“Oh, hell.” Cane laughed, turning to the grill and moving the steaks onto a platter.
I laughed as I went back inside to help Kari get the drinks. Max came in behind me.
My nerves had eased, replaced by a feeling of contentedness. I felt alive with Cane and comfortable in his home, not at all like the outsider I had feared. He didn’t seem to feel weird with me here either, which I had feared the most.
“I’m changing this music,” Max said, walking over to the deck and replacing Cane’s iPhone with his own.
“What are you doing?” Cane yelled through the glass.
“This shit is giving me a headache,” Max yelled over his shoulder.
“I can’t help your bad taste in music.”
“Ah, here we go,” Max mumbled before Florida Georgia Line began playing through the speakers. “He really loves this. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“No, I do not,” Cane shouted from the patio. “Your music taste is about like your football taste—it blows.”
Max chuckled as he turned his head to Kari and me. “Not sure why I like him, really. He’s irritable, a total asshole, likes shitty music, and the San Francisco 49ers.”
A tapping sound on the glass caught our attention. Cane’s face was close to the window. “I can hear you, you motherfucker.”
We laughed as we made our way outside and got settled around the glass table, filling our plates with the juicy steaks and potatoes that the boys had grilled.
“So what’s your deal with actual glass cups?” Cane asked Max, sipping on a bottle of water and nodding to the drink in Max’s hand. “Did you cut your finger or some shit as a kid?”
“Fuck off, Alexander,” Max said. “These are the perfect drink accessory.” He held his red cup in the air. “See this bottom line?” He pointed. “This is the ‘liquor line.’ The second one is the ‘wine line,’ which, I may add, no man should ever use. Now the top one is the ‘beer line,’ but you can live a little and go over it if you want.”
“Wow. You’re getting all cosmopolitan on me. Next thing I know, you’ll want to add some color to your Sharpie tattoos.”
“Whatever. These tattoos were made with a needle,” Max said, drawing out the last word. “You’re too big of a pussy to actually get one.”
“No, I’m not. There’s just not anything that I want permanently etched on my body.”
“Speaking of you being a pussy, you’ve been drinking wine these days. No self-respecting man should ever drink wine.”
“You drink sweet tea. And you think wine is a bad thing?” Cane asked, barely containing his laughter. Kari and I couldn’t containours as we wiped tears away from our eyes with the backs of our hands.
“Don’t even start on sweet tea, or I’ll kick your ass. It’s the lifeblood of the South. That kind of talk will get you killed where I’m from,” Max said, trying to keep a straight face.
“Remind me to never go there,” Cane muttered.
“You’re such a fuckstick.”
“Whatever. You haven’t been south of the Valley since you were twelve, and you still won’t let go of this Southern boy routine.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Max said, shaking his head. “When you’re born south of the Mason-Dixon Line, it’s in your blood. It’s who you are.”
“It’s amazing that you can even function in society.” Cane grinned as he leaned back in his chair.
“Coming from you, the most asocial person I’ve ever met, that’s hysterical.” Max raised his eyebrows, fighting a smile.
“Hardly, Max. Everyone loves me.”
“Yeah. That was just how it looked yesterday with the City of Queen Creek. They loved you.”
A stormy look crossed Cane’s face as he narrowed his eyes and subtly shook his head at Max.
“Hey, is that your phone going off?” Max asked me, changing the subject with a quick glance at Cane.
