Page 57 of The Chase

“So man, what do you do for a living?” Miles butted in, clearly put out that Clarissa was blatantly ogling Colt. He couldn’t help it, being sat on the side of the pool in those ridiculously skimpy speedos, he looked like he was modeling the latest swimwear for the front cover of a men’s fashion magazine.

“You aren’t an underwear model are you?” Clarissa gasped, “You could be. April, you lucky girl, you!”

April smiled like the cat who ate the canary. He smiled at April, it appeared he liked that he could give her that.

Colt laughed. “No, I’m a porn star.” Clarissa stopped mid-gape. Miles choked on jacuzzi water. April clamped her lips together to stop herself from laughing. Colt held them all there, enjoying the shock, awe and horror. “Nah, not really, I’m a carpenter. Upcycled furniture…” he said. April was pleased he’d remembered the lines they’d practiced in case this question should come up. He followed her script.

“Ooh,” cooed Clarissa, who had been flapping her hand as if she couldn’t breathe since he’d said the word upcycled. “I love all that kind of stuff, all the vintage shabby chic stuff, we commissioned our coffee table. Miles, do you remember-”

“Yeah, honey, so you own a business? I’m a stockbroker myself, Wall Street, of course-”

“Course.” Colt bared his teeth.

“You employ a team of carpenters? The corporate tax is a pain in the ass, isn’t it? Where are you based?”

“I get my hands dirty enough,” Colt replied ambiguously to all of Miles’ questions at once. April swirled the bubbling water in front of her, she was enjoying this, but she could see Colt’s patience wearing thin with each second.

“Well, we’ll see you later on, we better get ready for dinner, darling,” April said, standing up in the jacuzzi. Colt’s eyes darted to her, and he suddenly looked hungry. She recognized that half-hooded expression, she saw his pupils dilating. She ran a hand down over her arms, on the pretense of wiping the water off her. In reality, she wanted him to appreciate her slick with water in her little black bikini top, to want her. April dared a glance at Miles, he saw, too, he was practically licking his lips. Colt caught it, as well, and looked like he was about to tear the limbs off him.

Miles stood, too. He had a hairless, tattoo-less body with limited muscle definition. Colt could have knocked him out in one swing, April thought smugly.

“Yes, us, too, we’ll walk with you. April, speaking of getting ready, I’m getting my nails done in town tomorrow…” Clarissa clambered out of the jacuzzi, too, grabbing her arm and drawing her into a discussion about nail salons. April didn’t listen, she kept an ear on Miles and Colt, hovering to step in if she needed to.

Miles regarded him thoughtfully. “Hey, buddy, I’ve been meaning to ask you, your vest, the leather one that you’re always wearing, I’ve been looking for one myself like that… What’s the brand?”

Colt stared at him for an inordinate amount of time. “No brand,” Colt said finally.

Miles snorted. “Well then, where did you buy it?”

“Yard sale. It’s second hand,” Colt mumbled.

“Dude, you may think I’m crazy for saying this but... I think it might have belonged to a motorcycle gang member!”

Colt fixed him with a stare. April pursed her lips, trying to listen over Clarissa’s inane babble.

“What?” Colt said, buying time.

“Well, I heard these guys, you know, they join a motorcycle gang, get up to all sorts of illegal shit, well, each member has a name, like a road name, like Axel or Midnight or something, and they have their names and emblems sewn on...”

“Oh, right?” Colt feigned interest.

Miles spoke like he was talking about a government conspiracy, loving his role of storyteller. “I know your jacket has... provenance.”

“Provenance?”

“Yeah, you know, like was owned by someone before you, it has history of ownership, like an antique, or a work of art... it could have been worn by a murderer, or a drug dealer-”

“Right.”

“Speaking of…” Miles laughed and lowered his voice, attempting to draw Colt in close, but April was amused to see Colt walking along too fast to join Miles in a conspiratorial huddle. “I hit the blow too hard, it’s why we’re here, Clarissa thought I needed help, stupid bitch, she says I’m not me when I’ve taken it, but fuck, I’m needing a hit now my friend, I can tell you...” Miles pursed, eyeing Colt, who said nothing, gave nothing away. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone I could call, or have any yourself, just a little hit, just to get me through, this place is a fucking nightmare and she’s making me crazy-”

“No drugs,” Colt simply stated and kept walking.

Miles almost cried out loud, but turned it into a loud, fake laugh, and caught up with Colt’s pace. “Fuck man. Fuck. I wish it was the old man of that jacket I was speaking to-”

“Can’t help you with that.”

“Jeez, we’ve all seen your tattoos, could be a biker or a drug dealing criminal yourself, you sure look the part.” Miles tried to joke.

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