13. Ryan #3
Her hair makes her look three times the size she actually is, and even she seems distressed by her raggedy appearance.
“You done?” Mal calls out.
“Yeah.”
He laughs when he comes into the kitchen and sees her.
It’s the purest smile I’ve seen on his face since sometime yesterday.
He takes her from me and turns to wrap her in a fluffy white towel matching the one around his waist. He’s still wet, especially on his back with droplets dripping from his hair, between his shoulder blades and down to the divot above his ass.
I have an urge to put my hands on his shoulders, hold him still, and suck up every drop, but I refrain.
“Stay in here, will you?” he says. “I’ll get nervous if you’re watching me.”
“Yeah, all right.”
He looks at me. “But like—don’t go.”
“I’m not.”
“I wanna get this over with, but when I was in the shower, I realized there was something else I wanted to talk with you about.”
I nod. How many ways do I need to say I’m not leaving? “I’ll wait out here.”
“Okay.”
He glances from my eyes to my mouth, then he inhales and leaves the kitchen.
That familiar tug of attraction has me watching him until the last possible second.
The smooth tanned back, the well-endowed ass that looks insanely good in a towel, his bare calves that I have very strong feelings about in general.
My physical attraction to him is stronger than it’s ever been, especially since last night. The whole “I’m in love with you thing” still feels like a core truth. He’s right, though—we don’t know each other. There are things to like about him, and there are also things I barely tolerate.
What we have in common—a shared past and a similar career path—aren’t small things, but he’s still the golden boy with his long term girlfriend and his charming grin.
He’s still good at pretty much everything, and I’m hyper-focused on the small handful of things I know I excel at with no interest in expanding my skill set except as it pertains to finance or making money.
I wonder, randomly, if Bailey has a favorite between the two of us, or if Georgie does.
Malcolm’s back in the living room after ten minutes, still in the towel, but without the dog. “I made two.” He flings his phone onto my lap and plops down next to me on the couch. “I don’t know how to add the links.”
“Oh.”
Fuck, he smells good. Shower fresh—sweet and soapy.
He puts a bare foot on the coffee table, exposing his entire left thigh and leaving his crotch barely covered.
I lick my lips, swallow some excessive drool, and open his video.
He’s giving a household budgeting tip that helps people allocate funds toward luxuries like spa appointments or haircuts.
I guess he was paying attention to Bailey last night when she said what market he was meant to go after.
He even remembered to ask for subscriptions at the end of both videos.
Also, he looks hot, pretending like he’s perfecting his hair while occasionally looking into the camera. He’s also found the perfect setting for his ring light because he glows. No makeup, filter, or concealer needed.
I add a subscribe button that links to the Patreon and jot out a quick caption with our usual hashtags. Then I hit post. “Oh,” I say as it’s loading. “Guess I should’ve shown you how to do that.”
“I was watching.” He takes the phone back. “I’ll post the other one before I go to bed.”
“I’ll stitch it when I get home,” I say. “So, what’s up?”
I halfway expect him to tell me we’ll talk after he gets dressed, but of course he doesn’t.
I try to stop imagining what it would feel like to run my hand up his leg.
I also try to stop remembering what it felt like to have his spasming cock in my mouth, but that particular sense memory seared deep.
He tasted so fucking good. I’m close to pulling his same trick from last night and casually resting my hand where I think his dick is.
It was a guerrilla tactic, but it obviously worked for me.
I’ve never been as attracted to anyone as I am to Malcolm. It’s like comparing the light from a star to the light from the sun. I’m exponentially more attracted. There’s literally no part of him I don’t want to consume. I’m interested in all of it.
“This is a little embarrassing, but I think if you’d have texted last night, I would have been more okay today,” he says.
“You… huh ?”
“I mean you kinda kicked me out, and you could tell how into it I was, right?”
I can’t help it. I’m frowning at him.
“Like—was it okay for you?” he asks.
“I mean…which part? In general?”
Stress lines appear on his forehead. “Was any of it good for you?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, you were there. I ruined my pants.”
He rolls his eyes. “They’re not ruined.”
“Until I do my laundry, they are. ”
He blurts out, “I wanted to tell you I’ve been lying to you.”
Jesus Christ, the tangents. How am I supposed to keep up? “Are you on meds?” I ask.
“I’m not high, Ryan?—”
“No, I’m asking. Do you take anything for your brain?”
He scowls. “Yeah. Why?”
“And you’re not skipping days?”
“No,” he says. “This is me. You don’t have to like it, but I’m trying to be up front with you. It probably seems like I’ve been all over the place since the internship started, but there’s a through line here that I want to point out to you since you seem to be missing it.”
“Okay, fine.” I sigh, giving him my attention, eyes on his face, not his bare naked leg or chest or erect nipples. Mostly.
“I’m not straight,” he says.
I swallow again, fighting to keep looking him in the eyes and keep my expression blank. “Since when?”
“Like ever. Like from before we met. Like I was born this way.”
“And you realized this…”
“Realize is a complicated word,” he says. “If you’re asking when I was sure—it was last night. If you’re asking when I started having questions it was before we met.”
“What about high school?”
“You mean me and Kaylin? Or me and you?”
I shrug. Whichever. Any clarity is welcome.
He rubs his mouth and sighs. “Two things can be true at once, right?”
Okay, I’ll bite. “Sure.”
“So,” he says, “I can want to have a traditional life with a woman and kids and not have anyone looking at me funny, and I can want a man to fuck me into a mattress until I’m sobbing, too. ”
That wakes my dick up. It was stirring with the sight of his bare leg and all, but the imagery he just put in my brain—I don’t bother to hide the fact that I need to adjust myself, and he doesn’t hide that he’s watching.
“Look,” he continues, “Do you think I would have done what I did last night if I wasn’t pretty sure I wanted it?”
I think about that for a minute. Because what other motive is there, really? To palm another man’s crotch and kiss his neck and hug him like you want to merge with him? “I guess not.”
“Admittedly,” he adds, “I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t freak out. Like all the wrong I tried to tell myself it was back then would come surging back, and I’d puke or something, but obviously I didn’t. I mean, I almost did when I got back here, but like I said—panic. Not gay panic—brother panic.”
“You’re bisexual,” I say.
“No, I don’t think that’s it,” he responds vaguely.
“But you wanna marry Kaylin, put babies in her and fuck men.”
He laughs. “Is that what I said? I don’t think that’s what I said. It doesn’t sound like me.”
“Would you know what sounded like you if you heard it on a loudspeaker?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes. “I fucking hate you. Still. Sometimes.”
“Same,” I tell him.
“But also…” he leans in slightly and doesn’t finish the sentence.
My mind somersaults at his sudden proximity.
I find I don’t care so much how he identifies as I do that his lips are extremely close.
“Yeah?” I whisper, staring intently at his mouth.
I shouldn’t do this. I should not do this.
He basically just described himself as a person who doesn’t know what the fuck he wants except that he wants everything—except his former stepbrother.
Today. But not necessarily yesterday and maybe not tomorrow, but probably, we’ll see.
The problem with me is, I think I am still in love with him. I think, in fact, that I am so fucking in love with him, I can’t see straight. He’s a fucking mess, and I love it. I’m crazy about it.
It was one thing knowing he didn’t want me and learning to live with that. But this idea of maybe not having to live like that? God, it’s like he’s offering me a million dollars to put myself completely at his mercy. An offer too tempting to resist.
But I should resist it, right? I don’t have to give him my heart again.
I don’t have to make any promises. I can just take what he’s offering—if he offers anything.
Enjoy it while it lasts. Find out if it’s been worth the misery and the inability to fully offer myself to anyone else.
The thing is, I still have these recurring dreams featuring the hazy image of the two of us fifty years from now, still holding each other and whispering quietly, just like when we were kids.
But that’s not what’s on offer here. My dick is obviously on board with getting physical, but I’m not sure my heart is willing to take the chance.
I don’t have to love him to fuck him, though.
I don’t ever have to say those words to him again.
What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Unless I want it to.