Seven Ramin #2
“To old friends,” Noah finished.
Ramin raised his glass and met Noah’s eyes.
They were a deep, dark brown, but the setting sun revealed honeyed streaks deep within.
Ramin hoped Noah didn’t think he was staring, but you had to make eye contact when you toasted.
Otherwise you’d get cursed with seven years bad sex, and that kind of curse would ruin his plans to get fucked into the European Union.
“This is so good,” Noah said after drinking again. “Seriously. You pick all the wine at your restaurant?”
Ramin shook his head. “I’m a silent partner. Farzan’s the one who runs it. And his boyfriend does the wine list. He’s a master sommelier.”
Shit. Ramin hadn’t meant to out Farzan like that. Though he supposed he was about to find out if Noah was a secret homophobe.
Please, please don’t let Noah be a secret homophobe. That wouldn’t just ruin dinner. It would ruin some of the only good memories he had from high school. Ones that didn’t include Farzan and Arya, at least.
Ramin held his breath.
But Noah just nodded. “That’s a big deal, right? Being a master sommelier?”
Ramin exhaled slowly. Was that it?
It was. Relief washed over him like cool mist.
“Yeah. He studied for years.”
“Wow.” Noah took another taste of his wine. “So—” he began, but the arrival of their risottos interrupted him.
Ramin’s looked perfect: a golden circle of rice, with a dollop of rich brown brodo in the center. It smelled like heaven.
Noah’s eyes lit up as he beheld his own dinner; he even leaned in to smell it better.
Ramin waited to pick up his spoon—was Noah the kind of guy who’d want to say grace?—but Noah grabbed his own spoon and dug in. As soon as he closed his mouth, he let out a moan that Ramin felt in his taint.
“Oh my goodness. It’s so good. Try yours.”
Noah was right: It was creamy, savory, the lightness of the saffron playing counterpoint to the richness of the brodo. The fruit and acidity of the wine cut through everything.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
They ate in silence for a moment, Noah digging in with gusto, Ramin taking it a bit slower.
He’d had a long therapy appointment after the breakup (and the bout of intense negative self-talk it had brought on).
He was mostly okay when it came to his relationship with food.
His therapist had reminded him he was literally going to one of the food capitals of the world.
His body was a good body. A strong body. A healthy body. He was allowed to enjoy good food. He was excited to enjoy good food.
Even if it did kind of suck, sitting across from Noah, trying not to notice the way his muscles filled out his polo shirt.
Fuck body dysmorphia.
Noah caught his eyes and gave him another smile. Noah was all smiles. And Ramin couldn’t help it. He smiled back.
He felt like a kid again, eating lunch with a friend. Except instead of terrible square pizza, it was heavenly risotto and the greatest wine Ramin had ever tasted in his life.
Noah reached for his wineglass right as Ramin did, and their hands brushed briefly.
Despite his hairy forearms, Noah didn’t have very much knuckle hair, unlike Ramin, who had a few coarse strands on every finger.
Noah’s hand was warm, especially compared to the night air, and softer than Ramin expected, and—
Ramin snapped his hand back. He was absofuckinglutely not holding hands with Noah Bartlett. Just because he wasn’t a secret homophobe didn’t mean he wasn’t straight. And even if he wasn’t straight, they were two old friends having a reunion dinner. He wasn’t on a date.
Noah Bartlett was completely out of his league. He might as well have been playing a different sport.
Noah quirked his head and pursed his lips, but Ramin just shrugged. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
God, Noah was even nice about it.
This was going to be a long fucking night.
But then Noah smiled at him again, and Ramin wished the night would never end.
Ramin cleaned his plate. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but it was the first real meal he’d had after his flights.
Speaking of flights, Ramin had forgotten how easily he got buzzed after being on a plane, but he didn’t stop their server when she topped up his and Noah’s glasses with the last of the bottle.
“I hope you enjoyed,” she said. “This is a very special wine.”
Noah smirked. Four different servers—none of them their server—had swung by their table to say the same thing as they ate.
“We did,” Ramin assured her.
As she cleared away their plates, Noah leaned back and ran a hand through his hair.
Ramin wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
Nope, that was the alcohol talking. Ramin set down his glass and rubbed at his mom’s name over his pulse point and tried to remember where he was.
This was not a date, and Noah was not interested in him, and he really needed to sit up straighter, because their knees had been knocking under the table for the last thirty minutes, but Ramin and Noah had both gotten too buzzed to do anything about it.
“That was so good,” Noah said. He sighed and scratched at his chest, where his collar was unbuttoned enough to show the valley between his pecs. Ramin wondered what it would feel like to rest his head against them.
And then he stopped wondering, because that was inappropriate. Obviously. Noah was his friend, a whole human being with his own thoughts and desires, not one of those anime body pillows. They’d shared a lovely meal. It didn’t have to be more than that.
“It was good. I’m sorry Jake and Angela missed it,” Ramin said.
Noah’s hand stilled in his hair. He bit his lip.
“What’s the deal with you and her anyway?”
Noah’s eyes went wide. He dropped his hand to the table.
Ramin blinked. He couldn’t believe he’d just asked that. Yeah, he’d thought it once… or twice… or thirty times tonight. But he didn’t mean to say it.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. That’s the wine talking. Forget I asked.”
Noah shook his head. “It’s fine.” He took a long sip of his wine, and Ramin tried not to stare at the arch of his neck, the divot in his chin, the glimpse of a wine-stained tongue. Noah puffed up his upper lip before blowing out a breath.
“We were married. Eight years.”
“Were?”
“Yeah. Divorced two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” That sucked. “Did Jake take it okay?”
Noah’s eyes crinkled up. “Yeah. He did. Thank you for asking. I think it helped that me and Angela stayed friends. Granted, we did lots of therapy.”
“Thank God for therapy.” Ramin raised his glass.
Noah grinned again and clinked with Ramin. “What about you? Any family? Kids?”
Ramin shook his head. “I just got out of a relationship, actually.”
“Oh, man, that sucks.” Noah leaned in, his eyes softening in sympathy. “Was the breakup bad?”
“I mean, it was bad enough that I flew halfway around the world to get away from it, so…”
“You want to talk about it?”
Ramin shook his head. Noah didn’t need to hear about his humiliating proposal.
“That’s fair.” Noah shifted, and their calves brushed under the table, their fine hairs tangling, sending electricity up Ramin’s spine and shorting out his brain.
“I proposed and my boyfriend turned me down,” he blurted out.
Fuckety-fuck! He hadn’t meant to say that.
Damn this wine! (Not really. The Ornellaia hadn’t done anything wrong.)
Ramin tensed all along his back and neck. So much for not outing himself. He braced himself for Noah’s smile to fall. For him to frown and make some excuse to leave. Or worse—
But none of that happened. And Noah didn’t move away. If his smile dimmed, it was only to curve down in sympathy. “I’m really sorry. What happened?”
Ramin sighed and unclenched. “You don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do. Really.”
And for some reason, Ramin believed him. “He said I was too boring to marry.”
Now Noah’s smile did vanish. His eyes burned and his jaw clenched. “What a jerk.”
That was one way to put it. Fucking asshole was Arya’s preferred epithet.
“You’re not boring,” Noah insisted. “You’re seriously the most interesting person I know!”
Ramin snorted at that.
“Okay, point taken, we’ve had a gap in the knowing each other part, but really. That guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Thanks,” Ramin said softly. “I’m over it. Mostly.”
“Mostly? It’s recent then?”
Ramin finished the last of his wine, then reached for his water; his mouth was bone dry. “If three weeks ago counts as recent.”
“Three weeks?!” Noah nearly shouted. “I’d still be in bed crying.”
Ramin laughed. “Well, I spent the night in bed crying and looking at trips to Italy, so…”
Noah laughed, too, the cloud that had fallen over their dinner breaking. “Okay, I’m really sorry for what happened, but I’m glad you came here.” His voice lowered. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Yeah.” Ramin lowered his own voice and looked down at his hands. It was nice, talking to someone who didn’t know Todd. Who hadn’t known Ramin as part of a pair.
Who didn’t think he was boring.
He looked back up. Noah was still smiling at him.
He didn’t realize how much he’d missed Noah’s smile all these years.
“Me too.”