Page 2 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“No more parties. No sleeping with anyone. You will be training with your new partner every spare minute you get,” he says, adding to the agreement.
“Okay, you have yourself a deal,” I say, wiggling my fingers. He eyes my hand for a minute, mischief sparkling in his eyes before he shakes it.
“Deal.”
I take a step back and inhale deeply, trying to slow my racing heart. Every fiber of my being hates having to do this, but at least having a new hitting partner isn’t playing doubles with her, so it doesn’t impact my ability to play singles. I’ll still get to keep my number one title if I’m good enough.
And I am.
I’ve been going through intensive training all winter to prepare to keep my place in the world. I’m fast, know how to analyze my opponents, and become creative to win. I’m crafty when I play, it’s why people adore me so much. It’s entertaining for them to watch. It’s also the reason why I’m so fucking glad my father isn’t expecting me to figure out how the hell to play doubles now.
I fucking hate playing doubles.
Having a partner restricts what you can do on the court. Not to mention, having to rely on them to play well and getting angry when they don’t sucks.
The only time I’ve ever played doubles was with an infuriating partner.
Then again, we weren’t really partners. We may have played on the same side of the court, but we were rivals.
Unfortunately, we were unbeatable together, and our school knew better than to separate us. We brought them to the top in the entire country with our singles and doubles victories. Then, we both went pro, and I only have to see her occasionally for celebrations hosted for tennis players.
But every time we lock eyes…
Fuck, I almost shudder.
Catalina Sanchez is in the past and not someone I have to worry about anymore.
“So, who is going to be my new hitting partner?” I finally ask, slumping back onto the couch and letting the tension of the argument with my father leave my body.
Manu lets out a small snort from where she’s sitting, so I furrow my brows at her. She’s covering her mouth with one of her hands, but I see the amusement sparkling in her eyes. Papá gives me a full-faced smile, and I feel dread filling me from top to bottom.
“No,” I blurt out.
“Your partner for the season will be Catalina Sanchez.”
I’m going to throw myself off a fucking cliff.
Chapter 2
Catalina
“SantiagoCastillo?Areyoukidding me?” I ask, but my manager and coach, Charlie, just grins at me. They know about my history with the men’s number one tennis player. “Why would you do this to me?” Charlie flat-out laughs. They raise one of their trained arms to correct my position, their slender but muscular frame tall enough to make them have to bend down to help me.
“Hey, you’re the one whose scandal went international. ‘Women’s tennis number two in the world caught enjoying herself with two men in a hot tub,’” they recite the title of a news outlet’s headline, and I frown in response.
“I was notenjoying myselfwith two men. I wouldn’t do that in public, only in the privacy of my own bedroom,” I reply, curling the weights in my hands until my muscles burn. Charlie smiles their devastating smile at me, and I let out a groan in response. “How does my sitting in a hot tub with two strangers end up withme having to fake a relationship and become hitting partners with the man I hate the most in the world?” I ask, dropping the weights on the ground and taking several deep breaths.
“Well, image is everything, and the world seeing you date the golden boy of tennis? Becoming each other’s hitting partners for an entire season while you sit in each other’s boxes and watch one another win Grand Slams? It’s every manager’s wet dream,” they say with that wonderful English accent, but all I can do is frown. Sweat drips down the side of my face, so I wipe it away and let my head drop.
“I’d rather have someone run me over several times, put me back together, and then saw me in half than spend any alone time with Santiago Castillo. He’s the embodiment of my worst nightmare,” I say, picking up the weights again to go through my last set.
“Well, for the next few months, you’re going to have to pretend to be in love with him,” Charlie goes on, hovering their hands over my elbows to spot me. I make a hurling noise, bringing a grin to their lips. “Don’t be dramatic. You could do a lot worse than Santiago. He’s incredibly hot.” No point arguing that, but his looks don’t make him any less exhausting to be around.
“Why do people care so much about my private life? Why does it matter how many people I sleep with?” I ask, my voice strained now because my muscles are protesting the curling motion. “I don’t even sleep with that many! I was dating my ex-girlfriend for two years before we ended things, and since then I haven’t been with anyone because of something called trust issues. Do you think they’ve ever heard of that?” Charlie snorts.
“You’re a tennis player. Most of them get married young and start a family. You barely ever hear any of them having the kind of sex lives Santiago and, allegedly, you have.” I cock a confused eyebrow. “Wild,” Charlie adds to clarify. “Not to mention, you’re a woman, making it even more scandalous. A man would havemore easily gotten away with it. Santiago did for years and it only caught up to him now.” I grunt in agreement, trying to breathe through the strain of the exercise.
“I think people need to start worrying about important things in the world instead of how many people I take to bed.” My coach takes the weights from me after my last rep, and I sink onto the bench behind me with an exhausted, “Ouch.”
