Love Irresistibly

Seventeen



CADE HAD BEEN waiting at a table at DMK Burger Bar for ten minutes when Zach showed up.

“Sorry I’m late.” Zach sounded winded, as if he’d been rushing. “There was some problem on the Blue Line and the train sat on the tracks forever.”

“The Blue Line?” Cade asked. That didn’t stop anywhere close to the restaurant.

Zach nodded. “I had to take that into the Loop and then transfer to the Brown Line. I’m starving after all that.” He picked up the menu and began reading through it.

Cade felt like a jerk, hearing that Zach had taken two trains to meet him. He’d suggested DMK because he’d figured that a place with twenty different types of burgers would be a teenaged boy’s wet dream. But he hadn’t even bothered to ask Zach what neighborhood he lived in—mostly because he’d been trying to avoid hearing anything specific about the rest of Zach’s family.

So many things he didn’t know about his brother. And he was quickly realizing that if he was going to have a relationship with Zach, avoiding the subject of Noah Garrity would be impossible. “You should’ve said something, Zach. We could’ve gone someplace closer to you.”

Zach shrugged. “I don’t want to be a burden to you or anything.”

Was that what he thought? Cade looked the teenager straight in the eyes, wanting to be sure they were clear on this. “You’re not a burden. I want to be here. And the next time, you pick the restaurant.”

Zach grinned, his face lighting up at the reference to them doing this again. “Cool. I’d really like that.”

Glad that was settled, Cade picked up his menu. “So what looks good?”

“No clue. I’ve never even heard of half this stuff.” Zach read out loud from the menu. “‘Roasted hatch green chile, fried farm egg, Sonoma jack, and smoked bacon.’ Or how about this one? ‘Fresh goat cheese, pickled red onions, and blueberry barbeque sauce.’ It says that’s on a bison burger.” He peered up at Cade. “That’s, like, a buffalo, right?”

The waitress showed up at their table before Cade could answer. “Are you guys ready to order?” She turned first to Zach, who squirmed in his seat.

“Oh. I guess I’ll have, um . . .” he trailed off while looking at the menu uncertainly.

In hindsight, Cade realized the place was a little trendy for a sixteen-year-old. What did he know? He hadn’t hung out with a teenager since he’d been one. “While he’s thinking, I’ll have the number eight. Cheddar cheese, and let’s do ketchup and mustard instead of mayo. Just a plain old, regular cheeseburger.”

Zach looked relieved as he handed his menu to the waitress. “I’ll have one of those, too. And a chocolate shake.”

After the waitress left, Cade watched as Zach ripped open a straw and sucked down nearly half of the glass of ice water sitting in front of him.

“It’s like an awkward first date, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Zach pointed between them. “Oh, this? Yeah, I guess.”

“Just with a man who’s half my age and happens to be related to me.”

“That would be awkward.”

They both grinned, and some of the tension was broken. Cade fell back on lawyerly instinct—he was good at getting witnesses to talk, to open up and feel comfortable. With that in mind, he started with one of the few things he did know about Zach. “So you like football, obviously.”

Zach toyed with the straw wrapper. “Yeah, I’ll be on varsity this year.”

“What position do you play?”

A voice from the past echoed in his head. What position do they got you at?

He really needed to figure out how to shut that voice up.

“Wide receiver,” Zach said. “I’ve been running a lot of drills this summer, trying to shave a few hundredths off my forty. Coach is always saying that my hands are my strength, not my feet. But I’d still like to be a little faster.”

“Have you tried overspeed drills?” Cade asked.

Zach shook his head. “What’s that?”

“Training that reduces resistance when you sprint, allowing you to run faster than normal. Wrap a towel around your waist and have a teammate hold you back while you start to run. He lets go after a few steps, and you get a burst of speed, quicker than what your body normally can do. And you could also run sprints downhill.”

They talked football for a while, with Zach asking enough questions to make Cade curious. “Noah played wideout in high school. I’m sure he’s had lots of tips for you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve just, you know, been trying to come up with a few ideas on my own, too.” The waitress brought Zach his chocolate shake, and he seemed grateful for the interruption. He took a long draw of the shake and smiled. “That’s a really good shake.”

Cade’s prosecutor instincts were on alert, sensing that something was not quite right here. “Can I ask you something, Zach? Do you want to play football?” He could easily imagine Noah, looking cool with his leather jacket and cigarette, trying to relive his glory days by pushing his son—the one he acknowledged, that is—into the sport.

Zach relaxed, as if he’d been bracing himself for a different question. “Heck, yes,” he said emphatically. “I love the feeling I get every time I strap on those pads, the rush of adrenaline in the locker room, and then that smell when I first step on the field. It’s like a combination of freshly cut grass, sweat—”

“And gasoline,” Cade finished.

“Exactly.” Zach studied him interestedly. “Can I ask you something? How did it feel when they told you that you couldn’t play anymore?”

Cade had been asked this question many times, and normally, he just fluffed off the answer or made a comment about going out on a high note. He appreciated people’s interest, and he understood their curiosity, but he saw no reason to let the whole world in on the fact that that had been one of the worst moments of his life.

But with Zach, for whatever reason, the usual answer felt like a cop out. “I’d seen myself going pro,” he told him. “Pictured it in my head probably a thousand times since I was ten years old. To have that dream taken away from me was a really tough pill to swallow.”

“So what’d you do?”

Cade shrugged. “Spent the next three months wallowing in self-pity, skipping classes, getting drunk, and generally being an a*shole.” He paused, considering his audience. “Not sure I’m supposed to be telling you things like that.”

“I’m sixteen. I’ve heard the word a*shole before.”

“I meant the part about skipping classes and getting drunk in college.” Cade pointed. “These stories are anecdotes, not advice. When you’re older, don’t do the things I did.”

“Wow,” Zach said. “You just sounded so much like my dad right then it was scary.”

“Yeah, well, when your dad tells you not to do the things he did, that’s damn good advice to take,” Cade said dryly.

Zach paused. “You really do hate him, don’t you?”

The blunt words, out of the blue, took Cade by surprise. “Mostly, I try not to think about him, Zach. And that’s how I’d like it to stay.”

Zach nodded, disappointment etched on his face. “I’m not saying I blame you. I’d probably feel the same way if I were in your shoes.”

There was one thing, however, that Cade did want to know. For Zach’s sake. “He’s a good father to you, then?”

Zach hesitated. “I don’t know how to say this to you . . .” He stared down at the table for a moment, then back at Cade. “But, yeah. He’s a great dad. He told me that he really settled down after meeting my mom, and to me he’s always been just a normal, regular father. I mean, he’s not perfect, and this past year he rode me nonstop about getting my English grades up, but he’s my dad, you know?”

Cade looked away, focusing on a small crack on the wall. No, he didn’t know.

The waitress suddenly appeared at their table, carrying two plates. “I’ve got two plain-old, regular cheeseburgers here.”

“Thank God,” Cade said, grateful for the interruption. Whew. Things had gotten a little intense for a moment there.

The waitress smiled. “You guys are hungry, huh?” She tossed her curly brown hair over her shoulders, looking appreciatively at Cade. “Anything else I can get you?”

He had a feeling she wasn’t referring only to the lunch menu. And she was attractive, no doubt. But still . . .

“I think we’re good for now,” he told her.

“If you think of anything else, just let me know.” She sashayed off in her short black skirt, all legs and shapely, early-twenties ass.

Zach stared, wide-eyed, ketchup bottle hovering midair above his plate.

Cade reached over and casually plucked the bottle out of Zach’s hands, squirting ketchup onto his own plate for his fries.

“She is really nice . . .” Zach blinked, coming out of his daze. “Hey, you never finished your story. You said that after you got injured, you spent three months being pissed off. What happened after that?”

“I finally got tired of being angry,” Cade said. “The spring after I got injured, I was having lunch with a bunch of my former teammates, and they were talking about gearing up for the next season. I realized that I could either bitch for the rest of my life about not being a part of that, or I could start working on a backup plan. Law school seemed like a good fit.”

Zach seemed skeptical. “Sure, but, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t miss the smell of grass and gasoline and sweat.”

Cade smiled. “Now it’s the smell of a courtroom that drives me. The smell of leather briefcases and coffee and justice. Nothing quite like it, Zach.”

Now Zach looked really skeptical. “Sure.”

Cade laughed, having the sudden urge to put the kid in a headlock or something. “All right, I’m done being on the witness stand. Now it’s your turn. What’s this problem you had with your English grades?”

Zach blushed to the roots of his light brown hair. “It’s nothing. I had a harder time concentrating in that class, that’s all.”

“Why only English?”

Zach shrugged. “You know, different environment, different people . . .”

Ah. “Different people. I see.” Cade eased back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Judging from the fact that your face is about the shade of that ketchup bottle, I’d say we have one of two situations going on here: hot teacher or cute classmate. Which is it?”

“Cute classmate.”

“We can work with that. What’s her name?” Cade asked.

“Paige Chopra. She’s got this long, dark hair, and these light green eyes, and she’s really smart. Like, probably the smartest girl in my class,” Zach said.

“Green eyes and really smart, huh?” Cade asked. It sounded like he and his brother had similar tastes in more than just cheeseburgers and M&M cookies. He rested his arms on the table, ready to come up with a plan.

His kid brother was getting this girl.

“Okay, so tell me what the problem is.” He gestured to Zach. “You’re a good-looking guy, you play football. Girls like these things.”

“Not this girl,” Zach said, picking at his fries. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m just a dumb jock.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because whenever I’m around her, I act like a dumb jock.” Zach threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t help it, she makes me nervous. She sat next to me last year in English class, and every time the teacher called on me I could see Paige watching, and I wanted to say something insightful or whatever. But I choked. Every time. And since participation was forty percent of our grade, and I could barely, like, string a sentence together, I got a C. I’ve never gotten a C before.”

Zach shook his head, continuing. “I thought I’d forget about Paige over the summer, especially with . . .” He hesitated, then gestured at Cade. “You know, me tracking you down and everything. But her dad owns the ice-cream shop in my neighborhood, and she works there over the summer, so I keep going in and buying all this ice cream and trying to think of something to say. But after twelve double-scoop cones, the most I’ve gotten out is ‘Hi, Paige.’” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s a mess, dude. I’m a mess.”

Cade sat across from his brother, the alleged mess, trying really hard to fight back a smile. In his entire life, he’d never felt so utterly smitten as Zach clearly was over Paige Chopra. He’d dated plenty of girls and women, but even as a teenager he’d been more guarded with his emotions.

Zach waited for him to say something. “You’re looking at me weird. It’s because I’m totally pathetic, right? I mean, you’re Cade Morgan. You probably never have to worry about girls, right?”

“You’re not pathetic. Actually, I envy you a little.”

“Because I’m a mess?” Zach asked dryly.

“No. Because you’re not afraid to be a mess.”

“It’s not exactly a conscious decision, you know. I’d much rather just be cool and get the girl.”

“You want to be cool? Try talking to her.”

Zach sighed. “Can’t I just text her?”

“No.” Cade pointed emphatically. “No texting. If two people like each other, they should be able to sit down and have an actual conversation, the way normal adults do when they want to get to know one another better.”

Zach raised an eyebrow. “Dude . . . it’s just texting.”

Right. “Regardless, you’re going to have to figure out some way to have a conversation with this girl. So if she makes you that nervous, you need a battle plan. Start off the conversation with something she likes. Something you know she’s interested in.”

Zach considered this. “I think she likes poetry. I once heard her talking to Ms. Stevens after class about how she’s written some poems herself.”

Cade clapped his hands. Bingo. “It’s perfect. If you have trouble talking to this girl, find another way to let her know how you feel. Maybe get her a book of poetry.”

“I’m a sixteen-year-old wide receiver. I know option routes and screen passes. I don’t do poems.”

“You will if you want Paige Chopra to like you. Sounds like you need to up your game for this one.” Cade grinned as Zach made a big show of rolling his eyes. “Just keep it simple, tough guy. Try T. S. Eliot.” He chuckled at Zach’s look of surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. I took a poetry class as an elective in college. I’d heard that the professor gave everyone who showed up an A.” And he’d also heard from a fellow football player that the poetry chicks were hot and arty and got big-time turned on whenever a guy showed his “sensitive side” by discussing poems—all of which he could confirm as very true—but that was an anecdote for a different day.

“I’ll think about it.” Zach took a sip of his shake. “What about you? I know you’re not married. Are you seeing anyone or anything?”

An image of Brooke sleeping in his bed popped into Cade’s head. Then a second image came to mind, of her giving him the “text me” speech at his front door. “Nothing serious.”

“Really? ’Cuz you paused there.”

If one more person commented on these damn alleged pauses . . . “Just eat your lunch,” Cade said.

With a grin, Zach threw Cade’s words back at him. “If you’re having trouble talking to some girl, maybe you need to find another way to tell her how you feel.”

“I know how to talk to her just fine.”

“Maybe you’re not saying the right things, then.”

“Can we change the subject?” Cade ran his hand through his hair. “You’re sixteen years old. Trust me, relationships get a lot more complicated when you’re an adult.”

“Is this a friends-with-benefits situation?”

“Aren’t you a little young to know about friends-with-benefits situations?”

“I didn’t say I was partaking in them myself,” Zach said. “But shockingly, yes, I have heard of scenarios in which adults engage in intercourse without riding off into the sunset together.”

Cade tried to decide how best to sum up the situation with Brooke. “There is a woman. We are friendly. There have been benefits.”

“Do you like her?”

Cade gestured with his burger. “Of course I like her. She’s, like, the smartest, wittiest, woman I’ve ever met. And hot, too.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d be confused about that,” Zach said. “Smart, witty, and hot. Sounds like a real complicated situation to me.”

Okay, fine. To youthful, unjaded ears, it probably did sound odd. Cade tried a different way to explain. “She and I are on the same page. We’re just keeping it casual.”

“Hey, you’re an intelligent guy, you obviously know what you’re doing,” Zach said. “But casual or not, if this girl’s that great you probably need to follow your own advice.”

“What advice is that?”

“Up your game.” That said, Zach took a big bite of his cheeseburger.

Cade thought about that. Up his game? Pfft. If he had been thinking he might want to try to change Brooke’s mind about their just-having-fun situation—which obviously he did not, since no man of sound mind and body ever messed with a just-having-fun situation—maybe then he’d worry about upping his game.

He scoffed. “You’re a teenager. What do you know?”

“I’m wise beyond my years,” Zach said, his mouth full of burger.

Cade laughed, a warm feeling spreading across his chest. A*shole or not, Noah Garrity had managed to do one thing right by him.

He’d given him this.


* * *


BROOKE BLINKED, REALIZING that she’d been staring out her office window for several minutes.

She sat at her desk, pen in hand, allegedly with the purpose of reviewing the revised employment contracts that Sterling’s outside counsel had sent her. She still had six contracts to review, yet she’d been having trouble staying focused. Not usually a problem she faced.

It was just after noon, and outside her window she could see couples strolling hand in hand along Michigan Avenue, and women walking with oversized bags while enjoying a leisurely day of shopping. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one of those. Normally she was so busy, she targeted a specific store and got in and out as fast as possible.

Behind Michigan Avenue, she could see Oak Street Beach. The sandy lakeshore was packed with people, all enjoying the sunshine and the waves.

Maybe she’d rushed out of Cade’s apartment too quickly.

As quickly as the thought popped into her head, Brooke shoved it right back out. The contracts piled on her desk weren’t going to review themselves, after all. Besides, she and Cade were keeping things casual—that meant no hanging around his place “just because,” regardless of whether she had to work or not. They’d had sex—something lots of adults did. Sure, it had been hot sex, and there’d been a few laughs, too, but that didn’t mean she wanted to pick out curtains with the man. And given his well-practiced Denver omelette routine, it was safe to say she wasn’t the first woman to spend the night at Maison de Morgan. Nor would she be the last.

The thought made her feel a little . . . prickly.

Get over it, Parker.

This was exactly the way she wanted it, she reminded herself. Just her and her work, together on a Sunday afternoon. Daydreaming about her and Cade while staring longingly at the beach was pointless.

Even if it would be fun to imagine him all tanned and shirtless.

Brooke mulled that over for a moment.

Aw, hell. One fantasy wouldn’t kill her.

She was lying on the beach, with no cell phone or laptop or iPad in sight—definitely a fantasy right there—listening to the sound of the waves breaking peacefully against the shore. Cade, of the aforementioned tanned shirtlessness, sat next to her while rubbing sunscreen on her back.

Brooke closed her eyes. She could practically feel his strong hands caressing her skin . . . then the light, teasing touch of his fingers brushing her hair off her shoulders as he leaned down, his voice husky and warm in her ear, and said—

“Brooke.”

Her eyes flew open. Okay . . . she really could hear him. Slowly, she turned around in her chair, and saw, unbelievably, Cade standing in her office doorway.

This was one heck of a vivid daydream.

“You might want to think about locking the main door to the office when you’re working here alone,” he said, no hello or anything, just bossing her around.

Definitely the real Cade.

She ignored his lecture for a moment, since there was a more pressing issue at hand. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted awkwardly in the doorway, as if he wasn’t sure of the answer to that himself. “If you have to work on a Sunday, the least you can do is eat more than an energy bar,” he said gruffly. He held up a white paper bag.

Brooke stared in surprise. “You brought me lunch?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

She checked out the label on the bag. “DMK is twenty minutes from here.”

“I was in that neighborhood, and now I’m here,” he said in exasperation. “Seriously, woman, you are impossible to feed.” He strode over and set the bag on her desk. “One cheeseburger with spicy chipotle ketchup and a side of sweet potato fries—chosen specifically for a certain spicy and sweet girl I know—and a green dill pickle for your eyes. So there.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Brooke studied him. “You seem very ornery right now.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. “Just . . . eat your Brooke Burger. Stop asking so many questions. Sometimes a guy just wants to buy a girl lunch. Any objections to that? Good. Enjoy your Sunday, Ms. Parker.”

He strode out of her office, gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

Brooke stared at the doorway and blinked.

No clue what that was all about.