by Lyn Denver
~
The next day, Aiden from California arrived. He was a clichéd California boy, complete with designer clothes and Oakley Frogskins sunglasses. They had clear frames and blue lenses that accentuated his chocolate brown hair he kept gelled to perfection. He looked like a younger version of the professional polo player Nic Roldan and, had he not opened his mouth, Van would have found him extremely attractive.
As it was, the minute he arrived he started complaining. He complained about the southern heat. He complained about the type of fencing Mike used for the paddocks. He complained about how hard the ground would be on his horse's legs. He complained about not finding organic food at the grocery store and he especially complained about the house.
"I will not share a room like I'm back in a damn dorm," he shouted at no one in particular.
The five of them, Van, Tyler, Pete, Mike, and Aiden, were all crammed in Mike's tiny kitchen. Having never married, Mike never felt the need to build a house bigger than a one bedroom one bath on Binny's Acres.
"Sorry, son, but that's the pro house. If you want to pay your own rent, you can find any place you please."
"You're barely paying me as it is! I can't rent a proper place!" Aiden growled.
"Then you'll have to make do. Team USPA sent you here to learn the ropes of my system. You're here by my good graces, not the other way around."
Mike was using his most civil tone, which Van knew meant he was actually really irritated.
"I can't have a roommate," Aiden said with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.
"What the hell do you do in your room that you can't have a roommate for eight weeks, bro?" Pete asked with a half laugh.
Aiden's face turned bright red, but he didn't answer.
"Look," Tyler interrupted. "It's cool. Aiden can have my room and I'll bunk with Pete."
"You and Van have got seniority, Tyler," Mike said with a raised eyebrow.
Tyler shrugged his shoulders. Tipping his coffee mug up to his lips, he drained the last dregs before rinsing the cup in the kitchen sink. "Doesn't matter, Mike. I can sleep wherever. I'll move my stuff tonight."
Aiden and Mike nodded. "Then it's settled. Now, let's go play some polo."
Pete and Aiden gave their personal strings the day off, to recover from traveling, but they helped Tyler and Van school Mike's herd. Each pro worked between twenty and thirty horses, from the old ones used for the polo school to the green horses playing their first season. Aiden was a hell of a player and Van struggled to keep up with him during their first stick and ball session as a pair. She had grown too slow and complacent, playing with the low goal patrons too often. Soon, though, muscle memory took over and she was right there with him, testing him at every turn. He smiled and nodded his head once. "Good job. What are you rated again?" he asked.
"One outdoor, two indoor," Van answered.
"Shit, you could be way higher than that," he'd said casually over his shoulder as they walked back to the barn.
Aiden still seemed like a bit of an asshole, but he at least knew how to ride and could appreciate good riding when he saw it.
At the end of the long, tiring day, Van gave the yet to be named, three-year-old a solid grooming, taking time to curry every inch of the mare. The horse leaned into her strokes affectionately. She was taking her cross-country transition incredibly well.
When they finally got home, Van collapsed on the sofa. She let her eyes fall shut as Pete went to the kitchen to cook dinner and Tyler and Aiden rearranged their belongings in different rooms. She woke abruptly when Tyler landed on the sofa next to her with two plates in his hands. The food smelled delicious. One of the best things about Pete was that he'd done a stint in culinary school before committing to the life of a polo pro. Tonight he prepared grilled chicken, rice that smelled like rosemary and saffron, and a salad with mixed greens and apple wedges. She inhaled the meal, setting the plate on the coffee table and leaning back to rub her belly appreciatively.
"I love you, Pete," she mumbled.
"You love the food I cook," he said, his mouth full. "There's a difference." He winked at her regardless and smiled.
"Where's the Prince of California?" she asked, looking around.
"In my room, doing God knows what on my bed," Tyler answered. He scraped the last of his food on his plate into a tiny pile and forked it in to his mouth.
"Ah, don't be bitter roomie," Pete said with a smile. "You'll love the twin beds. They're extra long just like at camp!"
"Ha," Tyler barked as he set his empty plate on top of Van's. "I do not fit on those beds meant for tiny men."
"I think I should be offended by that?" Pete said. "Should I be offended by that, Van?"
She shook her head. "No. Ty refers to all normal sized humans as tiny. It's not our fault he's the Iron Giant."
When Pete put his plate on top of their pile, Tyler picked them all up and carried them to the sink. He turned on the water and began washing them, slipping them onto the cheap drying rack next to the sink after they'd been rinsed. One of Tyler's many requests for the house was a dishwashing machine. Mike had yet to oblige.
Van liked the way Ty's arms moved when he washed dishes, the circular motion he made that bulged his biceps and forearms and the way soap bubbles sometimes stuck to his broad wrists. Pete cleared his throat, knocking Van's attention away. He was smiling at her as if he knew some secret.
"What?" she asked.
He shook his head and cleared his throat, letting loose one bark of laughter. "Nada, senorita. I'm off to bed." He nodded to Tyler as he passed through the kitchen. "Goodnight, roomie."
"Yep, see you in there," Tyler said without looking up from his work.
