Page 41 of Finance Bros

“Doyouhave a girlfriend?” I ask.

He shoots me a glare over his shoulder. “Why the fuck would you ask that?”

It’s what we were just talking about, isn’t it? It’s a normal question. “Has there been anyone serious for you?” Okay, maybe that’s less normal. This must be what it feels like to be taken over by a parasite. Are these thoughts actually mine? They’refamiliar in a way, but also foreign enough that I’m not sure what to do with them.

Ryan moves with a hell of a lot more confidence than he used to. He puts his other hand on my wrist and physically removes my hand from his forearm. “Again, none of your business.”

“Why can’t I ask?” We have to figure this shit out. If we don’t, I’ll drive myself nuts. I’m halfway there already.

“Because…” He stops himself, then takes two long, deep breaths. Before I understand what’s happening, he grabs me by the hips and slams me against the wall. It knocks the breath out of me, and heat instantly floods my face. Adrenaline spikes, my body ready to fight back.

But he doesn’t hit me. He crowds me. First with his body, firmly pressing itself to mine, then his face. It’s so close, his hair touches my forehead. His hands on my hips clamp down so tightly, it hurts. His harsh breath lands on my mouth as the world around us stills and quiets.

My heart slams frantically in my chest as he very deliberately grazes a line down my nose with the tip of his. I let out a delayed gasp that leaves me depleted and utterly empty.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, breathless. My hands are on his shoulders, and I’m squirming. I need to get away from him, but if I wanted to, I could—couldn’t I? I don’t think Idowant to. I mean—of course I don’t. I’m getting exactly what I asked for.

“I’m showing you why you shouldn’t ask so many fucking questions.”

“Why?” Ineedto understand. Either nothing he’s saying makes sense, or my brain broke when my head hit the wall.

“Because I’m not fourteen anymore, Mal.”

He isdefinitelynot fourteen. He’s definitely a full grown man pinning me—another full grown man—to a wall, and I’m notfighting it. It’s not like he’s a stranger, or I haven’t ever felt his body against mine. Or his legs, firm and hard pressed into mine. A flat chest smashed into me almost like we’re hugging—one of those long hugs where I liked to…

Oh God…

I know why I’m not fighting him.

Before I let myself reconsider, my hand moves into his hair. I wrap my other arm around his shoulders, closing what little distance there is left between us. He lets out a tragic noise as his hands move from my hips to my mid back to hold me close, one fisting in my shirt. His cheek is rough against my neck. The texture is unfamiliar but theheat—I remember this.

Our breaths sync, deep and slow. I shut my eyes and inhale him. There’s a hint of spice in his hair that stirs something deep inside me—a need that’s as familiar as it is uncomfortable.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers, but makes no move to pull away.

“Why not?” I ask, wondering if this is as awkwardly arousing to him.

“Because this isn’t us.”

Isn’t it?“It is right now,” I say, grazing the edge of how I really feel.

“I don’t like it.”

He’s lying. His dismissive words are in direct contrast to the tightness of his hands, the pressure his chest is exerting to keep me pinned to the wall.

“I do,” I tell him.I really like it. Holding him makes sense. Way more than a financial analysis and certainly more than socializing with my mentor off the clock. His body might be different than it was when we were kids, but that heartbeat against mine feels exactly the same.

That same throaty whimper comes out of him again, and I tighten my own grip on him. I understand his objections,obviously. And I know I can’t turn back the clock. But I’m sorry for how I treated him. I need him to know it wasn’t him. It was me. It was my insecurity and my fear, and my confusion. I do forgive him, but I haven’t managed to forgive myself.

“This isn’t what I want,” he complains again.

I swallow hard before I ask in a shaky voice, “What do you want?”

He doesn’t answer me, still not giving up an inch between us.

“You used to like my hugs,” I remind him.

His deep breath threatens to cave in my chest. “Please let go.”

---