even forgives me once.”

It’s the last thing I say before kissing the top of her head and walking out her room, the urge to see Cata and make her smile today taking over.

With every day we spend together, I know we’re getting closer. I know her anger fades more. It irritates her that it’s fading, I know that, but I have no intention of making another stupid mistake like last time.

Today, my breathtaking girl is wearing a shirt that says, “Member of Santiago Castillo’s Ass’ Fan Club.”

“Catalina Sanchez, are you flirting with me?” I ask when I read it, the brightest of smiles taking over my face. This is the first shirt she’s ever worn around me that has anything remotely flirty on it, and I’m having a hard time keeping back a very excited laugh.

“Charlie had this made for me, and I thought it was too funny not to wear,” she explains, but a smile tugs up the right corner of her mouth.

“You wore it because it’s true. You don’t wear shirts with messages on them if you don’t agree with them or if they don’t apply to you,” I point out, and Cata rolls her lips, obviously trying to hold back a full-faced smile.

“What can I say, Santi? You have a phenomenal ass.” She picks up her racket, spinning it once in her hand. The smirk on my face makes her blush. “Stop looking at me like that,” she says and swats my forearm, but it’s a gentle touch despite her irritation with me.

“You are free to touch it any time you’d like. How’s right now?” I ask and take a step toward her, so giddy from this playful conversation.

It feels like she's taken a hundred steps toward me emotionally, and I’m so pleasantly surprised, I can’t stop grinning. I truly thought being apart for weeks would make her drift away from me.

The opposite has happened.

“You’re impossible, Santi,” she says and shakes her head, still blushing.

Cata stares at the toe of her shoe, suddenly a bit shy, and I can’t help but tilt her head up to make her look at me again.

“Did you miss me, carino ?” Her gaze drops to my lips, and she swallows hard as she forcefully drags it back to my eyes.

“Like a sunburnt person misses the sun,” she replies, making me chuckle.

“Come on, tell me the truth. Did you? Just a little?” I caress her jaw, loving the way her eyes fall shut a little instead of the way she used to avoid my touch at all costs.

“A little,” she admits.

Hope blooms in my chest.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave because of how much she affects me.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve missed you too, Catalina.”

My thumb runs over her bottom lip, tracing its shape because I can’t kiss her again. Not until she tells me she wants it too. Not until she makes the first move.

“Let’s train,” she says and pokes at my stomach, trying to get me to move away. My hand drops from her face. Her body language and words are enough to tell me she wants distance now. I take a step back, grabbing my racket.

“Alright, but take it easy on me. I still haven’t recovered from the knowledge of you loving my ass.” She uses her racket head to poke me in the side, making me burst into laughter.

Catalina doesn’t respond, but I don’t speak again either. I simply watch her walk away, my eyes trailing down her muscular back, the curve of her ass, and finally her thick, trained thighs.

It’s a vicious cycle that I’m putting myself through whenever I’m around her.

Admire her.

Remember I can’t have her in any other way than as a fake girlfriend.

Realize how beautiful she is.

Recalling the pain in her face when she told me why she doesn’t like me anymore.

Over and over, like a merry-go-round, my thoughts repeat themselves, but I also can’t tear my eyes off her.

I can’t stop thinking about ways to make it up to her.

I’m planning dates to take her on in my head, and while, for now, I can justify it as part of our fake relationship, what the fuck am I going to do by the end of this season?

When she’ll walk away and leave me in her rearview mirror?

Catalina and I train in silence for an hour.

Papá and Charlie join eventually, watching us train and adjusting our stances and swings every now and then.

We listen to our coaches the whole time, but even though Cata has adjusted, has taken my feedback into consideration, one of the worst things in the world happens.

Cata screams in pain.

Right as she twists to hit her forehand, her strongest shot, she cries out, dropping her racket and sinking to her knees.

“Fuck!” she calls out, but I’m already sprinting toward her, jumping over the net and dropping my racket to get to her. Charlie is by my side as I bend down to take Cata’s hand in mine, my heart dropping when I see the tears run down her face.

She’s choking for breath, which only causes more panic to slice through me.

“Charlie, what do we do?” I ask, my body shaking in fear.

“Catalina, you need to breathe through it,” Charlie replies, ignoring me.

“Can’t,” she cries, arching her back as if she’s looking for any position that will make her feel less pain.

“She’s had this before. Her back is in spasm from her overusing it. We have to roll her onto her stomach so I can gently massage the area,” they explain, and I shift until my ass is flat on the court, position myself so Catalina can put her head on my legs.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, but she’s breathing heavily, obviously still in immense pain.

“Put your head in my lap, carino . We will make you feel better,” I promise her, wiping a few strands of hair off her sweaty forehead.

“Santi, I’m so scared,” she admits, her fingers fisting my pants once she’s positioned in my lap.

“It’ll be okay. Everything will be fine,” I promise her, running a single hand over her hair.

“Deep breath, Lina,” Charlie says right before they start massaging Cata, making her cry in my lap.

Her hand finds one of mine, squeezing so hard, I fight back a grunt of pain.

“Breathe.” Their voice is firmer now, less asking and more demanding, and it makes the beautiful woman in my lap finally take a deep breath.

“That’s it, Cata,” I say, and her grip on me tightens as she curses me out several times.

It takes minutes until her back stops spasming, but she remains in my lap, letting me massage her head as Charlie runs to get a heating pack and an ice pack as well as painkillers and some sort of salve.

They also tell me they’re going to get Cata’s physiotherapist, who should be here at all times anyway.

It’s only because she trusts Charlie more than anyone and is so used to only having them around that she doesn’t ask her physio to be with her all the time.

I take her hair out of the ponytail it’s in to sift my fingers through it more easily, going back to massaging her scalp. Catalina doesn’t move, and I think she’s enjoying the way I’m touching her. I, on the other hand, am still too full of panic to appreciate the way she melts against me.

“How often does this happen, mariquita ?” I ask, running a hand over her forehead. I can only see the side of her face, but it’s enough for me to know she doesn’t want to tell me.

“Not often, only when I really overdo it. I think this was the fourth time now,” she says, and I reach down to run a single hand up and down her spine.

It’s a soft touch because I don’t want to hurt her and am also not remotely qualified enough to massage her properly. Charlie has some training in physiotherapy, but they also only did as much as they could given the information they probably had from the first three times this happened.

“I went to three different doctors, but they couldn’t help me. They told me to take things slow and deal with it with painkillers.”

I want to strangle all of those doctors.

“Catalina, I know you don’t want me to say it, but I think you have to take a break. You have to slow down.” As soon as the words have left my mouth, she sits up. She presses her lips together, probably to keep from screaming in pain. I try to help her, but she swats my hands away.

“I can’t. You know my goals for the season. How can I achieve them if I take a break?” When she tries to get up, I place a hand on her arm, stopping her.

“You don’t have to take a break. Maybe slowing down will be enough,” I say softly. She looks irritated, but not with me.

I think she’s frustrated with her body.

“What do you suggest?”

The answer lies on the tip of my tongue.

And it practically flies out of my mouth because this is what I want more than anything else at the moment.

I want to take the pressure and load off her shoulders.

I want to give her a way to keep playing, keep partaking in tournaments, while also allowing her to slow down a little.

And most of all, I want to prove to her that my career does not mean more to me than hers.

This is finally the way I can prove it to her.

“Play doubles with me in the next two tournaments.”