Page 6 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

Rules made by Charlie and Papá:

Convince the world you’re dating/don’t hate each other by spending lots of time together where people can see you.

Attend each other’s games. All of them.

No fighting or bickering in public. Hold it in until you’re alone and somewhere private.

Training comes first, above everything else.

Mandatory private dinners at least once a week.

Rules made by Cata and me:

None.

We’ve been staring at each other all evening while she avoided making conversation by scowling at me whenever she caught me staring at her.

To be fair, I haven’t tried talking to her either.

I never know how to speak to her without making her angry.

I guess that comes with the territory of having despised each other for so long.

Part of me also likes simply looking at Cata. She’s just so… beautiful isn’t a strong enough term. Breathtaking doesn’t quite fit either.

Extraordinary.

Exquisite.

Enchanting.

“Would you stop staring at me? You invited me here to talk. So, talk,” she says, those blue eyes of hers searching my face as if she’d find answers there instead of having to hear me speak.

My bunny, Tornado—named this way because whenever I get home, he hops in circles like a tornado—is curled up on Cata’s lap, getting petted and purring happily.

“We have to make rules,” I remind her, the breath catching in my throat when she leans back against the arm of my couch and stretches her arms into the air, all of her curves and muscles displayed with the simple motion.

Exquisite is definitely the best word to describe Catalina.

She sucks in a sharp breath and lowers her arm again, holding her shoulder with a grimace on her face.

Tornado looks up at Cata, so unhappy she stopped giving him attention that he hops off her lap to move to his area that I set up in the living room with his bed, toys, water, and anything else he needs.

“What’s with your shoulder?”

“Nothing, cabrón . Let’s make these stupid rules.” She lets go of her shoulder and refocuses on my face.

“One rule has to be that you can’t call me that in public. You need a nicer way to address me.” She frowns like that’s the worst idea I’ve ever had.

“Like what?”

“Like guapo , hermoso , baby,” I suggest, but she makes a face at the last one.

“I’d rather call you anything else,” she says and takes her glass of water from the table beside us. I chuckle at her grumpy attitude, but she flashes me another deathly glare.

“How about bebé ?” She scrunches her nose up in disgust and shakes her head.

“No.” Silence engulfs us for a moment when another nickname pops into my head.

“How about ‘ mi corazón ’? Since you don’t have a heart, it could never be true,” I offer, and, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was fighting off a smile. The corner of her mouth twitches as if it wants to curl upward, and it would if she were in the presence of anyone but me.

“Fine. What will you call me?” she asks as she picks up her bottle of water and takes a long sip.

“ Eres mi mariquita ,” I reply, hoping it’ll bring out her smile. I see it so rarely, but it’s by far the most stunning one I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

She keeps it under lock and key once more.

“Okay, rule two, you can’t glare at me in public like I’m your worst enemy,” I remind her, and Cata gives an agreeing nod.

“I know, Santiago. We don’t have to make a rule for that.

I’m as likely to frown at you as I am to bite your head off, but you wouldn’t make that a rule either, would you?

” she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest and watching me with so much distaste, the temperature in the room cools by several degrees.

Oh, to get a full smile from Cata.

It must be sunshine incarnate.

“I don’t know, maybe I should. You do frighten me,” I say with a grin. That finally brings the smallest of smirks to her lips.

“Good. So, rule number three: Don’t bite off Santi’s head.

” I burst into laughter, grabbing the notebook and pen I had placed on the coffee table in front of the couch earlier.

After scribbling down our first three rules, I turn back to Cata, who’s already watching me with something akin to fascination.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, putting the notebook and pen aside again and leaning forward to close the distance between us. Cata watches me but doesn’t move a centimeter.

“You find so many reasons to smile around me. Why? Is it to irritate me?” she asks, pointing at my smile to prove her point.

“I like smiling and laughing, whether you’re here doesn’t change that,” I explain, moving a little closer until my hand is hovering over her ankle.

Her breathing hitches a little as I run a single fingertip over the exposed skin between her yoga pants and socks.

“How do you feel about me touching you now?” I ask, my heart racing as I wait for her answer.

I don’t know why it races, why it hopes she doesn’t feel so appalled by it.

“I’m not sure,” she admits.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, already halting my movements.

“No.” It’s all the reassurance I need to keep going.

Cata watches my finger as it traces circles on the exposed skin by her ankle, not saying a thing.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, I trail it up her thigh, up the side of her upper body, up her arm, before finally bringing it to her face.

I wait for permission before I touch her there.

She gives me a strained nod, her eyes locked on mine as I cup her cheek.

She juts out her chin like she’s about to protest, to argue with me, but when I caress her cheek, rub my thumb over her cheekbone, her eyes flutter shut like she’s enjoying the sensation as much as I’m enjoying touching her.

Physical touch has always been my favorite way to express my feelings because I’m not good at voicing them.

As a matter of fact, I often say things and mean the complete opposite.

Her breathing hitches again, this time harder. Her chest rises and falls so quickly, the urge to run my thumb over the pulse point on her neck is too strong to ignore. I bring my hand from her cheek to her neck, pressing my index finger on it to feel how quickly Cata’s heart races for me.

“Will we kiss in public?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper now.

Catalina’s eyes open halfway to focus on my lips. She’s only ever looked at me like this once when we were sixteen. It was the night I almost kissed her, a time I’ve done everything I could to forget.

“Is that a rule you’d like to establish?” she replies, and all I see is a red light flashing, telling me to slow down, to stop this immediately.

“No,” I say and stand up, letting go of her completely to grab the bowls that our dessert—a fruit salad because that’s all our coaches will allow us to have this close to the start of the season—was in earlier.

“Do you think people will believe we’re dating if we don’t kiss?” she challenges, crossing her arms in front of her chest again.

“I’ll take the risk.”

I can’t kiss her. I don’t want to find out what happens to me, to my traitor of a body, when I get my first taste of Catalina Rivera Sanchez.

“You’re the one who started touching me, but now you can’t kiss me? Where is the logic, Santiago?” she asks, cocking both of her brows in challenge. I press my tongue against the back of my teeth, thinking about what the fuck to say to that when she’s absolutely right.

“Do you want to kiss me ?” I ask, turning it back on her, hoping she’ll drop this conversation.

“I’d rather stick my tongue into a burning hot coffee.”

“Want me to make you a cup, carino ?” I offer, grinning at her before carrying our bowls into the kitchen and giving myself a second to breathe.

It’s always so damn hard to breathe around Cata. Like my body forgets it needs the oxygen because my eyes are too busy drinking her in to remember.

“So, no kissing. What about romantic gestures? You should do at least a few publicly,” she says, following me into the kitchen.

“I’ll do some if you do some,” I reply, placing the bowls in the dishwasher.

“Do you consider dropping a poisonous spider down your pants a romantic gesture?” she asks, dead serious as always, but I burst out laughing at her question.

“Not particularly. Do you consider throwing you into a bush of poison ivy romantic?”

“ Not particularly ,” she says, lowering her voice to mock me.

“Then we should probably stay away from romantic gestures.” I wash my hands before turning to her again, her brown locks all over the place because she just took her hair out of its braid. Her heart-shaped lips are downturned into a frown, and her eyes are full of hate directed toward me.

And yet, I still think she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

I ever will see.

“This rule thing is stupid. Can we take things as they come?” she asks, picking at a loose thread on her sweater.

“But then how do we know each other’s boundaries?”

She thinks about my question for a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other without saying a word.

“Well, the most important thing we established is no kissing. It’s not like we have to write down ‘do not fall in love with each other’ or some ridiculous shit like that,” she says, snorting at her own comment.

“Of course not. You’re the last person on this planet I’d ever fall for.”

“Right back at you, Santi,” she says and shakes her head, wincing when the motion hurts something in her shoulder.

Without a second of hesitation, I walk around my kitchen island to get to her.

“Let me take a look at that,” I offer, but when I reach out to touch her shoulder, she smacks my hand away

“I’m going to head home. We have training in a few days.

Don’t be late. I can’t have you slacking off on the first day.

” Cata walks around me to grab her purse from where she put it on the counter earlier, slinging it over her shoulder.

I notice she places the weight on her other shoulder, not the one that has been making her wince all evening.

She attempts to walk past me, but I grab her arm, tilting my head down as she lifts her chin so our eyes can meet. Neither one of us says anything for several seconds, but the tension of the moment builds in my chest until even my heart forgets to beat.

Her eyes staring into mine have a similar effect to what people say happens to Medusa’s victims. Cata may not turn me to stone, but she has me temporarily frozen in time and place, too swept up in her to remember what I wanted to say.

I pinch my leg with my free hand, regaining the ability to speak.

“We’ll win. All of it. This season will be our season and no one can take it away from us. I’ll be at the top of my game, and I know you will be, too. I have faith in us, Cata. You should have some, too.”

Her eyes soften a little at my words, but when she steps away to break skin contact, I know she still doesn’t trust me enough to allow me to touch her so casually.

“I would, but you’ve always been a little too eager to meet your goals to care about mine, Santi.

Too eager to prove yourself, even if it was at my expense.

There is a reason we don’t get along. We’ll go through this season, pretend we’re a happy couple to get the media off our asses, but then that’s it.

You and I will never see each other again.

We will be done,” she says, and I hate the way my body revolts against the very thought of never seeing Cata again.

And even though I feel this way, all that comes out of my mouth is a very simple, very stupid, “Fine.”

She leaves my place without another word while Tornado makes his way to the door, staring at it long after Cata is gone with his nose moving from side to side in that cute way I love. He turns to look at me before shifting his gaze back to the front door as if he wished she’d have stayed.

It terrifies me that I feel the same.