Page 9 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Catalina stares at me, dumbfounded, mouth hanging open for several seconds before dropping her gaze back down to my phone screen. Then back up to my eyes. Down to the screen. Up to my eyes.

“Is this a trick?” she asks.

“Yes, it’s a trick. I’ll bring you there and then right before we go inside, I’ll laugh and say, ‘just kidding!’” I say, but instead of laughing, she looks at me like that’s a real possibility. “Do you really not trust me at all?”

“Have you given me a reason to?” That shuts me up. “If this is real, then thank you. If it isn’t, I’ll gut you.”

“Sounds good.” She shoves my phone back into my hands and stands up to grab her racket.

Catalina always plays with rackets made by Spin , her biggest sponsor. She also usually has a rainbow incorporated into the design. If I wasn’t sponsored by New Light , I’d switch to Spin so I could have those rackets, too. Instead, I only get all black ones with no meaningful message.

With her back to me, Cata starts serving, the words on her shirt shifting with every move.

I have to hand it to her, she’s funny and creative.

I know it was most likely supposed to bother me, but I can’t stop smiling at the thought of Catalina sitting in front of her laptop and making this shirt.

Choosing the right font and style. Maybe even smiling to herself like an evil villain.

Mi pequena villana .

I watch her for a few more serves, noticing her stance is slightly off.

She’s leaning a bit too far back, which causes her to lose momentum and use more energy than necessary.

It’s something I struggled with for a long time, too, until Papá made me serve and serve and serve until I did it the right way.

Charlie is too preoccupied talking to him to notice, so I step up behind Cata, stopping her a moment before she serves again.

“Do you mind?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Let me help you and your shoulder,” I offer, my hands hovering over her arms.

“My shoulder is fine, Santi,” she replies, taking a ball out of the pocket of her pants.

“Then your back. Whatever made you flinch a few times the other night. Don’t lean so far back. Your weight shouldn’t drag you backward. Instead, throw the ball a bit more straight and forward,” I explain, my hands still not touching her even though my fingers are itching to wrap around her arms.

“I’ve been serving like this for years. I’m consistent, able to place the ball well, and have decent speed,” she argues, but when she moves her arm again to bounce the ball on the ground, she flinches visibly. “Fuck. Okay, show me how to improve it.”

If there is one thing I’ve always adored about Cata, it’s the way she handles feedback or suggestions. Even though she hates me, she’s going to listen. She’s going to take my advice into consideration and learn from it.

“May I put my hands on you?” I ask, my chest rising and falling a little too quickly for my liking.

“You don’t have to touch me. Do it yourself and show me that way,” she says, and I almost sigh. We’re never going to allow her to build trust with me if she shuts down all my attempts at intimacy.

“Just… let me,” I whisper, my mouth suddenly closer to her ear than I intended for it to be. Cata stiffens momentarily, but then her shoulders untense as she lets out a deep breath.

“Okay.” Her voice is equally quiet and soft.

My hands finally make contact with the soft skin on her arms, my fingers wrapping around them to lift them into position. One of my arms snakes around her, my hand splaying across her middle. She sucks in a sharp breath and lowers my touch to her stomach.

“Not up there. I’m sore,” she says, not giving me any other information, but I also don’t press.

This is too intimate a moment, and I don’t want to ruin it.

“Down here it is,” I reply softly.

Everywhere her body touches mine suddenly comes to life.

My heart starts fluttering. My skin lights on fire.

My muscles tense with anticipation. I’ve never touched Cata this way, she’s never allowed me, and my entire being seems only too happy that she and I are finally this close. Even if it’s only for a moment.

“Alright, lift your arms like you’re doing your serve,” I instruct, and, to my surprise, she puts her racket to the side before doing as I’ve asked. I’d have expected she would hit me with it the first chance she got.

Instead, she lifts her arms and fixes her stance, about to serve with neither a ball nor a racket. Only me holding onto her. We go through the motion and right as she leans back, I press my chest to her back to stop her, using the hand on her stomach to steady her.

“See, right here. This is where you lose so much of your speed and put everything on your back. Let your arms do more work,” I say and guide her into the proper stance. “Try it again.”

We do the same movement for the serve once more, this time with me giving her space, watching her do it from a distance. I adjust her stance twice more, and then she picks up her racket to try it with a ball this time. She does wonderfully, her serve fast and precise.

“That’s it, mariquita , good girl,” I praise her, watching her cheeks turn pink from the words.

“That’s enough for today,” she says, picking up the balls closest to her and then rushing over to her bag.

“Dammit,” I mumble to myself, letting my head fall backward.

I really don’t know how to talk to Cata without saying something that ruins the moment.