I didn’t bother turning around. Ethan’s voice already carried too much satisfaction.
“No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
“Thatis profiling, Dean.”
I grabbed my jacket off the bench. “It’s pattern recognition.”
Ethan followed me because privacy apparently no longer existed once he sensed entertainment.
“Counterpoint,” he said.
“I already hate this conversation.”
“You looked like your brain disconnected mid-sentence.”
I jammed my arms into my jacket. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Yes. But not by much.” The grin spreading across his face made violence briefly tempting.
I started stuffing my gear into my bag while Ethan watched with open delight.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m begging you to develop a personality outside of harassing me.”
“You are my enrichment activity.”
“That’s genuinely disturbing.”
“Still not the worst thing I’ve said this month.”
I zipped the bag shut. The bench rattled.
Ethan’s eyebrows climbed. “Wow. Aggressive zippering. Not to mention emotion.”
“Thereisno emotion. You’re seeing things.”
“Then why do you look like you’re preparing to flee the country under an assumed identity?”
I pointed at him. “Youare exhausting.”
“And yet people love me,” he said with a beaming smile.
He always said that like it proved anything.
“Well, there’s clearly no accounting for taste,” I muttered, slinging the bag over my shoulder.
Ethan clutched at his chest. “Cruel.”
We headed toward the exit, and for one glorious moment I thought the conversation might finally die.
Then Ethan said casually, “He wasn’t subtle, by the way.”
“Who?”
“Luka.”
