Page 178 of Finance Bros

I kiss him before saying, “Depends on the day.”

His arms and legs loosen, and I shift, my softened dick sliding out of him. We turn onto our sides and, ignoring the mess between us, cuddle close, like we always used to, but better.

Bailey belts out “Africa” from the living room, and I smile, my thumb moving back and forth over Mal’s sexy nipple. “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

Running his hand through my hair, he sighs and says, “I’m thinking…best summer ever.”

EPILOGUE

Malcolm

Four Summers Later

Ifind Ryan sitting on the floor of our bedroom beside an open moving box while he flips through a book. “And I thought my ADD was bad.” I sit next to him and take the book from his hand.

“Hey,” he objects mildly, but he leans on me, shoulder to shoulder as I look down at the page he was reading. It’s our book. The one we wrote together. It came out last year, hit the New York Times Bestseller list, and kicked off a three-month book tour where we traveled to thirteen states and spoke to packed auditoriums, signing and smiling until our hands and faces cramped.

He was reading the foreword Bailey wrote. In it, she tells the story of the internship and the hundred dollar challenge in the wry, funny way only she could. It ends with her, Ryan, and Miguel all being offered jobs with Marks & Baker, and Ryanturning it down to go into business with me. It’s not a love story or anything, but you wouldn’t know it from the sentimental way Ryan gazes down at the words.

I get it, though. It was the beginning of us, of who we became—who we’re still becoming. Slowly, I close the book, waiting for him to object, and place it in the box with the others when he doesn’t. He sighs, picks up the roll of packing tape and seals the box shut.

I put my arm around him and check in. “You hanging in there?”

“I’ll miss this place,” he says.

“Me too. Good thing it’s not really going anywhere,” I remind him.

We’ve been in our condo for more than four years now. The first year, Bailey stayed in the complex until she was rolling in money both from her job at Marks & Baker and revenue from our show. She bought her own place—a dream house near the Painted Ladies in Alamo Square Park.

We’re not following her—we’re really not. Except that when one of the actual Ladies went up for sale, Ryan and I couldn’t resist snapping it up. The chance to live in a historical landmark was too tempting—too perfect. The previous tenant was an old man who passed away. His kids wanted to make a quick few million. The house needs work, but one of the casual benefits of working from home is that we’ll be able to oversee all the projects.

We already have our studio set up on the top floor, ready to start filming as soon as we move in. But this apartment in the Castro holds a lot of memories. Mostly amazing ones. Since we didn’thaveto sell it, we aren’t, and the next residents will be a lesbian couple who will fit right into the eclectic vibe of the complex.

Ryan and I aren’t billionaires, not yet, but between the two ofus, we’ve made great investments as we’ve grown our brand. Those, along with the best-selling book, mean we can do virtually anything we want.

We had to learn a lot as we went in terms of being “finance bros.” Without actual jobs in finance, we were just a couple of former grad students spouting off on YouTube. That’s changed. Our side hustle—if you want to call it that—is a sort of boutique investment firm, run by him and me, where we’ve taken on a handful of clients and put our knowledge to work, gaining experience with investments and yes—risk analysis. We’ve made mistakes. We’ve lost money, we’ve made money, but it turns out, we do know what we’re talking about. Now more than ever.

Ryan is intuitively brilliant with the markets, and it turns out, I don’t suck at risk assessments. They’re actually right up my alley since I have such a long history of taking risks, I guess. It’s much more interesting when I’m dealing with someone else’s livelihood than my own. I also hate the thought of someone not trusting me, and between those contradictions, I hit my stride and found the right balance.

All that to say, Ryan and I make a great team, which has surprised no one more than him.

“I was thinking about your birthday party when Bailey brought that stoner who made those gummy cookies in the kitchen,” he says.

I laugh. That girl had been so weird. I’ve never seen anyone more focused, slicing marijuana gummies into tiny pieces—totally taking over our kitchen for an hour and a half while everyone else at the party, including Bailey watched me open my presents—all of which were more appropriate for a bridal shower than a birthday. Sex toys and lingerie. In my defense, it was all male-appropriate lingerie, but obviously Ryan said something to someone. There was a clear theme.

All the gifts went to good use, except the corset Miguel gaveme. I tried it on and everything—in private when Ryan wasn’t home. It wasn’t me. I’m a pretty undies and maybe a garter man. Like I’ll wear stockings but not heels. Thongs, not bras. Ryan likes my nipples too much to cover them up.

“What about when Jill and my dad spent the week?” I ask.

“Jesus—why’d you have to bring that up?”

It had been a memorable time and not planned at all. Long story short, Ryan and I are stepbrothers again, and, as that’s a relatively recent development, neither one of us is quite sure how to feel about it.

One thing I know for sure is how I feel about him. “Even memory lane has potholes,” I tell him.

He turns in my embrace, burying his face in my neck. Heather’s managed to find me, and she’s stumbling her way over my thigh to get on my lap. Reflexively, I help her up. She’s even tinier than Stephanie was—and she’s one of my favorite earlier memories of living here.

Ryan got her for me about a week after we moved in. She’s another Yorkshire Terrier, and we’ve had her since she was weaned. I’d been so determined not to let her bond too strongly to Bud, I didn’t put her down for weeks and forced her to sleep in bed next to me every night. I mean, she still sleeps there, but I don’t have to force her anymore. It’s her expectation.

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