Love Irresistibly

Thirteen



FORD HAD ACTUAL tears in his eyes.

He was laughing so hard, he could barely get the words out. “‘Brooke Parker shared a link. Ten Rules of Casual Sex,’” he said, repeating the update that he had received on his Facebook home page last night, along with her five hundred and twenty-eight other “friends.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s soooo funny.”

“I should thank you for the advice,” he said. “Because all along I’d only been spending seventy percent of my time naked when hooking up. Sounds like I need to start bare-assing it more often around the ladies.”

Brooke gestured with a French fry. “Just so I know, how long can I expect the comedy routine to go on?” They were halfway through their lunch already and there’d been no sign that things were letting up anytime soon.

“Oh, you’ll be hearing about this until we’re old and gray.” Ford went right back to it. “Brooke Parker wants everyone to know that you should never take a bath with a man unless you’re ready to take his last name. Showers only, girls!”

“That’s clever. Take a bath, take his name. I like how you strung that all together.” Brooke spread more mustard on her club sandwich. “You know, I didn’t actually write the stupid rules.”

“No, you just recommended them to everyone and their mother.”

Yes, she was painfully aware of that. “I told you already, I hit ‘cancel.’”

“All that means is that you posted the link without leaving a comment,” he informed her, most belatedly. “But you still needed to go in and delete it if you wanted to remove it from your wall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tech Support. I realize that now.” Last night, as soon as she’d gotten out of the elevator, she’d taken down the article. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been soon enough, and her Facebook account had been hopping all night and morning. “Do you realize that I’ve gotten two hundred and thirty-seven friend requests since last night? All from men.” Because the lascivious schmoes on her page had naturally “liked” her status, which meant that all of their other lascivious schmoe friends could see her original link and wanted in on the action. “I’ve been asked out on more dates in the last eighteen hours than I have in the last eighteen years.”

“I can’t fathom why.”

She threw Ford a look when he started laughing again. “It really isn’t funny.”

“It really is.” He smiled at her glare. “If I break out a few bare-chested pictures of Ryan Gosling on my phone, will that help take the sting off?”

Brooke thought that over. “It might.”

“That was supposed to be sarcastic.” Ford picked up his cheeseburger. “Why were you reading about the rules of casual sex, anyway?”

“I’d planned to ask you for some advice, but when you didn’t pick up your cell I decided to kill some time on the Internet before a conference call.”

“Advice on what?” Ford gave her a sly look, putting it together. “Wait a second . . . Brooke Parker, are you having sex with somebody?”

“A little louder, Ford. I’m not sure the people all the way in the back of the bar heard you.” Luckily, the place was crowded and noisy, and half of the people there were already tipsy in advance of the big game. She lowered her voice. “And no, I’m not having sex with anyone.”

“Ah. But there’s someone you want to be having sex with.”

“Let’s say that I’m entertaining the possibility.”

“Really?” Ford appeared intrigued. “Tell me more. Who’s the guy?”

“Someone I met through work,” Brooke said. “He asked me to have dinner with him tonight. I haven’t said yes. Yet.”

“But you’re going to?”

She smiled coyly at that. “Perhaps. After making him wait another”—she checked her watch—“two hours and six minutes.”

Ford looked confused. “Why two hours and six minutes? I don’t get it.”

“Sorry. Just an inside joke.”

Brooke paused in surprise as soon as the words came out. Ford raised an eyebrow. For twenty years, he had been the guy she had inside jokes with.

“Interesting,” he said.

“It’s not a big deal,” Brooke said quickly. “It’s just dinner.”

“Got it.” Ford took a sip of his Diet Coke. He set it down, giving her a knowing look.

“Really, Ford. Just dinner.” She watched as he simply nodded, still with the smug look. “I don’t like you sometimes.”

He laughed that off, having heard it for years. “I love you, too, Parker.”


* * *


“SOMEWHERE ELSE YOU need to be?”

Cade glanced over at Vaughn, who’d caught him checking his watch. “Just debating whether I want to grab another beer now or wait until the next inning.”

“Nice excuse. Except that’s the second time you’ve checked your watch since we got here.”

Huxley chimed in from the seat on Vaughn’s left. “The third time. He also checked when you were flagging down the hot-dog vendor.”

Cade grumbled under his breath. Damn FBI agents—they didn’t miss a trick. “It must be so exhausting for you two to have these amazing powers of perception that you can never turn off,” he said sarcastically.

Vaughn grinned. “Yes. But it also makes us unbelievably cool.”

“I’m okay with it, too,” Huxley agreed matter-of-factly.

More grumbling ensued.

Admittedly, Cade was already a little on the prickly side. In just twenty minutes—not that he was counting—his dinner offer to Brooke would expire and he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from her. Was she really not interested? He didn’t buy it. Beneath all the quips, there was chemistry between them—he felt it, and she did, too.

Time would soon tell just how right he was about that.

Their professional relationship was over. The Sanderson case, the hacker at Sterling she’d asked him to track down—all of that had been resolved. They had no reason to see each other again unless, simply, they wanted to. He’d made his interest clear and now the ball was in her court.

Cade noticed Huxley and Vaughn looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “I’ve got an offer on the table that expires soon. Just waiting to hear back from the other side,” he said by way of explanation.

Vaughn seemed satisfied with that answer. Underneath the jokes, he was as committed to his job as Cade was to his. “Guess there’s not much else you can do except sit back and enjoy the game, then.” He gestured to the lush green outfield that stretched out before them, flanked by Wrigley Field’s distinctive ivy-covered walls. Eighty degrees and clear blue skies made it the perfect day for baseball—although for today, the day that pitted Chicago brother against brother, the stadium would’ve been packed even in inclement weather.

Cade had scored tickets to the Cubs/Sox game months ago, and Vaughn was right—he needed to forget about Brooke and enjoy the afternoon. They had good-quality man stuff going on: baseball on a sunny day, cold beers, and hot dogs. With that thought, he flagged down a beer vendor and bought another round for all three of them. Huxley and Vaughn were off duty and unarmed that day—FBI policy prohibited agents from consuming alcohol while carrying—which meant they all could relax and bask in the pure, feel-good fun of America’s pastime.

The inning was an exciting one, first with a base hit and then a two-run homer that made the crowd go wild. Cade was on his feet amidst the screaming and cheering, beer in one hand and high-fiving Vaughn and Huxley and the perfect strangers sitting in the row in front of them, when his cell phone vibrated in the front pocket of his shorts.

He pulled out the phone and saw he had a new text message from Brooke Parker. One word.

YES.

Cade noticed the time of the message and realized she’d conveniently accepted his dinner invitation one minute before it expired. He couldn’t decide if that made him want to laugh out loud or throttle his cell phone—perhaps both—but he did know one thing.

This woman drove him crazy.

Standing beside him, Vaughn tapped him on the shoulder. “So?” He raised his voice over the crowd’s roar and gestured to Cade’s phone. “Good news?”

Cade tucked the phone back into his pocket. “She said yes.”

Vaughn blinked—clearly having expected Cade to say something else—then threw out his hands. He had no clue what they were talking about, but right then everything was a cause for celebration. “She said yes! Hell, yeah!” He grabbed Huxley and pointed to Cade, shouting over the crowd. “She said yes.”

“Sweet,” Huxley said, tapping his beer to Cade’s. “Who said yes?”

“Brooke Parker. I’m seeing her tonight.”

“F*ck you,” Vaughn said, somewhat in awe. “I knew it. You’ve been digging her from the moment she told you to shove your obstruction of justice threats up your ass.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the shy, quiet types.”

“When did all this happen?” Vaughn asked.

“We met for drinks last Friday to discuss a criminal matter related to Sterling. Things progressed from there.”

“Is that right?” Vaughn looked at him slyly. “Just how far did they progress?”

“Still not comfortable talking about Brooke this way,” Huxley interjected.

Cade held back a smile, grateful for the excuse to change the subject. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel like engaging in locker room talk about Brooke. “Huxley’s right. Try to keep it classy, Vaughn.”

Vaughn studied him for a moment. Seven years they’d been best friends, and they knew each other well. “You like her.”

Cade took a nonchalant sip of his beer. “Just watch the game.”

“Evading the question,” Huxley said under his breath to Vaughn. “I think we got our answer, Agent Roberts.”

“We sure did, Agent Huxley,” Vaughn said.

Cade shook his head.

He really needed to get some non-FBI friends.


* * *


IN THE STERLING skybox, Brooke smiled when Cade’s response came in a few minutes after her text message.

ABOUT DAMN TIME.

Quickly, she wrote back. WAS I CLOSE TO THE DEADLINE? OOPS.

OOPS, MY ASS. I’LL BE AT YOUR PLACE AT 7:00.

7:30, she texted immediately.

OF COURSE YOU’D SAY 7:30.

Brooke laughed at that, perfectly able to hear him saying the words. NEED TIME TO CHANGE AFTER CUBS/SOX, she explained. NOW STOP DISTRACTING ME—I’M TRYING TO WATCH A BASEBALL GAME.

There was a pause, then he texted back, WHERE ARE YOU SITTING?

Brooke shook her head. Such a guy thing to ask, wanting to know how good her seats were. SKYBOX, she wrote. TO THE RIGHT OF HOME PLATE.

She’d just hit “send” when Ford’s voice came over her shoulder.

“What are you acting all secretive about?” Sitting in the seat next to her, Ford tried to peek at her phone. “Sending dirty text messages to the mystery man, perhaps? Remind me again, which of the rules of casual sex was that? Number Five?”

“Still, with the rules?”

“This is payback,” Ford said. “How many times have you mocked me for the time I accidentally drunk-dialed you instead of Cara Patterson my sophomore year of college?”

From the row behind them, Charlie let out a bark of laughter. “Man, I love that story.”

Brooke held her cell phone to her ear, doing an imitation of Ford’s drunken slur that night. “Hey, babe—my roomatez wen’ to after-hours. Got the ho’ plaze to myself. How ’bout you come over for some strawburry margaritas?”

Charlie cracked up, while Tucker, who sat in the seat next to Charlie, chimed in. “Did we ever figure out why it was strawberry margaritas?”

Ford waved off their laughter. “The TV was on when I called . . . I think I’d seen a commercial for Chili’s . . . it seemed like a good suggestion at the time.” He pointed at Brooke. “And you didn’t exactly help the situation.”

Brooke feigned innocence. “Why? Because I pretended to be Cara and told you that I’d be right over?”

“No, because you pretended to be Cara and told me you wanted to pour the margarita all over my body and lick up every drop.”

“Certainly explains why Tuck and I later found you passed out cold on the kitchen floor, buck-ass naked, with one hand wrapped around a bowlful of strawberries,” Charlie said.

“I don’t think we even had a blender back then,” Tucker mused.

“No, we didn’t. Something I figured out after I was already naked, waiting for ‘Cara’ to show up,” Ford said with a dirty look at Brooke.

“Poor Ford,” she said. “Naked and cold on the kitchen floor, with nothing but a bowlful of strawberries and X-rated, tequila-soaked dreams. Truly tragic.”

He put his arm around her. “And this, Parker, is why the Facebook story will never die. Ever.”

Just then, Brooke’s phone rang with a new text message.

“The mystery man chimes again,” Ford said as Brooke reached for her cell.

Brooke read the text message Cade had sent her, and pulled back in surprise.

HOPE THE GUY IN THE STRIPED SHIRT KNOWS YOU ALREADY HAVE PLANS TONIGHT.

“He’s here,” Brooke said out loud.

“Who’s here? The mystery man?” Ford asked.

“He can see us.” Brooke leaned forward in her seat and peered over the skybox railing to the crowd below. There were thousands of people in the lower deck of the stadium.

Her phone rang, and she saw that it was Cade.

“To your right,” he said when she answered her phone. His voice was husky in her ear. “Who’s the guy?”

“Just a friend.” Brooke stood up and leaned against the railing, her eyes skimming the stands.

“Farther down the first base line. Nope, not that close to the dugout.”

She looked farther to her right. Still no sign of him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Definitely. You’re getting warmer now. Warmer . . . Look for Huxley’s glaringly white polo shirt.”

That should help, considering most of the crowd was dressed in Cubs and Sox T-shirts. A few rows back, Brooke finally spotted them, first Huxley—wow, that really was a white shirt—then Vaughn, who waved at her, and finally Cade.

He was too far away for her to see his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her nevertheless. It was a little strange at first, seeing him out of a suit and wearing a simple gray T-shirt and cargo shorts instead.

So this was what the mighty Cade Morgan looked like when he wasn’t being a tough-guy prosecutor.

Not bad.

“If that had been a Sox shirt, I would’ve had to cancel dinner,” he said in her ear as they faced each other across the crowded baseball stadium, referring to the Cubs T-shirt she wore.

She smiled. Funny coincidence, them being at the same baseball game on her one day off in ages. Perhaps it was a sign. “How are those seats down there?” Cade and the two FBI agents sat in the lower deck, in the sun, about halfway up the first base line.

“Not bad. But not as good as the seats up there, I’d bet,” he said.

Well, yes. Not to toot her own horn or anything, but the skybox was pretty awesome. Eight seats overlooking home plate, with a door that led to an air-conditioned private suite complete with couches, a plasma television, and a kitchen stocked with wine, beer, top-shelf liquor, and everything from hamburgers and hot dogs to beef tenderloin and shrimp—all courtesy of Sterling Restaurants.

“Although, now that you mention it, I am getting a little concerned about Huxley,” Cade added. “The poor guy’s probably going to get a hell of a sunburn out here. Seeing how he’s pretty much the whitest man in America.”

Brooke watched as Huxley, clearly having overheard the comment, shot Cade a look and said something she couldn’t pick up over the phone.

“Well, I would really hate for Agent Huxley to suffer,” she said. “Especially since I happen to have a few extra seats in this skybox.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Good.” Cade’s voice dropped lower, adding one last thing before hanging up. “And tell your friend in the striped shirt that he’s in my seat.”