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The thing about agreeing to a first date with a man named Trevor was that it was already a gamble.

He had green eyes and decent punctuation. I figured, sure. One cocktail. Worst case, he’s boring. Best case, I finally go on a date that doesn’t end in another tragic postmortem voice memo to Jessie.

We meet at a bar called Bar. I wish I were kidding. It's one of those hyper-minimalist, influencer-lite places that serves drinks in beakers and plays music that sounds like a panic attack manifesto. Everything is matte black.

Trevor is... fine. Teeth a little too white. Hands a little too moisturized. And just a bit too proud of his Patagonia vest.

He orders us both something mezcal-based without asking. “Trust me,” he says, like a man who skimmed one bartending subreddit and never shut up about it.

I nod, mostly because correcting men has never once improved my drink.

“So, what do you do?” he asks.

“I’m a mindset coach,” I say. “For women.”

“Oh,” he says, pausing just long enough to prove he didn’t hear the ‘mindset’ part. “So, like, you teach them how to flirt better?”

I open my mouth, then close it. He leans back, satisfied, like he’s cracked the feminist code. My cocktail arrives in a test tube.

But then his eyes light up like a raccoon spotting a Ring cam .

“Oh my God,” he whispers, craning his neck. “Is that... Adrian Zayne?”

I freeze mid-sip of my artisanal $19 ginger-turmeric-mezcal-spritz.

“Excuse me?”

Trevor cranes his neck. “It is him! The dude from the masculinity bootcamp thing. He changed my friend’s life.”

“Oh no,” I mutter.

Trevor’s already waving. “ADRIAN!”

And because God has a perverse sense of humor, Adrian turns.

Of course he does. He’s in a black T-shirt that fits a little too well. And next to him, laughing at something he just said, is Jessie.

My Jessie.

Traitorous, job-hunting, sold-out-to-the-dark-side Jessie.

I blink once. Twice. Then look at my drink like maybe it contains hallucinogens.

Adrian spots me. His expression shifts—like he’s been waiting for this moment and just got the cue.

“Emily,” he says, walking over with the ease of someone who thinks the room belongs to him.

Trevor’s vibrating with excitement. “You know him? That’s insane. You didn’t say you were in that circle.”

“It’s not a circle,” I say flatly. “It’s a fire pit. And someone handed him the matches.”

Adrian reaches our table, Jessie trailing two steps behind him like she’s trying to look casual and not like she just manifested me through sheer guilt .

“Hey man,” Adrian says, shaking Trevor’s hand like they’re cofounders of a protein startup. “You been following my content?”

“Since Zayne Law Part Two, man. That monologue on dopamine discipline? That rewired me.”

“Oh my God,” I say under my breath.

Adrian chuckles. “Glad to hear it.”

Then he turns to me. And the smile softens, just slightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” I say. “I usually only run into my nemeses in Instagram ads.”

Jessie clears her throat. “Hey, Emily.”

I turn. “Hi, Jessie. Small world. Or were you just hoping I wouldn’t notice who you’re working for?”

She shifts her tablet behind her back like it's incriminating. “I’m just contracted short-term.”

I nod slowly. “Right. Contracted. Like herpes.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Should I give you two a minute to unpack that metaphor, or...?”

Trevor laughs like Adrian just invented humor.

“So how do you two know each other?” he asks, totally oblivious to the fact that my soul is attempting to leave my body via eye roll.

“Oh,” Adrian says, stepping just close enough to make it feel like he was already in my personal space. “Emily and I did a panel together. Some ideological combustion. And a few viral thirst edits.”

I give him a look. “Possibly a restraining order edit too.”

Jessie sips her water and stares at the ceiling like she’s trying to contact a higher power.

Trevor, for some reason, is loving this.

“You guys should collab again,” he says. “Honestly, the tension between you two? Peak content.”

“I’m going to need you to never say that sentence again,” I say, stabbing my drink with a straw.

Adrian leans in slightly. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“Wow,” I say. “Did they teach you that line at Zeta Hogwarts?”

Jessie chokes slightly on her water.

Adrian just smiles. “No. That one’s original.”

I shoot Jessie a glance. She’s blushing. Not beet red—but definitely soft pink.

That’s when I know. She likes him. And not in a professional development kind of way.

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 real something. ”

And silently, I make a note:

Add “Jessie situation” to the crisis spreadsheet.

Under: High Risk, Medium Tragedy, Maximum Chaos.