Jacob grins at us. “You both seem so surprised.”
“Can you even do that?” I ask Max. “You’re not…I mean you very much retired. And then you died. So that’s like double retirement.”
“He can,” Jacob interjects. “But this time around, it’s not up to me. He’s a free agent.”
I look back at Max. He’s staring at his bottle of beer, brow furrowed. There’s no way he’s going to agree to this if he doesn’t have to. As for me, well, honestly, I would much rather have Max teaching me than Jacob. Talk about a no-fun teacher. Max at least is way more relaxed, even a bit of a joker. It could be a lot more interesting.
But what’s in it for him?
“Maximus?” Jacob prods him.
Max eventually looks up and then at me, shrugging. “Okay.” He finishes off the rest of his beer.
“Okay?” I say. “Just like that? You know you don’t have to do what Jacob says, right? He just said you’re a free agent.”
Max tilts his head at me and smiles. “Believe me. I know that. But what the hell else do I have to do?”
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Jacob says, getting to his feet. “Then it’s settled.”
“But, but,” I say, raising my hand. “How do we even know he can? I mean, he’s just a…a…well he’s a normal dude, right? A mortal? Like he gave up all that shit for that—” I want to use an insult but I manage to rein it in, in case Max is still in love with the ingrate, “for Rose. How can he train me?”
“It’s not like I’ve forgotten,” Max says. “I’ve been doing it for all my lives.”
“He’ll be fine, Ada,” Jacob says, patting me on the shoulder as he walks past me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, a glass of scotch is calling my name.”
I watch as Jacob exits the room, as if he’s about to celebrate being free of me. Not that I blame him.
And now Ginger Elvis is stuck with me. I give Max an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making you take a shitty job.”
He laughs. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart. I’ll be fine.”
“Will you? Don’t you want to, like, do what you said and go to Mexico and open a beach bar? Instead, you’re stuck with me and apparently I’m a major pain in the ass. I mean, the last two teachers I had quit…” I trail off because that’s when I realize what I’m saying is true. First Jay, now Jacob. Circumstances were different, but still. Ouch.
“Ada,” Max says, coming over to me until he’s a foot away.
I crane my neck to stare up at him.
“This is a good thing,” he says, peering down at me, his green eyes seeming to glow emerald. “It gives me something to do for a while. I can’t promise I’ll be any good either, so I reckon you’re the one stuck with me. Now come on. Let’s get drunk. I think Jacob sobered us up a little too much.”
He reaches out and takes my elbow, leading me out of the library and back into the rest of the house where the booze is flowing and the music is blaring.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, but it’s fun. Eventually my dad says he’s going home, not making it till midnight. Jacob escorts him over, which was nice of him since my dad is pretty drunk, but I’m still a bit pissed at him for earlier, being totally ungrateful to me for getting Max out of that house when he couldn’t.
“Five minutes!” Sage bellows, running into the living room with a bottle of champagne raised in the air. “We officially have five minutes ‘til ball drop.”
He comes around and fills up everyone’s glasses. I’ve been standing by the stereo with Max as he flips through Sage’s vinyl collection and oohing and aahing over all these bands I’ve never heard of.
“She hasn’t even heard of King Crimson,” Max says to Sage as he fills my glass with champagne.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to educate her,” Sage says, giving me a mock disappointed look.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not my fault everyone in this room is old as shit.”
Max bursts out laughing. Sage quickly elbows him. “Right, Max, like you’re a spring chicken.”
“You’re a mean drunk, Ada!” Dawn yells at us from the bar, which makes Jacob chuckle.
I give her an exaggerated shrug. “What can I say, I’m by far the youngest here.” I look at Max. “And you’re like what, thirty?”
Max gives me a dry look. “Thirty? I’ll go with that.”
“Well, what does it say on your driver’s license?”
“Don’t have one, darlin’,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Remember?”
“So, your clothes survived Hell, but your wallet didn’t?”
“Got a passport and birth certificate in New Orleans.”
“What do they say?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Maybe I’m thirty. Thirty-three?”