“And?”
“And what?” I know what he wants to hear, and if there’s anyone I can’t lie to, it’s Hendricks. But I also don’t really know what to say.
I don’t have the words to explain the situation I’m currently in because, in typical fashion, I didn’t think very far ahead.
When I suggested Ruby marry me, I meant for her to come over and play on the team. That was it. It never occurred to me that I’d be living with her in my home, spending twenty-four hours a day together.
I guess it’s only natural we’ve become closer. Nothing wrong with that.
“Milo, this is the first time you’ve ever been with someone for more than one night.”
“We’re not having sex, Hen.”
“I think that’s the point,” he replies, making me frown. Because what the fuck does that mean? I’m too tired for any cryptic bullshit this morning. “But,” he continues, “it’s nice. I’ve enjoyed this side of you.”
I don’t really know what to say, so I just sit there at the counter, eating toast and drinking coffee while thinking about how Ruby made the coffee this morning, waiting for me in the kitchen with her Foxleigh Park baseball cap pulled low on her face. It wasn’t enough to hide how puffy her eyes were, however.
Those puffy eyes are exactly why I’m here.
“Anyway,” Hendricks continues. “What are you doing here? You didn’t come just to talk about your feelings. Why aren’t you at the stables?”
“I was, I dropped Ruby, and I’m heading back over shortly.” I pause. “I wanted to see Clementine, actually, but I’m not sure I want to approach her considering her mood.”
Again, Hendricks says nothing.
“What do you think? Should I go talk to her?”
I expect him to say no, but he nods. “Yes, you should. But what do you want with her?”
“I wanted to ask her to take Ruby out. She doesn’t know anyone here.”
My brother’s head tilts as he ruminates. “Story could join?”
“Good idea. Like a girls’ night? As far as I’m aware of girls’ night rules, and I don’t know them for certain, the more, the merrier. Will you ask her?”
He nods. “Have you got any matches this week?”
I nod. “Yes, gotta notch up those points.” I grin, though I’m deadly serious.
“What about Torres?”
My head thuds once at the mention of his name. “Los Tigres Luchadoreshas played six games. They lost one, drew one, and won four.”
He doesn’t need to ask anymore. He knows I’m watching them like a hawk. Having Angus give me daily updates on their game, along with any news from the daily polo journals, is keeping my anxiety at bay.
“You’re coming to the low-goal festival next week, right?”
“Max is playing.”
My eyes widen. “Shit, how did I forget that?”
The Foxleigh Low-Goal Festival is a fun weekend of low and medium-goal polo designed to bring more people into the game at an amateur level. And considering this is the first year Max isold enough to play in it—therefore hasn’t stopped talking about it—I really am amazed I forgot.
I have an auburn-haired distraction to blame.
“I couldn’t possibly think how,” he replies, eyebrow raised.
I shake my head, push off the stool, and top up my coffee. “On that note, I’m going to brave the dragon.”
