Page 93 of Something Like Fate

“Really?”

“Back before you decided you were leaving. When it was all kind of up in the air. I wanted to get one of those cute places with stained glass windows near the west edge of campus, one of the walk-ups. I remember driving by when we were in high school and seeing college kids hanging out on their balconies, feet resting over the railing. I thought they were so cool, so free.”

Teller smirks. “Little did you know, college is almost worse. The cooking, cleaning, never-ending schoolwork. And the student debt.”

“Right? I foolishly thought it would be just like working at The Cinema, but better because we’d get to goof off all the time, drive to campus together, grab fast food on the way home. Make blanket fortsin the living room for study dates. Throw candy at each other while we work. It would have been fun, in an alternate universe.”

He smiles one of those smiles that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Though you’d probably get sick of me pretty quick,” I say, the cool pebbles settling between my toes.

“What? No way.”

“You would,” I argue. “I’d probably leave toast crumbs on the counter. I’d probably be too lazy to put a new garbage bag in the trash bin. And I’ve never been good at unloading the dishwasher. Ask my dad. I’d be kind of a gross roommate, really.”

“Why do you always do that?”

I blink. “Do what?”

“Talk about yourself like that. You’re always putting yourself down. And I know you’re half joking, but sometimes I think you actually believe it.”

I consider that. “Sorry, I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore.” I used to be the most confident kid in the room. But I’ve just felt lost. Untethered.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always gone for the Calebs, Tims, and Mark B.’s of the world—the alpha types that seem out of reach. It felt nice to be validated by someone like that. I thought maybe some of that confidence would rub off on me. If they’re so sure of themselves, that must mean they’re sure ofme.

“I guess it feels ... safer to point out my insecurities before someone else has the chance to.”

“There is absolutely nothing you should be insecure about,” he says, eyes latching on mine.

Well, shit. Why does he always have to disarm me like that?

I pull my gaze away abruptly, terrified he’ll see right through me. “So you’re talking to Sophie again?”

He pauses, a little thrown off. “Uh, yeah. Here and there. She actually asked me to talk when I get back.” I think back to the look of devastation on his face the night he picked me up from the frat party,the night he told me about their breakup. This has to mean everything to him. This is what he so desperately wanted, another chance.

“Do you think she wants to get back together?” I dare to ask.

He bites his lip. “When we broke up, she said there was nothing left to say. That cutting ties would be the easiest thing to do. So wanting to talk is a development.”

I search his face for any sign of hope, but he keeps his expression neutral, probably to avoid disappointment. I should be happy that things may work out between them. For him. It would be selfish not to since I’m staying here with Caleb.

Still, my stomach curdles. It feels inevitable that Teller will get back together with Sophie. This whole trip will be a distant memory, just like our friendship, fading into the rearview. Because how could it ever be the same now that real feelings are involved?

I slide my feet up, bringing my knees to my chest for warmth. “If you guys get back together, our friendship would be over, wouldn’t it?”

He shakes his head, confused. “No. Why would that mean our friendship would be over?”

“Because. We hooked up. Twice.” When I say it, my mind is inundated with flashbacks. Him hovering over me in the darkness. The safety of his weight. My fingers running down his back, feeling every ridge of muscle along the way. In my heart of hearts, the hooking-up factor isn’t the reason for the demise of our relationship. Until recently, I was sure we could push past it. But now, it’s become clearer: it’s the feelings, the more-than-friend feelings, that are the real killer.

He shifts his gaze to the water.

Also, Teller would never, in good conscience, keep this secret from her. And I couldn’t blame her for being uncomfortable with our friendship after what happened on this trip. Therefore, our friendship will inevitably end. And I have to be okay with that. I want Teller to be happy.

He resettles, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I’ll tell her it didn’t mean anything.”

My gut twists. I can’t tell if that’s a statement of fact or a lie.Did it mean anything?my gaze asks.

He raises a brow.Did it mean anything to you?

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