Page 27 of Finance Bros

“Have fun in Europe, okay?” I say in return.

Her expression is grim. “I feel like you want me to thank you or something.”

“It’s not that, I promise.”

“When you figure out what it is, you’ll tell me?”

That, I can do. “Yes.”

A knock at the door causes Stephanie to yip, and I nearly come out of my skin.

Kaylin asks, “You want me to get it?”

“No,” I say weakly, then clear my throat and try it again. “No. I got it.”

I take a deep breath that doesn’t quite reach the bottom of my lungs and open the door. It’s just Bailey. She’s wearing olive green denim overalls over a white tank top. She’s got a half sleeve tattoo on her right arm of the Lovers tarot card, but in this case, both lovers are women. It’s a really nice piece of ink, fully saturated color and fine details. “That’s really pretty,” I tell her, nodding at her arm.

I get the glare I expect for that, but then a grudging, “Thanks. Cute dog.”

“She’s my girlfriend’s.” Should I still be calling Kaylin that? Fuck it, I don’t know anything right now. “This is Stephanie.”

Bailey snorts, which is the appropriate reaction to meeting Stephanie and learning her name.

“Come on in.”

“Can I hold her?”

“I’m kind of her person, so it usually doesn’t work out when I hand her over to someone and she can still see me.”

“Okay…” Bailey says like I’m a complete weirdo. She comes into my apartment and spots Kaylin. “Hi.”

“Hi,” my ex? girlfriend says, with a smile and a wave. “I’m Kaylin.”

“Bailey,” my fellow intern says as she takes in the surroundings. My apartment is a one bedroom, one bathroom box with an open floor plan. It’s literally nothing special down to the boring windows and wood laminate flooring. It’s one of thoseplaces that was slapped together fast to make a quick buck on people with mid incomes wanting to live in the city. It verges on depressing. “How long have you lived here?” Bailey asks.

“About a year,” I say, closing the door and switching Stephanie to my other arm.

“Seriously? It looks like you just moved in.”

“How’s that?”

“For one thing, you don’t have anything on the walls.”

“I can’t ever decide what to put up.”

“You know, if you don’t like it you can take it down.”

All that makes me think about is putting holes in the wall for no reason if I change my mind. Reason number a million why I could never get a tattoo. I check my watch, and it’s seven on the dot. I’m less surprised when the next knock and yip come.

Opening the door for my stepbrother, it’s like coming face to face with yet another stranger. Yes, in terms of how he’s dressed, he looks more like how I remember him, but also like if that version were airbrushed, run through AI and perfected. Or one of thosewhat would I look like as a Disney herofilters.

He’s in a black t-shirt that hugs his ridiculously sculpted chest and dark-washed jeans with a slit of a hole in one knee. Both his sleeves of tats are on nearly full display. His hair isn’t slicked back. It’s falling around his forehead in thick, dark waves—longer than it looks at work. He’s got his messenger bag strapped across his body in a way that makes me notice his shoulders, collarbones and pecs.

My fingers twitch, an urge to trace the lines of him as compelling as the desire to stroke velvet. Andwhat the fuck? This isRyan. We’re not friends. I’m not—attractedto him. It’s probably more like jealousy. Like I wish my body looked like that. If my muscles were that defined, then I could feel all those ridges and dips when I touched myself.

Okay. Fuck. No. Jesus, I’m an hour into my break with Kaylinand I’m already all over the damn place. I don’twantto touch Ryan—or—I mean—touch myself thinking of Ryan—or wait. No. Jesus, he’s aguy. I don’t do that. That’s not—it can’t be—this is nothing.

Still, I can’t look at his body. I can’t look at his face, either, so I look at the dog as I step aside and let him in.

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