Yield

2. Ryke

“Max, you wanna talk about it?”

I take a sip of my Heineken, waiting for her to spill the beans. She wants to talk for a few minutes and then she’s going to want me to distract her, like always. Max reminds me of Sara in the sense of coming to me with her problems. I wouldn’t troll Max like I troll my old friend.

“Not really.”

My eyes lock on the spud she’s trying to massacre over the granite island. It sits in the palm of her hand with her fingertips pressed against it, keeping its place as she runs the peeler over the same spot, over and over with increasing force and tempo, trying to remove the peel from a dip in the flesh.

“That poor potato. I feel like I should rescue it and set it to rest.” I shake my head in amusement. The girl has a way about her. She’s the kind of good that you don’t fuck over, and if you decide to, she still has your back when you don’t deserve it. One day, she’ll finally have enough.

“I can handle that if you want to, uh…” I lift my shoulders, contorting my face. “I don’t know. Take a bubble bath?”

“Yes, Ryke.” Her eyes descend to mine, inexpressive. “I’m the type that goes to the spa and takes bubble baths.” Expelling sarcasm, she walks behind me to the sink with a strainer full of skinned potatoes, rinsing them once more. I turn around to find her staring out the window. She reaches blindly for the faucet to cut the flowing water, missing the first time. Her ebony hair is pulled into a low ponytail, hanging down her back. It stops just below her shoulder blades. My eyes drop to where her army green t-shirt ends and meet her black leggings. I stop at her ass, letting my gaze linger longer than it should.

“Oh shit, wait. It’s a bubble bath and a book, right?” Breaking both of our trances, she looks down to the side of the sink where the potatoes drain. I couldn’t forget about her dirty book collection. Limited edition or rare covers, something of that nature.

“Books...relaxing?“ Her hands press against the counter where the stainless lip overlaps, leaning her weight into her arms and turning to face me. “Not the books I’m reading.”

“My bad.” I exhale a deep, abrupt laugh. “Um, there’s a target range ten minutes down the road. It’s where I unload my thoughts.”

“Fuck yes,” she says with an approving smile and a brief nod.

“After dinner, we’ll go.”

Her brows wrinkle and a hint of apprehension cracks in her voice. “You sure?”

“Cleared my super busy schedule to hang out with you. What are friends for if not to drop all their own bullshit when we’re needed?“ I reassure her with a smile and turn back to forming balls from the ground pork mixture in the large glass bowl, placing the raw meat on a ceramic plate.

“It’s hard to find real friends nowadays. I had them by the dozens when I was a kid. Grown-ups blow.” She sighs. “Anyway, how’s business? Must be good if you’re branching out.”

“Sex sells. What can I say?” I continue rolling until a ball forms in my palms.

She steps forward, facing the counter next to me. Her arm brushes mine and takes a step over. I nudge her with my elbow, but it doesn’t seem like she appreciates my wink. Her eyes roll upward, rising to mine with the tuck of her chin and a half smile. My move was a little flirty. Her move was more of a reaction that one would give an older sibling that’s taunting them.

“You should tell me more about this club?” She asks, spilling the potatoes into a large pot.

“I’m gonna need to hire a few experienced bartenders and a manager since I’m in no position to train someone.” A heavy equipment mechanic turned dirty fantasy provider, I have no business choosing which rum makes the perfect Mai Tai. “And probably ten, maybe twelve more guys in rotation. The building needs a few upgrades first.”

She shuts the faucet off and places the pot on the flat top range to the left. “Look at you going Magic Mikey.” Drops of water splash on her cheek. She wipes it with the side of her hand and tucks a few wet strands of loose hair behind her ear. One sticks to her skin, clinging below her cheekbone.

“I bring more to the table than dance moves.” Turning around from the island, I put the bowl in the sink and wash my hands. “Well, I don’t bring any dance moves. That’s Angelo’s department.” I near her, peeling the hair from her face and tucking it back with the rest. Beautiful brown eyes pan to mine and stay there. I shouldn’t have done that. “Um.” I step away, picking up the plate of meatballs. “Did you turn that on high?”

“Yeah. All set. So you’re still doing the lives, right?” She leans against the counter beside the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. I reach for the oil from the cabinet to her right and return to the stove.

“Yeah, I’d never leave my online audience. The last thing I thought I’d be doing with my life was making dirty content on the internet.” First, it was just gym selfies shadowing my face. Then, the post-workout selfies wearing a mask. “I never knew how many women got off to men in masks...men too. Don’t ask for the receipts. You’ll regret it.” It was fun, just fucking around and I liked the attention. The content requests kept pouring in and Rave was born. A character, a brand, a website with exclusive content, and now the club. “It’s surreal that it’s been—what? Almost a year since you helped me cut out the middleman?”

“I’m honored to be the graphic designer to help boost your career.” She curtsies.

“You even found Chris and Han for me.” I coat the heated cast iron pan with a thin layer of oil and place the cap back on the glass bottle. “I probably should have paid you extra for that, but I won’t.” I’ll stick to the thirsty shit. Han can toss his sweet nothings and Christian will keep reeling them in with his braids and long beard.

“Rude. Compensate me, sir.” She holds out her hand and I give her a low five, earning a head shake and half smile. “You found Hunter and his voice melts the panties right off.”

“I could do it if I wanted to.”

“Prove it. Melt the panties. What’s that saying Hunter always uses...um, come here, little vixen. And don’t forget the growl.”

“Ah, shit.” I gear up for potential humiliation. “Okay, okay. Let me get in character.” Pinching my thumb and two of my fingers together, I motion over my face, turning my smile into a straight frown. I clear my throat and drop my voice an octave. “Come...here, little vixen.”

“Daaamn. You win. Bravo, Ryke Onak.”

“No, that was Rave. Was the growl thick enough?”

“Oh, okay.” She nods. “Yeah, it was all the thickness.”

“That’s what she said.”

“That’s what a twelve-year-old said.”

I curl my lip up, glaring at her sideways. Her tongue darts out, ridiculing me. “I’ll be doing lives from the club too on my socials, or you could do them?“ She rolls her eyes. “No pressure.” I transfer the meatballs to the skillet one at a time.

She steps to my side. “I’m proud of you. When you messaged me, I knew right away you had something that would sell, and look what you turned it into. A club, though? Dude, that’s huge. What are you calling it? Club Rave? Just Rave? Rave Exotics?”

Man, she’s cute and too fucking sweet.

“Rave Exotics?” I glance in her direction with a dirty look. “How are the potatoes coming?”

“Skinned alive and boiling to perfection.”

“Don’t make me cum in my pants.” A lazy grin plays at her lips. “Don’t smile. It’s against the house rules. I’ll make you do laundry while you’re here.”

“Do you know how many loads of laundry I do in one week? I have a three-year-old, Ryke. I can handle it.”

I pump soap onto my palms, tipping the faucet on with the back of my hand. “I won’t make you do any chores this weekend. Promise. Maybe next time you use my place to crash.” The oven plays a tune, taking my attention away from her.

“Sounds exciting. I’ll make sure to bring rubber gloves. I’m not touching any crusty drawers.”

“My mom taught me how to wipe my ass at an early age, like fifteen. So, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you don’t run into any mud tracks.”

I towel dry my hands, following her rosy lips as they slide into a smile fleetingly before she cracks off a reply.

“That means I have to send your mom a thank you card. Speaking of your mom…”

“This better not be a yo momma joke. That’s my mom, mam. I’ll build that cage.”

“Easy stalker. I was gonna ask if you told her about the club.”

“It’s better that she’s left out of the loop for now.”

“And the rest of your fam?”

“Pops knows everything...and my brother.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Raiden. My twin brother.”

“You have a twin brother?” Her head bobs dramatically, wild eyes peering at me like it’s something I shouldn’t have concealed.

“Yeah, fraternal.”

“Are those his kids on the fridge?” She points to the magnets.

“No. Those are Attalie’s. She’s not my sister, but might as well be. My mom’s best friend’s daughter.”

“How much am I going to learn about you in two days, Ryke?”

“You’re about to learn how I make some mean Carolina BBQ meatballs. Take notes, peach.”

“You like it?”

She wouldn’t have cleaned her plate if it wasn’t good.

“Dude, why aren’t you a chef?”

“Which sounds better? Chef Ryke or Chef Onak?”

I stretch my arms behind my head, sighing with the relieving crack.

“Chef Rave, oh la la. That’s honestly a brilliant idea. A masked shirtless man cooking up some mouth-watering food.”

“Shoving your ideas in my face now like you’re considering that job offer. We’re you hangry?”

Her elbows rest on the table and she brushes her hair from her forehead. “Shh. I forgot everything else for a moment. Don’t ruin it.”

“By all means, forget it a little longer.” I point my fork at her and pick up my plate. Standing, I head to the sink.

“What are we taking to the range?” She slides her chair against the laminate floor. Her sun-filled eyes sweep over mine. They’re the only thing bright between these plain walls and colorless granite. There’s the ugly white floor that one day I’ll replace, and maybe I’ll add that backsplash I’ve been thinking about when I get at it. She’s the only reason my attention has been drawn to these lackluster walls. A cosmic source dropping hints.

“It’s a surprise.”

“I haven’t been to a shooting range in, damn...since Riley was like ten months old.”

Max takes care of her dishes, joining me to overlook the backyard. The mountain is miles away, yet the view of it from that window makes you feel like you could harness its beauty.

“You’ll be pleasantly surprised. Trust me.”

“Did you forget I’m a control freak?” She sits her plate in one far half of the sink and picks up a charcoal hand towel. “I’ll dry.”

“I don’t have any ARs locked in my cabinet, but you’ll like what you see.” I splash the excess water from my fingers at her. That’s the look Mom gives me. The if you do that again, you’ll die a painful death of no snacks for a week, look. The joke is on her now. I buy my own snacks.

“You do not want to go there.”

“I’m a motivator.” I hold a rinsed plate out, waiting for her to take it.

“Motivate me to kick your ass. I think the word you’re searching for is instigator.“ She takes the plate, wiping the cotton material over the bottom surface. “You know who you look like?”

“Who?”

“The singer from Bad Omens.”

“Never heard of them.”

She freezes, staring at me as if she’s seen a ghost then blurts out a thought with the utmost force. “We can’t be friends anymore.”

I drop my hands to my sides. “You would break my heart over not knowing a band?”

“Your heart would break over losing my friendship?” She tilts her head, sassing me.

“Only like two-thirds of it.” I shrug. “What is it about me that resembles this singer?”

“Similar face shapes, hair that makes girls jealous, and...a contagious smile.”

“I see...You know who you look like?”

“Oh God.”

“Not him. I was thinking more along the lines of Reggie Rocket.”

“What!” She burst into laughter. “Is my hair purple?”

“No, but you still scream Rocket Power.“ I draw my soapy hands wide. “Let’s get it girls!“ Punching my fist straight up, I mimic the highest-pitched feminine voice I can muster up.

Max reaches into the sink, dipping her hand into the suds. She pulls it out, flicking water at me with the most devious smirk. Her I told you so attitude is deserved.

“Does she say that?”

“It’s something about girl power.” It’s been over a decade since I wanted to be a rad surfer catching the waves in Hawaii.

“Seriously, if you dropped the mask, your fan base would jump tremendously.”

“I’d lose my privacy too.”

Her eyes fall, raising back to mine with sympathy. “You’re right.”

“I chose this field and the attention that comes with it.” I wipe down the sink, cleaning up our mess. “There are a few things I want to keep to myself though.” Tossing the towel onto the drying rack, I head in the direction of my bedroom. “I’m going to make a phone call and grab some stuff. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“Okay, I’ll rummage through your house in the meantime.”

“If you find anything interesting, don’t tell anyone.”

“Paintball!” She gasps, shutting the door of my Silverado. A long white sign lines the top of the tan building, breaking the surprise.

“Fuck yeah. Tell me you can play.” I reach to the backseat grabbing my gear including an extra long sleeve I brought for her.

She shakes her head from side to side, her eyes matching the motion. “Want me to lie?”

“Noo.“ I groan, hunching forward. “You never played paintball?”

A voice calls out as it approaches, taking the conversation. “Ayyy.“ I’d know that nasally sound in my fucking drunken nightmares. “Did I just hear we got a virgin on our team?” Alex wraps his hands around me from behind, hugging me.

“Get off me, fucker.”

The buzzed blonde cut his beard off that he’s been growing out all winter.

“No, Ryke!” Pissy moans pull my attention. “You brought a virgin!” I look back to see Chris in full blacked-out gear and gray camo pants with his marker against his shoulder like Cyrus from Conair, walking away from the explosion. His gate swings cockily as he throws his free arm up.

“I’m in shock,” I yell. “I don’t know how this happened.” I wink at Max and hit the lock on my key fob, dropping my gear in front of the truck.

“Those little virgins are always the ones to watch out for,” a feminine voice calls. “They get trigger-happy and all.”

“Sara, hey. I didn’t know you were invited,” I grumble. Her camo duffle bag hangs from her shoulder, ready to get geared up.

“Shut it, Ryke,” she growls and gives me a good shove to the shoulder. “E called me.” Her bag hits the ground with a thud. Women. If she breaks something, oh well, just buy a new one. She slides a band off her wrist and runs her hands through her copper hair, smoothing it back into a ponytail. Paint-stained light-washed overalls button on the left and hang loose on the right.

“Of course he did.” I glance around, looking for E. Sara unzips her bag, tugging her hair through the same navy ball cap she’s had for years. Then she buttons the dangling strap over her black lightweight sweatshirt. I glance around the parking lot again and E walks around the back of Alex’s truck tugging at his zipper. Couldn’t wait to take a piss.

“Max, meet the guys; Alex.” I point to the loveable asshole in the burgandy shirt. “Chris, Ethan, and Sara.” I quickly gesture to each. “And Jake will show up thirty seconds before the game starts.” She waves, coming off as more of a salute.

“You’ll know it’s him when you see a guy that looks like a walking stick bug.”

Ignoring Alex, I introduce the paintball virgin. “Everyone, this is Max.”

“Max, huh?” Alex’s shit-eating grin merits the repulsed grimace I give him in return. His round hazel eyes narrow, then abruptly spring open as he throws his arms above his head.

“Jacob!“ Chris yells, elongating the a and enunciating the cob as if he were asking for corn off the grill.

The parking lot is mostly empty and all of our vehicles are spaced out. Jake pulls up beside my truck in his white BMW 4 Series 435i. One of these days I’m going to paint the side of his prized piece of shit possession, likely window markers or something prank worthy. It would be worth sitting in a lawn chair beside it all day with a toothbrush and polish. Maybe he’d show up on time more often with an incentive. Max wants to talk about flaky friends; I have plenty of degenerates in my corner. He’s getting on my nerves lately, but when it comes down to it...I hope he’ll show when it counts. Less is more. Max has reliable friends. Maybe there’s only a handful of them. I can understand trying to make new connections. Some you click with and others, like Jake, would find a way out of a deal with the devil.

“Well, holy shit, Jake. I’ve never seen you show up early to anything in your life.” Or the years I’ve known him. “It’s going to snow in April,” I announce.

“Ah fuck, I’m early? Alex told me the start time is six-twenty.” He walks around the front of the vehicle, admiring it.

“And that time didn’t sound a little weird?” Sara obnoxiously belts and Ethan chuckles. Games never start in between hours. They’re always on the hour.

I turn to Max. “You want to pick the team name?”

“What’s wrong with Sausage Fest?” Alex interrupts.

“Bro, two of us don’t have sausages.” Sara showed up one day and never left. She’s one of the guys. The most annoying, but nonetheless part of the team.

“Allow me to give my suggestions, if I may, Max?”

“Go for it.” She doesn’t waste time, letting Alex entertain her.

“I like her.” He tightly smiles and his hazel eyes narrow, thumbing to Max. “Balls Deep? Messy Balls? Deep Impact?” he rambles off.

“Rabid Dogs?” Chris joins in, pulling his mask off and tossing his fingers through his messy onyx hair.

“The Painters.” Raising her brows, Max considers Sara’s suggestion. It’s basic.

“Pea Shooters.” Jacooob.

I lean against the front bumper of my truck, rubbing my pointer and thumb across my jaw. “Got any input, E?”

“Splat Platoon.” He shrugs.

“So what’s it gonna be? Splat Platoon sounds pretty good or you wanna go Balls Deep?” I smirk.

“Neither.” Her bottom lip curls down. “The Untouch-A-Balls.”

“Yessss! She’s brilliant!” Alex holds up his hand, winning her high-five.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s good. Just watch that trigger finger, virgin. Don’t take out our team,” Chris grumbles, leading the way into the building.

The arcade is to the left, the bathrooms to the right, and coin machines with snacks and beverages are directly across from the counter that stretches down the lobby.

“Who are we playing.” Ethan lifts his hat, scratching his scalp through his blonde hair. When the light hits it just right, it looks red.

“Tag You’re Out,” the man at the counter calls.

“We’re toast. Burnt, crusty-ass toast.” Chris slides his mask over his face and shakes his head, walking toward the side exit near the bathrooms.

“Negative.” Sara shuts down his whining. They’re a solid team, playing for more than shits and giggles. An entire team of Chrises.

Alex slaps his club card on the counter, adding to our account bill that we all divide among the group. It’s faster this way than each of us paying before every game. “Yeah, listen to Red. We can take ’em,” he mocks her copper hair in the kindest way.

“Keep your virgin in check. We can’t afford to lose anyone by accident.”

“Chris is a little competitive, but he’s going to be nice. He doesn’t want to be the first accidental casualty.“ I steady a glare over him.

“I’m not worried,” Max declares. Her confidence is where it needs to be. I hope she takes him out purely for the show he would give us all.

“You have to sign a waiver.” I point to the counter. “And I didn’t think you’d want to ruin any of your clothes.” Reaching into my backpack, I pull a multi-colored long-sleeve out and hand it to her. “Try this on.”

“I’m glad you came prepared since I had no choice in trusting you.” She slips it over her head.

“I’ll try not to surprise you anymore this weekend.” Her soft smile reassures me. She pinches the fabric above her shoulders, adjusting it. “A little big, but it’ll do.” Hopefully, she doesn’t care too much about her pants.

“Thanks, Ryke. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet, peach.”

I crouch down, peering around the free-standing wall.

Clear.

Waving my hand, I motion for Max to run across to me, leaving the temporary safety she found. She darts across, creeping low. I step back, letting her take the corner, leaning against the wall at my side.

“When I said I wasn’t worried—” Her wide eyes snap to me. “—I meant I wasn’t worried about shooting the wrong target. Getting hit with a flying ball of paint, on the other hand, not too confident about.” She holds the foregrip, stabilizing the gun across her chest.

“Don’t think about it.” Two fingers to the barrel of her weapon, slowly tipping it up, I cross in front of her, switching places, and searching for the red vest. “You feel that right?” Turning back, her eyes are on me. “The adrenaline. Use it to fight your fear. Channel it.” I take off, running to the nearest platform.

“Ryke! Where are you going?” She calls.

“Tuck and roll,” I yell back, inching my way up the ladder. “Cover me.”

She rushes over, holding her marker up with her finger on the trigger. “Show off,” she mutters. Fuck. It’s gonna sting if she fires it this close.

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” I flash her an overblown smile, continuing upward.

“Hey there, cutie.”

“Fuck off, Alex,” I bark. Maybe I mentioned Max a few too many times to him, enough to make him think I’d take advantage of her situation. She’s not single and we’re friends. She’s not available for his taking either. His hand caresses the middle of her back as he passes around her, flying up the short ladder to the eight-foot-long, raised platform.

“Max,” I call, looking down at her. An echoing noise has my chest to the platform, hiding behind the plywood bordering the front before I notice Alex was hit in the shoulder. “You need to take them out!” I point two fingers in the direction of the shooter.

Alex army crawls over to me. “You think she’s going to do it?”

“Have faith.”

Max peeks around the slab of wood. She’s got this.

“She’s cool.”

“Yeah.”

“The guys are gonna start asking questions, you know.”

I keep my eyes on her, dryly acknowledging his concern. “I know. She’s a friend. Nothing more.” It doesn’t matter if I don’t believe it completely, as long as he believes it because the last thing I want is a hype man trying to talk me into it. Max lives a different lifestyle than I do. Even if she was single, the odds of anything realistic between us wouldn’t be possible and I wouldn’t fuck over our friendship for a few hook-ups. We live in different states and she has a kid. Her attachments would be the least of my concerns.

“Tell them whatever you want, but she’s more than that.” Alex finally observes something other than my facial expressions, not finding a satisfying reaction.

“The only reason I told you anything about her was because you asked about the website. There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re a dumbass and could never put it together yourself,” he scoffingly laughs. The short silence is a concentrated haze, stiffening the words he says next. “Why is she here, Ryke?”

I finally glance up. “Because she needs to be. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Sign me up for high-fives and heartbreak. He doesn’t need to scold me. I already know I shouldn’t have told her to come here. I’d need more than Jupiter in my favor to survive falling for a complicated woman.

“Yeah, remember that ’cause she’s going back home eventually.”

For never keeping a girlfriend, Alex always judged them right. He can point out the girls who have a ring on their minds from the girls that only want one night of your time. He doesn’t understand Max, but he wants to. He’s dying to analyze her. I’ll never understand why he dropped out of college. He would make a slick FBI agent.

“I got it. Shut the fuck up,” I quickly mumble.

Two guys in red vests come rushing towards us and I jump up, taking my shot as they power back.

Missed. Fuck.

I drop behind the plywood.

“Hit! Hit!” Alex calls off.

Max! Yes! Thatta girl.

While they were focused on me, Max was focused on them, taking them both out the moment I failed. “Yeah, that’s it, girl. Fuck yeah!” I shake my fist above my head. “Did you see that shit?” Alex’s smug grin does nothing at this point and I keep cheering her on.

“Damn, virgin is slick. Chris is gonna eat his words.”

“Virgin what!” She yells, swiveling her feet in the grass. Victory music plays over the field speakers and her hips sway as she bobs back and forth. With hands balled in fists, her elbows jab in and out. Is that the fucking cabbage patch? Alex shrugs like he knows what I’m thinking and joins Max’s dance party.

As her victory dance came to an end, so did the day. I offered the shower to Max first. She insisted I go and I’m eternally grateful. I sat on the couch waiting for her and after ten minutes without hearing the water running, I turn on my gaming system and pull my purple headset over my ears.

“Ayyy,” Alex calls out. “RatedRRR is in the house. She lets you game? Keeper status.”

“She’s in the shower.”

“Who’s in the shower?” EchoShhmecko, a regular gaming buddy, questions.

“His just friend.”

“Gotchu. I had one of those once...Knocked her up.”

“She went from calling you pal to Papi,” Alex chuckles.

“How many kids do you have?” I ask.

“Enough.”

“I’m considering getting my nuts snipped,” Alex says. “How long is it gonna be till one takes your controller and we lose a partner?”

“Never. I lock my gaming room.”

“Yeah, I forgot you have money,” he points out before taking his best crack at an Australian accent. “Sweetie, I’m taking the Beemer for a spin and then I’m going to game with the stupid Americans for a few hours. Don’t wait up.” Terrible.

“Not how that works, mate.”

“You know how much a box of cereal cost me yesterday?” I interrupt. “Fucking six bucks.”

“That’s like four bowls?” Echo quizzes.

“Right.”

“Stop buying the healthy shit and be a dying breed like the rest of us,” Alex calls, opting into the game finally. “Fruity O’s are a Sunday morning staple...right in front of the trash cartoons.”

“Now it’s unfrosted wheat bites and porn central,” I reply.

“Did you say you wanted a Beemer, Alex?”

Clicking off my pack, the pan to my left to find the silver vehicle in flames.

“This is a crime!” Alex yells. “Who did this? I’m sending them to hell where they belong!”

“What you’re saying is you’re on a suicide mission three minutes into the game?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“Only if I die.”

“You’ll die,” Echo confirms.

“Any excuse to start shit.” I agree.

“What are you saying?”

“You don’t care about the car, troll.”

“We can’t all make a living off thirst traps, R. Some of us have to have quality content.”

A deep laugh forewards Echo’s thought. “You’re telling me he’s a troll and not a space cadet?”

“He wishes he could blame his mom for dropping him on his head.”

“When either of you need first aid, I’m not sharing. I’ll stand over you will you suffer.”

“Fine,” I answer. “But if you find Jessica again, don’t expect me to help you out.”

“Jessica was aggro,” Echo admits. “Not even your god can save you from her claws.”

“She told me I was the number one employee at Cockjaw Incorporated and it’s the best compliment I’ve received in my life. I’ll never forget her or shoving her off a roof.”

The bathroom door opens and Max shuffles down the hallway to the guest room.

“Alright. I’m out.”

“Jay should be online soon,” Echo says. “Catch ya later.”

“Friends only fuck after shots of tequila.”

“It’s not like that, Alex.”

“Ouch. My full name. You’re killing me.” He’s a fool. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I speak the truth.”

I sign off and set my controller and headset on the charging base. Max will probably want a snack.

She sits next to me on the couch with her hair in a messy bun, an oversized sweatshirt, and shorts that match. She’s swimming in those shorts. They look like men’s. Her white socks stretch up to her knees; the same knees that are curled up to her side, comfortably. She agreed to watch a movie and hang out, but from the darkness under her eyes, she’s clearly tired. “You want popcorn?”