Max 2

“So where the fuck is Max?” Janette asked.

The rest of us exchanged looks of ignorance until Ryan finally offered to call him. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

“Hey!” Sarah called after him, “Tell him I’m going to kick his ass.”

“That’ll make him want to come,” I laughed.

Sarah laughed, too. “He don’t want to know what’s going to happen to him if he doesn’t come.”

The next ten or so minutes passed in such wildly entertaining, and possibly slightly drunken conversation that no one immediately noticed when Ryan returned. Sarah was the first to realize this. “Hey,” she said, “Did you get a hold of that dick?”

Ryan took a long draught from his lager. “I don’t know.”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know,” Sarah said in a voice much louder than necessary, looking around to observe our amused faces.

“I guess he wasn’t there,” Ryan said.

“Come on,” I added. “He’s either there or he isn’t.”

“Well,” Ryan explained, “I called a few times, and each time the line picked up I heard this—I don’t know—Like moaning or groaning or something.”

Janette laughed. “Max is Get. Ting. Laid!”

Ryan shook his head. “No, it was more like—how to explain… Think Frankenstein.”

“Kinky!” I brought more laughs from the others.

“No,” Ryan said again, apparently finding no humor in our shenanigans. “Like this dull humming thing. I mean, like, I don’t know. Maybe someone should go check on him.”

“I ain’t driving nowhere!” Sarah cried, “You hear me, sister?” Janette heard her, and signified her understanding with an enthusiastic high-five.