Page 46 of A Follow-Through in Faking
“I… have feelings for Cata,” I say, hiding even more in the blanket to shield me from whatever expression that is going to take over my sister’s face.
“This is a rather dramatic response, don’t you think? We all knew you had feelings for her, Santi. How you didn’t is beyond me.” I lower the blanket just enough to peek at her, still attempting to hide because this conversation terrifies me.
“How did you know?” I ask, my words muffled through the blanket.
“Hmm, let me think. You constantly talk about her. You have done so ever since you met her. You are incapable of committing to a relationship, but ever since you started ‘dating’ Lina, you have not looked at anyone else. You claim to be a playboy, fucking your way through all of Monaco, but you’ve done that as a way to ignore the fact that it’s always been Catalina. From the moment you met over ten years ago, it has been her, and that hasn’t changed. If anything, since finding out you were the jerk to ruin your relationship with her, you’ve done everything in your power to fight for her forgiveness.”
I swallow hard, trying to form words and tell her how ridiculous that is, but the argument dies on my tongue seconds before I can bring it to life.
“You can lie and pretend all you’d like, but you’re not fooling anyone. You want to be with Catalina. Not because you’re forced to be together. You want to be with her because you care for her, and you want her to desire you in the same way.”
“Manu, the more you talk, the less I can breathe,” I admit, placing a hand on my chest to settle my racing heart back into a normal rhythm.
It’s a hopeless attempt.
“I won’t say anything more except that you need to get some rest. Tomorrow is an important day. You can freak out about this realization after winning another Slam, okay?”
Tennis is good. Tennis is a safe topic.
I’d much rather focus on that, on all of the pressure that will be on my shoulders tomorrow, than on the one currently pressing down on my chest.
Catalina Sanchez will not distract me from my career.
I might have feelings for her, but they mean nothing. Theycan’tmean anything.
I don’t want the first and only person I’ve had feelings for to be the one who hates me most in the world.
But with my fucking luck, of course she is.
Chapter 20
Catalina
Tworegretsgnawatme today.
One, I could have played better yesterday and won my first title.
Two, I almost kissed Santiago, and if Charlie hadn’t walked in, I would have.
It wasn’t because I was sad either. It wasn’t because he was the only one who was there and comforting me. It was because he’s been doing everything in his power to allow us to grow closer, and no matter how much I’m fighting it, fighting this draw he has on me, it’s impossible. Santi has always been irresistible to me because of his smile, the way physical touch is his love language, and the way he cares for people. His good looks and charisma are the cherries on top, and with his maximum effort put into getting me to like him, I have found myself inching closer and closer, blurring the line I drew between us after what happened years ago.
But it can’t happen again. When this season is over, Santi and I will go our separate ways. We will “break up” for the whole world to witness, and then we will never see each other again.
It’s what I told him I wanted only a few weeks ago.
So why does the thought of not constantly being around him make me feel so… sad?
“He’s got this. You don’t have to look so scared,” Carlos says, dragging me out of my thoughts. I look up at Santi’s dad, a man who looks identical to him, from his dark brown hair to his tan skin and amber eyes.
“I know he does. I’m not worried,” I reply.
I’m not worried Santi will lose today. I’m worried about the feelings I’m developing for him again. Because this isn’t the first time I’ve felt something for Santiago Javier Castillo.
In a way, I wish it was because then I wouldn’t have the regret from last time reminding me what a horrible decision it is to feel anything but contempt for the man with the tree trunks as thighs and the sunshine smile.
Charlie settles down in the seat beside me, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders as we watch Santi warm up for his match with his rival of the day, world number four, Blake Houser. Normally, this box is for Santi’s team and friends. It isn’t for Charlie, but he allows them to be here, with me, every single match. He knows that their company brings me a lot of comfort, and the jerk seems to be obsessed with my happiness these days.
“How are you feeling?” Charlie asks for the third time today, and I lean into their embrace.
