Page 42 of I Think They Love You

Denz grins slyly. “What kind of jokes?”

“Notthat kind.” Braylon kicks his ankle. “Don’t be cheeky.”

“Fine. Text, not sexts,” he narrates while adding another bullet point to his list. “But we have to do social media.”

“Do what with it?”

“Look like a couple,” Denz says, annoyed. “You’d be surprised how invested people get watching a relationship’s success online.”

People like Auntie C.C., who has eyes everywhere.

“Selfies,” Denz explains, “us doing normal, cute things.” When his eyes retrain on Braylon, he’s grimacing. As if Denz suggested mandatory matching-outfit photos.

Braylon sighs. “I prefer we not.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be stalked by your eighty thousand overzealous followers.”

“They’re harmless.” Denz pauses, backtracking. “Wait, doyoufollow me?”

“What? No!” Pink spreads down Braylon’s neck. “I mean, technically?”

Denz raises a suspicious eyebrow.

“It’s occupational research,” Braylon insists. “I like to keep up with who our teens are into. Who’s trending. They’re proper big fans of your content, by the way.”

“Are they?”

Braylon nods. “So, I may haveperusedyour account. On a strictly professional level.”

Denz fights off a smirk.

So, Braylon follows @notthatdenzel. Because the teens he works with think Denz is cool, or whatever. He’s not going to make a big deal about it. He’s certainly not sitting taller, shoulders cocked, preening like a damn peacock.

“If it’s all right, I’d like to keep my personal life private,” Braylon requests.

“Okay,” Denz agrees. “No selfies, face pics, or tagging you.”

He can respect that. It doesn’t stop him from arranging their hands next to their cups on the table. He weaves his fingers between Braylon’s.

“We can still make it social media official.”

After three attempts, Denz gets the perfect shot: an overhead photo of their hands bathed in a lush mix of sun and interior lighting. He adds a brief caption, some hashtags. His notifications skyrocket seconds after posting.

Braylon stares at his tea. “We probably shouldn’t tell anyone about our arrangement.”

“Yeah,” Denz says, wincing guiltily. “Except Jamie knows.”

Braylon sighs.

“But we can trust him!” Jamie is a vault of secrets. “Is there anyone you want to tell?”

Careful brown eyes study Denz. The crease between Braylon’s brows deepens. “I don’t really have anyone. To tell.”

“Not even a best friend?”

“No.”

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