Page 12 of Unbound
"Organized, no. Terrified of spontaneity, yes." We'd reached the coffee shop—a small place called The Grind with mismatched wooden chairs and local art covering the walls. Adrian held the door open, and before I could protest, I found myself inside.
The smell hit me immediately—rich, dark coffee mixed with something sweet and warm. Students clustered around small tables, textbooks open, laptops glowing. It felt dangerous,this casual space where people gathered without purpose or supervision.
"Two coffees," Adrian told the barista, a girl with purple hair and multiple piercings. "Make his mild—he's a coffee virgin."
The word 'virgin' hung in the air like a neon sign, and I felt my face catch fire. The barista smirked, clearly picking up on whatever subtext Adrian was laying down thick as honey.
"I said I don't want—"
"Trust me." He handed over a ten-dollar bill, his eyes never leaving mine, that wicked grin spreading wider. "First times can be overwhelming, but I'll be gentle. Start you off slow, work up to the hard stuff until you beg for more."
My mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. He was talking about coffee. Obviously he was talking about coffee. So why did every word sound like... like something else entirely?
"You'll thank me," he continued, waving away my fumbling attempt to reach for my wallet. "I'm very good at knowing exactly what someone needs their first time."
The barista was definitely trying not to laugh now, and I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
I stood frozen while he paid, hyperaware of how this looked. A transaction. Him buying me something. Like a... like a date. The thought sent panic spiralling through my chest.
"I shouldn't have let you pay for that," I said as we moved to wait for our drinks.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know you. Because this isn't... we're not..." I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice what my churning stomach was suggesting this might look like.
"We're not what?" Adrian's voice was pure innocence, but his eyes danced with mischief. "Two guys getting toknow each other over coffee? Because that's exactly what we are."
The way he said 'getting to know each other' made my pulse spike. There was nothing technically inappropriate about the words, but somehow they felt loaded with meaning I couldn't quite grasp.
"I meant we're not—this isn't a—" I gestured helplessly between us.
"A date?" He supplied the word I couldn't say, and I nearly choked. "Well, no. I mean, I didn't bring you flowers or anything. Though if you wanted to call it that..." He let the sentence hang, watching my face with obvious amusement.
"We're discussing constitutional law," I said desperately.
"Sure we are. Very academic. Very professional." His grin was absolutely wicked now. "Though I have to say, Jesse, for someone who's definitely not on a date, you're blushing like a virgin on prom night."
My face caught fire again, and I realized with growing horror that he was enjoying every second of my mortification. Worse—some twisted part of me was enjoying it too.
The barista called out our drinks, and Adrian collected them both, handing me a cup with some kind of foam art on top. I stared at it like it might bite me.
"Vanilla latte," he explained, steering me toward a corner table. "Baby steps."
I wanted to leave. Every instinct screamed at me to put down the cup, walk away, go back to my apartment where things made sense. Instead, I sat down across from him, my back to the window so I couldn't see who might be passing by.
"Okay," Adrian said, settling into his chair with easy confidence. "Let's talk about why your argument was garbage."
"It wasn't garbage." The words came out more defensive than I'd intended.
"Fine. It was recycled garbage. Better?" He took a sip of his coffee—black, of course—and leaned back. "You quoted Scalia like he was divinely inspired, but you didn't engage with why his interpretation might be flawed."
"Because it isn't flawed." I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, using it as an anchor. "Originalism respects the founders' intent. It prevents activist judges from imposing their personal beliefs."
"Whose intent, though? The founders weren't a monolith." Adrian's voice took on a different quality—still casual, but sharper, more focused. "Madison wrote that religious establishments corrupted both religion and government. Jefferson called for a wall of separation. Hamilton worried about sectarian influence in politics. You can't just pick the interpretation that supports your predetermined conclusion."
I opened my mouth to respond with the standard rebuttal about Jefferson's letter being private correspondence, but Adrian continued before I could speak.
"And here's the thing that really bothers me about originalism—it assumes the founders were infallible. That a group of eighteenth-century men, however brilliant, could anticipate every possible constitutional question for the next three centuries. It's basically treating the Constitution like holy scripture."
