Page 81 of Finance Bros

One last text because he doesn’t need to feel bad about something I could have stopped if I had any willpower whatsoever.

Me

Come over tonight and we’ll record our responses for the poll.

He reads it and then turns his phone over on the desk, but his lips part. He lets out a breath and visibly relaxes as Georgie says good morning. Underneath the table, he slides his right foot around my left foot, effectively wrapping our calves together. He’s not wearing socks.

I am utterly fucked.

Deacon is makinga stir-fry when Malcolm arrives. My roommate is wearing a muscle shirt and thin gray joggers shoved halfway up his shins. I tell him I’ve got the door as he turns to abandon his sizzling pan. “You expecting somebody?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Friend from work.”

“I can make more,” he offers.

“Thanks. We’re good.” I had a smoothie on the way home from the gym, and surely Malcolm’s not expecting me to feed him.

When I open the door, though, the first things he says is, “Smells amazing.”

To which, Deacon immediately responds, “I’ll make more.”

Mal’s wearing a simple button down in mint green that brings out all the teal notes in his eyes and makes his tan look incredible. Hisneck—Jesus.

Stephanie is dressed up, too, with a white ruffle collar.

“Deac, it’s fine. Mal, this is my roommate Deacon.”

Deacon smiles and waves. He’s like me—he looks totally different when he smiles. He’s got deep dimples which are apparent despite the dark scruff on his face. Mine are barely there, which is just as well because I don’t smile much either anyway.

“Deacon this is Malcolm. We work together.”

Mal’s eyes narrow slightly as he looks between my roommate and me. Then he gives Deacon a nod and a hey.

It’s an odd moment because Deacon is also sort of—I don’t know—sizing Malcolm up?

“You ate already right?” I ask Mal.

“Yeah.”

“We’re good,” I tell my roommate. “We’re working on a project, but enjoy your dinner.”

“Okay,” Deacon says. “Good to meet you.” His smile is less impressive this time, not crinkling his eyes or popping the dimples. I nod Malcolm toward my room, stopping short of physically dragging him there.

“Good looking guy,” Mal says once we’re behind my closed door.

“Deacon?” I ask.

He nods, looking suspiciously at me.

“He’s not—I’m not—do I really have to explain the concept of roommates to you?”

“No. I’ve had a gay roommate before, too.”

“You—? Never mind.” I don’t press because he’ll probably say something I either won’t like or will confuse me about him even more. He’s had me in a tailspin since the second I sat beside him in the huddle this morning.

How to describe what he wore to work without sounding problematic…

The black shirt he had on underneath his camel colored suit had a slight sheen to it. His pants were slimmer cut, tapered at the ankle and, like I noticed under the table, no socks with his brown Amberjack loafers. It wasn’tflamboyant. Not exactly. Not in the showier way Miguel is. But I got the feeling Mal had never worn those items of clothing in that precise combination before because it made him look…less than straight. And Malcolm, in my experience has never looked anything less than perfectlyramrodstraight down to his golf shirts and khaki shorts.

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