Page 41 of Polo Fever
During our third lesson, I’m starting to wonder if I can take any more of this. I’m tired and fed up. Managing these lessons around the day job is becoming impossible, not just physically but mentally. My patience is wearing thin. I’m not getting it like I hoped I would.
‘You’re overswinging,’ he grumbles, seeming irked when I miss the second ball in a row. ‘Don’t take the mallet so far back; you lose control. Watch your grip. And your posture was all wrong; you’re sitting too far forward. Do you want to come flying off the horse?’
‘No! I want you tofuck off!’ I rage, the frustration and tiredness that’s built over the last few days exploding out of me. My face hot and flushed and beading with sweat, I pull up the pony and kick my feet out the stirrups. ‘You know what? Fuck this!’
‘What are you doing?’ he asks, looking genuinely confused as I swing my leg over to dismount.
‘Quitting,’ I snap, landing on the ground and tossing my mallet on the grass.
‘What?You can’t quit!’
I pull off my helmet, shaking out my hair. ‘Yes, I can.’
He dismounts his pony too, leading her over to me. ‘You’re giving up?’
‘Yes, I’m giving up!’ I say, spinning to face him. ‘There’s no point. I can’t do it!’
‘That’s it, you’re going to give up and walk away,’ he says, taking a step closer.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’re not who I thought you were,’ he says, frowning at me.
‘Clearly I’m not, since all you can do is sit there and shout at me!’
‘I’m not shouting,’ he protests, taking another step forward to close the gap between us. ‘If I raised my voice, it’s only because you weren’t listening.’
‘I am listening, but it’s hard when you’re being told a million new things at once. Would it kill you to tell me I’m doing somethingrightevery once in a while?’
‘This is polo, Ashley,’ he says sharply, using my formal name for effect. ‘It’s fast and it’s dangerous, and I’m trying to make sure that as well as hitting the ball, you don’t hurt the pony or, worse, yourself. It’s important you don’t make mistakes!’
‘You’re making me feel as though that’s all I do!’
‘You want me to fan your ego, is that it?’ he huffs, peering down at me.
‘No, I want you to… I want…’
I trail off as I suddenly realise how close we’re standing. I have to tip my head back to look up at him now as he looms over me. His dark, expressive eyes, flaring with anger, are boring into mine, his chest heaving heavily, while my shaky breath is coming thick and fast. It’s incredible how good he smells. Seriously, even after a day of riding, I can still inhale the woody scent of his cologne and it’s making my thoughts muddle and flutters erupt in my chest – or maybe my body is reacting to the fact that he’s pissing me off so much. My eyes track the little creases between his eyebrows, the fullness of long eyelashes that I would kill for, the gentle slope of his nose, the shape of his lips.
Nope, it’s not the frustration that’s sending my pulse into overdrive anymore; it’s him.
I part my lips, my breath hitching at his prettiness. His eyes flicker down to them, his irritated frown softening. Suddenly, the air between us feels charged with something other than anger.
A voice of reason at the back of my head trying desperately to be heard above the racket of every other part of me screaming,Kiss him, knocks something he said at the party back to the forefront:There is a lot of fun attached to the job. But none of it is important. All that matters is the ponies and the sport. Everything else is just… distraction.
You hear that? ‘None of it is important.’
Remember how good Chris made you feel?
Remember how important you turned out to be to him?
Using all the willpower I have left, I drop my gaze to the ground and step away from him, breaking the spell. I breathe in deeply, glugging in air like I’ve come up from deep water and broken through the surface. For a moment, he looks startled, like a deer in headlights, before resuming motion, turning towards the pony waiting patiently at his side.
‘I… I’m sorry,’ he stammers sincerely.
I roll back my shoulders, already feeling ashamed of how I flew off the handle.
‘Me too,’ I admit quietly.
