Page 131 of Finance Bros

His gaze is a plea, and I know what he wants me to say. He wants me to tell him nothing’s changed for me. That I’m still “like completely in love” with him. And how can I not be? I am. But that’s no longerallI am. I have a life and plans that have nothing to do with him. Building a new identity without him was what I had to do to survive. Whether I wanted it that way or not—I didn’t—it’s happened.

“I feel like you want me to slow down, but I feel like if I do, you’ll be gone before I’ve even got a chance,” he says.

“A chance to what?” I ask, my heart threatening to throw itself on the tracks.

“To be with you.”

“I’m right here,” I tell him, knowing how far that is from his point. He’s being so careful, though, and I love him for that, too.

He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes a moment, and nods. “Yeah. You are.”

“So come home with me.”

“I can’t fucking say no to you, Ryan,” he complains.

I grin. “Good.”

“You’re not cute. I tell you I’m barely hanging on, and you laugh. I say I’m serious about you, and you change the subject. I ask if you want me to slow down, you tell me to come home with you.”

“Then that should answer that question,” I say, reaching up to pet Stephanie, sidling closer to Malcolm in the process.

“So, youdon’twant me to slow down?”

“I don’t mind you at full throttle. But I might move slower.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I don’t know why,” I tell him honestly. “It’s just how I’m built.” Fuck, I’ve never had to explain this to anyone before. I don’t know how to put it into words.

“Is it because I’m a guy?” he asks softly.

“No,” I whisper. “No, that’s never been it. It’s more about how close I feel—like when you let me in—when we share a look or finish each other’s sentences or something—make each other laugh. That’s when I want you most. Like tonight. Like now. This connection, when it feels like we’re on the same page.”

“Are we?” he asks.

“If you’re serious about coming home with me. Yeah.”

He frowns slightly, studying me. This probably makes as much sense to him as his room metaphor did for me, but I kinda got it. Maybe he’ll kinda get this, too.

This is where never having been in a relationship before is a problem. I’m used to taking things a day at a time. One encounter, one conversation, one night. This has felt different from the beginning because it’shim, but I’m still me. Still gun shy. Still, also, obsessed.

He slips his hand back into mine and squeezes. “Let’s go.”

We make it back to my place without much more conversation. He heads straight for the shower, telling me he’ll be a few minutes, which I take to mean he wants to be alone.

I get us both some water in the kitchen and nod hello to Deacon when he peeks out of his bedroom. He sees the two glasses of water and retreats behind his door. A moment later, music comes on. I close my door and lock it. The shower’s still running, so I take off my shirt, grab Bud and do a few recordings I came up with throughout the day.

Ideas come easier now that I know what kind of content gets the most engagement. Also, my hair looks good, so there’s no time like the present. I’m on the beanbag adding tags and links to the post that needed the least editing when Mal comes out of the shower. Maybe Miguel can take over all the editing. It’s way easier to film the content than it is to prep and upload it.

“You’re in my seat,” Malcolm says from the bathroom doorway with one of my gray towels around his waist.

Unable to help myself, I say, “You look fucking great like that.”

“I smell good, too.”

I guess he’s in a better mood. “Prove it.”

With Stephanie circling his feet, he walks over to me and drops his knees onto the beanbag outside my thighs. The towel doesn’t come loose, but with his legs spread, it might as well.

---