Page 8 of Bull's Boy

Dahlia stared at her like she’d hung the moon for a second before shaking it off and snorting. “Hardly. The last time Malcolm tried to go to his parents’ for family dinner, Evan showed up and insisted on taking everyone out. Then, at the end of the meal—where he’d ordered not one buttwobottles of wine?—”

“For the table,” Malcolm said sarcastically.

“Evan looked at the bill and told Malcolm what his half was.”

“What?” Becca gasped, her light olive skin flushing with anger on his behalf. “After he offered and then ran up the bill?”

Malcolm grimaced and nodded. “It’s true. He’s the literal worst. When I refused to pay for more than my own meal, he made a big deal about how he’d thought it’d be such a nice gift for us to treat our parents for a change. They fawned all over him and gave me the silent treatment the rest of the evening.”

“Gross. I’m so glad Bull rescued you today before things could get worse.”

“Me too.”

“You’re welcome,” Dahlia said, smiling affectionately at him.

Becca picked up the remote and navigated to the show the three of them had been watching recently. Malcolm tried to come over for dinner and a few episodes at least once a week—sometimes it was the only time he got a decent meal that wasn’t from Bo’s. Though Sally only charged them half price for food, he still sometimes couldn’t afford it with his super-tight budget.

Becca got the next episode teed up but didn’t start it, turning to him and Dahlia and asking, “Are you two still going antiquing this weekend?”

“Oh my god, babe.” Dahlia slapped a hand over her face as Malcolm nearly choked on a tot as he started to laugh.

“What?” Becca demanded.

“We aren’t going antiquing!” Malcolm exclaimed as soon as he could breathe properly. “Do you know how expensive antiques are?”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Excuse me. Are you going to the estate sale where you’ll bring home more old people stuff?”

Dahlia laughed as she nodded and took a huge bite of her burger. “Yeah. Malcolm still hasn’t found a decent kitchen table and chairs.”

“Mhm.” Becca eyed Dahlia as she spoke to him. “Try to restrain this one from buying any more fireplace screens, okay?”

“But—”

“Sweetie, we don’t even have a fireplace!”

Malcolm cackled and pulled his favorite blue-and-gray blanket over himself, beyond grateful to have been befriended by his crazy Lesbian Best Friend.

CHAPTER THREE

Bull

Mom keeps insisting I attend some party at the clubhouse this weekend. Is this a real thing or is she just trying to get me to be more social again?

He tucked his phone in his pocket as he pulled the door open to Bo’s. He’d stopped at his moms’ house before coming to work, and Sally had jumped on him about the party, even though he hadn’t heard anything about it from Marv.

He was really beginning to suspect it was a trick to get him to go spend time with his brother’s MC. He tried to tell her he had his own friends, and that was… sort of true. He considered Marv to be his best friend, and he didn’t care if other people thought that was weird. Most everyone else he was just friendly with, really. How many friends did one person need? He’d never be a social butterfly, and his size made him feel awkward in a lot of situations, like he took up too much space and drew all the attention to himself just for existing.

Besides, working took up most of his time. Every year, his mom did a little less, and he filled in a little more as they geared up for her retiring in a couple of years. Which was terrifying, but he’d manage… somehow.

And when he wasn’t working, he was either at home relaxing in front of his TV, working out in his home gym, or out at Marv’s old farmhouse, helping him fix it up.

It wasn’t that he was necessarilyagainsthaving other friendships; he just didn’t feel like he needed them to simply fill some unspoken societal expectation. He was comfortable with his life and with spending time with his family. He didn’t need anything else.

Well… except for someone in the empty side of his bed. He wouldn’t say no to that, but dating hadn’t been a priority for him in a while. He knew that part of the reason was because of Malcolm and that he was being ridiculous.

He should get back on some apps. His stomach curled at the very thought of strangers asking him to show them his dick and wanting quick and furtive hookups. He was thirty-five—he wanted more.

A horrible thought occurred to him as he stepped inside the diner, nodding absently at an elderly couple who waved and called hello.

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