Playing the Polo Player

“Well, I don’t think that’s necessarily anything to be jealous about, either,” Luce responds, though her cheeks are beet red. “I can be a real nightmare, you know.”

“What kind of nightmare?” I retort with a smirk.

“The kind where you go to school without pants,” she says without hesitation.

It’s so quick, as though she had it locked and loaded with as much ease as her name or the weather. I’m in stitches with laughter and take a minute or two to recover enough to reply. “And what makes you that?”

She raises a hand and counts on her fingers as she lists things. “I’m socially awkward, as you may have noticed. I tend to be impossible to wake up before seven in the morning. I’m a horse breeder, but I’m allergic to hay— so if I forget my allergy meds, I’m a sneezy, snotty mess. I play music too loud. I hog blankets. And I’m pretty awful at remembering to unload the dishwasher.”

I slap my hand over my heart and shake my head ever so slightly. “I stand corrected. That is the most horrific and obscene list of habits to live with. How is she still sane?”

“Who ever said she was?” Luce questions, a brow arched.

The smile on my face is so wide and pure, reflecting the joy in my heart. “How on earth did I manage to meet someone as funny and charming as you?”

“All you had to do was let your nephew park your Bugatti like an asshole.”

We laugh, smile, and resume the meal. As wonderful as the meal is, I’m too captivated by her to really pay the food any mind. Never in my life have I had such a delightful and easy time talking to someone. It’s addictive, blissful, and I never want it to end.

Once we’ve had our share, we take fresh beers to the couch and relax into the soft leather. “I don’t think I’ve had a meal like that in years,” I sigh contently. “Thank you. It was wonderful.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiles. “It was fun to cook in a kitchen like that. I mean, we have everything we need and all. Just nothing as fancy and like… state-of-the-art as yours. I felt like a celebrity chef.”

“I could see it,” I grin at her. “You would be a natural on camera.”

“Oh yeah, because I exude confidence and charisma,” she snorts.

“You do,” I assure her, my arm propping against the back of the couch. “I mean you might be a little awkward, but I think it’s attractive. It suits you, in the best way possible.” I dare to let my hand glide across the couch cushion and twirl a strand of her hair. It’s still a bit damp from the shower, soft, and I think the slight touch makes her shiver. I see her shoulders shift a little.

“I don’t think I believe you,” she breathes.

“Want me to prove it to you?” I ask, a brow raising on my face. I’m being suggestive, but I am prepared for her to smack me down with something equally witty and quirky.

“Yes.”

It’s brief, confident, and made real with her eye contact holding mine steadily. There isn’t any need to question if my ears have deceived me, I can see the truth in Luce’s expression. This moment now is an opportunity. Either I can laugh it off and continue as we have, or we can finally follow the tension that has been building between us since the moment she stepped out of her truck the day she hit my car.

There’s nothing more than a moment of reflection before I close the gap between us. With one hand cradling her soft cheek, I press my lips into hers. My heart flutters at the sensation of her sweet, plush lips returning the eagerness. We have kissed before, but this time is different. This is far more primal, as there’s nothing holding us back from going as far as we want to.

I’m hard as her tongue grazes mine, but I am careful not to make any advancements. Everything needs to be to her comfort level— the last thing I want is to make her feel the way Anders attempted to earlier. This isn’t a need for power or control. This is lust, appreciation, and mutual attraction.

Luce climbs into my lap and excitement detonates in my chest, sending shockwaves of tingles through my entire body. It’s only now that I grant my hands permission to fall from her face and rest on her sides before gliding to her lower back. All it takes is her sitting down against my erection to send the passionate make-out session into full blown foreplay.

While I still follow her lead, clothes are collecting on the floor. I’ve unbuttoned the shirt she’s wearing, and she’s pulled my t-shirt over my head. Knowing exactly where this is going, I know we will be more comfortable in my bed. My hands grip the back of her thighs before I stand up, carrying her.