Page 18 of Falling Off Script

I feel it in my gut. Not jealousy, exactly. Just... horror.

Trevor’s still starstruck. “Hey Adrian, can I get a selfie?”

Adrian obliges, smiling like the benevolent cult leader he absolutely is. Trevor beams, totally unaware that my date just became a networking event for incels in rebranding.

Adrian turns back to me. “Are you staying long?”

“Not if it turns into a pitch with eye contact,” I reply sweetly.

He chuckles. “Well, don’t let me scare you off.”

“You? Scary?” I say, tilting my head. “You’re barely even distracting.”

Jessie mutters something about the restroom and disappears like the ghost of female dignity.

Adrian watches her go, then looks back at me.

“That’s the nicest insult I’ve gotten all week,” he says.

“It’s Tuesday,” I remind him.

“Exactly. Room to improve.” He winks. “Don’t deny it. I get under your skin just enough.”

“I deny everything. Including your entire philosophy and haircut.”

He just grins. “Okay, Jessie and I should probably leave you to it. We’ve got something to discuss.”

And with that, he turns and strolls back toward the bar.

Trevor sighs. “Man. That guy’s the real deal.”

I stab my drink again. “He’s a realsomething.”

And silently, I make a note:

Add “Jessie situation” to the crisis spreadsheet.

Under:High Risk, Medium Tragedy, Maximum Chaos.

8. Adrian

There’s a special kind of headache reserved for men who realize they’ve been compromised by a woman with a podcast and an unemployed best friend.

It hits me at 8:42 a.m., right as Jessie enters my office with a protein bar in one hand and the smug aura of someone who just aced a test she wrote herself.

I sit there, blinking at the door.

Emily. At the bar. With a guy who quoted me like he was trying to win a cosplay contest. Honestly, tragic. She deserves better—if only for comedic contrast.

But then there was Jessie.

Jessie, whom I brought there. Jessie, who sat beside Emily like they were already synced on some private frequency. Sipping a matcha spritz, nodding along to Emily’s eye-rolls like they co-authoredFeminist Snark: A Manifesto.

Wait.

They know each other?

Worse—theylikeeach other.

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