Tate and Riley sat down across from him with their food, drinks, and questioning expressions, looking like the damned Gestapo. “So spill, dude, come on,” Riley said, punching his straw into a carton of orange juice. “Since when do we not share?”
Max frowned. “Like, ever. We never share because you couldn’t keep a secret if it promised you hourly blow jobs.”
Tate barked a laugh around his bagel, garnering a hurt glance from Riley.
“That’s not true,” Riley grumbled toward his plate of waffles and pancakes.
“It is fucking true,” Max replied.
“It’s okay, Riley,” Tate said nonchalantly. “It’s obvious that Max and Grace are more than just running partners now.” He sipped his coffee. “It’s written all over him.”
Max dropped back in his seat casually, mouth full of sandwich. “Yeah. Okay. I fucked her. So what?”
“How many times?” Riley asked quickly, leaning forward.
Max frowned. “What?”
“O’Hare.”
“Twice, why?”
“Ha!” Riley boomed, shoving Tate’s shoulder with his own. “Pay up.”
Tate grumbled under his breath while he pulled out his wallet and handed Riley a twenty. Max stared at the two of them in disbelief. “How— What did? You made a fucking bet?” His eyes flew back to the sandwich counter, where he’d left them both for mere moments.
Riley laughed unashamedly. “Of course, man, don’t you know me at all?”
Max’s attention snapped to Tate. “And you let him?”
Tate shrugged and tucked back into his bagel. “He promised to buy me a muffin and I’m a sugar whore.”
Max dragged a hand down his face. “You amaze me.”
“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” Riley commented before slurping his juice hard enough to make the carton crumple in his hand. “So you two, like, a couple now?”
Max shook his head. “No. Not at all.”
“So friends with benefits?” Tate asked, his eyes still on his food.
Max nodded, staring at Tate’s red T-shirt, which read “Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist” in large yellow lettering.
“No,” Riley uttered, following Max’s line of sight. “I don’t get it, either.”
“Thank God,” Max replied.
“Yeah,” Riley continued. “I mean, why the fuck would you like Marvel when DC’s where it’s at?” He lifted his gray T-shirt to show the black long-sleeved top underneath emblazoned with a Batman symbol.
“Don’t start,” Tate said evenly. “We had this conversation on the way here.”
“Yeah, we did,” Riley answered with a smug smile, adjusting his clothes. “A conversation you lost.”
“Well,” Tate said, patting his lips delicately with his napkin. “That depends on your definition, now, doesn’t it?”
Max’s eyes snapped from one man to the other as if seated in center court, Wimbledon. “Dare I ask?”
“Tate believes that, in a fight, Captain America would beat Superman, which, any true comic book fan will tell you, would not happen.”
“Cap has the shield,” Tate said indifferently.
“Superman’s bulletproof; what the fuck would a shield do?”
“Who the fuck cares?” Max interrupted.
After a beat of silence, the two men looked over at him as though he’d dropped out of the sky naked.
“Why do we even speak to him?” Riley asked, turning to his brother.
Tate sighed as though genuinely baffled. “I ask myself that every time I come here.”
Max couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his mouth. “You two are batshit.”
Riley pointed at him. “To be continued,” he stated before he stood and made his way across the coffee shop toward the bathroom.
Tate waited until the door of the bathroom swung shut. “So, come on.” He leaned his forearms on the table between them. “Before Boy Wonder comes back. What’s really going on? You okay?”
Max shrugged. “Yeah, I’m okay. Good, actually.” He smirked.
“I mean who wouldn’t be, having a hot woman to play with, huh?”
Tate didn’t laugh along. “And she’s of the same mind? She seemed pretty fond of you when I saw you with her.”
“She understands,” Max countered, swallowing a lump of something that felt like a lie.
“Is this a good idea?” Tate asked, seemingly sensing Max’s discomfort. “You two.”
“You’ve changed your tune.” Max shook his head. “Besides, there is no us two. It’s just sex.”
Tate nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth. “I know the docs say that having a relationship in the first year of rehabilitation is a bad idea, but—”
“Jesus.” Max exhaled an incredulous sound. “Wasn’t that what I said to you? There is no relationship. We’re just fuckin’. Seriously, man, I’m not getting involved with her or anyone. I don’t want that.” He licked his lips and glanced down at his half-eaten sandwich, his appetite dissolving slowly. “I don’t ever want that. I can’t.”
Tate cleared his throat and sat back. He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “Okay.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Tate answered, lifting one shoulder. “If that’s how it is, then that’s how it is.”