As Luke started to shove his phone back in his pocket, it rang again. Gavin Miller’s name appeared on the screen. Luke frowned at it for a moment. His mood had shifted from restless to anticipatory, and he didn’t want to screw with that.

But he might as well find out what the writer wanted.

“Archer, I hear that hit knocked the stuffing out of you.”

“Just some bruising. Nothing serious.”

“Is that why you’re sitting on the sideline for Sunday’s game? Some bruising?” Miller sounded skeptical.

Luke clamped down on his annoyance. “Coach wants to give Pitch some real game seasoning.”

“I thought I’d check in on your progress with our little wager.”

Leave it to Miller to use every possible irritant. “No progress. I have a football season to get through first.”

“Let’s see, if you make it to the Super Bowl, you’ll have used up roughly four of your twelve months. You’re a confident man.”

“I don’t like to split my focus.”

“All football, all the time, eh?” Miller chuckled. “You must be a dull date. Except perhaps for a cheerleader.”

The writer knew where to aim. “I can talk horses and cattle, too.”

“So you’re looking for a country gal. That would go with the white picket fence and the sons. No, I remember now . . . you want daughters.”

“I want to be left in peace is what I want,” Luke snapped.

“Well, since we’re talking nothing but football, should I bet on the Empire to go all the way?”

That was familiar territory. “You’re big into gambling.”

“A little risk keeps life interesting.”

Luke decided to dish out some of what Miller was giving him. “How’s the writer’s block?”

There was a tense silence before the other man said, “It’s breaking my back, boyo. It’s strangling my spirit.”

While Luke didn’t understand writer’s block, he knew how he was feeling about being benched, so he cut Miller some slack. “Sorry to hear that.”

“By the way, I think Trainor is ahead of us. He’s already showing signs of being frustrated by a woman.”

For a moment, Luke’s competitive streak reared its head, giving him a shot of negative adrenaline at the thought of being beaten by the CEO. “Sounds like he already had a draft pick in mind.”

“I don’t believe so. At the Bellwether Club, he seemed like a man who was disillusioned with the entire fair sex.”

That reminded Luke of what was required to win the wager, and he decided he was well out of it for the time being. “I wish him luck.”

“Speaking of luck, what’s your answer about your team’s chances for the Super Bowl?”

“We’re going all the way.”

Miller made an exasperated sound. “Dispense with the sports clichés and give me a real answer.”

“I. Just. Did.” Luke put steel into his voice.

Miller whistled softly. “I’ll be placing my money on you for the win, then.”

The writer hung up, and Luke tossed the phone onto the sofa, grimacing as the careless motion sent pain slicing through his side. Miller had turned his mood sour with the crack about being a dull date. No one had ever complained, but Luke didn’t kid himself about what most women wanted from him. It wasn’t sparkling conversation.

His expedition tomorrow was aimed at more than just getting his mind off the fact that he couldn’t play football for the next week. He was tired of having people like Trevor and Miller make him feel uneducated. He could learn culture the same way he had learned football.

Spending the day listening to Miranda Tate’s silky smooth voice talk about whatever she would be talking about seemed like a pleasant way to ease into the project. He pictured her curvy body next to him on the leather seat of the limo and again felt a flash of arousal. Nothing wrong with having that bonus to add interest to the tour.

And she would keep his secret if he revealed his ignorance about whatever paintings she showed him.

The prospect of Miranda’s company put a smile on his face. He walked back out onto the terrace, where his brother sat by the fire pit, drinking a beer.

“Thank God,” Trevor said.

“What?”

“The smile is a major improvement. You’ve been as pissed off as a castrated bull since you got benched.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t remind me about that if you want me to keep smiling.” Luke lowered himself into an armchair. If he was careful, the bruises did nothing more than twinge.

“So why are you smiling?”

“I found something to do tomorrow.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I set up my meetings for tomorrow,” Trevor said. “If I’d known . . .” He trailed off.

He had known. Tuesdays were Luke’s day off. And neither one of them had expected Luke to have every day this week off.

“It’s okay, Trev.” Luke leaned forward to grab his water bottle, and agony wrapped around his rib cage. “Oof!”

“Still sore?” Trevor asked. “Have a beer for medicinal purposes.”

“I’d need something stronger than beer.”

“There’s always tequila.” Trevor grinned. “You used to put that away like a champ.”

“If you get up and get it, I’m in,” Luke said.