Page 32 of A Follow-Through in Faking
Santiago returns it beautifully, placing it right in the corner where Harry can’t get the ball.
“Vamos!” I call out and clap, just like the rest of the fans. Santi throws me a small smile, clearly enjoying how invested I am.
Santiago wins the second point as well, making it love-thirty for him. I momentarily get distracted by his thick, trained thighs as the muscles in his legs flex. Then, I get distracted by his round ass again before finally shaking my head and refocusing on the match.
This is why I don’t watch Santi play anymore.
He looks mouth-wateringly good.
Especially in that dark blue outfit his sponsor,New Light,put him in.
No sleeves for his shirt, naturally, because it shows off his massive arms.
I think Santi may be allergic to sleeves.
“How’s he doing?” Charlie asks as they join me in Santi’s box, handing me a bottle of water. I told them I forgot one earlier, and they nearly ripped my head off over the phone.
A day before your first match is not the time to be dehydrated, they scolded me.
“Better now that Catalina yelled at him to get his head out of his ass,” Carlos chimes in, but then we all fall silent when they start playing the next point.
Santiago’s return is slower, positioned right at Harry’s feet, so his opponent hits it back to him, taking control of the rally. My breath catches in my throat as I watch them hit the ball back and forth. Santi attacks the ball and approaches the net, volleying it in a way that the ball goes deep into the court. Harry barely catches it, hitting it high so that Santiago overhead smashes it, winning himself the point.
Love-forty.
He has three break points.
Good.
There is a bar on the edge of the balcony of the box where I’m sitting with Carlos, his mother Alana, and the rest of Santi’s team, and I grab hold of it. It steadies me a little.
“Come on, Santiago,” I mumble as I watch him get into position once more.
Harry places his serve in the left corner of the service box, and Santiago barely manages to return it. It goes short, so Harry attacks it, sending it to the other side of the court. I’m watchingmy fake boyfriend run for his life, somehow getting to the ball. He hits it back, but Harry is at the net, which means he’s quick about positioning the ball on the other side of the court again.
Santi already anticipated that though, and gets to the ball once more. This time, he sends it straight down the court, away from Harry. It lands on the singles line, earning him the point and getting him that break he desperately needed.
I’m out of my seat, cheering and clapping for him as pride consumes me.
I blame my love for tennis for this visceral reaction.
Santiago won his match in three sets yesterday. After he got the break, he took every game in the second set, and then he won the third six games to one. It was impressive, to say the least.
Today is my turn.
I’m playing against Maria Timmons, number twenty-seven in the world in the women’s singles ranking. I’ve played her several times already in the past.
I’ve won every match so far.
Charlie told me Maria has been struggling on the hard court from what they saw when they were sneakily watching her train this morning. I almost burst out laughing at my coach’s face when they were telling me how they put on a cap and jacket to hide. I assured them I wasn’t too worried about Maria. I’m worried about my biggest rival—besides Santi. Layla Adel is number one in the world, and she’s an incredible tennis player. She’s also one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, but I still want to take that number one spot for myself.
I’mgoing totake it this season.
My back bothers me a little as I warm up with Maria, getting ready for my first match. Usually, I would have started with the Brisbane International tennis tournament, but Charlie and I agreed that with everything happening with my reputation, and Santiago becoming my hitting partner and fake boyfriend, it would be best to skip it.
It isn’t required for tennis players to partake in every single tournament. There are specific ones we have to do—like all of the Grand Slams, eight specific tournaments of the ATP or WTA, and so on—and with everything going on in my life, I have decided to focus on the required tournaments for this season.
And fuck, it’s a busy season.
