Page 68 of I Think They Love You

By Friday, he’s buried in new tasks.

There’s no time for freaking out over nothing. The Kiss is in the back of his mind. It’s the Florida of his thoughts—he knows it’s there but refuses to acknowledge it.

Except when he checks his social media. After exiting the Orion Ballroom’s stage, he wrangled Braylon into taking a photo of their clasped hands next to a half-eaten slice of red velvet cake. The comments are nonstop.

@yessskstew: we love to see gay men happy and committed! who is he? #cute

@denzelcarterstans: omg did u give him ur other cake later???

It’s fine. He’s still a perfectly functional adult. Until his phone buzzes with a new text from Braylon.

On a scale from 1 to 10, you’re a 9.

And I’m the 1 you need.

Denz can’t stop the snort that escapes him. It’s fuckingadorable. He never expected Braylon to follow through so thoroughly on this part of their agreement.

Braylon never misses a day. Always has the daddiest of dad jokes. Denz almost wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to put in this much effort. He doesn’t have to make Denz smile like this—big and cheek-aching, eyes scrunched. But he doesn’t want it to stop either.

He immediately texts back:do you steal all your material from Russell Brand?

Braylon’s reply hits a second later:No. James Corden. He’s funny, right?

you can’t be serious,Denz sends.

Deadly.

Denz’s monitor chimes with a new email: a list of caterer suggestions from Eric. He’s supposed to be working. Which he will… just as soon as he sends one more message to Braylon.

did i tell you kami has a secret boyfriend?

I think the rules state you’re not supposed to TELL people if it’s a SECRET.

Once Denz replies to Eric with the name and contact information for the caterer from his parents’ last wedding anniversary—the one his mom couldn’t stop raving about—he texts,fine. dont get mad when i dont share any embarrassing pics from his archaic facebook with you.

I won’t. Because then he’d still be a SECRET.

Denz’s email chimes again. He texts,you’re no fun.

It’s two minutes before Braylon’s next answer comes in.

You’re a dreadful brother and fake boyfriend.

Denz laughs so loud, he doesn’t hear the knuckles rattling against his office door. Eric steps inside, eyebrows high on his forehead. Denz knocks over his candy bowl trying to recover.

“I was just about to—”

“Your dad sent me,” Eric interrupts. He loosens his tie, his expression grim. “He wants to talk to you. Sounds serious.”

Denz’s gaze leaps to his monitor. The last unread email isn’t from Eric. It’s from Kenneth Carter, the subject line in all caps.

MY OFFICE NOW

It’s 3:52P.M.when Denz slides onto the lavender love seat in his dad’s office. Thick, battleship-gray clouds gather outside the windows. In the distance, the early rumbles of thunder. It matches the sound of Denz’s heartbeat. Silence stretches like taffy as he watches his dad roll up the sleeves of a rose-pink shirt from behind his desk.

Kenneth clicks away at his keyboard.

Denz resists his left leg’s urge to jiggle. Other than during meetings or at events, his dad’s not a big talker, a trait none of his children inherited. However, when he’s this quiet, it’s never a good sign.

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