Page 54 of Finance Bros

“Five is a pretty low number,” Mal notes.

I was thinking the same thing.

“I’m a pessimist.” Bailey works her way up from the beanbag, which isn’t the easiest thing to get out of. Once it has you, it wants to keep you. “Prove me wrong.”

Once she’s up, I watch Mal, waiting for his move. He’snotmoving.

I stand and take his plate along with my own while I follow Bailey out of my bedroom. A week ago, I would have been ninety-nine percent sure he’d be right behind us. Tonight, I’m at fifty-fifty.

But by the time I’m putting the dishes in the sink and Bailey’s ordering a ride home, Mal still isn’t out here.

Fuuuuccckkk…

Don’t make me be alone with his legs…

Bailey looks up from her phone. “Try one with the glasses tomorrow,” she says. “You’ll see.”

“I got made fun of for wearing glasses until I was seventeen.”

Her smile is soft. “Me too. Kids are assholes. Hey, next time, let’s meet at my place. I think I slipped a disk in that beanbag.”

“It was his idea.” I gesture weakly to the bedroom.

“You gonna be okay alone with him?”

The question feels like an attack. “Yeah. What? Why?” Shit,will I?

“I don’t want you two fighting. Messes with the team dynamic.”

“Trust me, the dynamic is already as fucked as it’s gonna get.”

If she can’t tell how badly I’m already suffering, then I’m convinced there’s nowhere to go but up.

“See you tomorrow?”

I nod and walk her to the door. On her tiptoes she presses a peck to my cheek, surprising the hell out of me but acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Good night!”

“Good night.”

Once I don’t hear her on the stairs anymore, I walk to the living room window to make sure she gets safely into her ride.

I feel him before I see him. Heat and breath. When I finally glance his way, Malcolm is leaning on the window frame like an expert at leaning. He’s facing me with his hands in his pockets and his legs crossed. The kitchen lights are on, but what’s mainly lighting his face is the streetlight outside the window. The slats of the blinds make it impossible to read his expression, slashed through with dark shadows.

“What?” I ask softly.

“Nothing,” he says.

“It’s something.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not.”

I’d love to bust this up and say I’m not in the mood for games, but I am. I’m very much in the mood for games. Must be the mood lighting. The weird innuendos. His legs. Already my pulse is thrumming, and my blood is warming. I feel every pore on my body, every hair, every molecule alight and alive.

I turn back to look at the street where Bailey is sliding into a car, tote bag on her shoulder. As her ride pulls away from the curb, I step back from the window, into shadow.

“I need the bathroom,” I say. “You need anything?”

He shakes his head.

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