David arched an eyebrow. Maybe he deserved that, for the way he’dbeen in the past, but he was actually taking her advice for once. He deserved a little credit.
“For your information, I stayed and saw the exhibits. My friend Farzan was there too.”
“Farzan? Like, Fake-Frank Farzan?” Jeri’s eyes widened behind her glasses.
“Don’t call him that,” David said automatically. Technically hewasFake Frank, but if Farzan was going to have a nickname, that wasn’t going to be it. David wasn’t even sure why it bothered him, Jeri making fun of him that way. David had been the one to mix things up, not Farzan. “Anyway, we saw the exhibit, chatted some. It was fun.”
Jeri blinked at him. “Who are you and what have you done with David Curtis?”
David rolled his eyes. “Despite what you think, I am, in fact, a grown-ass man capable of making my own friends. And having fun. So.”
“I’m glad. You work too hard.”
David waved her off.
“You do. I love that about you. But you deserve to have fun too.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Just how muchfundid you have anyway?” She drew the wordfunout like an aged cork.
“I’m reporting you to HR.”
It was an empty threat—like Aspire had an HR department—and Jeri just laughed.
“I’m happy for you, David. Really.” She patted her thighs and stood. “Now come on, we’d better get prepping.”
It was nearly one in the morning when David pulled into his driveway. A light drizzle coated his windshield as he parked in the little detached garage, cooled his face as he let himself into the house, carrying a case of wine. They were all wrapped in brown paper bags so he could blind taste them by himself, but as he set the box on the kitchen counter and flicked on the lights, he felt unsettled.
It had been a stressful service—two bridal showers and one rehearsal dinner, all for straight white people with the kind of money that conversely meant they tipped poorly. Thank god Jeri paid the staff fairly instead of doing the usual restaurant sub–minimum wage bullshit.
David wasn’t angry, but he was annoyed. His skin felt too tight. He was too keyed up.
Usually he’d have a glass of wine before bed, to unwind and chill, but he found himself weirdly wishing Farzan was around. To talk to, share a glass with. Not even tode-stress, though that might’ve been fun. But he just… honestly liked Farzan.
Jeri had been right. His mom had been right. Kyra could never know, but she’d been right. He did need a friend. And now that he had one, it made the empty house feel that much emptier.
But whatever. He’d been on his own long enough; he could survive. And Farzan was only temporary, anyway.
David put on some music and took a long shower, let the water pound on his tight shoulders. Maybe he was just horny. He’d had fun with Farzan at the museum, but it had been sex-free fun. Well, not counting the kiss that nearly made him come in his pants.
David had plenty of toys, lots of imagination, and all the porn in the world. He didn’t lack for gratification. But kissing was something he’d missed. And Farzan was a fucking good kisser.
He got half-hard as he washed his balls and skinned himself back to clean his dick, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensations, thinking of Farzan. But before he could take care of himself, his music cut out. Someone was calling.
“Fuck,” he muttered, wrapping a towel around himself and grabbing the phone. It was Rhett, one of the few friends from Chicago he still talked to. Rhett had worked with David at Millennium, the pretentious lakefront steakhouse David had been at before he moved back to KC.
David tightened the towel around his waist and answered the FaceTime.
“Why are you all wet?” Rhett immediately asked. “Are you naked?”
“I was in the shower,” David said. “You know what time it is, right?”
“Fuck, I forgot,” Rhett said. “It’s not even midnight here yet.”
“Where’s ‘here’?” David asked, swiping water off his forehead with the back of his hand. Obviously not Chicago.
“Los Angeles, baby!” Rhett held the phone out and spun to show off his digs, but it was just an apartment like any other, hardwood floors, white walls, minimalist IKEA furniture, black curtains over the windows.
“What’re you doing in LA?” David put his phone down so it faced the ceiling while he dried himself off, slipped on a pair of sweats, and flopped onto the couch.
“If you ever answered the group chat, you’d already know.” Rhett raised his bright-red eyebrows at David. Rhett was probably the whitest guy David knew: ivory-skinned, freckled, with a button nose, square chin, and red hair.
