“Do you think there’s fishing?” Jake asked as they headed down the boardwalk. He burped again. “Sorry.”
“Just cover your mouth, buddy. And probably, but I don’t think we can do it from the ferry.”
“Aw man.” Jake’s shoulders slumped melodramatically.
The line for the ferry—a triple-decker blue and white boat with red awnings—bottlenecked on the narrow gangway as everyone stopped to get their tickets scanned.
“Let’s go to the front!” Jake shouted, once they finally made it aboard. He charged toward a row of seats near the metal railing at the bow.
“You sure you don’t want to sit in the shade?” Noah asked. The sun was bright and hot, even with the breeze to cool them, but Jake shook his head, and so they all filed in, Noah and Angela sandwiching Jake between them.
A few seats away, a young couple stood against the railing, playing a fairly intense game of tonsil hockey. Noah thought of Ramin, of the weird, inexplicable draw he’d felt as a teenager who thought he was straight, of the soft, quiet attraction that had reignited at dinner the other night.
He wondered what Ramin’s lips felt like. Not that he’d ever get to find out. He wished again he’d gotten Ramin’s number.
It was okay, though. He was here with Jake, having an adventure. That was enough.Morethan enough.
“I’m glad you’re with me, buddy,” he said, dropping a kiss onto the crown of Jake’s head.
The boat filled quickly. Groups started splitting to find separate seats. Some folks had given up completely and stood around the rails instead. As an announcement in Italian played over the loudspeakers, people jostled to Noah’s left, the last folks aboard trying to find what seats they could. A few groups of friends split up. Families stuck their kids on seats and stood hovering over them. Noah scanned the crowd. The seat next to him was still open.
He was about to have them all scoot over, so maybe someone could get in on the aisle, when he heard something.
A familiar voice.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Scusi. Sorry. Is that seat taken?”
High and clear. Noah’s heart skipped a beat.
Itcouldn’tbe.
Noah held his breath and turned to find a pair of familiar green eyes, widened in surprise.
“Noah?”
thirteen
Ramin
ItwasNoah. Sitting there, next to Jake and Angela, in a clean white T-shirt, the kind that Hollywood actors always seemed to be able to pull off.
“Ramin?” Noah gifted him a smile so bright, Ramin squinted behind his sunglasses. “I can’t believe it!”
Ramin couldn’t believe it, either. He’d looked it up: Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.
Ramin didn’tthinkhe had any enemies, unless you counted Robert in accounting, but that was just a big misunderstanding…
Or maybe third time was the charm. But the charm of… what? It wasn’t like anything was going to happen between them.
Maybe this was a tattoo-fueled hallucination. Yeah. Maybe the needle had been laced with drugs and he was on one hell of a trip. Or maybe it was an allergic reaction. Did they use different inks in Italy? Toxic ones? He thought the European Union was usually ahead of the US when it came to removing toxins from things, but who knew?
Noah was still looking at him, though his smile had started to dim into a question. Maybe this was real after all.
“Sorry, I just… was not expecting to see you here. I had a bit of a brain fart.”
Behind Noah, Jake let out a giggle.
