Page 2 of The Fate Factor

My gaze falls lower to his biceps where black tattooed leaves poke out of his short sleeves, and something incredibly unfamiliar flares inside me. A quick pulse of unbridled want. I have to swallow it down like a lump in my throat.

He raises an eyebrow from beneath a backwards baseball cap as if to say having a good time over there?

And because I’ve been drinking and apparently possessed by the spirit of someone much braver than me, I respond with a prissy little pursed-lip smile and shrug that says wouldn’t you like to know?

Then I check the rest of him out because Beer Bravery is a very real thing. He’s taller than average, long legs dangling carelessly from his reckless wall seat, and his right forearm is covered in more ink. Not a full sleeve, but a flock of birds spread over the soft skin on the inside, silhouette style. Branches twist between them, thick and thorny.

Everything about this man screams wild, unsteady, not for me. And yet, there’s also something striking about him. Something I can’t look away from.

It’s his eyes, I decide as mine slide back to his face. They’re deep-set and the color of whiskey. Moody, if I’m being poetic about it, which I’m just buzzed enough to do. It’s his eyesand the way they don’t fit the rest of his vibe—cool, confident, comfortable here. Basically everything I’m not.

As if conjured by that thought, a tall blonde in cut-off jean shorts appears at his side, draping an arm over his shoulder. I jerk my gaze away, motioning for Kate to scoot down so I can slide in front of Colin.

“Okay, pay attention,” I say, with a flick of my head to shake that off. I pour Colin’s water into the cup, swirling it like a spooky sommelier. “You have to get your mind right.”

“We’re doomed then. My mind hasn’t been right since I started clinicals.”

Kate pouts. “Aw, babe. In, like, ten years you’ll be a hot-shot ER doctor with a mountain of debt. Think positive.”

“We don’t know that yet. Let’s see what Noel’s prediction is. Maybe I quit school and play guitar for tips in Monument Square.”

I snort, tipping the candle over the cup and letting the wax drip—One. Two. Three—just like Nana does it. It spreads into the shape of a blob that vaguely resembles a dog with a few extra lumps, before hardening on the surface of the water.

Colin sniffs. “Looks like the last scan I read. Fingers crossed it’s benign.”

“Shhh. I’m working.” I press my fingertips to my temples, biting hard on my lip to keep a straight face for this performance. The nostalgia Kate and I have for Nana’s weirdness demands I give it my all.

After a moment of humming and rubbing my temples, I push out my bottom lip in an exaggerated Sad Face. “Looks like med school’s a bust. Luckily your musical talent is discovered, and you live a long life playing Ed Sheeran covers at weddings and proms. Oh, and you lose your hair really early.” I wince. “Sorry.”

Colin laughs like the good sport he is. “I was just starting to like you, Noel.”

“My turn.” Kate hoists herself onto Colin’s lap, and he gives a loud oof despite her being generally twiggish.

Plucking the solid wax from the surface, I chuck it over my shoulder, and tip the candle a second time. Kate’s wax forms on top of the water and I scrunch my nose. “It says your future husband will leave you over your misguided crush on Channing Tatum and you’ll spend your old age alone writing Magic Mike fanfic.”

She fake gasps, then snort-laughs. “I’ll negotiate the house in the divorce, right?”

“Obviously.”

Colin groans and they lock eyes, grinning at each other. It’s like watching a ship go down, slowly and inevitably. I’ve seen this before—Kate with her claws in someone. Kate sees, she wants, she takes. All the years I’ve known her, I’ve never stopped wondering what that must be like. Probably like jumping from a cliff with cement blocks for feet.

“Is there a fee?”

I look up to find the guy from before standing beside my shoulder, grinning at me. The rest of the party may as well have poofed out of existence. All I can see is him.

“A fee for what?” I manage, more than a little mesmerized.

“For the fortune telling.”

Those moody brown eyes lock onto mine, and now that he’s closer, I notice they’re slightly asymmetrical. His right eyelid is heavier, hooded where the left one isn’t. It’s something only a person who’s been taught to draw faces would notice—a perfect imperfection—and my fingers subconsciously mime the pencil stroke I would use to sketch it.

“Oh. Um… yes, actually.” My drink has been lost to the game, so I point to the makeshift bar tucked into the corner of the rooftop. “A shot gets you one reading.”

His grin widens, flashing a straight white smile, and my belly dunks like a duck into water.

“What’s your poison?”

“Uh…” I blurt out the first bottle I spot on the bar: “Jäger.”

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