practically a zombie when he dropped into the seat next to Nico on the plane the next morning. Nico had given a fraction of an inch; Ryan was going to run five miles. They were friends now. Or at least, they could be. Nico didn’t complain, at least not about Ryan’s presence. He did offer, “You look terrible,” but it was more observation than judgment. Ryan opened an eye to glare at him and squirmed to get comfortable. “Thanks,” he said, heavily sarcastic. If it hadn’t been October in a city that didn’t know it was fall yet, he could be dressed in a cozy wool coat and soft toque, and maybe he
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