This post is part of the February 2013 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month, we tried something new and are having each blogger in the chain "Suggest-a-Prompt" to the next blogger. The choices thus far have been interesting. My unfortunate prompt was "Unfortunate Sports", which I have taken the liberty of reducing to "An Unfortunate Sport" (Note: Give me a break, guys. I passed PE by writing reports for extra credit). Nulli took a long sip from her champagne flute. Her floppy wide-brimmed hat flapped in the desert wind. The match was exhilarating to watch--the hard pounding of hooves, the crack of mallet against ball. Within seconds players raced from one end of the field to the other, chasing an elusive white target smaller than their fists. The perfectly manicured grass stood in stark contrast to the sandy dunes. Spectators milled around as waiters circulated copious amounts of alcohol. For most, watching the game was an excuse to drink beer.

But her eyes were on the rider who was readying to execute a perfect backhand. The mallet, arm and body were as one. The pendulum swung, and the ball flew beyond the reach of the other players. Rising from his seat, he raced after it at a full gallop as the other players followed in his wake. He kept the lead. Another loud crack and the ball launched past the goal posts.

The bell signaled the end of the final chukka. His team had won. Emptying her glass, Nulli took off her hat and fluffed her hair. She smoothed the wrinkles on her red sun-dress and grabbed her pocketbook. Her heels clicked on marble as she walked through the Club's restaurant and headed to the stables. Most men who played polo left their expensive ponies in the care of well-paid grooms and vets. The man she was rushing to was different.

Her heart raced. They had been planning this weekend for ages. He worked in a different country, so they had spent most of their relationship flying to meet each other. The tournament had gone on for three days, and that game was the final match. He was now all hers.

She smiled to herself the entire walk down to the stables. She found him silhouetted next to a stall with a carrot in hand. His favorite chestnut mare poked its head out to take a bite. His white jeans were muddied, and his dark polo was drenched in sweat. She couldn't think of a time when he looked sexier. Well, not a recent time.

His white teeth flashed when she reached him. With heels, they were close to the same height. She smelled horse, mud and a hint of beer. She tucked an errant strand of dark blond hair behind his ears. "Great game."

"This is better," he murmured before their lips met. She closed her eyes. Her hat and pocketbook dropped to the floor. The only way she was able to steady herself was by gripping fistfuls of his shirt. His arms circled her, pulling her so close she could feel the bulge growing against her belly. She smiled into the kiss. It was about time.

Suddenly, he stopped. He lifted his head, winced in pain, and stepped back. "Ah..."

Dazed, Nulli blinked as she looked up at him. "Ah?"

His expression was adorably sheepish. "I think we may have to slightly alter our plans."

She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. He had some explaining to do.

He scratched the back of his head. "So, it's been a long tournament. I'm completely beat."

Her gaze swept him from head to toe. "You look plenty energized to me."

Another wince. What the heck was going on? "Did you fall and hit your head?"

He rolled his eyes. "What kind of player do you think I am?"

She listed off the other possible injuries. "A mallet to the wrist. A ball to the knee. Your face hit the horse's head. What could you have possibly done to yourself that I didn't see in the field?"

He coughed. "There are things ..."

"Uh huh..." she prompted.

His face turned bright red. "Things that happen to people who've been on a horse for many days."

She frowned, what could he possibly be talking about? "I'm assuming this thing affects your ability to perform certain functions."

He nodded, looking relieved. "Not permanently. Just for a while."

"How long of a while?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know exactly. It hasn't been this bad before," he admitted.

Okay, this was getting beyond annoying. "Would you just spit it out?"

He groaned. "This is a problem I would rather not share ..."

She placed her hands on her hips. "We're getting married in three months. If there is something wrong with you in that area," she drew a circle in the air with her finger, "I really need to know."

"I just said it wasn't permanent," he countered.

She jabbed her finger into his chest. "Spill."

He let out a beleaguered sigh. "Fine. I'm just saying--this is not an image you want in your head."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Trust me. I have actually seen plenty images of you I would rather not have in my head. It comes with the territory."

He looked surprised. "What images?"

She wagged her finger. "Don't try to change the subject. What is your problem?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled something so fast she couldn't make out the words.

"You're a lawyer. I'm sure you know how to articulate," she scolded. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."

His shoulders slumped. He lifted his head to glare of her. "There's a piece of skin missing from my balls."

"Oh." He was right. That wasn't an image she wanted in her head. "I understand."

"No," he ground out, "you really don't."

Cocking her head to the side, Nulli mulled over the possibilities. "That sucks."

With a defeated look, he glanced upward. "Trust me, I know."

With a mischievous grin, she continued. "But I think I can up with a few mutually pleasurable ways we can work around your unfortunate problem."

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:

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An Unfortunate Sport (Absolute Write Blog Chain - February 2013)

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