He absolutelyshould notget used to this. Wine and potato chips for lunch was not sustainable.
Neither was crashing his high school crush’s family trip.
Jake still had his right arm in a gentle grip, tracing the tattoo on his pulse point over and over. Nasrin, his mom’s name. His dad’s name was on the other wrist. Noah sidled in on Ramin’s left, so close theirshoulders brushed. Ramin sucked in his stomach and lost another chest hair to the plastic wrap around his tattoo.
“What’s that, Jakey?”
“Ramin’s mom’s name.” He looked at up Ramin, his brows furrowed. “Dad says I can’t do any body modification until I’m thirteen.”
Ramin nearly spat out his wine trying so hard not to laugh. “That’s not a bad rule. You have plenty of time.”
“I guess.” Jake huffed and reached for the crinkle-cut chips.
Noah smiled at Ramin and reached for his own taste of wine. Ramin did his best not to stare at Noah’s throat as he swallowed, which meant he saw the pleasure sweep over Noah’s face as it happened. His eyes popped open in wonder. “This is amazing.”
“Right?” He stuck his nose back in his own glass to hide his blush.
How had he gotten himself into this?
“I can’t decide which is better, this or the Ornellaia the other night.”
Maria’s eyes bugged. “When did you have Ornellaia?”
Ramin blushed. “Ah, we ran into each other at dinner two nights ago? My first night in Milan?”
Maria sighed. “That’s a special wine.”
“This one is, too,” Ramin said, raising his glass. “Seriously. You didn’t have to share it. But thank you.”
Maria just winked at him again. “It’s my pleasure.”
Ramin kind of wanted her to adopt him.
“Okay, finish up your tasting, we have to go,” Angela said.
“We’re fine—” Noah began, but Angela shook her head.
“We’re on a schedule.”
Noah sighed and tossed back the last of his taste. Maria recorked the bottle and tucked it in the crook of her elbow. “We can finish this with lunch.”
Sensing his escape—finally—Ramin set his glass down. “Thank you so much for letting me taste. I’d better—”
But Maria stopped him. “You and Noah can take the Vespa. There’s not enough room in the car for six.”
The what now?
“Oh, I’m not… I mean, I was going to eat in town—”
“Nonsense! Join us! There’s plenty of food.”
Ramin wondered if Maria was part Iranian, her taarofing skills were so masterful. How could he politely decline? He was weighing his options when Angela cut in.
“Nonna, none of us can drive a Vespa.”
“Why not? It’s safe. We just had it serviced. I drove it today.”
“We don’t have an international permit.”
