Page 115 of Finance Bros

“Then let’s go to bed,” I say. I don’t know if I can talk anymore.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m on the verge of pouting. I get up and take the two steps to the bed, throwing back the covers and getting in. It takes Ryan a minute, but he joins me. Pants on and everything. I hate it, and I’m more than ready to escape to sleep now that the perfect day is so obviously fucking over.

22

RYAN

It’s too soon to reconsider everything I planned for my life, and much too early to tell him I still love him. I always knew my feelings for Malcolm ran deep. Bone deep. He’s in my marrow, and over the years he’s made me, and he’s broken me. Love, hate, it’s all passion. When he hurts, he hurts like being eaten alive. But when he feels good—Jesus. Pure euphoria.

Worse, the capacity for me to hold these feelings is limitless. I know because I love him even more for everything we just experienced together—everything we just said. What it feels like he and I found tonight is beyond any closeness or connection I’ve ever experienced. Because of that, touching him feels spiritual. The next time we have sex might be fucking transcendent. And this is all so dangerous. Delusional maybe.

I don’t want to become my own cautionary tale but just fucking look at him. Sleepy, hooded eyes, the mess of his hair that somehow looks perfect. The light stubble on his cheeks and jaw. The anxious chewing on his lip and the small crease in his brow. This must be how Bud feels about catnip. I want to lie down in a field of him.

I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and maneuverhim onto his side, facing me. “Don’t overthink it, okay? Nothing good happens when you overthink something.”

Malcolm grimaces. “It’s kind of my brand, though.”

“I’m not sure I knew that about you.”

“You should by now,” he says.

“The picture’s clearing up.”

“Do you hate it?” he asks.

Hate it?Vulnerable, beautiful, pouty, fawning,gayMalcolm?

“No.” I press my lips to his. “But it definitely looks different up close.”

“Sounds like you hate it.”

I shake my head slowly, staring at his face.

“Would you rather I was straight?” he asks.

“No,” I say, surprised by the question. “I just hate that you thought you had to hide this from me. From everyone.”

“I would do a lot of things differently if I got a do-over.”

“Like what?”

“Like not treated you like shit,” he mumbles.

“If you can forgive me, I can forgive you,” I tell him, meaning it. Or at least, willing to attempt it.

He sighs. “You shouldn’t.”

“I think I might try anyway,” I tell him. “If that’s okay with you.”

His hand wraps around my arm in a soft caress. It gives me chills. He says, “I wanna ask if trust comes with forgiveness.”

“Trust is…” I stare into his amazing eyes. Do I know what trust looks like when it comes to him? It’s not something that comes naturally to me in any circumstance. I’ve been made a fool of too many times. “Complicated for me.”

“I trustyou,” he says, not like it’s a competition, more like an assurance. “Thanks for being honest with me about the summer.”

“Thanks for saying…everything.”

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