Page 7 of I Think They Love You

The line edges forward.

Denz scrolls to his last post: a shirtless, fresh-out-of-the-shower photo of him holding up a new energizing face wash. Short, textured sponge curls still damp. Unshaven jawline. It’s not supposed to be a thirst trap, but the droplets of water slipping down his brown chestmightsuggest otherwise.

He ignores the comments. The usual pile of “hero” and “legend” and “icon.” Words Denz has never associated with himself. Exceeding “good enough” has always been his goal. Anything else is a bonus.

Over the café’s music, names and drink orders are called. Soon, he’s face-to-face with the college-age girl behind the register. Her name tag readsSophie,with a smiley face in theo. She’s absurdly cheery for a Monday.

“What can I get you today?”

“I have an online order for 24 Carter Gold,” Denz says. “Assorted muffins.”

“Oh, you’re Kami’s little brother!”

“I’mDenz,” he corrects, trying to mirror Sophie’s perkiness.

“Cool. We’re finishing that up. You can wait at the end.”

Denz shuffles over. Behind the espresso machines, two baristas cue shots and craft perfect cappuccino foam. One is a tall, middle-aged woman with an armful of colorful tattoos. The other, Matty, is a classically handsome white guy with freckles and sandy hair. He’s still newish at Crema, but Denz has already introduced himself.

Intimately.

Denz turns away before eye contact is made. He’s halfway through reading TFW’s review when he hears, “Darjeeling tea with light milk and honey for… Braylon?”

The phone almost slips from his hands.

Denz’s head snaps up. It’s impossible. Matty didn’t just say—

“Darjeeling for Braylon?”

“Over here!”

And, fuck, there he is, cutting through the crowd—Bray Adams. Standing in Crema’s lobby, not London, where he’s supposed to have been for the last three and a half years. Since graduation from UGA.

Denz almost doesn’t recognize him. Broad shoulders hugged by a gray cardigan and white button-up. Traces of dark stubble lining his sharp jaw. Tight curls peeking from beneath a knit beanie. Everything about him, down to his honey-brown skin, is…wow.

Denz swallows hard.

Fuck, no. That’s not how this works. He’s imagined this moment a dozen times. When…ifDenz ever ran into the ex who ripped his heart into confetti, Bray wasn’t going to be hotter than before he moved to another continent. And Denz would be in his ultimate revenge-sexy form, not wearing unmatching socks with his jaw on the floor.

Bray takes the cardboard cup. “Cheers!”

Denz doesn’t know whether to direct his rage toward Matty’s blushing face or Bray’s ridiculously defined cheekbones. He opts for none of the above. It’s time to leave. He can suffer through a month’s worth of his dad’s ridicule if it means—

“Denz?”

Shit. Did he really waste his three-second escape window thinking about stupid muffins?

When Denz turns, an uncertain smile sits on Bray’s mouth. “’Ello there.”

The light British accent prickles the hairs on the back of Denz’s neck. He hates it. “Hey!” His laugh comes out like a gasp. “It’s… you. Bray.”

“Oh, it’s Braylon. Not Bray.”

“What?”

“I go by my full name now.”

Denz forces himself not to scowl. For nearly all of college, he was Bray. Three of those years, he wasDenz’sBray.

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