Page 60 of I Think They Love You

When the message never arrives, Denz slumps in his seat. Calm seeps into his bones. Reality slowly shifts from the margins into focus.

Somewhere in those two mortifying minutes, hethinksBraylon Adams said it was fine that Denz almost kissed him.

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Mayor Tiffany Reynolds’s yearly Valentine’s Day gala is a glamorous, unforgettable spectacle.

Only a hundred tickets are made available to the public. Another hundred are reserved for the mayor’s family, close friends, staff, and some notable singles. At her heart, she’s like Kenneth Carter—a determined matchmaker. More than once, she’s attempted to set Denz up. He always declines in favor of his true soulmate: top-shelf vodka.

But tonight, Denz has an actual date. An exceptionallylatedate.

The step-and-repeat outside the Rigel is a who’s who of celebrities and athletes and political influencers. Denz doesn’t spend much time there. No one’s noticed he’s alone either.

Coming out at an early age means the media doesn’t care about his love life unless he’s making out with an attractive model or there’s a scandal involved. He’s at that age where he’s still a hot topic in the gossip columns. However, in queer years, he’s teetering on the edge of being aged out for the young, sparkly, freshly out gays that gossip sites like The Final Word love to write about.

He’s okay with that.

The Orion Ballroom is a sleek space with lofty ceilings, four bars, and wall-to-wall screens featuring immersive artwork. The crowd quickly fills up empty tables and the expansive dance floor. Eric convinced Denz to hire DJ Apollo rather than a live band. A cycle of love-adjacent themed songs vibrates through the ballroom.

Currently, it’s Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.”

Apropos for the way Denz feels about his situation.

He distracts himself by inspecting the details: cascading strings of black and red rose petals suspended from the ceiling. Cupid ice sculptures bookending the bars. Trays of champagne flutes with wild hibiscus flowers floating inside. The room’s centerpiece—an eight-tier red velvet cake. Staff blurs by him in white tuxedo jackets, wearing crimson-and-gold domino masks.

What’s a party without a little drama?

The atmosphere is magnetic. Laughter and music and bottles continuously popping. He captures it all for the company’s social media.

“You really pulled it off,” Kami comments when he pauses at one of the bars. Her lavender, one-shoulder minidress has gold foil designs all over it.

“Did you doubt me?”

She sips her wine, shrugging.

“You did,” Denz accuses, smiling. “What? You thought I’d hire a magician? Have a clown make terrible balloon animals?”

“A bounce house would’ve been a hit with this crowd.”

He doesn’t disagree. The current tide of young actors and reality stars jumping around to the Darkness’s “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” is just shy of ridiculous.

“Admit it.” Denz bumps her shoulder. “I’m damn good at this.”

“I’d pay you to plan Mikah’s seventh birthday party.”

He laughs, ordering a glass of water from the nearest bartender. Deep down, Denz knows it’s her pride talking. His success could potentially end a dream she’s had for years. He hates that winning means his sister loses.

At least one of them will carry on the family’s legacy.

“Is Suraj coming?”

“No,” Kami says flatly. “I’m working.”

“You’redrinking.”

She takes another languid sip. “An essential part of managing you on event nights.”

“I don’t need babysitting,” he says defensively. “It’s all under control. My checklists are flawless.” He downs his water. “You’re avoiding the question. It’sValentine’s. Your boyfriend should be here.”

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