She was chatting with Bobby Tom and the pair of shapely redheads draped over his arms when she heard someone yell.

“Quiet, people! Quiet!”

Everyone in the crowd was startled to realize that commanding voice was coming from Ron, and they all fell silent. He was standing at one end of the room holding a telephone, his hand cupped over the mouthpiece.

“Phoebe!” He thrust the receiver forward. “Phoebe, it’s for you!”

She regarded him quizzically.

“It’s the president!” He spoke the words in a stage whisper that could have been heard in the parking lot.

She had just spoken with the NFL president a few hours earlier, and she didn’t understand why Ron was so agitated. “I thought we had everything settled.”

“The President! Of the United States! He’s calling to congratulate you.”

She gulped. Her hand fluttered to the neck of her sweater. The players laughed and then fell silent as she walked up to take the phone.

A woman’s voice said, “Miss Somerville, I have the president on the line.”

Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see Dan standing next to her, a grin the size of a football field spreading all over his face. “Now, Phoebe.”

She regarded him blankly. “What?”

“Now.”

His meaning slowly penetrated her brain, and she stared at him in disbelief. He meant now! She pressed her hand over the mouth of the receiver. “Dan, it’s the President! I can’t—”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unbearably smug. She realized that he had been waiting for a moment just like this. That rat! He had set her up, and now he was going to spend the rest of their lives teasing her unmercifully about not having the guts to take his dare. That cocky, infuriating jock! Somebody definitely had to take him down a peg or two.

The President’s voice boomed over the wire. “Congratulations, Miss Somerville. It was an amazing game.”

“Excuse me, sir.” She gulped. “I have Miss Somerville right here.” She shoved the phone at an astonished Sharon Anderson.

Dan gave a hoot of laughter. She grabbed him and pulled him through the crowd. Just as they reached the door, she spoke.

“You’d better be worth it, studmuffin.”

In the background, Sharon Anderson, after a stumbling start, had risen to the occasion. Much to Ron’s bemusement, he heard her say, “I’m fine now, Mr. President. Yes, it was quite harrowing. By the way, sir, I want you to know that all of us in the Stars’ organization share your concern about adequate funding for preschool education. . . .”

“Studmuffin?” Dan pulled out onto the highway. “You called me studmuffin!”

Phoebe was still trying to catch her breath. “This game can go two ways, Coach. Don’t be surprised if you’re in the final two minutes of the Super Bowl—”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”