Page 25 of Polo Fever
‘Wait, Ash,’ Jules says, stopping me before I exit the tack room. ‘You have to change.’
She points at a navy polo shirt folded on one of the shelves. Lowering the bucket, I go to pick up the shirt and see that it’s a Maycourt branded one. I spin round to beam at her.
‘Is this your way of saying I’m officially one of the team?’ I ask eagerly.
‘Oh. Uh, no. Your white shirt has gone see-through from all the water. You can see your bra,’ she explains, nodding to my chest.
I glance down to see that she’s correct, my neon-orange bra on display through my sopping wet shirt.Great.My patience is really being tried today, huh.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, feeling like an idiot for my assumption.
‘Sorry,’ she says, at least sounding genuinely apologetic. ‘You can change quickly in here. I’ll go see to a couple of the ponies.’
I wait for her to leave the room before slumping back against the wall and closing my eyes, gathering myself. The first day was always going to be a bit shit. Surely things can only go up from here. After some whispered affirmations thatI can do this, I open my eyes and balance the polo shirt on one of the saddles. Unbuttoning my shirt and taking it off, I let it drop to the floor.
‘Hey, Jules, I—’
I yelp as Mateo appears in the doorway of the tack room, startled by my appearance.
‘Ash!’ he says, as I grab the polo shirt and wrap it across my chest to cover my bra, while he purposefully looks away, lifting his hand over his eyes. ‘I… what are youdoing?’
‘I’m changing!’
‘Sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t realise. I was looking for Jules.’
‘She’s… somewhere,’ I say, fumbling with my shirt before I hurriedly yank it on over my head. When it’s on properly, I put my hands on my hips and sigh. ‘You can look now.’
He turns to me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry about that. A lot of people walk through here. Maybe next time, close the door.’
‘Yes. Good advice.’
We fall into awkward silence as he hovers in the doorway. I push the loose strands of hair back from my forehead, starkly aware of how bedraggled and flustered I must look. He, on the other hand, looks as though he’s just strolled off a Ralph Lauren runway, his toned arm muscles straining against his polo shirt, a glimpse of dark chest hair on histanned skin at the bottom of the neckline, his hair falling in that sexily tousled way that makes you want to run your fingers through it. I can smell his cologne, a delicious musky scent which is in stark contrast to what I imagine mine to be right now: sweat mixed with disinfectant.
‘How is your first day?’ he asks eventually.
‘Everything is going very smoothly.’
‘Good. Good.’ He stands awkwardly, his eyes shifting as though he’s not sure where to look or what to say. ‘Anyway, I wanted to tell Jules that I’d like to take Byron out. So if you wouldn’t mind getting him ready…’
‘Of course,’ I say with no idea who Byron is. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Thank you.’
He lingers for a moment longer and I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. Eventually, he gives a sharp nod and turns to leave. My heart racing and cheeks burning at his unfortunate timing, I bend down to pick up my wet shirt from the floor, folding it up and tossing it next to my blazer. A minute later, Jules returns and I give her Mateo’s message as I grab the bucket.
‘Leave the cleaning for now; we’ll come back to it,’ she instructs, gesturing for me to follow her as she strides out the stables. ‘Byron is one of Mateo’s favourite polo ponies. He wants him prepared for training.’
‘Okay. How do we do that?’
‘For now,wewon’t do anything. Eduardo and Federico will prepare him, but I want you to watch, so you can see how it works.’ She stops in the middle of a yard and nods at the beautiful black horse being led out by a groom. ‘Ash, meet Byron.’
I stare at him in wonder. ‘He’s stunning.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she says, her voice softening as she gazes adoringly at the striking horse. ‘He’s a big softie. Mateo loves him because he’s a good listener and does what you say.’
She goes to grab a tough-bristled brush and hands it to me, instructing me to get to work brushing off any dirt or loose hairs on Byron’s sides. As I do so, I notice one of the grooms picking his hooves, while the other waits until I’m done before he puts on the saddle pad, placing it high and sliding it back before lifting the saddle on top of it.
Taking a step back, I observe the slick operation while Byron stands still and calm the entire time. Jules talks me through each action: the breastplate going on, the martingale that stops the horse throwing its head in the air and smacking the player in the face, the two sets of reins so the player has extra control for manoeuvres and turns, the bandages going around Byron’s legs to support the tendons and protect them from mallets, and how tight the braid of the pony’s tail is plaited to keep it out the way of the tack.
