Page 55 of I Think They Love You

“Not at all. I need to answer emails about the gala, anyway.”

For the most part, he’s got everything under control. The mayor’s staff seems happy. Eric and Connor have his back. He hasn’t forgotten to triple-check all his Post-it Notes. But he keeps waiting for Auntie Cheryl to show up and reveal he’s really three cats in a trench coat pretending to be an adult.

An hour or two away from the office can’t hurt.

“I’ll order delivery.” Denz stretches onto his toes to search the cubicles. “Which one’s yours?”

He offers Braylon a giant, billboard-ready grin. Whit appears thoroughly entertained by the exchange. A beat passes before the left side of Braylon’s mouth ticks up.

“Actually, delivery sounds great.”

“Let me get this straight, you eat these”—Denz lifts a fry—“with vinegar now?”

“They’re quite good!” Braylon plucks one from his drenched pile. When he pops it in his mouth, chewing widely, Denz gags.

Braylon’s cubicle can only be described as systemized mayhem. It’s big enough for a desk, a rolling office chair, and two standard chairs for visitors. Piled in the empty seat next to Denz is a coat, scarf, and a stack of folders. Books and papers are everywhere else, just like Braylon’s old dorm room. All that’s missing is Denz’s gray UGA sweatshirt.

They’ve been working and eating for thirty minutes now. Denz answers emails. Braylon runs through his list of what’s needed for the day party. Things like vendors, donors, decorations, permits to host the event outdoors. The last five minutes, however, have been dedicated to Braylon’s questionable condiment choices.

“Try one,” he requests.

“I’d rather drink bleach.” Denz dips a vinegar-free fry into his ketchup. “It’s bad enough I’m voluntarily eating this trash, anyway.”

Since he’d inconvenienced Braylon with his spontaneous appearance, the least Denz could do was order delivery from The Varsity. He has many regrets.

“You used to love their food,” Braylon comments.

“False.” Denz sips his Varsity Orange milkshake. “Itoleratedit because you loved their food.”

“Is that how you remember it?”

“Of course. Sophomore year, right?”

The corners of Braylon’s mouth twitch.

Nothing happened between them at that graduation party when they were freshmen. Denz had only hooked up with one other guy before then. An encounter he didn’t even initiate. And Braylon wasn’t out yet. His anxious jumping at every new voice, thinking it was one of his teammates, didn’t lift Denz’s confidence.

By the end of the night, they parted ways without exchanging numbers.

Then came fall semester, sophomore year. A serendipitousencounter at Miller Learning Center. Denz reaching for the same book as the man he thought he’d never see again.

A fumbled smile as he said, “Hi. Again.”

Braylon’s stuttered, “I-I’m out now. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Denz didn’t hesitate.

The redVARSITYsign on West Broad Street was a beacon. Denz wasn’t a fan of their very average food or atmosphere. But in a corner of the parking lot, he found new things to love—the crush of orange soda and mustard and tingling pressure from Braylon’s kisses.

He remembers it like this: a prickly buzz cut under his palms. Shaky hands tugging at his shirt. Even clumsier fingers unzipping his jeans. Hot breaths along his bare abdomen. A tentative tongue, lips closing around him.

An effortless first encounter? Not even close. But it was more than enough for Denz.

Too much, actually. Now, he’s discreetly crossing his legs. The heat in his belly climbs fast into his cheeks. It doesn’t help that his eyes can’t tear away from Braylon licking malt vinegar off his fingertips. Denz clears his throat.

“So, what else has changed? You know, about you?”

Braylon tilts his head, confused.

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