Free High Stakes by Kathryn Shay

instead had chosen a more middle class lifestyle in Brooklyn.
    The whistle blew, and the kids trotted to courtside. An announcer with a booming voice introduced the opposing team, then the starting five from the home school. “And last but not least, our point guard for the Spartans, Rachel Murray.”
    Glancing over, she saw Dylan’s dark brows rise. “You didn’t tell me you have a namesake.”
    Rachel whispered, “I haven’t told you everything.”
    This time, he leaned in so there was no air between them. “Not yet, doll. But you will.”
    For some reason, the notion didn’t scare her as much as it should.
    Dylan turned his attention to the game. Rachel Two snatched the ball after the tip at midcourt and started down the floor. She dribbled like a pro. She passed as well as any college player he’d ever seen. The ball came back to her and she took a shot from the three-point range on the left side. It swished into the basket, without touching the rim.
    “Wow!” Dylan remarked and the crowd cheered loudly.
    But it was the woman next to him who snagged his attention. Dressed in snug grey jeans, black boots and a collared sweater, hair perfect, makeup the same, Rachel bolted up and yelled between cupped hands, “You go, girl.” She then proceeded to whistle with her fingers in her mouth.
    Dylan’s jaw dropped. Who knew the polished, sophisticated woman had this side to her? Unfortunately, he loved his nieces and nephews, attended a lot of their games. That he and Rachel had this in common disconcerted him. God, he hoped they didn’t find much more they shared. It was already hell being with her, even in a crowded gym that was beginning to smell like the inside of a locker room.
    For the entire game, Rachel behaved the same. At one point, when the referee called a foul on her niece, Rachel stood, shouting, “You need glasses, ref.”
    Rachel Two turned toward the stands and instead of being embarrassed by Rachel One’s outburst, she giggled at her aunt. Oh, hell.
    With only twenty seconds left on the clock, the other team tied the game. Again, Rachel Two took the ball, threw it into play, got it back and dribbled fast down the court. This time she didn’t pass. Instead, she weaved in and out of players, dribbled around others, and charged to the basket. She shot the ball up in a perfect arc; it circled around the rim—twice!—then dipped inside, just as the buzzer rang.
    In the stands, Rachel jumped up and down, whistled again and hugged her sister. All the spectators came to their feet, too, screaming as she was.
    As soon as the team did their lineup/good game hand slaps, Rachel Two took off and threw herself into her dad’s arms. They hugged with such affection, it made Dylan go soft inside.
    His Rachel preceded him down the steps, distracting him from her behavior by the way her jeans hugged her ass—again! The family crossed to the coach and the star while Dylan hung back.
    More hugs and greetings. Huge grins. Then Rachel turned to him. “Come on over, Dylan. I want to introduce you.”
    It wasn’t until the two of them were walking to the door—Dylan noticed her driver had come in to watch the game—that Dylan commented, “Who are you and what did you do with the Rachel I know?”
    She laughed, a sultry sound that hit him in the gut, despite the throng that surrounded them. “I know, I lose it here. I can’t help it.”
    Unable to resist, he moved closer. Now all he could smell was her perfume. “Personally, I thought it was cool.”
    She didn’t brush him off. “Did you?” ”Yeah, you should see me at my relatives’ games. I’m just like you.”
    “Who do the kids belong to?”
    “Patrick’s second oldest boy and one of his daughters do basketball. My son and Liam’s play baseball.”
    “All those games to enjoy.”
    They exited the gym, and a blast of frigid air hit them. Rachel tucked her hands in her pockets. When she shivered, he reached over, pulled up her collar and closed