They settled around the navy-blue sectional in the living room. Todd had spotted it at Nebraska Furniture Mart to replace Ramin’s old, cushy—and probably boring—couches. The sectional looked stylish, but the cushions were hard as rocks. Ramin’s ass was numb by the time he reached the story’s end.
“And then,” Ramin said with a final sniffle. “He said I was tooboring.”
“Fuck Todd,” Arya interjected for the fifth time that night.
Ramin let out a shuddering sigh and sipped his Barolo. A long-ass sip. It was good wine—David always brought good wine—but wasted on him when he’d been crying so hard he could barely taste the notes of chocolate and leather and blackberry. All he wanted to do was get drunk. Get drunk and forget tonight ever happened.
Ramin wasn’t a heavy drinker, but fuck it. Fuck his liver, too. Fuck his life.
And fuck this sectional. His ass had gone from numb to full of prickling stabs. He slid down onto the plush Persian carpet, the one he’d inherited from his parents. He ran a hand across the soft fibers and stared into his nearly empty Barolo.
“Am I really that boring?” he asked, because he couldn’t say what was really spinning through his mind.Too fat. Too ugly.A thousand awful things men had said to him over the years, things he’d said to himself, things he’d spent lots of time and money on therapy to unlearn.
Hm. When you thought about it, wine was really just after-hours therapy. Ramin drained his glass.
“What? No,” Farzan said. He copied Ramin, sliding to the floor, only to bang his elbow on the angular coffee table Todd had picked to go with the sectional. “Fuck.”
“Sorry,” Ramin hiccupped. He’d been so happy when Todd had agreed to move in with him. He thought it was a step toward their happily-ever-after. And it had been, for a while, even if Todd had questionable taste in furniture. Ramin had wanted it to betheirhouse, not justhis. He’d lived alone ever since he bought the place at twenty-five, paid for with his inheritance from his parents.
And then Todd had come along. And Ramin had thought they were going to be forever.
But he was tooboring.
Ramin sniffed and wiped at his eyes, but not before he caught the glance Farzan shot David’s way, the sad little smile David shot back.
David had a beautiful smile, bright white teeth against midnight brown skin, his dark eyes full of light. He was so smitten with Farzan that if Ramin didn’t love his best friend so much, he would’ve been jealous.
He stillwasa tiny bit jealous.
David turned that smile on him, gesturing for Ramin’s empty glass.
“You’re absolutely not boring, dude,” Arya said. And then he muttered again, “Fuck Todd.”
Farzan nodded. “Can I be honest?”
Ramin shrugged. His heart was already in a million pieces. What did one more piece of bad news matter?
“I think Todd’s going through some sort of…” Farzan pressed his lips together, ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. It was mostly black—though there were a few grays—wavy, and longer than Ramin’s. Ramin always kept his short and neat and “professional” for work. Boring.
No one would ever call Farzan boring. In addition to being Ramin’s best friend, he was a killer chef. He’d taken over his parents’ Iranian restaurant, the only one in Kansas City, when they’d decided to retire. He’d even expanded its success, with Ramin and Arya as his silent partners.
Farzan had made Shiraz Bistro the beating heart of Kansas City’s Iranian community.
Ramin just did marketing.
David returned with Ramin’s glass and another opened bottle. Ramin took a sip (okay, a gulp) and barely tasted anything, though he nodded at David as if he had.
“It’s good, thanks.” He turned back to Farzan. “Some sort of what?”
“Midlife crisis?” Arya scoffed before Farzan could answer. He slid onto the carpet on Ramin’s other side, bumping Ramin’s shoulder and threatening a spill.
“Shit, sorry.”
Ramin shook his head. He had plenty of experience getting wine stains out of the carpet. Plenty of sex stains, too. Last winter, when he and Todd had gotten snowed in, they’d pushed the horrible coffee table out of the way and fucked on the carpet. And missed the towels.
Ramin flushed at the memory. His skin was much lighter than Farzan’s or Arya’s—his family probably had some Russian several generations back, which would also explain the green eyes he’d shared with his dad—and he could never hide a blush.
But he pushed the thought away. Like Arya said: Fuck Todd.
