“Now look here, mister!” I scolded, hands on my hips. “I actually have a horse—”
“That’s not a horse.”
Baxter snapped at him, and he cursed.
“He is,” I insisted.
“He’s wearing tennis shoes,” the hot guy said, “and a hat and a shirt. He’s a walking stuffed animal.”
“You’re going to hurt his feelings!” I screeched. “Baxter volunteers at the children’s hospital and at the courthouse as an emotional support pony for foster kids in the system.”
Hot polo guy’s lip curled back. “Cute, but I donated ten million dollars to the children’s hospital last year, and my company is working on several lifesaving biotechnology products specifically for children. But sure, you and your little stuffed toy are totally making a difference.” He turned on the heel of his boot to leave.
“Don’t come back here unless you’re bringing champagne,” I shout after him.
He swung around and took two steps to stand inches from me.
I gulped and craned my head to look up at him.
“I can’t tell if you’re stupid or naïve to try to order me around,” he said in a low voice. “I’m going to go with naïve, though. You’re like those girls who dream of having their own horse, then once their daddy buys them an expensive Morgan, they immediately get thrown face first in the ring on their first ride.”
He lowered his head so that his face was a breath away from mine. “Don’t even think you can control me, because I’ll have you on your back in the dirt faster than you can scream, Horse Girl.”
I should probably have just kept my mouth shut—I always had a problem with keeping my thoughts to myself—but he was just so damn arrogant.
“I can’t tell if I’m threatened or turned on by your little speech,” I said.
His eyes widened slightly then narrowed. “You should feel threatened.”
“Mmm…nope,” I said, thinking a moment. “Definitely turned on. You know, maybe it’s the boots and the tight pants.”
He scowled. “You’re despicable.”
2
Sebastian
“Why did I let her get under my skin?”
“Is that why you rode so poorly?” Hunter Svensson asked me as we stripped off our sweaty polo jerseys in the locker room at the clubhouse.
“I rode poorly because your horses are half-feral,” I complained, “and I was concerned the entire time they were going to trample people.”
“I bought these horses for two hundred fifty dollars each from the Federal Bureau of Land Management,” he bragged as we headed to the showers.
“They are barely trained.”
“Yeah,” he said with a smirk, “but it feels better to win when my horse costs less than a bicycle, and other people are paying millions of dollars for an inbred animal.”
Fucking Svenssons. Insufferable lot.Still, Hunter was one of my only friends in Harrogate. Between my business and my little brother, I didn’t go out much. I had been looking forward to this tournament for months, but then that horse girl had ruined my entire weekend.
“Cheer up,” Hunter said over the roar of the showers. “We still won.”
But I felt like I had lost something—probably just my self-respect. Honestly, what had I been thinking, arguing with that girl? She was short, chunky, and had a mess of crazy hair. Between those gigantic yellow sunglasses and that thing I hesitated to call a horse, it was clear she was insane. I should have just walked away.
“Did you ever find your friend you were looking for?” Hunter asked as I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist.
“She wasn’t in her booth. She finally texted me and wanted to see me at the mixer tonight,” I said.
