Page 93 of Finance Bros

“Just go, Ryan.”

“I’m not pissing on your leg.”

“That hurts my feelings.”

“Do you have feelings?”

He laughs darkly. “I do. You’d rather mark a toilet than me? Ouch.”

“Asickslut,” I mumble as I try to get away from him to rinse out my hair so I can relieve myself in the appropriate place.

“Oh, I like that. Call me that.” He squeezes again, not allowing me an inch of space. “Make methat.”

“How do you live with yourself?” I ask as my need to go gets urgently necessary.

“I don’t,” he says. “But you’re bringing me back to life.”

Jesus. He can’t say shit like that. I slide my hand around his neck; covering his throat with my palm and apply pressure. “Are you trying to make me hate myself?”

His voice strains to get through his windpipe. “I just want inside your head.”

“You’re there, asshole. You’ve always been there.”

“Prove it. Do this with me.”

I make myself stop thinking. I’m fucking exhausted, and I just came, and he’s wet and squirmy and hot, and what fucking difference does it make? We’re in the shower.

I bury my face in his neck and let the stream loose. “Ryan,ohmyfuckinggod, Ifeelyou. Ohfuck. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Me?I want to ask. Scream. He’s got me marking his leg like a fucking animal and it’s somehowmyfault?

“I’m going, too,” he says because he can’t let a single thinghappen in silence. Nothing goes unnoticed or unremarked upon with him. I have this awful realization then, that if he asked, I would have let him piss on me, too. It would feel like—closure.

What I’m doing to him feels wrong, though. Like the same reason I shouldn’t have left a mark on the back of his neck last night is the exact same reason I shouldn’t be marking him like my own personal fire hydrant. But the flood gates are open, and I let it flow until I’m done. My body feels better but my mind feels sick and dirty.

He, however, is now washing himself with reverence, seeming to relish every stroke of his leg and his ass, his chest. He’s showing off, and it’s better than porn.Good luck thinking about anything else today, Ryan.Maybe I do need to take the day. Just—not with him. I need the fuck away from him for a few hours—if not a day or two. He’s got me ready to commit myself for physical and emotional exhaustion.

As I’m rinsing off and he’s running his hands all the fuck over my body, I start mentally shutting down.

I can’t handle this. If he were anyone else—maybe. Maybe I could deal with this like a mature adult, but he’s rapidly regaining traction in both my mind and heart. This can’t be real.

I’m part of some fever dream he’s in, and I can’t allow myself to get swept up in it like it means something for him. Or us.Especiallyfor us.

In a couple weeks, Kaylin will be back, and he’ll snap back into his reality where he wears boring suits and tech vests and goes to brunch or sports bars with his straight friends or whatever the fuck they do together. I’ll finish the internship and get my dream job in Seattle where Norah is lowkey waiting for me to hold her hand in the park.

Malcolm will remember—like he did when we were fourteen—that he doesn’t want me “that way.” That whatever room is suddenly open in his head is a place that leads to a life hedoesn’t want, no matter how much fun he has playing in it from time to time. It’s as much of a threat to his future now as it ever was, and he’s just being reckless.

I can’t allow him to be reckless with me.

He gets dressed in the bedroom while I’m in the bathroom. I closed myself in as soon as he went to grab his suit. The steamy air does nothing to wake me up or clear my senses, but the empty space around me is welcome. Work will be hell today on no sleep, but I’ve got to power through. Focus.

I’ve got to shut him out and not allow my mind to wander.

This all proves absolutely fucking impossible. At work, my brain is as substantial as unset Jell-O. Constantly melted with flashes of him out of the corner of my eye—the sound of his voice across the worktable, the memories of things he said, things I did. The feelings I’m utterly defenseless against as they beat at my chest and deeper…like they’re part of my DNA.

After lunch, I go narcoleptic. Charlie tells me to go splash some cold water on my face and get an energy drink.

I don’t notice Mal’s following me until I’m in the unisex bathroom. I chose this one because I thought I might start crying from pure exhaustion on top of everything else, and I’d like to keep that shit private.

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