Page 22 of Unbound
"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 coffeeshop, 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."
