Free The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) by Nancy Herkness

feet Dennis was on the dance floor, even as he threw a long-suffering grimace at her.
    She tossed everyone a football jersey, which they pulled on over their shirts. “All of a sudden I feel underdressed.” Patty glanced between their fan apparel and the elegant suite.
    “Look at the back.” Miranda turned around in front of Patty.
    “Oh, my God, the jerseys are autographed,” Patty said, trying to look over her own shoulder. “Luke Archer touched my jersey.”
    “I think he touches a lot of jerseys,” Miranda said.
    “Not as many as you’d think,” Milt spoke up. “He prefers to donate his autographed items to charity auctions rather than selling them. But he’s happy to give his friends his John Hancock.” He winked at Theo, who looked down at his child-size jersey with new admiration.
    “Hmm,” Miranda said. That was an unexpected side to Luke. Since he’d been so generous to her, she’d assumed he had stacks of the signed stuff in a warehouse somewhere.
    “I’m hungry,” Theo said.
    Right on cue, Dennis’s stomach growled, making them all laugh as they attacked the buffet.
    Three hours later, the Empire were down by two points. All four of them were standing outside, yelling at the top of their lungs as the Empire drove down the field in an attempt to win the game. Milt had brought Theo a giant blue foam hand with the index finger raised, which the boy waved over his head with enthusiasm, occasionally whacking someone in the face.
    Miranda found herself tracking Luke’s number nine jersey, whether he was on the field or on the sideline. Every time the quarterback got hit by a hulking lineman, she gasped and winced. Luckily it didn’t happen too often since, according to Dennis, his teammates did a good job of protecting him. “He’s tough and almost never gets injured,” Dennis explained, “but he’s getting older, so they have to step it up a notch.”
    “Older?” Miranda thought of the power and energy the quarterback radiated. “He can’t be all that old.”
    “He’s in his midthirties. That’s old by football standards. He’s coming to the end of his career.”
    “He sure doesn’t look like it,” she said as Luke threw the ball like a bullet to a receiver on the fifteen-yard line for a first down.
    “Yeah, he’s still got an arm.”
    On the next play, disaster struck. Once again the quarterback dropped back into what Dennis called the pocket, the football in his hand. Luke looked like an island of calm in the midst of a swirl of colliding bodies as he scanned the field for his intended target. He cocked his arm back and sent the ball riffling toward one of his teammates. An opponent blasted into the air as the ball was midflight and came down with it in his hands.
    A collective groan went up from the stadium as the opposing player began to zig and zag in the other direction, gaining several yards before he was buried under a pile of Empire players.
    Miranda looked back at Luke to see him standing with his hands on his hips, his posture expressing pure frustration. It was a fleeting moment, because he turned and walked off the field without any further reaction.
    “That’s the second time he’s thrown an interception in the last five minutes of a game. He never makes that kind of misjudgment.” Dennis sounded upset. “Please tell me he doesn’t have a shoulder injury.”
    When the Cardinals’ offense took the field, they all sat down and leaned forward on the edges of their seats, hissing in distress every time the opposing quarterback connected with his receiver for a first down, and cheering when the Empire’s defense stopped their advance.
    Then the Empire got a major break when the Cardinals fumbled the ball and an Empire defender recovered it.
    Luke Archer jogged back on the field. The giant screen at the end of the stadium showed a close-up of his eyes in the helmet’s opening. They burned with ice-cold intensity. “He’s going to win this,” Miranda