“Doesn’t feel right.”
“No. Usually the right thing feels terrible.”
I groaned. “Who turned you into a therapy podcast?”
“Natural talent.” Then he pushed himself upright from the chair. “Okay. You’ve suffered enough for one evening. Now get your ass downstairs. Everyone’s hanging out.”
I stared at him blankly. “Absolutely not.”
“Dean.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot emotionally perform friendship right now.”
“You don’t have to perform anything. Noah’s already halfway drunk on Italian wine and Keisha’s trying to convince Nathan to get an eyebrow piercing. Trust me,nobodyis adulting in that room.”
I had to smile that that. Then I swallowed. “I can’t.”
Ethan watched me for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”
No argument, no lecture.
Somehow that made it harder to look at him.
I blinked. “That’s it? You’re giving up?”
“No, I’m changing the subject. We’re going into Milan tomorrow.”
I blinked again. “What?”
“Tourist day. Mom-level sightseeing. Coffee. Shopping. Noah wants authentic Italian pasta which is apparently different from regular pasta because he’s an idiot.”
I bit my lip. “I should practice.”
Ethan stared at me. “Dude.”
“What?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“So?”
“You don’t skate again until Friday.”
“That doesn’t mean?—”
“It means if you try to spend the next three days stress-practicing yourself into organ failure, I’ll physically remove your skates.”
I snorted. “You couldn’t take me.”
“Emotionally? No. In a fight? Absolutely.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
“I mean it. I amnotgonna let you turn into one of those terrifying Olympic robots who cope by overtraining.”
I grimaced. “Too late.”
“Nope. Not allowing it.”
