Page 105 of I Think They Love You

“He was the smartest man in just about every room,” Braylon goes on. “But he was a shit cook. And he cheated at Scrabble.”

“I knew it!”

“He threw himself into a million projects. Never finished any. Like painting his office. Building a birdhouse. Cleaning the attic.” Braylon pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Me.”

Denz bites his thumbnail.

“Sorry. That sounded unfair?”

“I get it,” Denz tells him, far too aware of what it’s like to be the son of someone constantly trying to make you into the better version of themselves.

Braylon drags a hand through his curls, releasing another sigh. “He loved movies like that. Mom did too.”

“Then how’d you end up with such poor movie taste?”

Braylon tosses a sweet potato fry at his cheek.

“No, seriously,” Denz says. “Why do you hate rom-coms?”

“The endings are so trite. So predictable.”

“That’s what makes them great,” Denz nearly shouts. “I know I’m gonna feel good at the end. That I’ll have something to hope for. I need to know that, despite how shitty this world is, there are moments in life where it’s all worth it.”

Braylon watches him intently.

“The best part is,” Denz continues, “even if you know the ending, if you predicted how the couple is going to get there in the first five seconds, the journey is never the same. How we get there is always,alwaysdifferent.”

He shyly lowers his eyes. He’s never said that out loud. Not even to Jamie during a Will Thacker Night.

Another fry bounces off his forehead. Braylon grins before standing to stretch. Denz doesn’t linger on the strip of exposed brown skin from his shirt riding up.

“I need to shower,” Braylon says, yawning.

After plugging his phone into the charger, he pads to the bathroom.

When the door clicks shut, Denz springs from the bed. He shakes out his hands. What is he doing? Gushing like a schoolboy about why he’s obsessed with rom-coms? And to his ex, of all people? The one who left him heartbroken? Also, what was up with that little nervous smirk Braylon gave him before disappearing?

Behind the door, the water sprays loudly against the tiles.

Ten feet away, Braylon’snaked.

Impulsively, Denz cleans up the wreckage of their food. Straightens the bedspread. He adjusts the dimmer switch, leaving the room lit by the TV’s glow, then thinks better of it, cranking the lights to maximum voltage. He’s not going for intimacy. But there, on one of the floating bedside tables, is the brown shopping bag from the lobby.

The little reminder of where Denz’s head was two hours ago.

“You keep looking at that bag.”

Denz swallows down a yelp. He didn’t hear the door open. How long was he in his own head again? His attention snaps toward the bathroom. Steam billows out and—

Fuck.

Braylon towels off his curls in the doorway. Water droplets drip from his jawline to his collarbone, slivering down his abdomen. He’s only wearing a pair of white boxers. Damp hair leads from strong thighs to toned calves.

“Either there’s a ticking time bomb in there—” Braylon eyes the paper bag. “—or it’s dessert, which I hope you plan on sharing.” His tongue flicks over full, pink lips.

Denz’s stomach flips in a very inhuman way.

“Neither?”

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