Page 94 of I Think They Love You

“Like hell you didn’t,” Jamie says, snorting.

“I wanted to officially invite you to bartend at my dad’s retirement party,” Denz says louder. “We could use the extra hands.”

It’s not theonlyreason he’s offering Jamie a gig. Dinner with his parents was, as expected, a disaster. Jamie’s not answering any of their calls. That also means his bank account’s a little tighter. Even through his post-toe-curling-orgasm haze, Denz still notices the way Jamie’s being fiscally cautious, but he knows his best friend never accepts handouts, no matter how sincere they are.

“So…” Denz chews another sodden nacho. “Want to come party with the Carters?”

“Do I get my own staff?”

“You’ll beona staff. It’s an open bar. You’ll split tips.”

“Do I have a say on wardrobe?”

“If you want to suffer Auntie Eva’s vengeful wrath, then sure.” Denz tugs out his phone. “All-black dress code. No T-shirts.Nicejeans.”

“Do I at least get a drink named after me?”

Denz tosses a jalapeño at him.

Jamie shakes it off. “Everyone’s going to be there? Aunts and uncles?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Nic?”

Denz points an accusing finger. “You two better stay at least ten feet from each other. You’re like Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn at parties.”

“She’s the Vince.”

Denz grins. “Obviously.”

“And what about…” Jamie dries the same spot on the bar over and over. “Jordan?”

“Why wouldn’t he be there?”

Jamie doesn’t answer. He fixes an apple martini that’s a shade too green for Denz’s liking before passing it off to a waiter. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Perfect.” Denz chokes on another sip. “Bro, this isawful.”

Jamie guffaws. “Too late. You already hired me. No take-backsies.”

Denz sighs, unsure what he’s going to regret more: hiring the world’s worst bartender for the biggest night of his family’s life or the hangover he’s going to have tomorrow morning.

Most likely, both.

-14-

“Are you quite sure,” Braylon is saying, his voice low and awed, “this is anengagementparty?”

“More like an engagementextravaganza,” Denz says.

He’s been to two of these before. First, at fifteen, for Taylor’s fairy-tale soirée at a hilltop Italian villa outside Atlanta. Then, when he was eighteen, for Madisen’s enchanting celebration on a lush peach farm. Butthis? Nothing compares to what Kami has pulled together.

The company has rented out the entire Atlanta Botanical Garden for Emily and Warner. Behind a roped-off area, photographers stand ready to capture the latest arrivals. Ten-foot arches wrapped in fairy lights create an entrance into the gardens. And against the fiery rose skyline, the lights look like stars suspended by a god’s hand.

“This is an experience,” Braylon comments.

Denz turns. The glowing archway has nothing on Braylon in an ivory blazer and midnight-black button-up, his curls neatly styled. His tie—a startling bloodred—complements his honey-brown skin.

---