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“Sheet!” Javier Rodriguez, wearing the team jersey of white, blue, and gold with the number “1” emblazoned on the back, spat on the ground. “I don’t know why you let that son of a beetch treat you that way.”
“Keep your cool, Javier. This is not the right time for that,” he admonished the younger player.
It was a year of bad luck. Nic’s previous patron, the Texan oil baron Harvey Anders, had died from a stroke in the middle of the year, leaving Nic suddenly without the much-needed additional income to cushion the sudden crisis in his horse farm. An equine virus had killed three of his champion studs and several “made” ponies, horses that he had already trained for polo and were ready to be sold. His parents were keeping things afloat while he competed, and though loathe to be working for Butler who had a reputation as a bastard on and off the polo field, he’d had little choice.
Nic’s focus had been barely hanging by a thread before the halftime completely snipped it off. He was sitting by the makeshift tent drinking water when his eyes had aimlessly drifted onto the field where the divot stomping was taking place. Various men and women, well-dressed, loaded and knowing it, were laughing and tossing their heads drinking champagne while stomping on the loose soil that had come off during the play. Nic spotted Tansy Butler chatting with a woman whose back was to him. His heart started at the sight of the red-gold hair similar to Lexie’s. It was tied in a chignon. He grimaced in self-disgust at his foolish hopes. She had walked away without a backward glance. Obviously any “connection” they had had the other night was one-sided. Your only regret was that you didn’t get to fuck her at all, a voice in his mind taunted. The signal that halftime was over sounded. He mounted his pony and ruthlessly crushed any thoughts of her during the game, for his own safety and sanity.
* * *
“Ain’t this fun, Your Highness?” Tansy Butler giggled, stomping on a divot while trying to be careful not to slosh her drink all over her Chanel suit. Lexie was quite sure Tansy was well on her way to her fourth glass of champagne.
Beside her, Blair rolled her eyes. Lexie kept her protocol smile in place while some photographers took shots of her getting into the spirit of divot stomping. Stefan was in the VIP tent, apparently way above getting his handmade Italian shoes accidentally dirtied by horse dung. Theia was beside him, as well as Stefan’s own Press Secretary, the ancient and formidable Leonardo.
“Not as much fun as banging the whole team, I bet,” Blair quipped flippantly. “Speaking of team banging, what happened to you and,” she paused delicately, “er, Nic?”
Lexie startled at hearing Nic’s name. “Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed out the side of her mouth, glancing about for any lurking reporter.
“You are a healthy twenty-five year-old woman. There is no shame in experiencing the occasional, although in my case, frequent, sexual urges−oww!” Lexie clamped a hand around Blair’s forearm and marched her off towards the direction of the VIP tent.
“Oh, Your Highness, wait up,” trilled Tansy, trying to keep up with them on her ridiculous stiletto heels.
“I bet he was great in the sack. I can tell with those smoldering eyes and−“
“Shut up!” Lexie said in a fierce whisper, pushing Blair violently onto the seat. She was so close to braining her cousin. Tansy took the empty one beside her. She caught Stefan frowning at her questioningly several seats down.
Lexie refused to dwell on what had happened with her and Nic. She had been tempted to call his room several times for the past two days, but it was better to sever the tie quickly. A clean cut. Less complicated.
“Polo players are so sexy,” Blair rattled on, uncaring of her admonition. “And the white jeans? You can totally check out the package before sampling the goods.”
Tansy decided then to add her two cents’ worth to the conversation. “An’ them powerful thighs? Lord a’mercy,” she practically hyperventilated. “You haven’t been ridden until you’ve had sex with them polo players,” she added with a lascivious faraway look in her eyes.
