Page 21 of Unbound
"Probably."
"And you're going to enjoy every second of it."
I grinned. "Definitely."
Phoenix grabbed a pillow and hit me with it. "You're terrible. I love you, but you're terrible."
"Love you too."
Back in my room, I lay in bed staring at my phone. The order confirmation glowed in the darkness.
What are you doing, Costas?
Playing with fire. Crossing lines. Pursuing something that could blow up spectacularly in my face.
But also—and here was the thing I couldn't quite shake—maybe giving someone permission to imagine a different life. A different version of themselves.
Even if that version started with something as small as choosing your own underwear.
I fell asleep thinking about Jesse's face when he opened that box.
This was either going to be hilarious or a complete disaster.
Possibly both.
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.
