Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,44

“Me likey.”

“Mm,” Crane replied, shutting his eyes. Two orgasms and way too much rum… He was already half-asleep.

“Course now, your dick’s going to feel teeny, weeny in comparison,” Max mused, teasing.

“Shhh…”

“You might have ruined me for good… You might have to treat me for vegetablephilia.”

Smirking, Crane just shook his head. “Lachanophilia… maybe megalophilia. Now, shh. Sleep.”

“You’re a fount of information,” Max whispered, and he shifted his head forward so he could press his lips to Crane’s. Crane kissed him back sleepily.

Tomorrow… Tomorrow they would get their act together.

12

Well Fucked

Sunday, November 13th

Crane laughed as Max tripped, flailed on the very edge of the pool, and fell in, fully clothed. Spluttering, Max bobbed to the surface, his wet curls flattened against his skull.

“Hey, not funny!” Max yelled, but it was obvious that he was as amused as Crane was.

After taking a long pull straight from the bottle of wine, Crane sat back in the lawn chair and closed his eyes, sunning himself. A surprise Indian summer was upon them—the last few days of warm weather before Fall took over.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be drinking up here.”

Opening his eyes, Crane lifted his head and stared at the blonde woman in the bathing suit and towel. She was younger than he was, he was certain, but there was something pinched and spiteful about her expression that made her look like an old crone. He took another sip from the bottle. “Fuck off.”

With her pencil-thin eyebrows hitched up high on her oddly shiny forehead, the woman blinked at him like she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Dripping and cursing, Max walked up, banging on the side of his head to clear water from his ear, and she turned to him as if seeking his help. However, Max sneered and flicked water in her direction.

“The fuck are you looking at?” he growled. Then he tilted his head and peered at her thoughtfully. “Wait… Do I know you from somewhere?”

The woman frowned at him. “I’m house-sitting for a friend on the third floor.”

Max’s face creased in a charming smile, and she smiled back a little hesitantly.

“I know!” he said, looking her up and down. “Casting Couch?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry? I don’t know what that—”

“No, that’s not it…” Max rubbed his chin cartoonishly and then snapped his fingers, his grin mischievous. “Anal Olympics!”

“What?” The woman’s smile stayed put only long enough for the words to sink in, and then she stepped back from Max, her expression somewhere between horror and confusion.

“Yeah, the one where a brunette sticks a baseball bat into a blonde’s ass. You’re the blonde, no? Oh man, I loved that one. Cute little baseball caps and knee-high socks… Hey, where are you going? Hang on… Did you get splinters in your ass? Wait! Can’t I get an autograph? Aww… C’mon…” Max turned back from the door, laughing. “You know, come to think of it, I don’t think that was her after all.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” Crane said with a chuckle, and Max shrugged, reaching for the bottle of wine.

He drank down the last of it and scowled at the label. “Blech. How can you drink this? It tastes like it was bottled yesterday.”

“No one’s forcing you to drink it.”

“You can do so much better, my darling. And drinking out of the bottle is so uncouth! What will the neighbours think?” Max raked his wet hair off his forehead and grimaced. “Actually, I’m going to run downstairs and put on something dry. My balls are chafing. Want me to grab you another bottle of plonk, or shall we crack open one of those lovely little Russian River Valley Zins? Hm?”

“Up to you,” Crane replied. He was tipsy, nearly on the cusp of drunk, awash in that gorgeous, golden moment where everything felt all right in the world.

“Okie doke. Back in a jiff.”

Crane watched Max head to the door to the stairs, and then he closed his eyes and went back to working on his tan.

When a cloud passed overhead, rousing Crane from his light snooze, he checked his phone and saw that nearly a half hour had passed since Max had gone down to change. He quickly typed out a message on his phone: Did you get lost?

After a few minutes without a reply, Crane pushed himself out of the lawn chair. Max had probably gotten sidetracked… Maybe one of his video projects had finished rendering. Or maybe he was taking a shower. Crane yawned and stretched his arms out as