Page 140 of Finance Bros

“Let me see.”

When I lean my head on his shoulder, he takes my left hand gently in his. I hiss and Bailey gasps.

“Is it that bad?” I ask.

“Um…”

I register that I’m slumped fully against Ryan, dependent on his body to hold me up. He’s warm everywhere. Against my chest, my neck—am I going into shock?

“Are you two…? Oh my God, no wonder.”

“Bailey—not now,” Ryan says.

“Sorry. I know. I’m sorry. You want me to call an ambulance?”

“He’s not having a heart attack,” Miguel says rationally. “Nothing’s bleeding.”

“That’s good news,” I murmur into Ryan’s neck.

“Dude,” he says in a low voice I think only I’m meant to hear.

Does he seriously care whether Bailey and Miguel think we might be fucking? Does he think chemistry like what just happened is random? Does he think I can resist him after all that andthis—him fussing over me. Worried about me? Inthatsweater?

“Can you move your fingers?” he asks.

Doubt it. Don’t even want to try. The pain is just this side ofbearable. If I try moving my hand, my odds of passing out become a sure thing. “I don’t think so.”

“You should take him to a hospital,” Miguel says.

I groan. “What about Stephanie?”

“Miguel’s right,” Bailey says. “I can watch her.”

“I fucked everything up.” Everyone was happy, and now they’re all serious. Why does that always happen around me?How do I always manage to ruin everything?

“Nothing’s ruined,” Ryan says. “Is your wrist the only thing that hurts? Not your head.”

“My head’s fine.”

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Positive,” I tell him.

“Good.” He sounds relieved.

“Here,” Bailey says.

A bag of frozen corn appears, and Ryan takes it, placing it on my wrist as carefully as he can, but it causes another jolt of pain to shoot up my arm.

I hold the bag in place myself, and Ryan puts his arms around me. “I’m really sorry,” I say to everyone. Especially him.

“No worries,” Bailey says. “Miguel and I can do all the editing. Just go get checked out and text us when you know what’s up.”

“Thanks, guys,” Ryan says as we work on standing.

“Seriously, you guys were fire. We’ll barely have to do any work,” Miguel assures us.

“It’s true,” I say. “We are fire. That’s facts.”

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