Page 40 of Finance Bros

Gritting my teeth, I’d shoved my impossibly thicker cock into the toy and pictured running my fingers through his happy trail, flattening the hairs to his skin. And then it was like he was in the shower with me, his hand was the flesh light, and my hand was moving up his chest, squeezing his firm pec. I imagined what his nipple would feel like against my tongue, and before I could get to the point where I might have grabbed his ass, my body lit up like a circus, nerve endings blasting, a cry bouncing off the tile as I came so fucking hard, so fucking fast it was like getting the wind punched out of me.

The massive load of cum I left in the flesh light took me five minutes to wash out. Five minutes where my thighs and hands were shaking and I could barely catch my breath.

So that happened. I went there. I jerked off to Ryan, and I came harder than I’ve come in my entire fucking life.

Tonight, when he pulled off his sweater, and I saw what I saw—cum gutters and happy trail in the flesh—the goddamn sword pointing straight to his cock—that very particular light bulb in that very particular place in my head that’s been flickering all week blared bright. I can’t ignore it. Or maybe it’s truer to say, I don’t want to ignore it anymore. It’s too hard. Too exhausting. I give up. I tried.

I tried for ten fucking years, which is by far the longest I’ve ever done anything I didn’t genuinely want to do.

So this is me—giving up. Admitting defeat because whateverI’ve been telling myself is no match for what’s underneath that sexy black sweater, which, I’ve decided, I want to touch.

“Kaylin’s going to Europe next week and she’ll be gone for the rest of the month,” I say unprompted. “Don’t worry, it won’t affect having the dog. I was already gonna watch her, so she’ll be here.”

“What do you mean by a break?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah…it was in the works. I started thinking about it before the internship anyway. I wanted to be able to focus and figure out…you know…what’s next.”

Ryan plants his hands on the counter and pushes back on his stool. “I should go.”

“Could you not?” I ask, annoyed. “We’re talking.”

“You’re talking,” he says. “I’m listening to shit I never asked to hear.”

“Well, what doyouwant to talk about?”

“Dude—I don’t. I want to go home.”

I shake my head. He’s not getting off that easy. I just told him something important about me. Matter of fact, I’ve said a lot since that forgiveness phone call, give or take. It’s his turn. “I don’t believe that. I also don’t think you’d have agreed to team up with me if you wanted nothing to do with me, so here I am. Deal with me.”

“Deal with—what?”he asks. “You’re being fucking weird.”

“Just say what you need to say.” Or do what you need to do, I want to tell him.Anything.

“What?” he asks, looking disgusted. “That you’re a total fucking asshole who punished me every single day for years over one mistake I made? That having to see you now reminds me of the worst fucking times of my life?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah.” I guess that is partly what I meant. Not exactly something I love hearing, but I feel like it’s importantthat he got that off his chest, even if it wasn’t pleasant for either of us.

“Well…there you go,” he says.

Pressing, I ask, “What else?”

He glares at me. “That’s it.”

“Is it?”

“What else would there be?” he asks warily.

Okay, here goes. Step one. “If I said I wanted to try being friends again?—”

“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head and standing up. “I know how you treat your friends. No fucking thanks.”

“Ryan—Listen?—”

“Nope.”

Damn, he moves fast. I catch him by the arm before he gets to the door. The heat of his arm blazes against my palm. The sinew and muscle are as firm as stone beneath my touch just like I knew they would be. If I let go, which I should, he’ll leave, and I don’t want him to. Not yet. I’m ready to push through whatever this wall is and get to the other side. I might have trouble following through with pretty much everything, but I seriously hate what I did to him in high school and afterward. It was based on a lie I told himandmyself.

Maybe I used to get off on making him jumpy and nervous around me, but it’s not doing it for me anymore. There are better ways to get his attention. There have to be. I’d rather he just be honest. Then, maybe, for once, I can be honest, too.

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