They breathed together for a moment, until David’s voice rumbled.
“Guess you can’t write about this in your review.”
“Huh?” What David had said didn’t make any sense. So much for post-nut clarity.
He must’ve heard wrong.
“For the record, I don’t expect it to influence anything.”
Okay, maybe not, but Farzan had no idea what David meant. He sat up straighter, furrowed his brows. David was looking back at him, head cocked to the side. Farzan stared at David’s lips, still a bit puffy, and nearly lost himself before he remembered. “What are you talking about?”
“Your review of Aspire. Jeri’s going to be pissed she missed you.” David bit his lip. “By the way, not that she would mind, but you don’t have to tell her about, ah, this part of the evening.”
Farzan’s head spun. “Wait. Who’s Jeri?”
David blinked at him. “Jeri Talbott? Aspire’s owner? She was the one who wanted you to review it for Frank’s Finds?”
“Frank’s…” Farzan bit his lip. David thought his name was Frank.
Oh shit. He had put that down as his name. Had he really never told David?
“Uh,” he said. “My name’s actually Farzan.”
eight
David
My name’s actually Farzan.
What the fuck?
“But—” David shook his head, as if that would help make sense of things. “Your table. It was for Frank Allen.”
Farzan shrugged. “I give that name when it’s noisy. Most people can’t spell Farzan Alavi.”
Farzan Alavi. David liked the sound of it, liked the way Farzan’s lips shaped his name, but still.
“But Frank Allen’s a restaurant critic.”
“Oh shit.” Farzan’s cheeks reddened. “I forgot about him.”
“You… forgot?” Was he getting catfished right now?
“Yeah. I’ve been using that name at Starbucks since I was in college.” Farzan cocked his head to the side. “You know, that guy reviewed my parents’ restaurant. They still have it on the wall. I don’t know why. I mean, it was a good review, but it was also a masterclass in microaggressions if you know what I mean.”
David snorted. From what Jeri had said, that sounded pretty typical. But that was beside the point. “Lemme get this clear,” he said, eyebrowsdrawn. “You just call up restaurants in town and tell them you’re Frank Allen?”
“No, most of the time I book online and it doesn’t matter. I tried telling the host my name was Farzan, but she couldn’t hear me and it was just easier to go with Frank.” Farzan shrugged nervously. “I wasn’t thinking.”
David clapped a hand to his forehead. All that wine, all that money—he’d opened five different bottles, comped them all, only actually charged Farzan for his first rosé and the food.
But shit. All night long, he hadn’t been the restaurant critic Jeri had been anticipating. He’d just been some guy.
No, that wasn’t fair. Farzan wasn’t a restaurant critic, but he was charming, and handsome, and gave great head. And to be fair, David had never actually asked, had he? Just assumed. Just went along with it, because Farzan was flirting with him.
David shook his head, but Farzan’s nose crinkled up. It was so cute, David almost leaned in for another kiss.
“Wait,” Farzan said, voice brittle. “All that time, were you only flirting with me because you thought I was a critic?”
