Page 38 of Finance Bros

“I should do that, too.” I start to stand. My circle of contacts is likely much smaller than Bailey’s, but Norah could probably help. Everybody likesher.

Meeting resistance, I look down to see Mal’s fist furled in the fabric of my sweater. He shakes his head again.

Oh shit.“Can I go to the bathroom at least?” I ask quietly.

He lets me go. I smooth out the sweater and head for the depressing, fluorescently lit bathroom. My face, as expected, is too hot and too pink. I don’t need the toilet because for whateverinsane reason, the conversation we just had coupled with his hand wrapped up in my sweater got me rock-fucking hard, and that, more than anything, needs to settle itself before I go back out there.

Here’s the thing: I’m a straight guy who would fuck Malcolm Walsh in a heartbeat. But my sexuality isn’t that simple. The tattoo artist I used to hook up with called me demi who got really horny sometimes, and in terms of labels, it mostly fits.

My connection with Malcolm when we were kids resulted in a physical attraction. Simple.

It also explains why I prefer to take women on dates instead of just showing up at their apartments expecting to get laid. It’s why I’m taking it slow with Norah. But I do get horny, and not sometimes, but often. I prefer a connection, though. It doesn’t have to be incredibly deep. Like with Jia. It was enough that we talked casually and work together. I’m not the textbook definition of anything, but I know what I’m attracted to, and Malcolm is my OG. Most men don’t even tweak my radar.

Some—the ones who remind me most of Mal—same hair, same body type, similar nose or eyes—they’ll get my attention, but no part of me wants to push them against the wall and start devouring them the way I apparently still want to do withhim. It’s a soul deep desire that doesn’t understand it can never be fulfilled.

I run my hands under some cold water, hoping to tame my cock into something less noticeable. I think about the bond market and oil prices. I think about the other interns and what amazing plan for money making they’re putting into action. Finally, I’ve got a deflating semi, and I flush the toilet for realism.

I’ve been in the bathroom embarrassingly long, and by the time I’m out, Bailey is gone. Malcolm is in the kitchen, stirring a spoon in a coffee mug.

“Coffee?” he asks. “It’s decaf.”

“No.” I take a stool on the other side of the counter.

He doesn’t look at me. “Explain what you said earlier.”

“Which part?”

“When you said you’re straight.”

“I only fuck women.” I say. “It’s self-explanatory.”

“Since when?” he asks.

“Since I started having sex.”

“Which was when?”

I glare at him in case he happens to look up. “That’s not your business.”

“Humor me.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask.

He glances at me, then looks back down at his mug.

Suddenly it hits me that I’m alone with him. Completely alone for the first time in more than a decade. I don’t understand why he’s allowing this.

“Because I want to understand,” he says quietly.

“Since when?” I need to get my guard back up fast. I didn’t come here prepared for a talk or whatever this is.

“Since forever. I just want to understand, Ryan. Why do you have to make it impossible?”

I’mimpossible? “Your interest in my sex life is brand new to me.”

“I’m notinterested…” Malcolm sighs. “If you’re straight, then why the fuck would you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

I stare at him and don’t answer the question I know he’s asking. Instead, I say, “I wasn’t trying to break anything.”

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