Playing the Polo Player

There’s my window of opportunity.

I tut and shake my head side to side. “Now, what did we say about apologizing over our beers?” I watch as panic flashes over her face and I move my hand in a gesture for her to settle down. “I’m a reasonable man, Luce. I am willing to mulligan. Have another beer with me and so long as you don’t apologize during that one, the deal is still on.”

She shuffles in her seat and contemplates, but quickly agrees to it. “Okay, fine. You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Lee.”

“I know you think Rupert is an old man’s name, but I promise there’s nothing that makes me feel older than being called Mr. Lee,” I groan. The last thing I want is this woman, who is at least ten years my junior, calling me Mr. Lee.

“So—” Luce starts, but catches herself. “Very well, Rupert.”

“You can call me Ru, if you like.”

She grins, and I mean really grins. Her eyes sparkle as she flashes me a pure smile. “Now, that’s an adorable nickname! Like the baby kangaroo from Winnie the Pooh.”

I squint and tilt my head to the side. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” I chuckle. “Though I think that’s Roo… Like Kangaroo.” A little chuckle escapes me. “Do you always say every thought that comes to mind?”

“Not always. Just when I’m nervous. Which is…pretty much always…” she sighs and sips her beer again.

I can’t help myself. Even though I am completely charmed by her outbursts, I reach and brush my fingertips across the back of her hand. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel more relaxed?”

My voice is full of innuendo, suggestion, and any other synonym for flirtatiousness. While I am invested in this conversation with her, I also want to make sure she’s aware that I’m interested in her. And for more than just a drink or two.

Luce drinks faster, polishing off nearly half her beer before she puts her glass down. Taking a deep breath, she locks eyes with me and I can’t tell if there’s suggestion or not in the look she’s giving me. “I’m not sure. What do you have in mind?”

Oh, so much, Luce.

Chapter Three

Luce

After two beers and a lot of banter, I’m feeling a little more at ease. Though, I doubt I can contain my comments any better now that there’s alcohol in my system.

Rupert suggests we go for a walk to make sure we are okay to drive before heading out, and right now I’d do anything to spend just another minute, another millisecond in this man’s company. After he pays the bill and tips the bartender handsomely, he guides me out toward the polo field and stables.

“What made you decide to play polo?” I ask as we step back out into the summer heat.

“Well, I was a surfer for a bit, but the lifestyle was too wild for me. For my health, at least,” Ru explains. “So I wanted to find something else to fill my time. I’ve always loved horses and started coming with some family to the clubs. Found out I had a natural talent for it. Got addicted to perfecting it.”

“Interesting,” I breathe. “Going from surfing to polo seems a bit extreme.”

“It was. But I needed an…extreme change.”

There’s something about his voice then, a distance to it, that lets me know there is more to it than just that. I don’t want to pry or pester him, so I ask the first question that comes to mind. “Does your wife watch you play a lot?”

Ru is chuckling and eyes me from his peripheral. “Very smooth,” he teases. “I’m not involved with anyone right now.”

“Me either,” I reply, as if it’s relevant.

“Good to know,” he purrs, a lopsided smile on his face.

We reach the field and there’s a game going on. Though I’m guessing it’s a casual game, as there’s no audience or referee. Does polo have a referee? I don’t know and I’m not sure I want to admit to Rupert that I know absolutely nothing about the sport. We lean against a wooden fence that borders the perimeter of the field.

“How old were you when you started playing?” I ask.

“Twenty-six,” he answers. “When did you start breeding horses?”

Touché. It’s a loaded question, but he doesn’t know that. Just like his transition from surfing to polo, there’s a story there I’m not sure I’m willing to share right now.

“I started working in stables when I was fifteen. It was just a few years ago, when I was twenty-one, that my friend and I were approved for a business loan. So, it’s been about…four years now.”

“Have you always liked horses or are they just what you know?” he asks curiously.

My eyes go to the field, watching as the horses move with their riders with ease and precision. It’s almost sunset, giving their shiny brown coats a celestial gleam. “Horses are what make sense to me,” I breathe. “They are intuitive and sensitive, but they have understandable needs. Even the wildest horse is in need of something. It’s only a matter of paying attention. Beyond that, they are beautiful, majestic creatures. And every other cliché description you can think of.”