I found Yvette watching her pony leave. “Good job, Court,” she said brusquely. She looked intensely relieved that it was over. She wasn’t really immune to pressure.
Tara and Jen had gone off to party, it looked like. I hoped they didn’t fall under the charms of any Argentinean polo gods. I knew it was a flimsy hope. I started off in the direction of the hotel, thinking maybe I’d order room service and fall asleep to early Britney Spears.
On my way there, I very nearly ran into Lawrence. When I finally looked up from my feet, I could pretty much count his eyelashes if I’d wanted. I backed up hastily. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you have somewhere to be, but I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed your demo.” He would’ve been undressing me with his eyes if he hadn’t actually been looking in my eyes. Somehow that was even more unsettling.
I teetered. “Oh, uh, thanks.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. I’d forgotten about the demonstration. I had no idea what polo was.
“Yvette was right,” he said. “You could play with anyone here. You women are athletes, and you’re damn good.” Abruptly, he took himself away from me. I watched him dumbly and then wandered off to the hotel alone. I didn’t sleep very well.
I got up early in the morning, heading out to the stable. I said hello to a breakfast-eating Hermione, then picked up my mallet and found a horse. Mounted on wood, it was dark vinyl adorned with a saddle. I adjusted the stirrups and started making shots, rapidly chewing through the line of balls on the ground. Everything was quiet, and the whack of my mallet echoed terrifically. My focus was sharp and narrow.
“Hey.”
The voice behind me jerked me out of my focus-induced stupor. My mallet tore a hunk of grass out of the dirt and sent the clod flying sideways. I turned in the saddle and saw Lawrence standing ten feet behind me. My face burned. “Lawrence. Uh, hi.”
“Sorry I startled you,” he said. “I should’ve realized you were in the zone.” He was smiling, but not in an unkind way.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here so early,” I said dully.
“I like to practice as much as I can,” he said, sidling up to the horse beside mine. “Sometimes I feel like I need to close the gap between me and everyone else. Even though it’s impossible.”
“From what I hear, you’re doing pretty well,” I mumbled. I didn’t let on that I’d been following his career with a vigor that could only be described as sycophantish.
“I’ve got good horses,” he said simply. Then he vaulted onto the horse and fired off three perfect nearside forehander shots in a row. I could see why Yvette hated his guts.
I tried to act natural and just make my shots like a normal person, but my mallet caught a lot of air with him next to me. I was suddenly, debilitating self-conscious. I was just glad Yvette wasn’t there to see me like that. Finally, he slid off the fake horse. “I’ll see you later,” he said.
I kind of bobbed my head randomly. I stared straight ahead, and then I gave in and let my head roll back. Okay. He does have a great ass. I turned away again, giggling nervously to myself.
When I was sure he was gone, I went back to the hotel. If I kept this up, I was going to spend all week in there. I flipped through the 500 channels for a while, finding absolutely nothing to watch. How can there possibly be 500 channels of crap? I thought incredulously. I stood up and left the room. I was here. I needed to get out and do something.
I went back to the stable and pulled Hermione out of her stall. I tacked her up decisively, leaving the halter on under her bridle. Then I stuck my helmet on my head and mounted up, riding out into the fields. Hermione moved along pleasantly at a walk, then a canter. It was beautiful and still out there, away from all the craziness.
Suddenly I heard strange hoof beats mingling with Hermione’s. I looked around in alarm and gasped out loud as I saw Lawrence gallop by on his grey mare. I pulled up, and he circled back to face me. I realized he wasn’t using a saddle or a bridle. The mare came to an obedient halt.
“Um. Hi.” I couldn’t even say hi? This was bad.
“Courtney. Hey.” He was giving me that full-on, direct look again.
My eyes darted around nervously. “I’m not stalking you, I swear!” I blurted. Idiot. Now you’ve planted the idea that you’re a stalker in his head. Way to freakin’ go.
He laughed softly. He didn’t look alarmed. “Courtney, you can stalk me all you want.”
I relaxed a little. It almost seemed like he was flirting with me. I wasn’t capable of flirting back, but his easy confidence was helping me regardless.
We rode along for a while, talking horses and polo. Then we got to a nice little knoll where we tied the mares to a stand of trees and sat down together. The conversation drifted and meandered until we got to high school and I mentioned I’d been on the football team.
“No shit?” Lawrence said to me.
I smiled. “Yeah, I was the only girl on the team. There was a ton of drama over me trying out, of course. But my dad threatened a lawsuit, so that cleared up most of the drama and I got to try out. The coach must’ve seen I had something, so I got on the team.”
“So you’ve always had a need to beat the boys, then?”
“It’s not even about beating the boys, necessarily. It’s never really been a feminist thing for me. I just…at a certain point, I realize that I’m better than the field hockey team, or the Women’s Polo Federation, or whatever. I have a talent for contact sports. I always have. That’s pretty much all I have,” I added honestly. “I just want to take it as far as I can.”
“You know,” Lawrence said, “I’ve never understood why that should cause controversy. Like you said, you have the talent, and you should be able to do what you can with it. The boys just see you coming, and they’re scared shitless. So they try to keep you out with dumb rules and tradition.”
“So you’re not scared?”
He laughed. “No way. I just hope I can get on your team.”
I glowed from the unprecedented compliment, and punched him in the arm. He returned the gesture, and, spontaneously, I got up on my knees and turned to push him over. He saw me coming and took hold of my wrists. I raised a knee and put it into his stomach, sending him backwards. He pulled me on top of him and flipped us over effortlessly so I was pinned underneath him. He smiled devilishly. “Guess it’s a good thing you never tried out for wrestling, huh?”
I don’t know what came over me. Well, I do have a clue. I was pretty much powerless against my hormones in the position I was in, trapped under the taut body of young, notorious womanizing polo god I’d had a several-year crush on, who was infinitely hotter in person than in print. I craned my neck to kiss him and dug my nails into his back over his shirt. He groaned softly and leaned into my kiss, and I could feel his jeans getting even tighter. He started to ease off me, and I followed him until we were both on our knees. He finally broke the kiss to pull off his shirt and wasted no time in reaching behind me to unhook my bra. It hung freely over my shoulders as I threw my shirt aside, and then it fell away. The way he was looking at me now made his earlier “bedroom eyes” seem platonic and tame. I felt the heat rising inside me.
I reached for the strained button on his jeans with some urgency. I pulled it open somewhat roughly and unzipped him. He pulled his jeans down his sculpted thighs. I watched, riveted, fumbling with my own fly. When he slipped off his briefs I let my hand fall. I saw him reach into one of the pockets on his discarded jeans and pull out a condom. In the awkward, stilted, pragmatic part of my brain that had temporarily shut up, I wondered about that. What is he doing with a condom on a trail ride? Did he know I was coming? Does he have girl ESP? Girl radar? Whatever? Does he just assume he’s going to get laid wherever he goes? Shut up, Courtney. At least he’s got a condom, because you sure don’t have one, do you? You’re right, I don’t, so yay him for being prepared! Yay him? That’s really bad grammar. Okay, you really do ne
ed to shut up now…
Lawrence came over to me, and my body instantly snapped back into control. Or out of control, it would be. Probably. He gave me a long, deep kiss as he unfastened my breeches and pulled them down. I was instantly grateful to be one of those weird people who think thongs are comfortable. He stared into my eyes and I saw his chest rise and fall roughly. I felt the desire coming off him and it hit me deep inside like a surge of electricity. He reached down and slid my underwear out of the way. Then I was on my hands and knees and I felt him make contact. He was thrusting strongly and I leaned into him, moaning incoherently. My fingers dug into the grass as he sped up and I willed him to keep going, right there, right there. The spasms started, my voice rose, and then I fell forward, hit with a rush of serotonin or whatever it is. Behind me, I heard Lawrence follow suit (which is a really odd expression, especially in this context). For a few blissful, hormone saturated minutes, I lay on my side with his face in my neck, feeling nothing but relaxation and warmth.
It passed. I bolted up, feeling reality set in. I whirled for a moment, trying to find my clothes as I blurred my own vision. I stopped whirling, saw the clothes I needed and staggered over to them. I threw my clothes on frantically. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t think his name. I didn’t even want him to be a pale pink and black blob in the corner of my eye. I had to get out of there.
I rushed over to Hermione. Oh my God. We just had sex. Within sight of the horses! That can’t be good. Poor Hermione is going to be scarred for life now. Eloise has probably seen it all before. I jerked on the quick release knot, freeing Hermione. I pulled down the stirrups and jumped on her back. Hermione raised her head and took off. I let her gallop out of there, and then I pulled her down once we were out of sight and made her walk. When we reached the stable I handed poor, confused Hermione off to the nearest groom and fled to my hotel.
Once I was safely inside my room, I paced the perimeter. I can’t believe I did that. I’m not leaving this room again. I don’t even know him! I’m an obsessive fan of his, true. But we’ve only had like three conversations! You don’t just go and do it with someone after three conversations! Well, apparently I do…
Someone knocked on my door. I seized up. OhmyGod. He must’ve gotten my room number. He’s probably pissed that I ran away. Or else he’s depressed and weepy. Shit. I can’t deal with this right now!
Whoever-it-was-on-the-other-side pounded the door again. Harder this time. Shit, shit, shit! I crept to the door and stuck an eye over the peephole. I couldn’t see anyone. What the hell is going on?
“COURTNEY! It’s Yvette. Open the goddamn fucking door! I know you’re in there, where the hell else would you be?” Yvette’s lilting, obscenity-spewing voice bellowed at me.
I hurried to open the door. “Hey, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Who the fuck else would I be?” Yvette snapped from five inches below me. “Do you have any other friends? Besides Britney?”
“Leave Britney alone,” I said weakly.
“God, you are a twisted mess of pathology.” Yvette glanced around. “I suppose you’ve been rotting in here all fucking day.”
“Yep. In here. All day.”
“Well, while you were hiding, I was out trying to gauge the reaction to our little exhibition. Single-handedly.”
“What happened to Tara and Jen?”
Yvette’s lip curled. “Tara and Jen went off with a Pieres brother and that fucking supermodel.”
“Nacho Figueras?”
“Yes. Lying bitches. They say they will help me, and then they go off and fuck some dumb polo gods instead. Now who does that help? Stupid lying sluts.”
“Dumb…whores,” I said faintly.
Yvette
Jean-Philippe was seated upon his enormous claw-footed chair. He looked down at me from across a substantial desk of birds-eye maple, chin resting on his folded hands. He was taking his time before he would speak, deliberately keeping me there waiting, trapped before him like a small animal. I would not allow him to break me. I remained very still, head and shoulders erect, keeping him squarely between my eyes. Only underneath the desk, out of his sight did I allow my right foot to act out in all the ways I so badly wanted to. Mere seconds into our meeting it had begun incessantly tapping at an ever-increasing ferocity. Always the toe of my shoe tipped back up soundlessly, never once striking the floor and alerting him to my frustration.
Jean-Philippe began to lean forward, hands clasped as he lowered them to the desk. His eyes focused on me fully, now level with mine. “You know I have never doubted you,” he said to me. “From day one you have shown me how very capable you are. Everyone you take on you conquer.”
I leaned forward in my chair as well. “Then why are we here, I ask?”
Jean-Philippe sighed, expressing a weak little gust of stale breath. “I am concerned. Your recent…surge of ambition has led me to question things.”
“Ah.” My head tilted up toward the ceiling. “I had been led to believe you were incapable of doubting me.”
He sighed again, looking upon me with his sad, sad face. He had gone back to being silent, because he had realized he possessed more power when not engaging in a battle of wills.
My eyes tipped upward. “Is this going to take much longer?” I asked in short temper. “Because I must stick to my regimen if I am expected to win and defeat everyone with my usual capability.” I dug into my purse, extracting a packet of protein powder. Tearing it open, I poured it into my mouth, chewing it up as I looked at him.
“Your record is self-explanatory,” Jean-Philippe stated dispassionately. “There is no doubt you are the strongest player in the women’s federation. There is no female who can best you. My concern lies with what I have been hearing. I hear that you talk of wanting to play with the men. You speak of beating the men at their own game, on their turf. Big talk. From such a small lady.”
My eyes pinched together. You fucking bastard. If he continued to fuck with me, he was going to be one fucking sorry asshole.
Obliviously he resumed speaking, blundering on. “I only hope this is merely rumors flying, and not really so. Because that would be a shame.”
I rose out of my chair, little by little, weight poised on my heels. “It is so. And it will happen.”
Jean-Philippe blinked at me. I now stood, straining in my shoes, matching his seated height.
“It saddens my heart to hear this,” he intoned. “You are the best of the women. You have enjoyed so much success. Why walk away from it all?”
I leaned over the desk, placing my hands on the smooth wood. “Because I’m too good to play with the women anymore.”
Jean-Philippe shook his head, and not a single hair moved. Not a tick of emotion showed on his impassive, stolid face. “This is outlandish. These ideas of yours shall ruin you. I am sure of it. You cannot go and play with the men. You will never beat them. They will make a laughingstock out of you and your big head.”
I was aware of not much beyond the bright, hot anger expanding within my chest, but I knew that I was losing. I could sense it, I could feel his small, tiny, unimaginative mind retreating. Damn it. In desperation I threw myself across the desk, breathing heavily onto his face. I stared down the empty, round shells that occupied his sockets. I saw nothingness in there, a destination unreachable. And I began to attempt to reason with a man whose mind had already sunk into the ground and was holding fast to the impossibility of change.
“Jean-Philippe,” I voiced in what was treacherously close to a pleading tone. “Never have I let you down. Never have I given you a moment of pause. My record stands alone. I have taken down every goddamned opponent I ever faced.” I stopped for some air and to let the wobble in my throat even out. “I beseech you to listen to me.” I turned my eyes on him. “I have won every title I possibly can. There is nothing left for me here. I must compete with the men on their field. I must do this.” I looked at him and felt the bristle, the harsh façade
all fall away. “I cannot remain where I am. I cannot keep coming up against the same wall, the same locked door. I am trapped here, Jean.” I stared at the man helplessly. “I need more.”
Silence commenced. Slowly I backed away, and my hands slid off the edge of the desk, falling to my sides. I stood there waiting for him to fucking say something. To give me an answer or send me away or do something. He took his time, of course he did, and every last ounce of my strength with it.
“If this is how you feel,” Jean-Philippe said slowly, savoring the words and the stricken look on my face, “then I am afraid I can no longer support you in your future endeavors.”
My head fell forward in a single nod. I left.
It took a mere few days for him to take it all away. There was nothing that could be done, because apparently my contract did not allow for big heads or having fucking ambition. I was stripped from the team, and quickly replaced. My endorsement deals vanished. I had not a single pony to my name. It was all his, and now nothing was left of it but the clothes on my back, my helmet and boots, and a mallet which leaned against the wall, utterly useless.
I worked out for hours, even longer than before, crunching and bench-pressing and running through the tread on my shoes. I could not sit there on my ass, eating myself fat just because I could. That was not something I did. Matches were being played without me, and it galled me to not have a chance. To not even be in the fight was a horrible sensation. The restlessness was nearly unbearable.
Courtney was there beside me, which proved most unhelpful. She was always looking at me with her big eyes, looking for me to get her somewhere. Courtney trusted me. She followed me always. Instead of staying on the team, she had instantly left when I gave her my news, choosing that moment to commit fully to our plan.
I suppose it was a lovely thing to do. But in some ways, it pissed me the fuck off.
Courtney did not get it. The plan was not happening for us. No one had taken me seriously, and now we no longer had a team. We did not have shit. And now, in this perilous position, we could so easily be ignored. Which is just what they wanted.
Training Harry Page 64
