Chapter 6
JESSE
Ithought Adrian was a problem I could solve through avoidance.
I was wrong.
Tuesday morning, I arrived at the library fifteen minutes before it opened, standing in the drizzle like some kind of academic zealot.
First in line, first to claim the best study spot—third floor, corner table, back to the wall, clear sight-lines to all entrances.
Strategic positioning had served me well throughout college.
Control your environment, control your focus.
Except I couldn't control Adrian.
I'd been settled for maybe an hour, Constitutional Law textbook open, highlighter moving in neat, precise lines across pages about judicial review, when the chair directly across from me scraped against the floor.
I looked up.
He sat down like he belonged there. Like we'd arranged to meet. Dark hair still damp from the rain, leather jacket slung over the back of his chair, and those eyes—those impossible dark eyes—fixed on mine with an intensity that made my stomach clench.
"Morning, Jesse."
My mouth went dry. Around us, the library hummed with the quiet energy of serious students. Normal students. Students who weren't being pursued by someone who'd crawled inside their head and taken up residence.
"I..." The word came out as barely a whisper. I cleared my throat, tried again. "This table is taken."
"I can see that." He pulled out his own textbook—the same one I was reading—and opened it with deliberate casualness. "Big library. Plenty of room for both of us."
He wasn't wrong. The table could easily seat four. But having him directly across from me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes when he looked up from his reading, felt like sharing a phone booth.
I tried to focus on Madison's arguments about federal versus state power.
I really tried. But Adrian's presence was magnetic, pulling my attention whether I wanted to give it or not.
Every time I managed to read a full paragraph, he'd shift in his chair, or turn a page, or do something that made me look up.
And every time I looked up, he was already looking at me.
"You're staring," I finally whispered, glancing around to make sure no one else had noticed.
"So are you."
Heat flooded my face. Because he was right. I was staring. Had been staring. Couldn't seem to stop staring, even though every instinct I had screamed that this was dangerous.
He smiled—not the sharp, challenging smile from the coffee shop, but something softer. Almost fond. Then he tore a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote something quickly, folding it in half.
He slid it across the table.
I stared at the folded paper like it might explode. Around us, students typed and highlighted and whispered about study groups and upcoming exams. Normal campus sounds. Normal campus life. Nothing about this moment should have felt earth-shaking.
But my hand trembled when I reached for the note.
You left so fast Friday. Did I scare you?
The words blurred slightly as I read them. My heart was doing something irregular, something that couldn't possibly be healthy. I looked up to find Adrian watching me with an expression I couldn't read—curiosity mixed with something that might have been concern.
I grabbed my books, shoving them into my bag with none of my usual careful organization. Pages bent. My highlighter fell to the floor. I didn't stop to pick it up.
"Jesse—"
I was already standing, chair scraping loudly enough to draw annoyed looks from nearby tables. "I have class."
"No, you don't." His voice followed me as I hurried toward the stairs. "I checked your schedule."
I stopped dead. Turned around. "You what?"
But he just smiled, and something in that smile made me run.
Tuesday evening found me at the gym at six PM, hoping to outrun the morning’s humiliation on a treadmill.
Physical exhaustion, I reasoned, might quiet the chaos in my head.
Thirty minutes of cardio, followed by a basic weight routine.
Simple. Straightforward. No room for unwanted thoughts about dark eyes and folded notes.
The plan worked for exactly forty-seven minutes.
I was on my third set of bench presses, focused on form over weight—Father always said pride came before the fall, and nowhere was that more relevant than in a weight room—when a shadow fell across my vision.
"Need a spot?"
I nearly dropped the barbell on my chest.
Adrian stood above me, hands positioned to catch the weight if needed, and I realized with growing horror that I actually did need help. My arms were shaking, and I was only halfway through my set.
"I've got it," I managed, even as my muscles screamed in protest.
"Sure you do." His hands hovered just below the bar, close enough to help but not quite touching. "Come on, three more. You can do it."
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to rack the weight and walk away with whatever honour I had left. But my arms wouldn't cooperate, and Adrian's voice was doing something strange to my determination.
"That's it," he said as I pressed the weight up. "Two more. Focus on your breathing."
I tried to focus on the ceiling, on the metallic scent of the weights, on anything but him.
But my traitorous eyes slid from his face, down the lean line of his torso, to the V of his hips where the grey fabric of his athletic shorts clung.
There was no mistaking the prominent, thick bulge of him, perfectly framed, right there above my face. It was obscene. It was all I could see.
"One more. Make it count." His voice was a low command, and I swear I could feel the vibration of it in my own chest.
My arms gave a final, traitorous shudder. The bar dipped, and the cold, heavy steel didn't just brush against him. It pressed, solid and undeniable, against the length of that bulge. For a full, searing second, I felt the distinct, firm shape of him against the barbell in my hands.
A raw, electric shock annihilated every other thought.
It wasn't just in my head; it was a physical clench deep in my stomach, a surge of heat that had nothing to do with exercise.
Humiliation and something else—something hot and illicit—powered my arms. The bar flew up into the rack with a force that wasn't my own.
"Nice work." Adrian stepped back, and I immediately felt the loss of his heat. Which was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. "You've got good form."
I sat up too quickly, my head swimming, the phantom pressure of the bar against him still imprinted on my palms. "Thanks."
"Though you might want to consider increasing the weight. You're stronger than you think."
Something in the way he said it, the wicked glint in his eye, made me look at him sharply. He was smiling again, but this time it definitely wasn't about bench pressing.
"I should go," I said, standing on unsteady legs.
"Shower's that way." He nodded toward the locker room. “If you need to cool down?”
The memory of my ice-cold shower hit me like a slap. Friday night. After the bar. When I'd tried to freeze the arousal out of my system.
He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew.
I grabbed my towel and fled.
Wednesday afternoon, Rebecca and I claimed our usual table in the student union, textbooks and coffee cups creating a familiar fortress of academic normalcy.
She was working on an education theory paper while I attempted to make sense of tort law.
The low hum of conversation and the smell of overpriced coffee should have been comforting.
Instead, I kept looking over my shoulder.
"You're jumpy today," Rebecca observed, not looking up from her laptop. "Everything okay?"
"Fine." I turned a page with unnecessary force. "Just tired."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I'd been sleeping poorly all week, tossing and turning through dreams I couldn't quite remember but that left me waking with a flush of guilt and confusion. Father always said troubled sleep was a sign of a troubled conscience.
My conscience was definitely troubled.
"Jesse. Rebecca."
I looked up to find Adrian standing beside our table, coffee cup in hand, that now-familiar smile playing at his lips. He looked completely at ease, like running into us was the most natural thing in the world.
"Adrian," I said, his name feeling strange in my mouth.
Rebecca looked up from her laptop, and I watched recognition dawn slowly across her face. "Oh," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "You're the one from... that night."
My stomach dropped. Adrian's smile sharpened slightly.
"That's right. At The Harbour." He didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable about the reminder. "Small world."
"Very small," Rebecca agreed, her tone polite but wary. She glanced at me. "This is Adrian, from my Constitutional Law class."
"Mind if I sit for a minute? All the other tables are taken."
I glanced around quickly. There were at least three empty tables within sight. But Rebecca was already moving her bag to make room, though her expression remained guarded.
"So you're in Jesse's law program?" she asked.
"That's right. We've had some... interesting debates." Adrian's eyes flicked to mine. "Haven't we, Jesse?"
My throat felt tight. "Some."
Rebecca looked between us, clearly sensing an undercurrent she didn't understand. "What kind of debates?"
"Constitutional interpretation. Separation of church and state. That sort of thing." Adrian leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed. "Jesse has some very... traditional perspectives."
"Oh." Rebecca nodded, looking relieved to be on familiar ground. "Yes, Jesse's very committed to his faith. It's one of the things I admire about him."
Something flickered across Adrian's face—surprise, maybe, or calculation. "Is that so?"
"We both are," Rebecca continued, and I could hear the pride in her voice. "Our families have been friends for years. We're actually—"
"Engaged," I finished quickly, the word feeling like lead in my mouth.