Page 56 of I Think They Love You

Denz motions to the soggy fries. “This. The accent. Your hair. Tea—”

“What’s wrong with tea?”

“You used to love Americanos!”

“In college, yes.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Denz says, agitated, “but that’s the only Braylon I know. Not by choice.”

A pause. Braylon frowns. “What about you, then?”

“What about me?”

Braylon crosses his arms. Denz doesn’tstareat the shape of those biceps under his black Henley. He merely makes a mental note to hit the gym soon.

“When did blue become your favorite color?” Braylon asks.

“It’s not.”

Braylon gestures to the navy-and-white-striped Fendi sweater Denz is wearing. “You wore the same color to dinner with your parents.”

Out of all the disastrous things from that night, Braylon remembersthat?

“All my other shirts were wrinkled” is Denz’s only defense.

“And the other day? At Crema?”

Denz scowls. “What’s your point?”

“I should know these things about you,” Braylon reasons. He rests his elbows on the desk, leaning forward, subjecting Denz to infuriatingly nice collarbones. “We can’t convince anyone we’re dating if I don’t know what you like or hate now.”

Denz’s sigh echoes.

They’re alone in the center. Whit left to run errands. Denz watches the door, thinking.

The second he was permanently back in his family’s orbit, Denz had to change. Everything down to his wardrobe shifted. He was Denzel Carter again. He had an image to present. Who he was in Athens isn’t who he was expected to be in Atlanta.

Thing is, he’s never had to share those differences with anyone before.

“I hate wine,” Denz admits.

“Have you—”

“Don’t tell me I haven’t found the right one yet,” Denz interrupts. “I’ve tried them all. Perks of the job. It’s a waste of time.”

“Incorrect, but fair.”

“Roller coasters make me sick now,” Denz says. “It’s… not pretty.”

“Devastated we can’t fake-date at Six Flags.”

Denz hates how easily his own mouth mirrors Braylon’s smirk. “Avocado on toast is overrated and trash.”

“Wow. How can your opinions continue to get worse?”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain rubbish,” Braylon counters.

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