Page 71 of Something Like Fate

“Why not? There’s space.”

I stand on the stairs, shaking out my limbs as I get out of the pool. I bend over to touch my toes. “I don’t know where to start. This doesn’t feel natural.”

He positions himself behind me and straightens my arms over my head. I freeze slightly at the span of his chest against my back. “Okay, so on the count of three, you’re going to bring your arms down to the ground and tuck your head between your legs. Easy.”

“If it’s so easy, you do it.”

Sober Teller would never do an impromptu somersault on a tiny patch of grass beside a pool. But Tipsy Teller is so down.

“Sure.” He’s uncharacteristically confident as he proceeds to do a very poor excuse for a somersault. It more closely resembles a cartwheel, legs flailing and crooked like a spider. “Why are you laughing? It was a perfect somersault.”

It was not, but I don’t want to burst his bubble, so I let him have it. “You’re basically Simone Biles. But I still can’t do it.”

“You absolutely can. Look, I’ll find a step-by-step guide.”

He grabs his phone from the side of the pool and, after multiple typos, manages to bring up a YouTube tutorial on how to somersault.

We spend the next half hour attempting to follow the steps, each resulting in total disaster. I keep veering sideways, while Teller is a little too aggressive and continually topples into the gate. We both end up on the grass, cold and hooting with laughter until a light flicks on nearby, sending us racing back to the room in a fit of hysterics.

“What else are you scared of?” he asks once we’re dry and warm, collapsed in a heap on the bed, Coldplay still playing. I can’t help but notice how his shirt is slightly bunched, revealing his lower abs.

Ugh. There’s that stomach dip again. I stare at the ceiling, hands folded over my middle, thoughts churning. “Losing people I love,” I finally admit.

He reaches over, sliding a warm hand over mine. I suck in my breath and close my eyes, relaxing under his gentle squeeze. I can’t lose him. I won’t let it happen. I’ll do whatever it takes.

“I love you, Lo,” he mumbles, though it sounds more like, “IlubyouLuuh.”

The words strike me in the heart. He’s never told me he loves me. Bianca and I sayI love youall the time, but Teller has never been that gushy kind of friend. “You really need some sleep, Tel. But I appreciate it.”

He rolls over, peering at me through sleepy eyes. “Do you love me?”

My breath hitches, the rubber band between us pulling tight. “Of course I do.”

“Because I really, really do.”

I freeze, stomach curling into a tight knot as his eyes wander over me, awaiting a response. Does he mean what I think he means? No. There’s absolutely no way. He’s still in love with Sophie, and even if he wasn’t, he’s never once shown any sign that he feels anything more. I try assessing him through the darkness. He’s rolled onto his side, breath growing heavier until he’s fully asleep.

I lie awake for what feels like hours.

I wake up, warm and cozy, at some point in the night, only to realize I’m wrapped tight like a burrito—and it’s not the sheets. Teller’s warm chest is pressed against my back, arm slung around my stomach.

My body stiffens, acutely aware of every nerve ending in my body. Is that what we’re doing now? Casually cuddling? Is this a normal thing friends do? I suspect not.

He tightens his arm around me. Judging by his slow, deep breaths, he’s still sleeping—at least, I think so. I stay still, lest I surrender to the strong urge to turn around and kiss him. It’s not lost on me that this is the second time I’ve had that urge tonight.

We lie like that for what feels like forever while I try to figure out what led us to this point. First, there are our broken hearts. Second, there were a lot of drinks tonight. I’ve always been a bit affectionatewhen under the influence. Let’s blame it on the wine. Wine makes everyone cuddly, even Teller Owens.

Still, I think of Caleb and Sophie. And while neither of us are beholden to either of them, the thought is enough to bring me back. It doesn’t feel wrong, but after being so sure about my future, it also doesn’t feel right.

I tuck and roll out of his embrace and feel the absence of his warmth immediately. As I curl into a ball on the other side of the bed, I can’t help but wish I’d stayed right next to him.

23

Sorry if I was annoying last night. I was way too drunk,” Teller groans, voice so hoarse and rough, you’d think he just came off a twelve-day bender. He pulls his sunglasses down to get a better look as our bus arrives at our destination.

“You were not. I’m sorry if I snored,” I say weakly, avoiding eye contact. We’re both suffering from terrible hangovers. I have no idea if he remembers anything from last night, let alone cuddling, holding my hand, or telling me he loves me. But aside from guzzling a liter of water and general silence all morning, he’s not acting completely out of character.

“You hogged the blankets, though I got better sleep last night than I’ve had this whole trip,” he says, stretching his arms over his head.

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