Page 29 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

Catalina and I were training our asses off to prepare for today, and I feel surprisingly ready to play doubles with her.

My anxiety levels are lower than they’ve ever been before a match, and I know it’s because she’s with me.

We’re in this together, and if we lose, which we won’t, we’ll do that together.

Knowing I’m not alone, that I’m with the woman I have feelings for, puts me at ease.

Papá and Charlie helped us warm up already, so now we’re making our way to the court where we’ll be playing today. Catalina has been characteristically quiet, but I can’t stop talking to her.

“I’m so excited to play doubles with you.

We’re going to win this tournament. Oh, also, you should refrain from doing any overhead smashes and instead leave the ball to me as long as your back isn’t at a hundred percent.

I wanted to tell you that earlier, but I forgot.

And—” I cut off when I see the amusement sparkling in her eyes.

“Santi, take a deep breath. I know you’re excited, but I’m going to need you to slow down before you make my heart race any more than it already does thanks to the sight of your arms,” she says, placing a hand on my arm and squeezing it.

Appreciating it. “This outfit was a horrible choice if I’m supposed to not drool for the whole match. ”

Excitement unfurls inside of me.

“Cata, are you flirting with me again?” I ask, nudging her shoulder with mine.

“I can’t seem to stop,” she replies, shaking her head as I grin down at her.

“Well, the same goes for your outfit. I won’t be able to focus when you’re in front of me,” I admit and watch a smug look take over her features.

Catalina truly looks devastating in her outfit.

Spin has outdone themselves once more, having put her in a dark blue skirt with a matching top, but the top is tight around her chest, and the bottom flows beautifully around her trained, thick thighs.

My girl is a masterpiece, made to perfection and then some, and her biggest sponsor has a way of always highlighting that very idea.

For the next tournament, I’ll have to speak to New Light and see if they’d ask Spin to collab on outfits for Cata and me because not matching with her, wearing a different shade of blue, is annoying me.

“Well, you’re going to have to focus because if we lose this, I’ll post an embarrassing picture I took of you during one of our flights. Mouth open, eye mask on, drool coming from the corner of your mouth,” she says, and I let out an exasperated gasp.

“First of all, I don’t drool. Second of all, if you do that, I’ll start wearing shirts with sleeves,” I reply, making her chuckle.

“Fine, fine. Let’s not resort to such drastic measures.”

My laughter dies out when we’re called to the court, the entire arena welcoming us with loud cheers and applause.

I wave at all of them with a smile, and Cata does the same, but hers looks a little more forced than mine feels.

I know she has a tough time with this amount of attention, so I take her hand, squeezing it comfortingly as we make our way to the seating area where we’re supposed to put our bags.

Towels are waiting for us there, but Cata and I always bring our own, given to us by our sponsors.

Catalina places her hand on my bicep for several seconds after she releases my hand, showing her gratitude without speaking a single word.

The mixed doubles players Cata and I are opposing today are Frederic Boutine and Inaya Klatz.

They’ve been playing doubles for a year, so they’re a bit more practiced than Cata and me, but we’re the better players, at least individually.

Who am I kidding? We were undefeatable when we played together as kids, and we’ve only gotten better in our game since.

We practiced, and it’s like we fell back into a comfortable rhythm.

We’ve got this.

We do all of the pre-match activities, flipping the coin, warming up, and so on, before the match finally starts. I’m serving first, which means Cata will be at the net for this first game. She’s fantastic at volleys, so I’m confident this will be easy to get through.

“Okay, so Inaya plays with a lot of topspin, but Frederic hits the balls flatter.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” I reply, walking to the back with her to put our towels down. “His backhand is very inconsistent,” I add.

“Her backhand is really strong. We should stay away from giving her that shot,” Catalina replies, following me to the baseline.

“Got it. I’ll serve to her forehand.”

Cata lingers next to me for a tense second, not entirely sure if she should simply walk to her spot or do something else.

So, while Inaya and Frederic still make their way to their spots, I place a hand on her left hip, lean down, and press a soft kiss to her cheek.

The crowd cheers, and I immediately grin because they’re supporting us and our relationship exactly how we’d hoped they would.

Our plan is working. No one has mentioned my playboy ways in months, and Catalina’s scandal is long forgotten, replaced by conversations of how dedicated we are to each other.

“We’ve got this,” I say, squeezing her hip once more before releasing her.

The way she smiles makes me so happy.

A smile born out of a sweet gesture of mine.

I love her smile so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it, and not only because it’s rare and I don’t get to see it often.

I don’t think I’ll ever get enough because Catalina’s smile reminds me of all the good things in the world.

It reminds me of my childhood, a time when she gave it to me so freely.

It reminds me of what I hope my future will look like, a life filled with her smiles.

It takes me several ball bounces to ignore how gorgeous Cata looks as she gets into position at the net.

It takes several more to swallow down my fear of accidentally hitting her.

Only then do I manage to serve a perfect shot down the center line.

Frederic is on it, though, and returns it to me.

We rally back and forth until ultimately, he hits the ball to Cata, and she puts it away with so much force, neither of our opponents manages to get it.

I stand behind her, shocked into place by her amazing shot. A smile curls the corners of my mouth, and when she turns around to catch me being so surprised, she smirks and winks my way.

This woman is going to bring me to my fucking knees, and I will enjoy every second of it.

The match flies by.

Our serves are consistent. Our shots are well placed most of the time. Everything is going absolutely flawlessly. We communicate well. We listen to each other. We build a strategy that has us on top of the game.

Even though I knew Cata and I would do well, I didn’t expect that we’d win the first set six games to two and then the second one six games to three. But as she serves again, she places it wide and in the corner, earning us our first win as doubles partners since we were kids.

I spin on my heels just in time to see her run my way, jumping into my arms. I catch her with ease because I was made for this woman, I truly believe that, and she wraps her arms around my neck.

A victorious laugh escapes her lips, pure happiness consuming both of us as we take home this first victory.

I know people will probably have a lot to say about how we’re celebrating, making such a big ordeal out of nothing. But this is important for us. It’s a demonstration of our power, of our ability as doubles partners to return and play such a strong match.

Cata releases me too quickly, but I have no time to be disappointed by it because after shaking our opponents’ hands, as expected, she skips toward her bag, the sight too fucking adorable to mind.

I join her, both of us getting ready to be interviewed and then leave for the press conference after, cool down, and more.

I’m not as physically exhausted as I would be after a three-set match, potentially five, and I hope Cata feels the same.

“How’s your back?” I ask, placing a hand on it and rubbing the small of it with my hand.

“It feels good, Santi. Really good,” she replies, wiping her face with one of the towels. She’s not wearing a speck of makeup, and I can’t describe how devastatingly beautiful I think she is, especially when she’s all sweaty and happy from a match well played.

“Can I hold your hand while we do the interview?” I find myself asking, and Cata wastes no time flinging her bag around her shoulder to take my hand.

“You’re a very needy man,” she says, pulling me toward the interviewer.

“Only when it comes to you.” I know she’s rolling her eyes, even if all I can see is the back of her head.

“Everybody, let’s give the couple of tennis a warm round of applause,” the interviewer says, and the entire arena fills the space around us with more applause.

“You two played a fantastic match. You had the strategy, the skill, and the communication to dominate today. Did you think you’d be playing this well during your first match back? ”

Catalina looks up at me, probably because I’m almost vibrating from excitement to answer this question. She gives me a nod, as if to say “go ahead,” and I waste no time doing so.

“I had no doubts. Catalina and I have been playing doubles since we were kids, and we’ve been training together all season as hitting partners.

I know her tennis inside out, I’ve been studying it her whole career, and I think we fit really well together, on and off the court.

” I’m rambling, but there is no stopping my words.

Not even as I admit something I lied to her about when we first met up before the season began.

“That’s sweet. Catalina, you looked fantastic out there.

Confident, strong. There were no signs your back was bothering you today.

Can we take that as a good sign that you’ll be back to playing singles matches soon?

” the interviewer goes on, and I give Cata a proud look as she steps toward the microphone a little.

“Absolutely. I’ll be back in no time, and it’ll be to win my first Grand Slam,” she says, and the crowd explodes into another round of cheers.

They love her so much. They always have. Catalina is the kind of person you can’t help but fall for, and it shows in their support.

It shows in my feelings for her.

The interviewer wraps up their questions, and Catalina and I make our way to where Charlie and Papá are waiting to go through our post-match procedures with us.

But before we reach them, she drags me into a private room, a bathroom, because there are cameras pretty much everywhere else in this area, and gives me a serious look.

“Were you telling the truth out there? You’ve been watching me play all this time?” She isn’t angry. There is something akin to hope filtering through her eyes, and her features have softened immensely.

Without hesitation, I raise my hands to cup her cheeks, taking her face in them to keep her eyes on me as I tell her something I should have told her a long time ago.

“In my eyes, you are the best tennis player in the world. I’m in awe of you. I've been in awe of you for over a decade. You inspire me to be better, even when it was more rivalry than anything else.”

I take a step toward her, bringing my chest flush against hers. Hers is rising and falling so quickly, I wish I knew why. Does she want to kiss me again? Does she want more? Are my feelings too much for her?

“I’m sorry I lied to you about that. I—” She cuts me off.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was a tiny lie, and we were still angry with each other at the time,” she says, attempting to avoid my gaze, but I hold her in place.

“It may have been tiny, but I’m still sorry I ever made you feel like I haven’t been paying attention to you since we met.

Because I have.” I take a deep breath before saying something I never thought I’d say.

“Cata, not a day has passed in the last decade that I haven’t thought about you in some capacity.

Every time I pick up a tennis racket, I think about you.

I think about you during highly inappropriate moments.

I think about you when I shouldn’t, when I don’t want to. ”

Our mouths keep getting closer. Our breaths are becoming one. But I won’t kiss her unless she really wants me to, and she knows that.

It’s why she doesn’t move away.

She trusts me.

She trusts me.

“I think about you when I shouldn’t, too,” she admits, her voice hardly more than a whisper, but she might as well have screamed it for how loudly I hear her words.

“I’ve been thinking about you even more in the last four months.

And I can’t stop. I don’t think I want to.

” She grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me even more against her.

“Kiss me, Santiago. Kiss me until I can finally stop thinking about your lips on mine.”

She’s barely done speaking when I press my mouth to hers.

I hold back a sigh because I don’t want her to hear how desperately I’ve been craving another taste of her.

But considering how fervently I kiss her, she probably knows.

She can probably taste it on my tongue. I want her so badly, and she’s allowing me this, another piece of her.

I’ll take every single one she offers me.