13. Ryan
RYAN
I ’ve been down this road before. I know all the twists and turns, the hills and the valleys—all the overgrown brush that can scratch the shit out of me if I don’t watch my head. And I don’t mean Malcolm’s curious experimentation last night. I mean his total indifference today.
He barely looks at me during the morning huddle.
Despite his supposed plans for when he got home, he didn’t make any content last night, and Bailey is annoyed.
I watch them whisper argue across from me at the conference room table while I chew on my nauseating feelings—a mix of resentment and desire.
Regret and wanting—longing. It’s a bone-deep, fucked up love that feels like a curse someone put on me a long time ago.
There’s a mark on his neck. It’s not big—and if I hadn’t known what he was up to last night, I might have mistaken it for a shadow, but it’s right beneath his left ear, and I remember that spot.
How sweet it was. How I couldn’t help myself from taking just a little more.
Tasting it just a little longer. I wanted it to be his mouth.
I was imagining what it would be like to have his lips moving with mine .
But I took too much. I overstepped. I acted when I should have stayed still.
He asked for a hug, and I gave him a fucking blow job .
He gave me a peck, and I shoved my tongue down his throat.
Well done, Ryan. Way to fucking go. Why not tell him you’re still fucking in love with him while you’re at it? I might as well have.
An argument could be made that he started it by palming my crotch, but Malcolm is nothing if not impulsive.
He was always in trouble in grade school and at home for playing with something until it broke, like the toaster or the DVD player.
Once, he broke the gas grill on our deck because he couldn’t figure out how to light the burners, which looking back, was probably a good thing.
He’s always gotten bored easily—always wanted to try the next thing, play a different game, watch a new movie.
He never finished anything, which is why the fact that he got two degrees from Stanford is stunning.
I wonder if he’s on ADD meds. Maybe he forgot to take them yesterday, and that’s what all that experimentation was about—him totally going off the rails.
At lunch, I’m sitting by myself, eating my sandwich and scrolling my phone, trying not to relive my entire adolescence in a single hour when Bailey appears with Malcolm’s arm in her hand and an accusatory look on her face.
“Did you two fight after I left?”
“Yes,” I say.
“No,” he says at the same time.
I glare at him, and he responds with a slightly less harsh one.
“Was it about the challenge or some stupid stepbrother shit?” she asks.
He and I continue to stare stonily at each other. If all of a sudden now is when he’s gonna finally shut up, I’ll have to drive this narrative. “As usual, he can’t make up his mind.”
“About?” Bailey asks .
“Anything. But if you’re asking about last night?—”
That’s when Malcolm speaks up. “Last night, Ryan wasn’t being very supportive. I just felt like my contributions to the project were under appreciated.”
I lean back in my seat. “Oh, is that right?”
He waves a hand at me as if to say, see —zero appreciation.
“Look, you two,” Bailey says, sitting across from me and dragging Mal into the booth with her. “We have to work together. It’s too big a project to have anyone dropping out now. We all agree on that, right?”
I give a stiff nod, and Mal says, “Right.”
“I support you, Malcolm,” she tells him with more earnestness than I would have thought her capable. “Does that help? I think you’re doing an amazing job. Your set ups have been really creative, and your chest muscles are super good.”
His expression softens as he looks down at her, “Thanks.”
“Give him a compliment,” she tells me, her tone stern.
I jerk. Actually? I have deep barrels inside me full of compliments and complaints about Malcolm Walsh, but it’s not the compliment barrel I’m digging through today. My contribution is, admittedly, a copout. “I agree about the chest muscles.”
He levels a glare at me. Do I deserve that? What the fuck did I do this time? Besides wrapping my mouth around his dick when he was only planting soft kisses on my neck.
“I’m a little concerned about how much reassurance is required here,” I say. “If you feel like you’re in over your head, speak up.”
“I’m fine,” he grinds out.
“Well, I think your communication needs improvement. That’s what the group text is for. If you don’t feel comfortable saying something to our faces, maybe put it in a text.”
From the look on his face, it’s clear he gets my meaning, but he only glares at me .
“Mal?” Bailey looks at him expectantly.
“We are all grown ass adults,” I add.
She shoots me a look that says shut the fuck up.
Mal finally mumbles something. “Maybe it’s just like—performance anxiety.”
I snort.
“Stage fright,” he says louder, ignoring me. “This idea of having a big following—it takes some getting used to.”
“I get that,” Bailey says. “The bad news is, it’s probably gonna involve some growing pains. The good news is, it’s working, and people love it.”
“Do they?” he asks.
I feel like this is all aimed at me, and I’m no better. Every word out of our mouths seems to have a double meaning. For someone who claims not to be a good writer, he sure as fuck has a way with words. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
Bottom line is, he let me suck his dick, he freaked out once he left, and now I have no clue where his head is at, but I can certainly guess based on past experience.
At least he’s not banging an associate in the supply closet, because that’s pretty much exactly what he did when we were in high school, and he somehow always managed to get caught. Imagine that.
His sexploits were everyone’s favorite topic in school. It didn’t do Kaylin any favors, but Mal’s reputation as a straight guy who had a lot of sex was golden. I’m surprised there’s not a statue of him in the trophy cabinet—most lays in a high school career. Lifetime achievement award.
“Of course!” Bailey’s saying. “You have forty-eight thousand followers and counting. We just need you and Stephanie to start selling those subscriptions.”
“Right,” he says. “Sorry. To be fair, he didn’t make any content either. ”
“I did actually ,” I say, annoyed as fuck. “I just haven’t posted it yet.”
His eyes flash to me. They’re bluer today than usual. Maybe something to do with the dark circles under them making them really pop. “You did?”
I cock my head. “I did. I thought I looked good last night, so I went ahead and made a few.”
His jaw works as he stares me down. “Sorry for fucking up the flow,” he finally says.
“No problem,” I say easily. Maybe a little blithe.
Abruptly, he stands and leaves the table. Bailey gapes after him and then turns to me. “What the hell?”
I shrug.
“What happened? Seriously?”
“Seriously? He and his girlfriend are on a break, and I don’t think he knows how to be alone.”
That’s FACTS.
“Oh. Yikes. I know how that feels.”
“Maybe you should go to his place tonight and keep him company,” I say.
She makes a horrified and slightly pissed off face.
“I didn’t mean like that. Jesus . I meant as moral support. Encouragement. You could hold the camera while he makes some content. Tell him he looks smart or something.” Give him a nice long hug. He loves those .
“I can’t tonight. We’re having dinner for my mom’s birthday, but good idea. You do that, and hopefully by tomorrow we’ll have some subscribers, and he’ll be in a better mood.”
“I can’t tonight either,” I say quickly, the epic backfire blasting my face and turning it red hot.
“Why?”
“The gym and I’ve got…I’ve got…”
“Nothing to do. Go help Mal. We need this to work, Ryan. I’m not losing to Piper for fuck’s sake. If you make me lose to that bitch, I will never forgive you.”
“What happened with Piper?”
“Have you not seen the comments she’s leaving on the videos?”
I haven’t. I’ve had to stop reading the comments. There are too many to keep up. I shake my head.
“Well, she’s leaving them, and she’s stitching some of the videos, too. She’s doing this get ready with me bullshit while she basically contradicts everything you guys are saying.”
“She’s what?” That’s sabotage. “Why would she do that?”
“Because we have a winning plan, and they probably don’t. Or she’s just a bitch.”
“I will tear her apart,” I say under my breath, my anger with Mal easily redirecting itself.
“Good. You should. If I had the looks, believe me, I’d be doing it myself, but?—”
“Hold up—Piper’s a Barbie doll. You’re far more interesting to look at, and if you wanna play her stupid get ready with me game, you should, because fuck her.”
Bailey’s silence surprises me, but her stunned look has me rethinking what I just said and wondering if I owe her an apology. “My makeup routine consists of putting on moisturizer and combing my eyebrows,” she says.
“And you look great,” I tell her.
She frowns.
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
“I mean…” she touches the corner of her eye. “I guess I could learn to do more…”
This reminds me of Calyx, and it gives me an idea.
“You could always have my friend Calyx over and let him teach you about skin care. That way you can talk about how to have a natural glow instead of all that shit she puts on her face.” I’m not sure where that came from—especially the “natural glow” part, but Bailey’s current expression is now the definition of it.
“Yeah…” she muses. “Like…stripped down. No bullshit. No Botox, no contouring. No overly complicated advice.”
“Exactly,” I say cautiously.
“Maybe,” she says, just as warily.
I tear my sandwich in half. “I can’t believe she’s doing that. What’s her handle?”
“Forget her. We need to deal with Malcolm.”
So much for throwing her off that topic. “He won’t want me at his place. I’ll probably make it worse.”
I will definitely make it worse.