15. Miles #3
We head into the sixth chukka three goals up.
Unfortunately, that’s when the heavens open.
Torrential rain hammers down, and within seconds the pitch turns slick with mud.
Rain lashes our faces while the ponies churn up the sodden ground beneath us, and twice the ball gets stuck.
The ponies slam shoulder to shoulder. Mud and turf fly through the air.
“Stay steady!” I yell to the boys, though I doubt they can hear me. “Keep the ponies straight!”
“Three minutes,” the umpire shouts.
Somehow, we manage it. Through the worsening conditions, both us and the Devils become more cautious, and neither side scores again.
When the final bell rings, I throw my mallet high in the air and catch it. The Foxleigh Flyers are crowned Chatham Cup champions.
“We did it. We fucking did it,” Billy roars. “Biggest game of the season so far, and we’re champions!”
“England’s Cup, here we come!” Jack yells.
But I’m barely listening, because Ruby is running toward us, her face glowing through the rain and dark clouds. She throws her arms around Calamity first before turning to me, and suddenly, I forget all about the trophy.
“Oh my God, that was so awesome. You fought them off so well.” She’s talking to me and smiling at me, but she’s covering Calamity with kisses, and it’s hard work trying not to be jealous of a horse. “You won, Miles.”
I jump off Calamity, so I’m level with Ruby, and her arms are immediately transferred from my pony to around my neck, smothering me with the same attention she lavished on Calamity, minus—much to my disappointment—the kisses.
My reflex is to pull her into me, revel in the feel of her hot body against mine, breathe in the sweet hay-filled scent of her as she wriggles excitedly in my arms.
And she might not be covering me with kisses, but it doesn’t stop me from dropping one on her shoulder . . . her neck . . . her cheek, all smacked in quick succession before I lean back and match her grin.
“You won it too, your pep talk before the match really helped—”
She grimaces. “It wasn’t too much?”
My fingers hover in the gray area between her waist and her arse. “No, it was exactly enough. We needed to pull our fingers out.”
“And, boy, you did.” She grins up at me. “You did. You fucking did.”
Her voice is almost a squeal of excitement, and as she talks, her eyes bounce from mine to my lips. Up and down. I know I could kiss her right now, but I also know there’s no way I’d keep it chaste. I want to sink into her—mouth, pussy, everywhere.
She gives no indication she’s ready to move, and I am fully prepared to stay here until she does, staring at the freckles dusted across her nose. People bustle around us, ponies whinny, sports reporters and riders shout to be heard, and I manage to block it all out because of Ruby.
It’s Calamity who gets bored long before either of us does, tugging us off to where her friends are heading for a snack before either of us realizes. I hand her off to Charlie to be checked over with the other ponies, hosed down, and rested.
Billy slaps me on the shoulder, his face red with exertion. “Milo, we’re wanted for the trophy ceremony. Let’s go.”
The crowds feel much larger as we’re taken through the grounds to the podium.
People shake our hands, cheer us, pass us bottles of champagne, and the whole time I hold on to Ruby like she’s my life vest. And because the weather in England is so unpredictable, the rain clouds part and sunlight breaks through so brightly it’s like it was never gone.
Holiday’s waiting at the podium, ready to present the trophy, and the first person I see when we reach it is Lando.
“Well done, Milo. Proud of you, little brother, that was an amazing match,” he says, pulling me into a hug, which is followed by Hendricks, Alex, my mother, and Max, who wants to show me his own mallet.
“It’s just like yours. Can we try it when we get home?”
I nod. “Sure can, mate. We’ll start the lessons again next week.”
“Miles, keep walking,” hisses Jack before I’m shuffled quickly onto the stage.
The four of us step onto the podium, guided by the tournament officials, and I lose Ruby in the melee.
Holiday is introduced, and the crowd falls in love with her immediately when she can’t lift the trophy from the table, and the four of us have to step in and help her.
Billy and Jack grab one handle while Juan and I take the other, lifting twenty kilos of gold high into the air as champagne sprays everywhere.
The biggest win of the season so far is under our belt.
Cameras flash from all directions. Questions are shouted over each other, making it almost impossible to tell which question is which. But I manage to extract one out above all else.
“MILES? MILES? WHO’S THE GIRL?”
“WHO’S THE GIRL, MILES?”
Searching around, I see Ruby standing next to Holiday at the side of the podium and reach for her.
Pulling her into my side, I reply, “I’d like to introduce you to Ruby Burlington, my wife.”
And then I do what I’ve been wanting to since I came off the field.
I kiss her.