“And there are six of us,” I reminded them. “Plus, you have to wash the snacks down with something! It’s a polo tournament. You’re supposed to go high end.”
“Speaking of, I need some more champagne,” Ivy said, looking around.
I blinked behind my dark sunglasses. No, they weren’t designer. I had bought them at a gas station, but they had rhinestones on them and were bright yellow, and one socialite had even given me a compliment on them, so there.
I peered at the entrance to the VIP suite, willing the waiter to appear.
“I might have to start drinking juice.”
“Heaven forbid!” Elsie said.
I dragged myself up to pour some water out for Baxter when the door to the suite opened, and a tall man walked in. He was wearing knee-high leather boots, white pants that looked like he had been poured into them, and a shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and muscular chest.
“There you are!” I said loudly. “We’re practically dying of thirst!”
The handsome man scowled and paused in the entryway.
“Where’s the champagne?” I exclaimed. “Our waiter promised you all were bringing up some more.”
He grunted.
I handed him the last empty bottle. “Can you take that back and go pick up more champagne, pretty please?” I grinned at him.
“I am not taking your trash,” he snarled, voice startlingly deep.
“Oh, er…” Drunk Me was having trouble processing the fact that no champagne was incoming forthwith. “But can you get champagne?”
The man took a step toward me. “Do you even know who I am?”
Though Drunk Me was a bit slow on the uptake, she was starting to get with the program and realize the handsome stranger was probably not a waiter.
Baxter didn’t know who the strange man was, but he knew he didn’t like him. The miniature pony took off as fast as his short legs could carry him and slammed into the man.
He snarled out a curse and looked down.
“You brought your dog here?”
“He’s a horse,” I cried, petting Baxter, who had a mouthful of the hot guy’s pants in his teeth.
“That is not a horse. I have horses,” the man snarled as I tried to pry Baxter off him.
Now that I was closer to him, I could tell the man was definitely not a waiter. He smelled expensive, like old wood, saddle oil, and leather. The insignia on his shirt was also for the polo team that was favored to win the tournament.
Crap.
Rip!
“Baxter!”
The pony pranced happily around the VIP booth with a piece of the white pants in his teeth.
“Your stupid horse ruined my pants.”
Urgh. Those riding pants had to be expensive, and my credit card did not have room to buy him replacements.
“Sorry?” I gave the handsome polo player what I hoped was a sexy smile.
“You’re not sorry,” he sneered at me. “You horse girls are all the same—you come out here to gawk but have absolutely no idea how much work goes into training horses. You think they’re just a big, expensive toy that your dad or whatever sucker you find for a husband is going to pay for.”
