Nine Ramin
nine
Ramin
Ramin turned back to stare as Noah walked away, phone to his ear, reiterating to his son that screen time rules still applied overseas.
Ramin couldn’t help it: It was impossible to ignore the way Noah’s back and shoulders filled out his shirt, the way his ass looked in those shorts, the way his deep, smooth voice was full of love and patience.
He shook himself. What was the point in admiring a man he had literally zero chance with? He spun around and power-walked in the direction of his apartment.
After turning a corner, he slowed to breathe. He felt like he’d been holding his breath all night, metaphorically, metaphysically, and literally, for that matter. He’d been engaging his core during the meal so his stomach didn’t pooch out too much.
Still, he’d survived dinner. With Noah Bartlett.
Who was every bit the kind boy Ramin remembered, but now more mature, more patient, more handsome, more open.
He hadn’t freaked out when Ramin’s hand or leg accidentally touched him; he hadn’t flinched when Ramin mentioned having an ex-boyfriend.
In fact, he’d leapt to Ramin’s defense, just like back in high school, when Noah got mad if people made fun of Ramin.
Honestly, it had bothered him more than it bothered Ramin, but it was still nice to have someone on his side.
Ramin’s chest glowed with the memory, but he pushed it away. When he was in high school, he hadn’t understood all these feelings. He’d told himself he was jealous of Noah, who’d had everything going for him, but he knew himself better now. He’d been crushing, bad .
And now all that crush had come roaring back, twisting Ramin’s heart into knots, because Noah was divorced and straight and unavailable and Ramin was never going to see him again, so what did any of it matter?
He was here to get dicked down by Italian fuckboys (or fuckmen), not fan the flames of a twenty-year-old infatuation.
He was Interesting New Ramin, not Lovesick Puppy Ramin.
Still, as he pulled his phone out to double-check the way back to his apartment, he couldn’t help wishing he’d at least asked for Noah’s number.
Just so they could catch up more, back in Kansas City.
“Ramin!” Paola shouted from her doorway.
Ramin dropped his keys. He was only halfway through opening his door.
“Ciao,” he said, scooping them back up. “Sorry, did I disturb you?”
“What? Of course not.” Paola stepped out in a stunning blue dress, her hair coiffed and pinned perfectly. Francesca followed behind, this time in dark jeans and a sport coat that shimmered with silvered threads. She still had her bolo tie, though. “We’re just heading out.”
“Oh. Have fun.”
Ramin fought with the big lock—it took four full cranks of the weird-looking key—as Francesca locked their door with practiced ease.
“Did you have a date tonight?” Paola said, waggling her eyebrows at Ramin. “Meet any good men?”
Ramin shook his head. “Just dinner with an old friend.”
“Ah. ‘There’s not a word yet for old friends who just met,’” Paola half-sang.
Ramin smirked. “You know The Muppet Movie ?”
“Sì, who doesn’t know the Muppets?” She held out her arm, and Francesca took it. “Well, next time, bring someone home. Italy is for lovers!”
With that, the two of them headed for the elevator, leaving Ramin to finish letting himself into his apartment. He yawned his way through the kitchen, made himself another cup of weak tea, flopped onto the couch, and FaceTimed the group chat.
“Please tell me you’ve found some dick,” Arya said without preamble. Sunlight reflected off his sunglasses, and the Sky Stations receded over his shoulder as he walked downtown.
“Hi, Ramin,” Farzan said, giving Arya a pointed look. Ramin recognized David’s kitchen immediately. David owned an old house off West 39th, with seventies-style cabinets that he constantly complained about but Farzan insisted he secretly loved. “How are you doing? Did they find your bags yet?”
Arya stuck out his tongue. He had his earbuds in and a crisp white baseball hat covering his bald head. He’d been growing out a short beard for the last month or so, and it framed his sharp jaw and thin, elegant lips.
“Not yet.” Ramin set down his mug and swiped at his phone for a second, checking for missed emails or messages. “Nothing. I got some clothes and essentials, though. Where’s David?”
Farzan glanced away from the screen for a second. “He’s showering. Want me to get him?”
“No, no, it’s nothing important. Just wanted to check in.”
“Okay, great, yes, we’re happy you are clothed. Now, have you found any dick?” Arya narrowly dodged around someone else on the sidewalk with an “Oop, sorry.” Ramin caught a glimpse of a scandalized face. “The bigger the better.”
Ramin sipped his tea and kept a neutral expression. That had only been a rumor anyway.
But, fuck, he must’ve done something with his face.
“You did ,” Arya said. “Tell us everything.”
“I didn’t,” Ramin insisted.
“Okay, but something happened.” Fuck, even Farzan could tell?
When Arya and Farzan ganged up on him, he always gave in. He blew out a breath.
“You guys remember Noah Bartlett? From high school?”
Farzan scrunched his eyebrows, but Arya nodded right away. “Hard to forget Noah’s Ark.”
Well shit.
“Oh yeah,” Farzan said. “I do remember hearing some of the girls talking about his… ah. Ark.”
“I’m pretty sure that was just a rumor,” Ramin muttered. Even though he’d definitely heard more than one girl giggling about Noah being well hung. Part of him had wondered if it was true, but the noble part of him was mad at people talking about Noah behind his back in general.
And the closeted, horny part of him had wondered just how big they were talking, anyway.
But Noah had looked out for Ramin, stood up to bullies for him, and Ramin had always felt just as protective. He cleared his throat. “Even if it’s true, it’s his body, his business.”
“Listen, I agree in principle,” Arya said. “But I’m just saying, I did see him in a wrestling singlet freshman year, and I don’t think he was done growing.”
Ramin sincerely wished he had never brought this up. That he had gotten too drunk on wine and jet lag and had promptly fallen into bed and forgotten everything.
“Can we focus, please?” he asked, trying not to think about how his knee had brushed Noah’s under the table during dinner.
“On what?” Arya asked. “Why are you asking about Noah Bartlett anyway?”
Ramin sighed and blew out a breath. “Because I ran into him at a gelateria.”
Arya dropped his phone, if the clatter and sudden blackness was any indication. Another cracked screen protector, no doubt. Arya was keeping AppleCare in business single-handedly.
“Really? Noah Bartlett?” Farzan asked. “How do you know it was him?”
“Because he came up to me and asked if I remembered him from high school.”
Farzan’s jaw dropped.
“He was there with his son, who is adorable by the way, and his ex-wife. I guess they went to therapy and stayed friends.”
“Gross!” upside-down Arya said before righting himself. “Fuck Todd by the way.”
“Fuck Todd,” Farzan echoed. “So, did you remember him?”
“Of course he did, Ramin had a huge crush on him. How’s he looking? Still hot?”
Ramin nearly spat out his tea. “I did not.” Except that obviously wasn’t true. “Okay, well, I didn’t know it back then.” He sighed and fell back against the couch. “He’s aged like fine wine.”
Farzan’s eyebrows arched upward. “Ooh, you get a picture?”
Arya cut in. “You get his number?”
“There wasn’t time. He had to get back to his hotel.”
“He couldn’t take thirty seconds?”
“His son needed dinner.”
Farzan cocked his head. “I thought they just had gelato.”
Fuckety-fuck. Why did he have to have such observant friends?
“Fine. We met at the gelateria and went our separate ways, and then we met again when he happened to be walking by the place I was getting dinner at, and he ended up joining me.”
“You’re killing me! No, not you,” Arya called over his shoulder. He turned back and brought his phone closer to his face. “Are you telling me that you, Ramin Yazdani, had a romantic dinner in Italy with your old high school crush?”
“It wasn’t—”
“Who’s having a romantic dinner?” David poked his head in next to Farzan. A still-damp shower cap hid his sponge twists. “Did you have any wine?”
“Ornellaia, and—”
“You’re shitting me. Ornellaia? Really?” David closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s a special wine. What year?”
“2020. But—”
“Nice. He must’ve been pretty special.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Ramin sputtered.
“It was his old crush from high school,” Farzan said, giving David a kiss on the cheek. “You smell good, babe.”
Ramin wanted to vomit.
“His big-dicked crush from high school,” Arya added. His camera went wonky for a moment as he went through a door, and then Ramin saw the inside of Arya’s favorite coffee spot on Wyandotte.
Ramin closed his eyes and wished he’d never opened his mouth. Never made this call in the first place.
He also wished, solemnly, that his friends would never meet Paola and Francesca. He wouldn’t have worried about the odds of that happening, except he’d literally run into Noah Bartlett in Italy, so clearly the laws of probability were fracturing around him.
“We were just two old friends. Catching up. There was nothing romantic about it, and there was no discussion of dicks of any kind. Okay?”
His friends all stared at him.
“Listen. I came here to get away from everything. To reinvent myself. Not to rekindle my old crush on a straight boy. Well, man.”
Farzan narrowed his eyes. “How exactly do you know he’s straight? Did he tell you?”
“Well, no,” Ramin said. “But he only dated girls in high school.”
“Okay, but it’s not like any of us were out then. He could be bi or pan or anything.”
Ramin ran a hand through his hair. His friends weren’t listening.
“It doesn’t matter even if he is. We caught up, and then we said our goodbyes. It’s not like we’ll run into each other again. Now can we talk about something else?”
“Okay, fine,” Arya said. “Just a sec, let me put my order in.”
But Farzan muttered, loud enough for Ramin to hear, “Stranger things have happened.”