25. Malcolm #2
Thinking of solo work, my array of flesh lights come to mind. While my laundry is running and after I take a shower, I pack for the rest of the weekend, including one item from my nightstand I think Ryan might like.
I meet him at his place with Stephanie on a leash, but we only have time for me to drop off my things and collect his before we need to head to Miguel’s.
It’s another gorgeous day, perfect for a walk and for him to hold my hand apparently.
With our fingers locked and palms pressed together, we make our way up and down the hills of San Francisco and finally Castro Street with its porn cookie shops and sex toy stores, its amazing restaurants and array of rainbow flags.
“You feel like you belong here?” I ask.
“Here as in…?”
“This neighborhood.” It was all I started out meaning, but now with the door to ask him about staying in the Bay Area wide open, I consider pressing the issue.
“Why? Because we’re fucking?” he asks.
Because you’re in love with me? I swallow roughly and say instead, “I feel like I do. Like I have an all-access pass.”
“I used to work at that bar,” he says, pointing across the street, “For about a month before the internship.”
“Seriously?”
“I thought I’d still be able to pick up shifts, but with the challenge it’s been?—”
“But you said you’d never?—”
“I hadn’t.”
“Been with guys,” I go ahead and finish in case he can’t actually read my mind.
“Women go to bars, too.”
“So—back to my original question,” I say, exasperated, “You feel like you belong here?”
“Belonging isn’t something I feel very often,” he says. It’s an honest, unguarded answer, and it makes me realize how measured his responses to my questions usually are—or they used to be. Maybe that’s changing.
“I guess I have something to do with that.”
He squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything. Obviously what I want to say is do you feel like you belong with me ? And I might, later, but I’m really trying not to actively obsess over him when we have our first episode to film.
We pass couples of all varieties as we walk.
Stephanie gets a lot of attention, and she eats it up.
She’s been spreading her love around more lately, coming out of her shell.
When I spend the night with Ryan, she prefers to sleep snuggled up with Bud more often than not.
I’m not jealous . I just happened to notice, is all.
Miguel welcomes us with a broad smile and offers us beer. We’re not holding hands anymore and straight guys drink beer, I guess. I accept the offer, but Ryan wants water.
Bailey’s already in the office, surveying and perfecting the setup. She scoops up Stephanie as the tiny dog runs toward her. Bailey gives me a sheepish look. “You’d think I was gonna be the one on camera with how nervous I am.”
“You think we’re gonna fuck it up?” I ask.
“No!” she says, sounding unexpectedly supportive. “I think it’s gonna be amazing. I’m literally all tingly. I have a really good feeling about this.”
“Yeah?”
She nods with enthusiasm. “You look fantastic, by the way.”
I don’t know how to deal with her like this. I’m wearing gray slacks, a white button down with the collar open, and an Old Navy tech vest I bought last year. When Bailey asked if I had one, I told her I did, and she snorted. Ryan didn’t get the same question.
The group text has been popping all week about how to brand “Finance Bros.” Like how bro do we want to go?
The consensus opinion was to maintain the opposites vibe Ryan and I have and go half bro.
Accessible Bro, hence the open collar. Ryan, in contrast, is wearing that black sweater of his that short circuits my brain, his father’s old Rolex, and black slacks.
His hair is in its natural state, dark waves perfectly framing his face.
When he shows up in the office with Miguel, his sleeves are pushed up to reveal his tattoos.
“Are we ready?” he asks.
Miguel rests his hand on one of the mounted cameras. “We could warm up by filming the intro and outro. You guys look perfect. I want to take some photos, too. What would you say to a little make-up?”
Ryan loves this, patting his under-eye. “Yes. Can you take care of these bags? ”
“Of course, honey. Come with me.”
Because I’m not letting Miguel be alone with Ryan for more than a minute, I follow them. Miguel’s bedroom is more of a boudoir, and it answers a lot of questions I probably would have eventually had about him.
The walls are painted a dark gray with a high platform bed as the centerpiece. There’s also a mirror on the ceiling , which makes me wonder if movie reviews were the only thing he used to record with all that equipment. Off to the right, he’s got a vanity fit for a Broadway star.
The rug is huge, white, and extremely plush. I’m terrified of Stephanie soiling it somehow, so I take her from Bailey to make sure her paws don’t touch the floor. Miguel gestures to the stool at the vanity, and Ryan has a seat.
I lean back on the sill of the bay window to watch.
It’s quick, a dab of concealer beneath Ryan’s eyes, a pressing of anti-shine powder on his face, and a few plucks of eyebrow hairs, which Ryan bears like someone who’s covered in tattoos.
It’s good work. I can’t even tell he has makeup on.
Miguel looks to me, and I want to say no—the prehistoric part of me screaming gay!
Gay! Too gay! but no way am I listening to that voice anymore.
Pride makes a hell of a lot more sense to me now.
It used to bug the shit out of me. Like why do people have to be so loud about it—so in your face?
But the truth of it is that it’s a necessary, adaptive reaction to shame—both the external hate and the internalized second-guessing that every confused kid has to deal with when they realize something about them is different than the majority of their peers.
I recall to my horror the time I told my college roommate that Pride was one of the seven deadly sins, and he looked at me like I was the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth.
In retrospect, I think I was only trying to understand, but it is— as he said—the shittiest thing he’d ever heard someone say about the queer community. I’m not even religious, so I had to have been really reaching.
Still, it’s not like I can claim “pride” since I’m technically in the closet.
I glance at Ryan as Miguel spruces up my face.
He’s staring back at me with a faint smile.
It’s the kind of smile that makes me want to kiss him.
Hold him close. Whisper things to him both sweet and filthy.
It’s the kind of look that makes me want to say I adore you, too.
He seems to sense my thoughts and draws a dollar sign in the air—I guess to remind me to get my head on straight. Miguel dabs lip balm on my lips and declares me ready to go.
In the mirror, I see a version of myself that’s refined and refreshed. “Nice,” I say.
Miguel beams.
It takes several tries for Ryan and me to warm up to the new, more formal set up, and Miguel is a perfectionist. We film at least a dozen versions on an intro, then switch to taking promotional still shots. Stephanie gets a quick photo shoot, too.
I’m glad I had a beer because it makes me less stiff. It takes Ryan a little longer to warm up, and I want to pour a shot of whiskey down his throat. But eventually, we’re laughing and giving each other the usual shit, and it’s time to film the actual content.
It’s interview style, where we ask each other questions about how we got into finance, where we went to school, what we feel like is different between school and the “real world,” and what we want to achieve with this webcast.
It goes smoothly. Neither Miguel nor Bailey interrupt. We take a quick break before we move into the finance portion—the winning poll topic from the Patreon: building wealth. It’s a broad topic on purpose, meant to open the door for more nuanced conversations down the line .
For another uninterrupted fifteen minutes, Ryan and I toss the conversation back and forth.
He argues for a patient, measured approach, and I argue for calculated risks.
We wrap up with an invitation to subscribe to the Patreon for the rest of the conversation.
After another break, he and I really get into it, leaning in and gesturing.
His passion for finance is showing, and I love it on him.
It’s easily the most substantive conversation I’ve had with Ryan about anything other than our weird relationship, and it’s fun . He’s incredibly smart, but I know more than I thought I did, too, and we each manage to score a few unarguable points.
Bailey is practically vibrating with excitement as we interrupt each other and start showing off a hint of our actual relationship, which is naturally argumentative and teasing.
Granted, it took us a while to get here—trying to forget the cameras and focus on each other—but once we do, the chemistry between us is undeniable, and I get why Bailey’s happy because so am I.
I don’t have any idea how much money we’ll make from this, or if it’ll take off in time to win the challenge, but I’m confident it’s something Ryan and I can do—and well.
Finally, he wraps it up, saying, “Okay, okay, enough. Don’t make me come over there and wrestle you. You and I both know who’ll win.”
Thank God for makeup because I’m definitely blushing when I tell the camera we’ll be back Wednesday with another episode and invite them to discuss and ask questions in the Discord.
Miguel calls it a wrap, and Bailey throws herself on top of Ryan, giving him a hug.
He laughs and rolls her over to sit on his lap. She ruffles his hair and fucking giggles . “That was amazing! Miguel, what did you think? ”
“I think Piper’s head might explode, and I’ll sell tickets to anyone who wants to see it.”
Ryan glances my way and grins. “Nice job.”
Smitten as fuck, I bite my lip and smile back at him.
“You too.” It’s a crime that I can’t remove Bailey from his lap and take my place there.
I need to kiss his face and tell him how fucking proud I am of us.
The first day I saw him sitting at the conference table, I thought I was in for the worst summer of my life.
Not like it’s been easy, but this moment right here makes it all worth it. I do stand, and Miguel offers me another drink. I nod and start following him to the kitchen.
Everything goes to shit in a heartbeat. It starts with Stephanie. I notice she’s at my feet, in danger of being stepped on. To avoid the inevitable squish, I shift my weight and wind up off balance. Over-correcting in the opposite direction, I lose my footing entirely. Vaguely, I register falling.
The next thing I notice is a white hot pain in my left wrist and Ryan’s hands on my face.
“Baby, did you hit your head?”
Bailey’s laughing. Apologizing for laughing, but laughing. Heartily.
“What?” I ask.
Ryan is crouched beside me as I clutch my arm to my chest. Someone shoves a pillow under my head, and Ryan snaps—“Should you be moving him?”
“I don’t think his neck is broken.” That’s Miguel.
Bailey asks through her laughter, “Is your hand okay? You’re holding it.”
I understand what’s happening here, and there’s definitely an injury, but the pillow is a nice touch, so I look at Ryan and tell him I’m okay.
His hand explores my head, feeling for lumps or cuts. I close my eyes as his fingers run through my hair—a welcome sensation to counter the pain in my wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Bailey’s saying. “I laugh when people fall. I can’t help it. I don’t actually think this is funny.” She snorts and giggles again, so it’s hard to take her word for it.
“Can you sit up?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah,” I say, like this is a totally ridiculous question.
With one hand under my neck and the other beneath my shoulder blade, he helps me sit. “It’s my wrist,” I tell him like we’re having a private conversation.
“Let me see.”
When I lean my head on his shoulder, he takes my left hand gently in his. I hiss and Bailey gasps.
“Is it that bad?” I ask.
“Um…”
I register that I’m slumped fully against Ryan, dependent on his body to hold me up. He’s warm everywhere. Against my chest, my neck— am I going into shock?
“Are you two…? Oh my God, no wonder.”
“Bailey—not now,” Ryan says.
“Sorry. I know. I’m sorry. You want me to call an ambulance?”
“He’s not having a heart attack,” Miguel says rationally. “Nothing’s bleeding.”
“That’s good news,” I murmur into Ryan’s neck.
“Dude,” he says in a low voice I think only I’m meant to hear.
Does he seriously care whether Bailey and Miguel think we might be fucking? Does he think chemistry like what just happened is random? Does he think I can resist him after all that and this —him fussing over me. Worried about me? In that sweater?
“Can you move your fingers?” he asks.
Doubt it. Don’t even want to try. The pain is just this side of bearable. If I try moving my hand, my odds of passing out become a sure thing. “I don’t think so.”
“You should take him to a hospital,” Miguel says.
I groan. “What about Stephanie?”
“Miguel’s right,” Bailey says. “I can watch her.”
“I fucked everything up.” Everyone was happy, and now they’re all serious. Why does that always happen around me? How do I always manage to ruin everything?
“Nothing’s ruined,” Ryan says. “Is your wrist the only thing that hurts? Not your head.”
“My head’s fine.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“Positive,” I tell him.
“Good.” He sounds relieved.
“Here,” Bailey says.
A bag of frozen corn appears, and Ryan takes it, placing it on my wrist as carefully as he can, but it causes another jolt of pain to shoot up my arm.
I hold the bag in place myself, and Ryan puts his arms around me. “I’m really sorry,” I say to everyone. Especially him.
“No worries,” Bailey says. “Miguel and I can do all the editing. Just go get checked out and text us when you know what’s up.”
“Thanks, guys,” Ryan says as we work on standing.
“Seriously, you guys were fire. We’ll barely have to do any work,” Miguel assures us.
“It’s true,” I say. “We are fire. That’s facts.”
“Shut the fuck up, Mal.”
“I think the cat’s out of the bag,” Bailey says.
“What gave it away?” I mumble.
“It was the hand in the hair for me,” she admits.
Miguel adds, “It was the chest rub and the kiss on the neck for me. ”
Did I kiss him? Shit.
“Missed that,” Bailey says. “But you’re right. Definitely seals it.”
“Okay, okay,” Ryan says. “Sue me for wanting to make him feel better.”
He kissed my neck?
I can walk fine, but Ryan keeps an arm around my waist all the way to the car he ordered to take us to the ER.
“You think Stephanie’s gonna be okay?” I ask.
Ryan shakes his head and laughs.