Page 70 of Something Like Fate

“Damn. It closes in five minutes,” Teller says, already turning back.

“That means five minutes to swim,” I say with a wink, pulling the gate open. I dive right in, plunging into the deep end. The cool water envelops me, whooshing through my ears, drowning out the distant, warped sound of Coldplay.

I rise to the surface just in time to see him peel his towel away. Sharing sleeping quarters with him for the past few weeks, I’ve seen his abs too many times to justify a reaction. But against the moonlight and the illuminated pool, the ridges of his body make my breath hitch. He plunges into the deep end, long limbs piercing through the water elegantly. Mesmerizing.

He resurfaces, wiping away the water dripping into his eyes, and taps my shoulder. “Tag, you’re it!” By the time I come to, he’s already swimming away, kicking up copious amounts of water in his wake.

No one kicks us out of the pool at nine. We play water tag for what feels like forever until I can barely keep up. If this were last year, I would have been a semi-decent match for him. But after his year of kickboxing, I’m left in the proverbial dust. Drained, I reach for the sideof the pool, only to fall short in my exhaustion. Teller notices and tugs me close, steadying me around the waist. “Gotcha,” he says quietly, and I don’t resist.

Warmth shoots through me like liquid as I sway against him. His hands gently trace up and down the sides of my abdomen, sending a tingling sensation through my body. I secure my arms around his shoulders, feeling every groove of his muscles as he moves. I can feel his heart pounding, nearly in sync with mine. Even though I’m a bit uneasy in the deep end, I feel safe in his arms.

And when his eyes catch mine, lashes flecked with water droplets, I forget where we are. It’s like we’re in our own bubble. Everything else drowns out, even the sounds. Something inside me desperately wants to be even closer to him, if that’s possible. His eyes drift toward my lips. For a moment, it seems like he wants to kiss me. And I want him to—so badly, down to my bones. But with a swish of the water, the moment passes. He releases me and swims to the side of the pool, hoisting himself up.

“Since when did you become Michael Phelps?” I ask, pushing all those thoughts to the recesses of my mind. “I thought you were scared of water. You were practically trembling on the gondola in Venice.”

“I don’t mess with open bodies of water. Pools are different. At least I can see what’s at the bottom.” He wrings the water from his hair. “I am still afraid of it, though. That’s why I took swimming lessons this year.”

“Shut up. You did not!”

“Don’t make fun,” he warns. “But yes. I did, and it’s not what you think. I had a friend who was a lifeguard teach me.”

I raise a hand to proclaim innocence, although I can’t help but smile at the image of him wading around in a kiddie pool with a bunch of drooling toddlers, inflatable water wings circling each arm. “I wasn’t going to. I think that’s really brave of you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He winces. “I was embarrassed, I guess. Figured I’d wow you with my skills first,” he adds with a deliriously charming wink.

“I think it’s brave of you to confront your fears head-on.”

“What about you? What are you scared of?” he asks, breaking the silence.

Lots of things, but I start with the most obvious. “Disappointing my family. Not living up to the legacy.”

“But you have. You’ve had the vision like everyone else.”

“And look how that turned out,” I say wryly, deflecting. Because I already know the big answer. The one that first came to mind when he asked. It’slosing him. My second vision coming to fruition. That’s what I’m most afraid of. But instead, all that comes out is “Somersaults.”

His brow pinches, confused. “Somersaults? Like, seeing other people do a somersault or doing one yourself?”

“Doing one myself. Don’t laugh,” I say, splashing him a little.

He stifles his snickering. “I’m sorry. But how did I not know this about you? I have a feeling there’s a story here.”

“Oh, there is. When I was in first grade, all these girls were doing somersaults at recess. One of the girls, Renee, was the best. She would do like, ten in a row, all around the yard.”

“Sounds like a show-off,” Teller teases.

“She totally was. But get this. One day we were all watching and counting how many she could do in a row, and she ended up somersaulting right off the brick retaining wall and falling like, three feet. She had to get stitches all down her face, Frankenstein-style. There was blood everywhere.”

“Holy shit. That’s traumatizing. But my question is, why didn’t anyone stop her from going over the wall?”

I laugh. “I mean, we were like, six years old.”

“So you’ve been too scared to try one since?”

“I’ve always wanted to. I felt like the only kid who didn’t know how. But the older I got, the more embarrassing it was not to know how. It’s a heavy cross to bear, I know,” I tease.

He shakes some water out of his ear. “You should try.”

“Like, right now?” I ask, gesturing to the grassy area by the pool.

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