24. Ryan
RYAN
M iguel has a very nice place in the Castro.
Evidently his stint as a YouTuber set him up nicely for a while, and he was able to buy the upper floor of a townhome.
His office is exactly the cozy kind of space Bailey wanted, but at the moment, it’s a blank canvas with good lighting and a ton of recording equipment. The walls are a warm, dark green.
The four of us work together to set it up.
We bring in two chairs from Miguel’s living room and an end table to put between them.
Bailey’s heart is set on calling the show “Finance Bros,” and as much as I hate it, and I think Mal does, too, there’s no talking her out of it, especially when Miguel agrees.
If we hadn’t spent a good chunk of our life actually being brothers, I don’t think it would bother me so much, but it’s not an aspect of our relationship I want to advertise. It’s awkward enough that Bailey knows.
A white neon sign with the name of the show costs a hundred and eighty bucks and will be delivered next week. We leave a spot on the wall for it, then decorate a bookshelf, pull in a rug, and do some test shots .
With Miguel’s experience and equipment, we’ll be able to film from three angles: one camera on me, one on Mal, and the other on the two of us.
A few beers and two pizzas later, we’ve got a filming schedule and a list of topics for the first two shows.
Mal seems to be settling into the new arrangement, but he’s short on jokes and smiles.
He’s annoyed, too, that Miguel won’t tell him what the other group is working on, but that’s on me.
I told him it’d be better if we didn’t know, even when he said he had no problem telling me.
All I know is we’re doing better, and that’s all I need to hear, which is probably why Piper’s been lashing out.
Something about Malcolm pouting hits all my buttons, and by the time ten o’clock rolls around, I’m near dying to be alone with him.
I managed to forget about our sexy text exchange earlier because I have to be able to compartmentalize while I’m at work, but watching him move furniture and sneak glances at me while our plan is coming together is a big turn on.
Even the way he and Bailey bicker gives me a warm, connected feeling inside.
I don’t know how much longer I can go without smashing my mouth to his—among other body parts.
He brought Stephanie with him to Miguel’s but no overnight bag. When I see him yawn, I say, “We should get out of your hair,” to Miguel.
“Thank you guys again. I’m so glad there’s something I can do that’s useful.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Bailey says. “We’ll make sure you’re useful.”
“You,” I say to her, “Need to get with Calyx.”
She grimaces. This, I’m beginning to understand, is a tell of hers. She wants to take Piper on. She just needs a push.
“Why don’t I bring him by your place tomorrow night when we’re done at the gym. ”
“Fine,” she sighs. “Whatever. Have him send me a list of things I need to get from the store.”
“Seriously?” Mal asks. “You’re gonna do it? Even if it involves makeup?”
She backhands him in the chest.
“I can help, too,” Miguel says. “I know my way around a contouring palette. Drag was a hobby of mine in high school.”
“If you try to make me look like a drag queen?—”
“Chill, mama. I’m just saying, I know how to make you look like AI Barbie.”
Bailey startles. “Oh my God, that just gave me the best idea.”
“Care to share with the class?” Mal asks.
“Not with you, no.”
He huffs and tightens his hold on Stephanie as he rises from the couch. “One of these days I’m gonna surprise you, and you’re gonna be so sorry you underestimated me.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says with a laugh.
I look at her with raised eyebrows, and she frowns. “Is he right?”
I shrug and stand, too.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
I’m tempted to kiss Malcolm right then and there. Make him melt against a wall and show Bailey what he’s really like. But our relationship is confusing enough without dragging other people and their opinions into it.
We say goodnight to Miguel before Mal and I walk Bailey home. Her cute apartment complex is only a few blocks away. She loves Miguel being part of our group. “Seriously, boys, I’m getting dream team vibes,” she says.
“Yeah, he’s so dreamy,” Mal says flatly.
“What crawled up your butt by the way?” she asks him. “Do you not like the direction of the project? ”
“I love the project,” he says, then adds in a lower mumble, “I just hate the job.”
That’s the first I’m hearing about that, and I look over at him.
He’s got his eyes on the pavement with Stephanie under one arm and his other hand shoved in his shorts pocket.
It’s a cool night. He and I both have on hoodies over t-shirts.
I’m wearing pants, though. He’s got his sexy legs on full display. “The job?” I ask. “Or Isla?”
“Both.”
“You still wanna win, though, right?” Bailey asks.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Jesus—was he always this moody?
Yes. Of course he was. It’s just that I haven’t been allowed to see the way he cycles through his moods for so long, I forgot what it’s like—the turbulence of him.
I forgot how much I love it, too. Back when we were close, he turned to me like I was the eye of his storm, and I remember the way it felt to have his heart slow its pace against my chest.
Being his safe place—the one he always turned to—was what I built my identity around. Losing that when he turned to Kaylin—it killed .
As soon as Bailey enters her apartment, I dig his hand out of his pocket and wrap mine around it.
“I have to go home tonight,” he says.
“You don’t.” I tell him.
“I had a shitty day.”
“Is this because I wouldn’t fuck you in the unisex?”
He takes his hand back. “Not funny.”
“I’m asking.”
Apparently, he’s reached the end of his tether, because he more or less snaps, “I’ve got actual feelings for you, you know?”
The words give me a jolt, and I find myself struggling to swallow .
“I wish you’d take it seriously,” he adds, softer.
My mind flips through all the things I’ve done over the last few weeks, the ways I’ve acted, words I’ve said. He thinks I’m not serious? “I…do, I just…”
“What?”
“It’s sudden.” I don’t know why I say that. I’ve had feelings for him the majority of my life. In retrospect, the evolution of our relationship makes sense to me. It scares me, too.
“What do I have to do to let you know I mean it?” he asks.
That’s not the right question. I already know he’s serious about us.
He’s locked in. For now. That’s the way he is.
He does things with his whole chest until he stops.
I don’t know what he’ll do once Kaylin comes back from her trip next week.
I don’t know how much of what’s going on with us is due to his poor impulse control or an actual desire to build something new with me—or repair what we broke.
Worse, I’m not sure what the fuck I want from him either.
I mean, I definitely want more. And I want him around. I don’t want him to spend tonight alone. I don’t want to be alone, either, not if being with him is an option. This is Mal for fuck’s sake—making me and breaking me all over again.
“I think what I need to hear is what I need to do for you ,” I say because the way he’s making it sound, I’m not meeting some need of his. “Besides sneaking off with you at work. What’s got you all twisted up?”
“You’re different,” he says.
“Than when I was fourteen? I fucking hope so.”
“No, I mean in the last couple of weeks. You’re friendlier. You’re making friends. You seem chill and kinda happy.”
I scowl, but he’s not wrong. Work is great.
I think we’re killing it with the challenge.
I am making friends—finding people I actually enjoy being around.
Most importantly, Mal’s not actively trying to make me miserable even though we see each other every day.
Is there some uncertainty? Sure. But it’s the good kind of uncertainty.
The kind that leads to excitement rather than dread.
“Why are you not?” I ask.
“ Are you thinking of this as a fling?”
I wish I were. If I could put Mal into casual territory, it would make my life so much easier, but that’s never been the way my stupid heart deals with him.
What he actually is—is a complication. A wrench in my well-laid plans.
He’s a person I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure of, no matter how much I’d love some sign from the universe that says he’s yours.
Take him. “No, I don’t think of it like a fling,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
Now he’s fishing.
I sigh. “Because you’re important to me.”
He stops walking. So do I, and we face each other. “Why?” he asks again.
“Why do you think?” I ask, and immediately feel bad about it. He needs more. I need to give him more. I just don’t know how when I feel this distance parting us again. When his hand isn’t in mine.
“Because we have history?” he asks.
“Guess again,” I say.
His gaze is a plea, and I know what he wants me to say.
He wants me to tell him nothing’s changed for me.
That I’m still “like completely in love” with him.
And how can I not be? I am. But that’s no longer all I am.
I have a life and plans that have nothing to do with him.
Building a new identity without him was what I had to do to survive.
Whether I wanted it that way or not— I didn’t —it’s happened.
“I feel like you want me to slow down, but I feel like if I do, you’ll be gone before I’ve even got a chance,” he says .
“A chance to what?” I ask, my heart threatening to throw itself on the tracks.
“To be with you.”
“I’m right here,” I tell him, knowing how far that is from his point. He’s being so careful, though, and I love him for that, too.
He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes a moment, and nods. “Yeah. You are.”
“So come home with me.”
“I can’t fucking say no to you, Ryan,” he complains.
I grin. “Good.”