Page 144 of I Think They Love You

“Don’t youdare,” Jordan half warns, half giggles.

Jamie’s eyes lower as he pours Jordan’s drink. A shy smile creases his mouth. He adds an extra cherry, then lets his fingers purposefully brush Jordan’s as he hands over the glass.

What the fuck is happening?

Denz glares at his best friend. Then his cousin. He counts back the days and months. The strange conversations and casual mentions. Jamie going to afucking basketball game.

All the jagged pieces fall into place.

Jamie’s the first to notice Denz’syou little shitexpression. He knocks over a cup of ice. Stumbles into another bartender who swears while balancing two beers.

Jordan catches on next. “Thanks,” he stammers to Jamie. “Uh, for the… yeah. Bye!”

He exits as quickly as he arrived.

Denz points an accusing finger at Jamie, mouthingWe’ll talk later,before legging it to catch Jordan. Too bad he walks right into Auntie Cheryl instead.

“Nephew,” she says, squeezing his forearm, “whose idea was it to include those lobster mac and cheese bites?”

“Mine, actually.”

Cheryl nods appreciatively. She looks every bit a Hollywood starlet in a strapless brocade gown. “Nice touch. You two went all out to impress your dad.”

“Enough for him to pick one of us and not some random outsider?”

“Denzel,” she says, a dark eyebrow rising, “are you prying for insider info?”

“Can’t hurt, right?”

After scooping a glass of red wine off a passing tray, she cocks her hip, sizing him up. “You really pulled it off. I’m shocked.”

Denz smiles civilly.Respect your elders.

“I wasn’t one hundred percent certain you could be serious about something. Step up when things got hard. But you know what?” She tips her glass toward him. “You proved me wrong.”

Denz gapes at her. “Say that again?”

“Well,” Cheryl amends, “yourrelationshipproved me wrong. It changed you. You’re driven in a way I’ve never seen.”

Yes, well, creating a fake relationship and having to jump through flaming hoops to keep that lie alive will do that,he wants to say.

Fighting off a frown, he says, “I suppose so.”

“Despite what he’s done in the past,” Cheryl adds, slurping her wine, “that Bray’s made you better.”

And what was he before? Useless? Incapable and immature? The spare Carter?

His jaw tightens. “His name is—”

“To be quite honest, you’re wrong, Aunt Cheryl.”

The voice that comes from behind Denz is firm, but kind, coated in a warm British accent. A hand settles on the small of his back. The air around him is spiced in peeled oranges and cardamom.

Denz turns to confirm.

Braylon’s breathtaking. Short, tight curls. Cheeks and jaw as bare as the night when they first met. His midnight-blue tuxedo thatcoincidentallycomplements Denz’s rose-gold suit. A quiet smile tugs at his lips.

“Denz has always been serious about his goals. About the business. His family,” Braylon says to Cheryl, something steady, unreadable in his expression. “He’s perfect for the job.”

---