Page 66 of Finance Bros

This reminds me of Calyx, and it gives me an idea. “You could always have my friend Calyx over and let him teach you about skin care. That way you can talk about how to have a natural glow instead of all that shit she puts on her face.” I’m notsure where that came from—especially the “natural glow” part, but Bailey’s current expression is now the definition of it.

“Yeah…” she muses. “Like…stripped down. No bullshit. No Botox, no contouring. No overly complicated advice.”

“Exactly,” I say cautiously.

“Maybe,” she says, just as warily.

I tear my sandwich in half. “I can’t believe she’s doing that. What’s her handle?”

“Forget her. We need to deal with Malcolm.”

So much for throwing her off that topic. “He won’t want me at his place. I’ll probably make it worse.”

I will definitely make it worse.

Catastrophic, even.

Bailey—for the first time ever, cracks. “Look, I can’t manageallof this, all right? Especially if I have to show my face on the internet. From now on, you’re in charge of content, Mal’s in charge of public relations, and I’ll deal with the website and costs. That meansyou’reon duty tonight to make sure he posts something good. We need those subscribers, and we need them soon. Fair?”

It is fair. More than fair.

It’s simple really. All I have to do is show up at Mal’s shitty apartment and tell him to forget last night ever happened. Don’t worry about it. Didn’t mean anything. All the same bullshit I’ve been telling myself for years.

We can move on. And if he needs me to say I can keep this strictly professional, I’ll agree. And if he doesn’t—then I’ll say it myself. This was a one-time thing, and Malcolm Walsh is not my future. He never was.

I showup at Mal’s place without calling or texting first. I figure I have a better chance of being allowed in if I catch him off guard. Best case scenario—we’ll end up friends again, but I’m not holding my breath.

He continued his petty ignoring me bullshit all day today, and I had no reason to believe he’d answer a call or return a text, so here I am with pre-written content and a shit ton of determination to put last night behind us.

Only thing is, he’s shirtless. He’s got the dog in one hand, his phone in the other, and he’s wearing charcoal gray sweats. His hair is wet and slicked back from his face. He looks like a goddamn athletic wear model.

His nipples up close and in person are striking. On the videos, they’ve caught my eye, but in the flesh, they’re a rosy brown, and they don’t lie flat on his chest like some men’s do. No, of course not. His form tiny, perfect, bite-sized mounds directly in the middle of his lightly hairy pecs. I immediately want to cover them with pasties.

Fortunately, he’s too confused by my showing up to notice the lingering look of what I’m guessing is pure longing I give those nipples.

“Did Bailey send you? Or did you come on your own?”

“Bailey,” I tell him.

“Awesome,” he says in a tone completely lacking awe. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“She thinks you do, and she put me in charge of content.”

“Yeah, I heard. It was in thegroup text.”

Ignoring the tone, I ask, “Can I come in?”

He sighs. “Do you want to?”

“Look,” I say. “My patience is limited, and we need to start making money, so yes. I’m here, I’d like to come in.”

He makes a noise that usually prefaces something like, “unbelievable,” but he does let me inside and closes the door.

“I’m filming in the bedroom.” He walks past me in that direction.

Since we’re alone, I don’t see any reason to not speak bluntly. “What the hell is wrong with you? And I don’t just mean today.”

He waves off the question and disappears around a corner. I follow him.

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