Page 7 of Finance Bros

We did try pickleball last spring, but since it required working as a team and losing to better players, I decided pretty fast I wasn’t into it.

To be clear—I’m not looking to date or fuck other women. Not that I’m saying if we took a break I wouldn’t, but I really dowant to focus on this internship. Sex with Kaylin is fine. Or as fine as it can be after ten years together. We still do it a few times a month and know what to do with each other to make it work, so I’m not unsatisfied exactly. It’s just that I don’t feel any closer to end game if that makes sense.

I do have a sense the clock is ticking for her, though. Last year, I considered taking the plunge and proposing, but the more we talked about being together long term and having kids, the more I chickened out. A break might help clarify whether I actually want to marry her, or I’m just used to her.

And maybe this internship will lead to a job and help me feel more settled in general. Or at least, that’s what I thought might happen before Ryan plopped his ass into it.

Just when I thought I’d gotten away from him for good.

I hate how all the severely uncomfortable shit I’ve spent most of my life pushing to the back of my head is suddenly clamoring to be dealt with. I hate that he’s glaring at me like I was the one who fucked everything up. I hate thatI’mthe asshole, when he so obviously is, too.

Georgie introduces me to my mentor—a financial analyst named Isla Dennis. She’s a curvy thirty-something with long, nondescript brown hair and vivid blue eyes. Her skin is extremely pale, but she lights up when she stands to greet me. I get a head to toe once-over and a “Wow. Is this my summer bonus?”

I don’t know whether to laugh or file a complaint.

Georgie ignores this and leaves me with Isla. There’s an immediate vibe—one I immediately dislike. “You’re my first intern,” she says. “Malcolm, huh? Is that what people call you?”

“Yes,” I say, though most people call me Mal.

She says my name several times like a chant as she pulls another chair toward hers and gestures for me to take a seat. When I do, she scoots in. Her knee bumps mine, and she makesno effort to adjust it. To be fair, she’s got a large laptop, but it’s not gigantic. For both of us to see the screen, we do need to be next to each other, but could she cross her legs?

“So…tell me about you,” she says.

I give her the brief bio I gave the other interns.

“I went to Stanford, too! Did you play sports?”

“No. I mostly just hung out and went to class.”

“You’re so tall. You look like you would’ve played baseball or basketball or something.”

“Yeah. No.”

“What do you do to stay in such great shape?” she asks.

“Go to the gym…”

“Which gym?”

I look longingly at the spreadsheet pulled up on her computer screen as I tell her the name of my neighborhood gym, which leads down a rabbit hole about where I live, how many days of the week I work out, and whether I live alone or not.

I’m a terrible liar, so I tell her the unfortunate truth. “Yeah.” I’m careful not to ask any reciprocal questions because she’s playing with her hair and touching her face too much. She’s flirting with me, and it’s about as subtle as a brick to the face.

At my first opening, I clear my throat and ask what she’s working on.

“Oh! Yeah, I guess we should talk about that. How are you with Excel?”

“Not bad.”

“Good. Maybe we can learn from each other, then.”

At last, she puts me to work, pointing me in the direction of some cluttered spreadsheets that aren’t the easiest to decipher, especially with her constant questions. My concentration is also jacked because I’m thinking about that hundred dollars, and obviously Ryan, who’s two tables down with his own mentor, ayoung, very good-looking white guy in a fully motorized wheelchair.

Ryan’s gotglasseson now—I don’t remember him ever wearing glasses—and it shouldn’t distract me even worse, but it does. They’ve gotta be fake. Or like blue light glasses or something. He just looks so…grown up andnormal. So well put together—I shake my head and look away. It’s annoying is all. That he’s here. But it doesn’t need to ruin my summer or this opportunity.

“Oh—” Isla cuts off my disconcerting train of thought. “That’s a tricky one—let me walk you through a few things.”

She scoots in close enough that her thigh is fully flush with mine, and I can smell her floral-scented hair. Needless to say, it’s a long morning. I finally get a break from her after lunch when she goes to a team meeting, and I insist I’d rather keep looking through the spreadsheets.

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