This guy must think I’m insane. Shit, he must know I’m insane.

“Was it really that bad before?” he asked.

Who says it’s good now?

“How do you mean?”

“It’s just… When being around a friend becomes something less than great, it seems kind of…sad.”

I had no answer for that. Apparently neither did he because, for the next two blocks, we walked in complete and utter silence.

“Is that why you stopped swimming?” he finally asked.

“How do you know I used to swim?”

“We competed once. A couple of years ago, in Philly.”

“We did?”

“It was more like, you beat me. It was quite pathetic.”

“Shit, I’ve no memory of that.”

“That’s because you won,” he said, faking bitterness. “I remember though.”

“Because you lost?” I joked.

“Pretty much, thanks. But you were fast. I don’t think I can swim like that even now, and I’m really fucking fast.”

I smiled.

“I guess me trying to recruit you would be pointless?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so. Sorry.”

“That’s cool. Dean won’t like it though.”

“Oh, I think he won’t mind.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch.”

We passed in front of a pizza place I’d never heard of before, and he stopped walking.

“Do you want to grab a slice?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder to the restaurant.

“No, thanks. You go ahead though.”

“You don’t feel like pizza? There’s a deli around the corner—”

“It’s not that. It’s just…I’m…I’m kind of trying not to throw up?”

“Oh,” he said. “Keep at it, please.”

“Will do. Had you been with Lucy Bell, you probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Lucy and I barely talk. And she can’t hold her liquor.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I prefer this.”

“Well, then,” I said. “Go on, get a slice. I’ll wait.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. Then I watched as he went inside and ordered. I knew I was drunk, but it took for fucking ever. I’d never seen someone actually carefully analyze every single type of topping available like that; it was almost an OCD thing—and this was me talking, someone who couldn’t even watch TV unless the volume wasn’t set to an odd number. He also kept looking back, every now and again. It was as if he was making sure I was still there.

Ethan finally came outside, holding a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand and a bottle of juice in the other, which he handed to me.

“Here,” he said. “Apple juice helps.”

“Thanks” was all I could muster.

“I love walking around the city at night,” he volunteered. “It’s like a different place.”

“It’s funny you should say that. I do it all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded as I drank my apple juice.