Page 60 of A Follow-Through in Faking
I love hugging Catalina. It feels like my body was molded to wrap around hers, and every time she hugs me, we connect like two pieces of broken glass that were separated by hate for far too long.
“For no other reason?” I ask, rubbing her back until she relaxes even more against me.
“For no other reason,” she repeats, but I don’t miss the way she takes a deep breath, inhaling my scent.
“You’re so full of shit,” I say, calling her out on her lie.
“Let me lie, Santi. It makes me feel better.” I chuckle again, kissing the top of her head.
“For today. Tomorrow, I won’t let you lie anymore,” I reply, still rubbing her back, too.
“Well, tomorrow I won’t let you touch me, so I won't have to lie.”
“That’s too bad. I do love touching you.”
I can’t see her face, but I know my Catalina. She’s blushing right now, which is why she buries her face in my neck even more, hiding from the rest of the world.
“Alright, Santiago, you can go get dressed and get your makeup done. Catalina, you as well.”
Cata steps away, and I’m fully prepared for us to go our separate ways for the next half hour while we get dressed and beautified, but she grabs my wrist as soon as I attempt to step toward the person who was speaking to us.
Uncertainty has replaced all other emotions on her face, and I resist the urge to cup her cheeks as I ask her what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” she replies, but she’s digging around in her pocket until she pulls out two identical pins. They’re pride flags. “A little something for during the photoshoot,” she explains, offering me one. “If you’d like to, you don’t have to. I know you haven’t done anything like this before, but I’m so used to it, I’d feel strange not wearing anything, any message,” she rambles, clearly nervous because this is uncharted water for us.
I study her with fascination because she wants to share this with me, something so very special to her. I can’t quite get my mind to wrap around that fact as I take one of the pins and hold it tightly in my hand.
“Thank you. I can’t wait to put it on,” I say, making Catalina smile.
“Okay, cool,” she replies, nodding several times. “Cool,” she repeats.
I find it so adorable to see this confident woman so flustered around me at the moment because of all of the decisions I’ve made that have led us here. I have a feeling she isn’t quite certain what to make of all of her feelings for me anymore. It was easy before. Hate me. No questions needed to be asked. She had a good enough reason. But now? Now we’re growing closer, and I hope she doesn’t want to cling to her hate. I hope she wants to explore this thing, whateveritis, between us as much as I do.
“I’ll see you soon,” Cata says as I continue to smile at her, watching her blush all over again.
“See you soon,cariño,” I reply, walking with a little skip in my step because of her.
The entire time I sit in the makeup artist’s chair, I think about making a page for Cata in my scrapbook when I get back home. Something to add her to it because I’ve never made a page dedicated to her. I was too busy pretending to hate her.
“Look up,” the makeup artist says, their voice firm and irritated as if this isn’t the first or third time they said that.
“Sorry,” I mumble, looking at the ceiling, as instructed.
I’m itching to get back to Cata, and when I’m told I’m done, I all but jump out of my seat. The dress pants and polo they put on me are ridiculously fancy for someone like me, an athlete who only wears suits and tuxes when absolutely necessary, but I become a huge fan of the outfit when I see the fancy clothing they put on Catalina. She’s wearing a berry magenta silk dress that hugs her curves in a sinful way. Her long, brown hair cascades down her back in perfect waves, and they chose to do a simple makeup look that highlights all of her stunning features, which is her whole face.
She has the pride flag pin at the left breast area of her dress. Mine is in the same spot, just a bit lower than hers. Her eyes trail down my body appreciatively, but her gaze softens when it attaches itself to the pin.
“You look dashing,” she says with a grin, and I stroke a hand down my chest as a blush covers my cheeks.
“And you look exquisite, Catalina. Like you’re about to storm into a castle during a dance and take the throne,” I say, watching her grin stretch into a full smile because she loves her fantasy books where the female main characters actually do that.
“I think that is my new favorite compliment,” she says and spins once to show off her outfit.
I almost drop to my knees.
The fabric twirls with her, hugging her body even more in some places before shifting to show off others. Her hair flies with the motion, her smile so very contagious.
I catch her once she stops turning, my hands moving to her hips.
