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 ofRamin. 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 knowThe 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 donesomethingwith his face.
“Youdid,” Arya said. “Tell us everything.”
“I didn’t,” Ramin insisted.
