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in a flash.
    “Zoe’s horses are well trained,” Alex said, breaking the awkward silence and dragging Cody back from his jumbling thoughts.
    The practice round with Aronelli had blasted through Cody’s prejudiced opinion that polo was a game for foppish rich men; polo was a damned hard sport. He might be good at aiming balls and riding spirited horses with minds of their own, but the field drills for polo had required all his concentration just to coordinate the mallet and the horse while staying in the saddle. And that was without opposing players riding at him. He’d estimated the speed of the ball at about a hundred and ten miles an hour. It was no sport for fops. And maybe not for former rodeo riders either.
    “You’ll be riding my usual mounts. They’ll feel your confidence,” Zoe said, raising her gaze and stepping back.
    Confidence wasn’t what he was feeling at the moment. He’d better muster it up and focus on what mattered, or he’d be hanging from the stirrups or worse.
    “Just watch that you don’t cross the line of the ball.” Her accent made the reminder sound like a recipe for bedroom play and not a sporting event.
    “Aronelli drilled that point home.” Cody’s words came out more clipped than he’d intended, a sure sign he’d better get a grip and fast.
    The line of the ball wasn’t the only line he’d better not cross.
    But he couldn’t stop himself from appreciating Zoe’s lips, lush and full and curved up at the edges, as if a smile was as natural to her as breathing. Yet the lines around her eyes spoke of worry. He knew those lines, saw them every morning etched into his own face.
    More than this off-kilter polo match was bothering her. He found himself wondering what troubled her and fighting back the dreaded, ingrained impulse to make it all better. He thought he’d beat that bad habit. Evidently not.
    Alex looked from Zoe to him, and the quick spark of a question in Alex’s eyes didn’t escape Cody. He’d spent weeks studying the guys on the team. Bench time provided plenty of opportunity to study the behaviors of opponents and teammates, to learn their unspoken language, to read them in the context of the game.
    Cody’s phone vibrated in his back pocket. He fished it out and saw that the call was from Hal Walsh, the Giants’ manager.
    “Better take this one.” He excused himself and walked away from Zoe and Alex.
    “Bond, you’re starting tomorrow,” Walsh said with his characteristic brevity. “The docs just confirmed Aderro’s not coming back this season, and Thornton has a killer flu. You’ll be batting sixth and catching Scotty Donovan.”
    He must’ve said something in response to Walsh, but as Cody clicked off his phone, he couldn’t remember what. Alex raised a brow, and Cody motioned him over.
    “I’m catching Donovan tomorrow.” He repeated what Walsh said about Aderro and Thornton. He didn’t have to mention that it was a big break. Catching in the NLCS playoffs was a big friggin’ deal. Especially since the game would decide if the Giants went on to the World Series.
    Alex raked a hand through his hair and looked out over the polo field. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “Ride for Zoe, I mean. People will understand.”
    People might, but Cody had given his word. And he never went back on his word. He wouldn’t be the reason a competition fizzled.
    “Piece of cake,” Cody said.
    Alex gave him the stare that made even the most seasoned pitchers quake. “We both know that’s not true.”
    Cody shrugged. “Best to stay on the horse then.”
    Zoe strode over from where she’d been talking with her other three players. She took a step back and tilted her head, studying Alex. “Something wrong?”
    “Nah,” Cody said. “I’m just boning up on the rules.” His mind was already focused on running stats and information and plans for the bigger game he’d face the next day.
    She crossed her arms. “Aronelli thinks you can do