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Amy’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Please don’t elaborate.”
“Yeah, I know,” Alex says. “Plausible deniability.”
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”
“Sure.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Yep.”
“Enjoy your summit with the English delegation,” she tells him flatly, and Alex sends up a vague prayer of thanks for staff NDAs.
He legs it toward the stables, limbs already buzzing with the steady knowledge of Henry’s body getting incrementally closer to his. Long, lean legs, grass stains on pristine, tight pants, why does this sport have to be so completelyrepulsivewhile Henry looks so damngooddoing it—
“Oh shit—”
He barely stops himself from running headfirst into Henry in the flesh, who has rounded the corner of the stables.
“Oh, hello.”
They stand there staring at each other, fifteen days removed from Henry swearing at the ceiling of Alex’s bedroom and unsure how to proceed. Henry is still in his full polo regalia, gloves and all, and Alex can’t decide if he is pleased or wantsto brain him with a polo stick. Polo bat? Polo club? Polo… mallet? This sport is a travesty.
Henry breaks the silence by adding, “I was coming to find you, actually.”
“Yeah, hi, here I am.”
“Here you are.”
Alex glances over his shoulder. “There’s, uh. Cameras. Three o’clock.”
“Right,” Henry says, straightening his shoulders. His hair is messy and slightly damp, color still high in his cheeks from exertion. He’s going to look like goddamn Apollo in the photos when they go to press. Alex smiles, knowing they’ll sell.
“Hey, isn’t there, uh, a thing?” Alex says. “You needed to. Uh. Show me?”
Henry looks at him, glances at the dozens of millionaires and socialites milling around, and back at him. “Now?”
“It was a four-and-a-half-hour car ride up here, and I have to go back to DC in an hour, so I don’t know when else you’re expecting to show it to me.”
Henry takes a beat, his eyes flickering to the cameras again before he switches on a stage smile and a laugh, cuffing Alex on the shoulder. “Ah, yes. Right. This way.”
He turns on his boot heel and leads the way around the back of the stables, veering right into a doorway, and Alex follows. It’s a small, windowless room attached to the stables, fragrant with leather polish and stained wood from floor to ceiling, the walls lined with heavy saddles, riding crops, bridles, and reins.
“What in the rich-white-people-sex-dungeon hell?” Alex wonders aloud as Henry crosses behind him. He whips a thick leather strap off a hook on the wall, and Alex almost blacks out.
“What?” Henry says offhandedly, bypassing him to bind the doors shut. He turns around, sweet-faced and unbelievable. “It’s called a tack room.”
Alex drops his coat and takes three swift steps toward him. “I don’t actually care,” he says, and grabs Henry by the stupid collar of his stupid polo and kisses his stupid mouth.
It’s a good kiss, solid and hot, and Alex can’t decide where to put his hands because he wants to put them everywhere at once.
“Ugh,”he groans in exasperation, shoving Henry backward by the shoulders and making a disgusted show of looking him up and down. “You lookridiculous.”
“Should I—” He steps back and puts a foot up on a nearby bench, moving to undo his kneepads.
“What? No, of course not, keep them on,” Alex says. Henry freezes, standing there all artistically posed with his thighs apart and one knee up, the fabric straining. “Oh my God, what are you doing? I can’t even look at you.” Henry frowns. “No, Jesus, I just meant—I’m somadat you.” Henry gingerly puts his boot back on the floor. Alex wants to die. “Just, come here.Fuck.”
“I’m quite confused.”
“Me fucking too,” Alex says, profoundly suffering for something he must have done in a previous life. “Listen, I don’t know why, but this wholething”—he gestures at Henry’s entire physical presence—“is… really doing it for me, so, I just need to.” Without any further ceremony, he drops to his knees and starts undoing Henry’s belt, tugging at the fastenings of his pants.
“Oh, God,” Henry says.
