Playing the Polo Player

I can see the reluctance festering in her expression, but she steps forward and we move inside. The AC blasts us right away, relieving the summer heat from my skin. Even without looking at her, I know that Luce is getting more and more anxious with every step. It’s radiating from her. I put my hand between her shoulder blades, guiding her toward the bar area. It’s not just for her benefit either. It’s a signal to her and everyone else that she’s with me, that she’s mine, and if any one of them tries to take her away from me right now they’ll see the other side of Ruper Lee.

The side I pushed deep down a long time ago.

There are sneers from the snootier members, ones that I don’t even rub elbows with, but I don’t care. Leaning down, I whisper right into her ear, “Ignore them. They’re just jealous I’m with the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.”

Her shoulders rise, and I hear a little gasp from her lips. But she doesn’t argue.

Good.

She should know what she is.

We make our way into the upscale bar and take a table by the window. Luce’s eyes shift around nervously and I take the small opportunity to get another good look at her. For a rancher, or whatever she classifies it as, she’s pale. Yet she has delicate freckles peppered across her nose and cheeks. They suit her.

“So, what do you do exactly?” I ask her. “I mean, it’s with horses but what is the business?”

“Equine breeder is what I put on my tax forms,” she answers. “We breed Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds… and then Appendix Quarter Horses.”

“My favorite horse is an Appendix Quarter Horse,” I grin.

“I always found the name stupid,” she snorts. “I mean, a Quarter Horse is meant to be a quarter Thoroughbred, a quarter Arabian, a quarter Mustang, and a quarter Indian Pony. So shouldn’t it be called like… Three Quarter Thoroughbred instead? I would settle for Seventy-Five Cents, though.”

My brow creases from curiosity and I chuckle to myself. What an interesting, awkward woman she is.

The bartender, Amelia, approaches the table with a kind smile. She knows me, and I appreciate the personal service. “Hey guys, what can I get for ya?”

Before I can answer, Luce does. “Do y’all have Dos Equis?”

“Of course,” Amelia nods.

“I’ll do a twenty ounce with a lime, please.”

A woman who knows what she wants unabashedly. Yet lacked confidence when it came to her clothes… Interesting.

“Make that two,” I tell Amelia.

She confirms with a nod and walks away. In just a minute, we have two beers before us. I watch as Luce squeezes her lime in and then dashes the top with salt before offering me the shaker. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about salting my beer, but I’m curious, so I follow her process and take a hearty sip.

“That is damn refreshing. I haven’t had a beer in a while.”

“I can tell,” she snorts and then once again clamps her hand down on her mouth. I point at her with narrowed eyes, a warning to not apologize. Sipping her beer, her eyes study me and then she clears her throat. “You must need to stay lean and all that for polo, huh?”

“I do,” I nod. “Though I could stand to put on a little more muscle.”

“Doesn’t look like you need to,” she comments.

“Thanks,” I chuckle. “Is your business around here? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Blue Hen Stables.”

Luce collects condensation drops on the glass and keeps her eyes focused on the task. “We’re local,” she confirms with a nod. “We’re just not all that… big.”

She’s trying to say that they aren’t successful. They must have good horses, though, if someone at the club was buying a horse from them.

“Businesses take time,” I nod, trying to comfort her. “I’m sure having a horse here will be great for your name recognition.”

“All my toes are crossed about just that,” she muses and takes a gulp of beer.

“I’ll cross mine too, if you think it’ll help.”

When she covers her mouth yet again, this time it’s from a bout of snorting laughter. As if I wasn’t already smitten enough. I drink in her laughter just as I do my beer. I’ve never felt like this with a woman before. Sure, I’ve had my crushes, flings, and dalliances over the years. There’s been wild nights and even sweatier days spent with women on beaches, yachts, and five-star hotel rooms. They could and did turn me on even, but this is different. Luce Normandy is breaking a world record for how fast she is getting me tied around her little finger.

My new mission is to keep her here at the club just as long as I possibly can.

Once her laughter dies out, she blurts out, “Sorry, sorry I don’t mean to laugh—”