RIDE INTO THE ...

aloy  attempts  a  dreamy  expression,    or  what  she  assumes  would  be  the  face  of  a  woman  who  was  so  enamored  by  the  sight  of  a  man  that  red  flags  were  hastily  painted  with  broad  strokes  of  green.    ❝    how  can  i  not    ?    i  mean    -    look  at  you.    ❞    she  makes  a  vague  gesture  to  where  he  sits  and  that  is  where  her  wistful  smile  turns  into  an  overly  animated  grimace.

❝    i  love  a  man  that  looks  like  he  uses  5  in  1  when  he  showers.    ❞    there  is  triumph  in  the  jut  of  her  chin,    pronouncing  the  proud  cleft  in  his  direction  before  his  next  question  prompts  a  roll  of  her  eyes.    ❝    i’m  sure  you  pay  enough  in  child  support  as  it  is.    ❞    words  transcribed  on  paper  may  seem  in  mean  spirits  but  this  kind  of  verbal  joust  is  exactly  what  aloy  considers  to  be  a  fun  way  to  sharpen  her  second  favourite  weapon.

takes him a second too long on the uptake,  he  smiles  at what  sounds  like a compliment and not so humbly bows his head to agree to it.  only to moments later perceive the  sarcasm   undercutting it,  which breaks the smug mask he wears comically quickly.    ❝  ya know what,  chucky,  you’re not such a  knockout  yourself.  when’s the last time you saw the  sun?   ❞

“ it was an honest mistake.  really.  i wouldn’t have tried to steal it if i’d known it was your plane. i’ll close my eyes too,  if it makes you feel any better. ” it shouldn’t.   she could definitely still kill him with her eyes closed.  j’s made sure of that. when he opens his eyes,  hers are still closed,  but she is smiling. “ yeah,  as an apology for the whole shooting your fuel tank thing.  also,  there’s fifty thousand dollars in the backseat of your car.  it’s probably your car.  you drive a 2005 bmw? green?  it might not have been a bmw. ” 

he doesn’t think that’s true,   and it does not bring him any comfort that she  says  she will close her eyes too.   though it does surprise him to see she had  actually  done it by the time he opens his.  the rest of the  apology  is pretty unexpected as well,  but maverick decides he will  not  have some ridiculous dumbfounded look on his face.   lips purse,  impassiveness permeating his features.  then,  he quirks up an eyebrow.

freddie  lounds  sits  on  the  center  of  her  motel  room  floor,    a  spread  of  police  reports,   article  clippings,  and  various  printouts  of  photos  covers  the  floor,   the  coffee  table  and  part  of  the  kitchen  table  in  piles  of  questionable  order  as  she  pores  over  them.     ‘     hey,   pete ?     ’     it’s  unclear  when  exactly  he’d  decided  to  become  a  more  permanent  part  of  her  routine,   invading  her  usual  quiet  with  a  steady  stream  of  theories  from  his  sprawl  on  her  couch.

the  cheap  polyester  fibers  of  the  motel  carpet  dig  into  her  bare  calves  as  she  shifts  her  weight  to  look  at  him  for  a  quiet  moment.   she  missed  the  first  half  of  his  sentence,   wrapped  up  in  her  own  clutter  of  thoughts,   (   something  about  her  dragging  him  into  government  conspiracy   )    but  patiently  waits  for  him  to  reach  the  end  of  his  sentence  before  she  moves.   cupping  his  chin,   lifting  it  toward  her  she  brings  his  face  down  to  his  in  a  kiss.   it’s  quick,   careful  not  to  linger.   breaking  it,   she  maintains  the  space  she’s  taken,   her  hand  on  his  chin.     ‘     can  i  have  ten  minutes  of  quiet  to  finish  this ?     ’

last time she had called him  high-strung,   he had protested firmly.   in the sky,  it was true that there could be no better man at your wing.   maverick was one in full control,  the calm in a storm.   on the ground,  however,  far from his comfort zone,  he’d recently discovered he had a tendency for letting his mind wander and his thoughts to be heard aloud    –    many of which were related to  conspiracy theories   he put too little thought into.

the  buzzer  to  the  manor  gate  sounds  it’s  harsh  tone  late  that  afternoon,    much  later  than  pete  said  that  he  would  arrive    -    after  many  failed  rendezvous’  and  one  occasion  where  they  were  forced  to  land  in  a  jaipur  guava  field,    lara  knows  to  be  ready  for  his  version  of  on  time.    she’s  dressed  in  her  version  of  casual  as  she  leans  into  the  frame  of  her  open  door  to  wait  for  him,    with  wide  leg  tan  trousers  and  a  simple  white  tank  that  displays  the  strong  tan  that  has  become  an  instant  indication  that  she’s  only  just  arrived  home    …    and  will  be  leaving  just  as  quickly.

❝    i  really  do  appreciate  how  you’re  always  on  time,    ❞    she  greets  with  an  arched  brow,    the  only  hint  of  amusement  on  another  stoic  face.    lara  makes  a  game  of  tolerating  him  when,    should  a  moment  of  honesty  ever  transpire  between  them,    she  quite  enjoys  the  company  of  people  who  treats  most  hard  lines  as  a  thin  suggestion    -    it  makes  including  him  in  her  work  much  more  enjoyable.    ❝    did  you  end  up  at  another  lady’s  manor  on  your  way  here  ?    ❞

because he was so  keen,  man makes good time.  half an hour late,  or maybe forty minutes.  either way,  it was  better  than his usual tardiness.  definitely makes good time there on his two wheels,  engine revving up as he stitched his way across traffic and felt the breeze coming through him on the highway.  freedom,  even if for a few moments.  taking the  longer ways  to prolong the feeling is what  always  made him late.