Samuel's riding skills were formidable.

During his Middle-Level 1 exams, he'd clocked national Level 2 times in both show jumping and dressage. He simply hadn't chosen the professional circuit.

The staff led Julian and Jordan toward the indoor stables. The stalls were uniform squares, barely larger than Julian's first single rental in Boston.

Julian let out a small, sharp laugh. Even a horse had a bigger room than he'd started with.

"What's funny?" Jordan asked.

Julian shared the thought. Jordan laughed with him. "Most people can't compete with a horse, Jules. A college grad makes a few grand a month. A horse like that costs millions".

Jordan suddenly cursed under his breath and bolted toward the stall ahead. He gripped the rails, pressing his face against the wood. "Incredible. Is that a Friesian?"

A massive black stallion stood in the stall. Even indoors, its coat carried a pearlescent sheen. It was raw, visible wealth.

"Technically, it's a Friesian horse. A warmblood from the Friesland province of the Netherlands," the coach explained.

"What's his name?" Jordan asked.

"Archer," the coach replied, glancing toward the back of the group. "Owned by one of our premium members. You might see him in action today if you're lucky".

The horse was a powerhouse. Its frame was larger than the others, muscles carved in distinct, heavy blocks. Long, thick mane and tail fell in natural, heavy curls—the "king of hair volume." It stood motionless, eyes half-lidded, radiating a calm, safe aura.

Julian had always associated equestrianism with pure expense. Without Jordan's invitation, he never would have touched a sport so far beyond his bracket. Now, he felt the pull. It was the same joy as owning a pet. The rich just had bigger pets.

Footsteps sounded on the concrete. "Mr. Frost, a few members would like to observe Archer. Do you mind?".

"It's fine," Samuel Frost said. "I can give a demonstration".

The staff opened the gate. The stallion necked toward Samuel, letting out a low, friendly nicker. Samuel moved with practiced ease, checking the horse's mouth and head before inspecting the feed, water, and mineral salts. He noted the bedding and reminded the staff to transition to the autumn-winter dry formula.

The children in the group crowded around, faces tilted up in awe. "So pretty!" Parents whispered about the price tag and quietly retreated.

Julian was at the front. He could see the bulging veins and heavy muscle of the horse's thigh. He felt a sudden, inexplicable heat in his face and looked away. The stallion wasn't shy; it puffed its chest and held its head high, a proud display of its body.

The massive chest muscles were directly in front of Julian's eyes. Round. Taut. Elastic.

"Since we're here," Samuel said, "I'll introduce basic horse habits and body language." He stroked the horse's head. "Horses enjoy contact on the nose, the poll, the neck, and the back. Avoid the tail and cheeks. Do not pat the head. Stroke with the hair".

Julian found his voice. "Can I touch the chest?"

Samuel looked at him, his gaze heavy. "Depends on the mood".

Whose mood? The horse or yours? Julian wondered.

Samuel didn't elaborate. "Who wants to try?"

Julian let the children go first. They reached out to the stallion's chest and forelegs. The horse puffed out even further, seemingly enjoying the attention. Samuel encouraged a hesitant child. "It's a safe zone. He won't be angry".

Julian waited until they finished, then reached out. The hair was coarser than it looked, almost prickly. But the muscle beneath was Duang-Duang—surprisingly soft and elastic. Julian gave it a firm pat.

A loud slap-slap echoed through the stable.

Julian's face went scarlet. Samuel watched him, his expression a neutral mask of "I knew you couldn't resist".

Julian moved to pull back, but a sudden warmth enveloped his hand. The horse had clamped its mouth over his palm.

Julian froze. "???"

Safe zone?

He tried to tug his hand away. The stallion gripped tighter, hot breath huffing against Julian's skin. A thick, wet tongue swiped across his palm. It was slimy and disgusting.

"Samuel," Julian pleaded, looking at the owner. "Help."

Samuel looked down at the scene. He remained silent, but his gaze carried a sharp, disciplinary edge. Julian braced for a lecture, but Samuel simply pinched the stallion's nose.

"Let go."

The horse complied. Julian scrambled back, his hand drenched in horse saliva. He took a sniff.

Gross. It stank.

He tucked the hand behind his back, mentally swearing off touching anyone's chest ever again.

Samuel led Archer to the hitching room. The rest of the group followed the staff to collect their assigned horses. Julian lingered, waiting for the spit to dry.

"He marked you," Jordan joked.

"Stop. It's nauseating." Julian ducked into the restroom to scrub his skin.

When he returned, Jordan was standing by an empty stall, looking sheepish. "They're short on horses. Two of them have colds".

A groom was berating a younger stable hand nearby. "Two sick horses! Did you hose them down yesterday? These are short-haired breeds. It's autumn. You don't just spray them with water".

The staff turned to Julian and Jordan with an apologetic wince. "The situation is what it is. You two will have to wait until the others are finished with their session".

Jordan frowned. "No other horses?"

"We only serve members," the staff member explained. "Most members bring their own. We don't keep many trial horses on hand".

Everyone had a horse but them. Julian looked at their budget Decathlon gear and Jordan's status as a guest. They were low-priority. The ranch was prioritizing high-potential clients.

Jordan started to argue, but Julian caught his arm. "It's fine. You go ahead. I'll wait".