And he gave me really nice wine?
HELP!!!!!
Farzan took another sip of the new rosé. Flirting or not, David was right: It was special. A rich salmon color, sunset encased in crystal. Farzan swished the wine on his tongue. It was balanced, sharp, bright: sour cherry and blood orange and rosewater and this cedar backbone that brought it all home.
Farzan held back a moan, but only just. He swallowed, let the coolness soothe his suddenly dry throat. No way was he spitting.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered to himself. What a wine.
“I see a smiling face.”
Farzan nearly dropped his phone. He locked it and looked back up.
David was back, and Farzan could only pray he hadn’t seen the group chat.
He cleared his throat. “This wine… what did you say it was?”
David smiled, a wide one that lit his whole face. His teeth were bright and even, a striking contrast against his midnight skin.
“Viña Tondonia Gran Reserva Rosado, 2012. My favorite vintage so far.”
“It’s amazing,” Farzan said. “It’s so complex, if I didn’t know better I’d think it was a red.”
David nodded. “Right? With those cedar-plank notes, and that finish…” His lips pursed tantalizingly. He closed his eyes for a minute, as if in prayer, as if he’d been transported to the slopes of Spain. “I love it.”
Farzan was spellbound.
No wonder David was the wine director.
Farzan loved wine, and thought of himself as pretty knowledgeable, but David had to be on a whole other level. Especially to be wine director at a wine bar.
“Oh!” David snapped out of it. “Your fries are coming up, but I just wanted to check if you wanted anything else.”
“Oh, ah. I haven’t looked over the rest of the menu yet.”
David smiled again and leaned in closer, giving Farzan a whiff of his cologne. Something woodsy that made Farzan’s core tighten.
“Hmm. Do you trust me?”
“What?” Farzan fought the urge to swallow.
David’s smile cocked a little higher; he leaned in even closer, resting a palm on the table, fingers splayed. David’s hands looked strong but soft, nicely proportioned, fingernails trimmed and smoothed. Farzan wondered what they felt like.
“Do. You. Trust me?”
Farzan tried not to stare, but it was difficult. Arya frequently waxed horny about how hard it was to resist a man in a suit, and Farzan had to admit he had a point.
He had to be careful: if he stared too hard, he’d tip over into creeping territory, and flirting or not, Farzan wasn’t a creeper. He’d spent enough time waiting tables himself—at places all over town, when he was still in university, or at his parents’ restaurant when they needed help—to ever creep on a server. He always hated when old Iranian divorcées hit on him.
But it wasn’t like David was an Iranian woman his mom’s age. He had to be close to Farzan’s age, with a perfect smile and a deep, honeyed voice and thick thighs.
And lovely brown eyes that winked at him. Winked!
David was still waiting for an answer.
Fuck it. There was only one thing to do.
“Yeah.” Farzan was relieved his voice didn’t come out squeaky—or worse, husky. “I trust you.”
