Page 98 of Valentine Nook
Max, satisfied with Hendricks’s response, settles into his father’s chest and resumes his watching. Every time Hendricks shifts forward to yell his support, so does Max, moving as one.
I once went to a polo tournament in the Hamptons, where I was the guest of the title sponsors—a locally made gin brand. I invited some girlfriends, and we spent the afternoon in the VIP tent, sipping cocktails and paying little attention to the day’s events.
This is not like that. Lando and his siblings only take their eyes off the field during the changeover breaks. Even Clemmie.
“LEFT,” Hendricks yells again. “LEFT.”
I can only imagine what he’s like as a father on the side of the field, assuming he’s not been banned for arguing with the ref and coaches because, based on today, that’s just as likely.
“GO CHESTER. GO CHESTER,” Max screams.
I lean into Lando and whisper, “Is Chester another player?”
He answers from the corner of his mouth. “Chester is Miles’s pony for this chukka. He’s very fast with a quick spin. He usually brings him in during the middle chukka.”
“How many ponies does he have?”
“Actually, I’m not sure.” He turns to Hendricks. “How many ponies does Milo have at the moment?”
It’s Max who answers, “Uncle Milo has fifteen ponies at Foxleigh. But some are still too gween.” He proceeds to list them all out. “My favorite is Clover.”
“Mine too, Maxy,” Lando agrees.
I wait until the end of the chukka to ask any more questions because Igetit.
I come from a sporting family. We grew up loving baseball in the summer and football in the winter.
I learned a long time ago that sport takes priority, and it seems polo is no different.
As the teams make their way off for the changeover, everyone relaxes. Drinks are ordered, and snacks are consumed. Max leaps off Hendricks’s lap, picks up a mini polo mallet, and proceeds to charge around the stand, pretending to be his uncle on a pony.
Lando stands behind me, close enough for me to lean into him and breathe in the rich, musky scent I crave when he’s not around. His thick bicep wraps around my chest, tucking into my shoulder. When he drops a kiss on my head, I have to physically stop myself from preening because, of all the things I’m learning about Lando, his affection is my favorite.
“Having fun?”
“Lots.” I nod truthfully.
Any time I spend with Lando and his family is enjoyable. They’re not dissimilar to mine if mine came with giant houses and waitstaff, but the dynamic between Lando and his siblings is the same, along with the warmth and the constant banter.
“So I was thinking . . .” His chin rests on my head. “Next week, when you’re in Paris, how about I come with you?”
I spin around. “You want to come to Paris?”
He nods. “I’d like to see you at work. In your environment. I’ve shown you mine. How about you show me yours?”
My teeth sink into my lip, and I peer up at him. “I’dloveto show you mine.”
In a second, Lando’s eyes darken. That delicious, familiar tugging in my pelvis kicks in. I’m pressed so close to him that I feel the swell behind his zipper, and I briefly wonder how far I can push this.
He leans closer, his mouth brushing over the shell of my ear. “Behave yourself, Hollywood. Only good girls get my cock, and I know how desperate you are for it.”
Scratch affection.Thisis my favorite.
My brain is firing, trying to find any excuse for us both to leaveright nowwhen I sense Clemmie jiggling a bottle of champagne at me. “Hol, want a top-up?”
“Sure,” I croak, doing my best to steady my shaky hands as I pass her my glass. “Thanks.”
As she’s pouring, another roar lets out from the crowd. “Oops, we need to watch this. Miles will quiz us later.”
