1
Amy
Muscular flesh rippling, the two huge males crashed into each other, screaming. I shivered. I just wanted to run my hands all over the beasts and feel the power vibrating through all that muscle and sinew…
One of the horses lunged at the other, snapping his teeth. His rider jerked him back.
I swooned.
“Take more pictures!” I demanded, batting at Grace. “I need a close-up of his face!”
“Nothing like being at a polo match with a horse girl,” my friend Ivy remarked, pouring the last of the champagne into my glass.
My friends and I were in the VIP section at the annual Hamptons charity polo tournament. Our private booth contained buckets of expensive champagne, comfy lounge chairs, and beautifully prepared hors d'oeuvres, including smoked salmon crudité and caviar.
“Ah! This is the good life!” I announced, toasting my friends.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Elsie said dryly. “Come Monday, we have to start on the Petrov wedding with the world’s worst bridezilla.”
“Too bad all our brides can’t be awesome and gift us tickets to her personal VIP box!” I said, wishing I had more of those amazing lobster croquettes I had been eating.
“Not that I care all that much for horses,” Sophie said, “but I’ll take free food and alcohol any day!”
“And dishy waiters,” Brea added with a snicker.
A server dressed up in riding boots and a polo shirt came into our box with another tray of food and fancy pressed juice.
“Enjoying the show, ladies?” he asked with a wink and set out the snacks.
“I am now that you’re here!” Sophie replied with a giggle.
He laughed and struck a pose. “It looks like you girls need more champagne. I’ll have someone bring more up shortly.”
I settled back in my seat and admired the polo players out on the field. Seeing them in their tight pants, above-the-knee leather boots, and partially unbuttoned shirts made it my kind of sports match.
“I could totally quit my job and be a polo groupie,” I said with a sigh. “I’d just fly around to exotic locations, stay in fancy hotels, and spend all day brushing the horses and braiding flowers into their hair.”
“And banging hot guys!” Grace interjected with a cackle.
“Hey, horse guys are my kind of guys!”
“And you like the horse guys because they have money for such an expensive hobby!”
“No,” I said primly, “I want them because we share a common interest.”
I reached down to pat Baxter on the head. He was a miniature pony someone had abandoned at my grandfather’s farm. He chewed on one of the flowers hanging off the straw hat I had placed on his head.
“I just can’t follow this game,” Brea said, sipping the last of her champagne. “And please don’t try to explain it to me again,” she warned us, “because if I didn’t understand it the first five times you tried to explain it to me, I’m not going to get it now!”
“Especially not after drinking a whole bottle of champagne,” Ivy said, fanning herself.
“It’s hot out here!” Brea complained.
“It still probably says something about us,” Elsie commented, “that we went through five bottles of champagne in an hour.”
“They were small bottles!” Sophie protested.
“Super small.”
