Page 12 of A Follow-Through in Faking
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?”
“Likeguapo,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 aboutbebé?” 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.
