“Good call.” Max tapped his chin. “Because last time I mentioned it, he tried to kick me in the balls . . . probably because I asked it over the intercom at McDonald’s, but whatev.”

“They let you in McDonald’s?”

“Please,” he huffed. “Ronald McDonald had no basis for his claims!”

“Well, last I checked, we were both still blacklisted on account of the fact that we share the same last name.”

He popped his knuckles. “Jason may have snuck me in. I had a craving for a nugget.”

I groaned into my hands.

“Fine, fine, so if it’s not ED, is it the shrew?”

I didn’t answer.

“Ah, young grasshopper, is there trouble on set?”

I frowned.

“And by set, I mean is there trouble”—he leaned forward and cupped his mouth with his hand—“in the bedroom?”

I rolled my eyes. “Kinda defeats the purpose of you cupping your mouth if you aren’t going to whisper.”

“That was my whisper.”

With a sigh I dipped a fry into some of the sauce and shrugged. “Well, we aren’t exactly in the bedroom, considering we aren’t really together, therefore no sex.”

Max froze, fry midair.

I waved my hand in front of his face.

“Uh, Max?”

He shook his head, then pounded his chest as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time, then tossed a fry to the waiting pigeons. “Honest, Reid, I think I stopped breathing. What do you mean, you aren’t in bed together? What the hell are those noises I keep hearing at night?”

“First . . .” I held up my hand. “I’m ignoring the fact that you cup your ear to the door late at night. Second.” I gulped. “It’s the TV. She likes to watch Starz at night and then forgets to turn it off, so my guess would be you were hearing the latest porno.”

Max exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good God, I thought you were an animal! Honestly, I was starting to feel a bit insecure. Good to know the balance has been restored. Also, I may have been concerned when I started hearing barking. Never had that happen—not that I’m opposed to it, you understand.”

“Max.” I checked my watch. “This has been fun, but I’m just going to come out and say it. I need help, all right, and right now, you’re my only option.”

“Interesting . . .”

I clenched my teeth and crooked my finger. He leaned forward. “If you had to give someone dating advice . . . or relationship advice, what would you say?”

Max’s blue eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “So you’re asking for you or . . . a friend?”

“Friend,” I lied. “A friend I have to help.”

“Hmm, and this friend’s name?”

“Jason.” Sorry in advance to my accident-prone friend, but I was desperate not to be Max’s target. If he knew it was me, he’d probably send a singing hooker to set or sign me up for self-help classes, get me a prescription for ED pills. Hell, the possibilities were endless.

Note to self: send Jason a Christmas goose.

“Well.” Max rubbed his hands together. Oh, good, the evil genius was warming up. “First of all, I’d say that relationships take work. A lot of work—”

“Wow, Max.” I frowned. “That’s actually really—”

“—in the bedroom,” he finished. I sighed—he’d started off so good. “But in order to get there, you need to actually ask the girl out, make her realize you’re datable.” He shrugged. “Let’s be honest, if you aren’t an Emory man, you don’t really have a lot going for you.”

Yeah, like I was going to say that out loud and have men everywhere hate me. Pretty sure that was the opposite of what Jordan was trying to accomplish.

“Jason doesn’t have the eyes like you do, and let’s be honest, if he and I were running for president, his signs would say, ‘Vote for Boring,’ while mine would say ‘Join Team Awesome—Win a Free Puppy.’”

I hated when he actually made sense.

“So, for simple folk, like our friend”—he hooked his fingers and made air quotes—“‘Jason’”—he put his hands down—“the advice is this.” He closed his eyes very briefly before opening them again. His jaw had a slight tic. Either he was thinking too hard or the milkshake was making a comeback. “Start with a compliment, something innocent, nothing creepy. You can’t just walk up to a chick and say, ‘Nice ass,’ or, ‘Wow, you’re beautiful.’ The first gets you slapped, the second gets you ignored.”

“Okay . . .”

“So, pre-Becca, I used pickup lines, but only ones I knew would get the girl to laugh. Stupid pickup lines coming from a dead sexy guy equal immediate laughter and witty banter.”

“Should I be writing this down?”

Max frowned.

“For Jason,” I blurted. “You know, since he can read.”

“Can he? I’ve always wondered.” Max shrugged. “Sure, whatever, or I can just tell him myself. Why didn’t he just join our lunch date?”

“Not a date, and he’s helping his grandma with her groceries.”

“That woman has the strength of ten men and you know it. The last thing she needs is help carrying a banana.” He smirked. “Get it? A banana? Because she held your bana—”