All In: Playing to Win (Gambling With Love Book 5) Read Online Free PDF Page A

offered pen. I look up at him to see what he's playing at. Damn it, he continues to give me that sexy, cocky grin.     
    "W-what?" I ask.
    "Do you know my jersey number?"
    "Why, have you forgotten it?" I ask.
    Of course I know he wears the number fourteen. Same as from college. I actually have several of his jerseys hanging in my closet, not that I'd admit that shit in front of the arrogant prick. I'm seriously considering using them to line my cat's litter pan. I don't actually have a cat, but now I want to go rescue one from the pound to do just that.
    "Come on, it's a simple question," he teases, clearly not dropping the issue or taking the offered marker to get this over with.
    "Sixteen?" I huff out the wrong number just to be bitchy.
    He crosses his massive arms over his wide expanse of chest and raises a dirty blonde eyebrow. "Sixteen? No. That would be my sorry ass backup's number."
    "As shitty as you've been playing, Alex Marshall just might take your job soon." This statement is complete bullshit, but I can't miss the chance to try and bring his egotism down a notch.
    Alex Marshall's a horrible player, washed up after eleven years in the league. He was picked up by the Wildcats three years ago for pennies. Even at five-foot-nothing and a little under a hundred pounds I might make a better quarterback than Marshall. Jesus help the Wildcats if Zack gets hurt.
    The intimidatingly attractive man in front of me is not amused. His strong, bristly, golden jaw drops and he actually scoffs. "Wow. That's...really harsh."
    "Oh, please. Like it's possible to bruise your enormous ego," I say with a roll of my eyes. Although, he does look somewhat upset. He's probably just a great actor.         
    "So not only are you cute, but you're a feisty little thing, too." He shakes his head and then finally grabs the offered marker to start signing.
    After the last piece is marked and my box is loaded, I'm finally ready to head out.
    "Thank you, Mr. Bradford. I'm so sorry you had to take five minutes from your incredibly busy day to help our cause."
    I pick up the big, awkward box, lifting from my knees. Shit, this is going to be a challenge. If I can just get to Mr. Jones's office then I'm sure he'll help get it to my car.
    "Yo, Polly Pocket? You need some help with your box?" the sexy jerk behind me asks. I'm instantly offended by his innuendo and nickname. I'm also momentarily distracted by the warmth of nostalgia that has me recalling a happy childhood memory. Playing with the little yellow Polly Pocket compact case that held the tiny wedding scene for a miniature bride and groom. It was probably my all-time favorite toy, and damn it, now he's tainted it!
    "No, I've got it," I respond. In my rush to escape, I try to wedge the wide ass cardboard box through the narrow doorway and then immediately bounce backwards like a rubber ball when it doesn't fit.
    "No, you don't," he says followed by a raspy laugh. He then reaches over my head and lifts the box from my hands. "Here, let me. I'm an expert at maneuvering large objects through tight spaces."
    After his ridiculous comment he tilts the box through the door. Waiting for me in the hallway, he holds it up at shoulder level, balancing the box with one flat palm like it weighs nothing. "Where to, Polly?"
    "To Mr. Jones's office."
    "Then lead the way, feisty lady," he says. "What's your name anyway?"
    "Natalie."
    "Natalie?" he repeats in his deep baritone, simultaneously releasing a dozen butterflies in my belly. "I like it. It's also a helluva lot sexier than Polly."
    "I'll be sure to tell my parents you approve of their name choice," I say with another eye roll to hide my pleasure in hearing my name come out from between his perfect lips. His bottom lip is all pouty and fuller than the top, begging to be nipped.
    Oh sweet baby Jesus, I'm losing it.
    "So, Natalie, do you ever come to our home games?" he asks.
    I walk swiftly in front of him, more than ready to get out of this