Chapter 15
Fifteen
When you’re around someone a lot, it’s hard not to constantly think about them.
I see Mateo almost every day and we’re spending a lot more time together thanks to my polo lessons and his training with Serafina.
I’ve had to stop myself from asking him outright about his date with the actress, desperately wanting to know what happened and at the same time dreading it, uncontrollable envy swirling in my stomach at the thought of them together.
‘Serafina is doing brilliantly,’ Jules gushes a few days later as she helps me untack her now that her wrist is healed and her cast is off.
‘She’s calmer, she’s controlled, she’s listening to Mateo.
And she’s quick. She’s becoming a fantastic little polo pony!
If she keeps this up, Mateo might even consider bringing her to Guards. Good work, Ash.’
‘I haven’t done much. Mateo is the one riding her.’
‘Yeah, but he wouldn’t have won her trust if it weren’t for you. Take the compliment.’
‘Okay.’ I laugh. ‘Thanks.’ I pause, fiddling with the buckles before asking innocently, ‘Will Mateo’s date be coming to watch him play at Guards?’
‘What date?’
‘You know,’ I say casually, ‘that beautiful actress he met at the Berkshire. They’re seeing each other aren’t they?’
‘Oh, her. No, that didn’t go well,’ Jules shrugs. ‘I heard Malcolm ask him about her and he said he wasn’t interested. Apparently, he cut the date short. Strange, right? She’s hot.’
I silently continue with my task while my heart swells.
That evening, after a late lesson with Mateo, he helps me lead the ponies back to their stalls, untack and sort them before bed, which has become a bit of a routine of ours.
We usually talk about tactics or upcoming matches or ponies – I do my best to keep it professional so my growing feelings for him are, at least, a little restrained.
Tonight, though, I’m gabbling on about my love for the sport, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins after a brilliant lesson.
‘It’s impossible to describe that thrill,’ I gush, exiting Lyra’s box.
‘I know what you mean.’ He laughs, leaning on the door of the stall belonging to the handsome grey horse he was riding today, Wickham, who nudges Mateo in the hope of a treat – Wickham is always hungry. ‘When you hit the ball right, it’s an amazing rush.’
‘Actually, I was thinking more about the moment just before you hit it.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Before?’
‘Yeah.’ I grin, enjoying his surprise. ‘When you’re going at it full speed, I mean.
Obviously, if you’re fighting for the ball or if it’s a penalty, it’s different.
But when you’re charging full pelt down the field and you can feel the power of your horse and your heart jumps into your throat as you begin your swing, not knowing how it’s going to go.
’ I blow out the air in my cheeks. ‘That’s the moment I’m addicted to. ’
He laughs, his eyes gleaming at me.
‘What? Why are you laughing? Have I embarrassed myself by talking shit?’
‘No, no,’ he insists, grinning from ear to ear. ‘It’s… you’re adorable.’
I grimace with mortification. ‘Adorable. Christ.’
‘I mean, it’s nice to hear you talk about it that way, with that level of passion. You’re a true player now. Completely hooked.’
‘I think so.’
We smile at each other and I notice his eyes flicker to my cheek.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘You… you have some mud on your face from the training.’
My hand flies to my cheek. ‘Oh God, where?’
‘Just,’ he steps towards me, brushing my hand away with his own as he runs his thumb along my cheekbone, ‘here.’
I stop breathing at his closeness, my face on fire beneath his touch.
He drops his hand but he doesn’t step back, remaining so close to me that if I raised my chin, if he dipped his head, our lips would brush together.
The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine and I have to pull myself away before I lose control and throw myself at him.
Stepping backwards, I knock my arm against the stable door, the bang echoing through the stables and causing Lyra to peer out curiously.
What the fuck are you doing? she seems to be saying, munching her hay lazily.
I don’t fucking know! I tell her telepathically, pretending to check the lock on her door.
Mateo looks down at the ground with a grim expression.
‘Right, everything’s sorted here,’ I announce, as though I’ve fixed the lock that wasn’t broken in the first place. ‘Home time.’
‘A few of us are going to the pub tonight,’ he says, still looking rattled. ‘You should join us. It is at your house, after all.’
I consider it. ‘Who’s “us”?’
‘The team and a few friends.’
I quirk a brow at him. ‘Friends as in the High Fives?’
He grimaces. ‘They’re all right when you get to know them.’
‘Yeah, if you’re a sexy polo player with a high handicap. Not if you’re me.’
The words are out before I can realise what I’ve said.
He stares at me while heat flushes up my neck.
I called him ‘sexy’. To his face. It hangs in the air and my brain flounders with ways to take it back but I come up short.
The only thing I can do is pretend I didn’t say it and act normal for his sake. He’ll be feeling just as awkward.
‘Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll skip it,’ I say adamantly.
‘Another time?’
‘Another time.’
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he says, before leaving.
Watching him go, Lyra nudges me crossly, shaking me out of my dreamy daze.
‘What?’ I say defensively to her, but I get the message, blushing as I gather my stuff.
Later that night, I can hear the muffled voices of the team and High Fives downstairs and I try to convince myself that I’m listening because I’m nosy and not because it makes me smile every now and then when I hear the faint sound of his voice amongst them.
*
A couple of days later, I’m saying goodnight to Serafina – a long, drawn-out process because I find it hard to leave her – when Mateo comes strolling in carrying two mugs and a bottle of wine. I look at him quizzically and he holds a mug out for me to take.
‘If you won’t come for a drink with me at the pub, I’ll bring one to you,’ he says by way of explanation, pouring wine into my mug before filling his. ‘Sorry about the presentation. Mugs are all we have around here and I hoped you wouldn’t mind too much.’
‘I… I’m meant to be driving home,’ I stammer.
‘We can just have one if you want.’ He grabs a couple of fold-out chairs that have been stuffed away in the corner by the door for someone to move but never have been. ‘Or you can leave your car here and we’ll call you a taxi later.’ He hesitates. ‘Unless you have other plans tonight?’
‘No plans,’ I admit.
‘Then, if you’d like to,’ he gestures to one of the chairs, ‘please join me for a drink.’
I stare at him.
‘If you’d like,’ he repeats, his confidence starting to wobble at my reaction. ‘No pressure. If you want to go home, then of course, you don’t have to hang around here with me. It’s been a long day, you’ve worked hard, I thought…’
He trails off as I smile, finding his panic endearing.
‘No, I want to,’ I assure him as his shoulders relax. ‘I wasn’t expecting this, but thank you. It’s very sweet and thoughtful of you.’
‘Sometimes, I can be both those things.’
He waits until I sit down before he does, and we knock our mugs together before having a drink. It’s expensive wine, chilled and crisp, and goes down nicely. Suddenly feeling nervous, I self-consciously brush my hand over my top and jodhpurs.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘I wish I wasn’t wearing clothes covered in horse hair, but yeah, I’m fine.’
He pinches a horse hair from his own top between his thumb and forefinger and lets it drop to the ground with a shrug. ‘We match.’
I grin, taking another sip of wine. He takes a gulp of his, before looking around the stables silently, the heel of his right boot tapping from the way his leg is shaking.
Is he nervous, too?
‘How are you feeling about the Queen’s Cup at Guards?’ I ask.
His leg stops. ‘Good. Ready. I want to face DQ and beat them.’
I tilt my head at him. ‘DQ or Basilio?’
‘Both. Mostly Basilio. If he wins the Queen’s Cup, he’ll be unbearable. He won last year, too.’
‘Was he playing on the DQ team then?’
Mateo nods. ‘Like everyone, he’s switched teams a lot over the years, but he did well with DQ last season and it looks like they’re on another winning streak.’
‘It won’t last,’ I tell him, sounding more confident than I feel. ‘It never does.’
‘Hopefully, our luck will kick in soon.’
‘It’s nothing to do with luck. You and the boys are playing much better together now and you have your secret weapon.’ I gesture at the stall behind me. ‘Serafina.’
‘If she does what I tell her.’
‘And if you trust her instincts in return,’ I add, shooting him a look.
He smiles into his mug. ‘Right.’
I lean back in my chair. ‘Would you ever play on the same team as Basilio?’
He almost chokes on his wine, spluttering and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘What? Why would I do that? I told you it didn’t work out so well.’
‘What if your dream team asked you to join them for a season? Would you turn it down just because he was on it, too? Surely, you could put your past rivalry aside to form an unbeatable allegiance.’
He laughs at my wording. ‘You make us sound like knights going to battle.’
‘Polo isn’t so far off that. Horses, long sticks, adoring waiting partners, and way too much testosterone – there’s definitely a whiff of ancient cavalry there.’
‘The sport of kings, they say.’ He sighs. ‘I respect Basilio as a player. We’d need to have some serious talks before I joined a team with him. We’d have to make sure we got it all out of our system. Why do you ask? Are you forming a fantasy polo league?’
I pick at the handle of my mug. ‘No. I was just curious since we were talking about how players switch teams so much. I can see why most of you are friends off the field. It’s a small community and you don’t know who you’ll be playing with next.’