Free To the Max by Elle Aycart

girls.”
    “Your rats are fine.”
    He knew that, but he wasn’t really calling about them. “What about you?”
    He heard a roll of thunder from the other end. Then silence for a long second.
    “Ace?” he asked, worried.
    “Not so fond of being in such a big house alone during a storm,” she whispered at last.
    “Where are you?”
    “I finished securing all the windows, and I’m getting into bed. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep with all this racket.”
    “That’s nothing. You should have been there before the remodeling, with the wind actually blowing through the house and all the pipes whistling and the wood crackling.”
    He could almost hear the shudder in her voice. “No, thank you. I’m already scared enough as it is. I’d even welcome Tango and Cash squeaking a bit for company, but for once the traitors are quiet, hiding in their rat holes.”
    “Go to my bedroom to sleep. There’s a TV mounted on the wall. You can use it to drown the sounds from outside. And I have a kick-ass mattress.”
    She seemed to consider it for a moment. “Thanks, but I’ll stay here and read a book. By the way,” she said, not giving him time to complain, “I noticed when I went to your bedroom to make sure your window was closed that you have a yoga swing hanging from your ceiling. I didn’t know you practiced yoga.”
    “I don’t. That’s a sex swing.”
    “A what?”
    “Wait a sec.” Max downloaded a picture from the Internet, a rather outrageous one, and sent it to her. “Check your mail.”
    She obviously did, for she squeaked. “Oh my God. Groosssss. And I’ve touched it. Now I’ll have to bleach my hand.”
    He chuckled. “No sweat. It—”
    “I’m not particularly worried about sweat,” she interrupted him. “It’s other bodily fluids that have me more freaked out.”
    “If you had let me finish, you’d know I meant ‘No sweat. It’s unused.’”
    He heard her snort. “Right.”
    “Seriously. It was a present. A certain adult magazine had a special edition about girls on sex swings last spring. Guess who got to do all the Photoshopping? Yours truly, boob-and-ass-enhancer extraordinaire.” He could hear Annie laughing at the other end. “So when we got a swing as a present from that promoter last month, the boys decided I should have it. They came and installed it.”
    “You’re something else, Max.”
    “I sure hope so.”
    The band started playing a rather popular song, and Max moved to a far corner. “Where are you?” he barely heard her ask.
    “A bar on the beach.”
    “You’re at the beach?”
    “This is California, Ace. Damn hot still. We were surfing this afternoon after shooting. How are you doing? Is the fetus still behaving?”
    “Yes. I’m not throwing up anymore. Now I’m just eating crispy bacon twenty-four seven.”
    “Well, that’s an improvement. So, the munching I’m hearing?”
    “Bacon,” she admitted.
    Max laughed. “Your fetus is acquiring good taste.”
    “It seems that way.” She paused for a couple of seconds and added, “Maybe we should stop calling it fetus.”
    “Okay. Have you been thinking about names already?”
    He heard the smile in her voice. “No. Let’s start with baby.”
    “Baby it is,” he conceded.
    “I’m going to go shopping for pregnancy books.”
    “That’s probably a good idea. Wikipedia only goes so far, right?”
    Annie burst into laughter and said something he didn’t get because suddenly the whole place erupted in a shout.
    “Wait a sec, Ace,” he told her and walked to his table. “Guys, I’m out of here.” The girl who had been sitting beside him pouted, but he didn’t let her displeasure deter him.
    “I’m back,” he said into the phone as he was leaving the bar. “Now I hear you.”
    “Max, go to your friends. I can manage. And you probably have things to do.”
    “Nope. Nothing else to do.” And it was true. He’d rather continue talking to her than stay at the bar. “How’s