Love Irresistibly

Twenty-five



BROOKE KNOCKED ON the front door of Ford’s loft, needing to talk to her best friend, the one person in the world who could help her work through her messed-up feelings.

Instead, she got Charlie.

“Brooke! You’re here!” he said excitedly, pushing the door open. His eyes skimmed over the skirt, blouse, and heeled sandals she’d worn into the office. “A little dressy for a barbeque, but we’ll take it.”

Brooke cocked her head in confusion. “Barbeque?” Then she remembered—oh, shit—the barbeque. Ford had sent her an e-mail about it two weeks ago, and she’d meant to respond, but then she’d gotten sucked into a project at work and the e-mail now was undoubtedly languishing at the bottom of her inbox.

“Right, the barbeque,” she said, playing it off with a casual wave of her hand. “Ignore the work clothes, I didn’t want to waste time changing after leaving work.” Brooke stepped inside. “Wow. Full house.”

She took a look around and saw people everywhere—all of them dressed casually. Feeling a little self-conscious in her business attire, Brooke followed Charlie into the kitchen. The counter was covered with hamburger fixings, pasta and potato salads, coleslaw, chips, and fruit.

Ah, yes, of course—she should’ve brought something to eat or drink. To the barbeque she hadn’t even remembered.

She was the worst best friend ever.

“Brooke?”

She turned around and saw a woman with a sleek ebony bob smiling at her. “Oh my gosh, Rachel—hi!”

Rachel hugged her excitedly. “It’s so good to see you!” She pulled back. “It’s been, what, probably about three months, right?”

“Has it been that long?” Brooke tried to think when the last time was that they’d seen each other. Rachel was married to one of Ford’s friends, and the two of them had independently become friends as well. “I guess since the last book club meeting I went to. When was that?”

“Hmm. What was the book?”

Brooke had to think. “The one about the woman who lost her memory every night when she went to sleep.”

Rachel pointed. “Yes. Ooh, that was a good one. And, sweetie, that was five months ago.” She laughed. “I remember now—you hadn’t finished the book yet, and you kept covering your ears when we talked about the ending. That’s not why you stopped coming, I hope?”

Brooke smiled. “No, I just had a hard time making the seven o’clock meetings, and I wasn’t ever able to finish the books . . .” she trailed off, still surprised by something. “Has it really been five months?” She’d always enjoyed hanging out with Rachel. Actually, she’d enjoyed hanging out with all the book club girls, but the meetings had always seemed to come at a bad time with work.

“Ford keeps us up-to-date on all the great things you have going on at Sterling,” Rachel said. “Any new deals on the horizon?”

“I’ve got a couple of feelers out with a few—” Brooke stopped herself, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. “No. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else. For the rest of the evening, I don’t want to even hear the name ‘Sterling Restaurants.’”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Brooke looked to her right and saw Ford approaching her, with his big, familiar grin.

“I can’t believe you actually made—oof.” He was cut off as she half-tackled him in a hug.

She squeezed him tightly, oddly feeling as though it had been ages since they’d gotten together even though they’d just met for lunch last week.

“What was that for?” he asked with a chuckle, when she finally pulled back.

“Just glad to see to you,” she told him.

Charlie and Tucker walked by right then, and noticed Brooke and Ford standing with their arms around each other. Charlie nodded slyly at Tucker, who opened his mouth to comment—

“Still not happening,” Brooke and Ford said in unison.


* * *


AFTER THE LAST of the stragglers had left, heading either home or to the bars depending on marital status, Brooke picked up Ford’s place. He’d gotten a call from his mother, and since Brooke knew how those calls could go, she figured she might as well do something productive to kill time.

Ford came out of his room just as she was wrapping up the rest of the potato salad. “You didn’t have to clean all that up.”

“I don’t mind.” Actually, it eased some of the guilt she felt about forgetting about the party. “How’s your mom?”

Ford sat down at one of the bar stools in front of the island. “She says my dad is talking about going to rehab again. What’ll that be, the sixth time?” he asked dryly. He ran his hand over his face.

“Maybe this time it’ll actually work,” Brooke said.

Ford peered up to give her a get-real look. “There’s a better chance of both Charlie and Tucker getting laid tonight.”

“Ouch. Those are not good odds.”

That got a slight smile out of Ford. She walked around the counter and threw her arms over his shoulders in a backward hug. He squeezed her back. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She understood—Ford’s father had never been his favorite topic of conversation. “Rachel told me she’s pregnant.”

“Good for them. Brandon told me they’ve been trying for a while.”

“Something I probably would’ve known if I’d seen her in the last five months.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Brooke,” Ford said. “Work, family, whatever—everyone’s busy these days.”

“Maybe.” She chewed on that, falling quiet as she began stacking the glasses in the dishwasher.

After they’d finished cleaning up, they sat outside on Ford’s deck and looked out at the skyline while munching on leftover chips and taco dip.

“I think Charlie and Tuck were brokenhearted when Cade didn’t come with you tonight,” Ford said. “They have a big-time man-crush on that guy.”

“No kidding. They asked me four times if I would text him and ask him to stop by.” Brooke paused. “Actually, though, I think I might cool things down with Cade for a while.”

Ford looked surprised. “Really? I thought you guys were having fun.”

“We were. We are. But lately, it seems like things are getting . . . complicated.”

“Huh.” Ford thought about that. “Because you have feelings for him, you mean?”

Brooke pulled back. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Well . . . why didn’t you say anything?” she asked indignantly.

“I assumed you knew.”

“No, I didn’t know. Not until last night, anyway, when I got out of the bathtub and found him in my kitchen cooking dinner. It just looked so . . . right.”

“Having a good-looking, six-foot-four, former football star turned hotshot prosecutor make dinner while you take a bath? Yeah, I’m guessing that’s an image a lot of women would say looks right.”

Brooke shot him a wry look. “I meant that it felt right. The two of us being together.”

“So maybe it is.”

Brooke thought that over, and then shook her head. “I’ve been down this road. Three times in the last eighteen months. I know how it turns out. Things will be good, at first, but then slowly he’ll start making comments about my job, and how many hours I work. And then the comments will turn into arguments, maybe even something about my success being ‘emasculating’—”

“Who said that?” Ford demanded, cutting her off.

“Spencer. The Hipster Photographer who came before the Hot OB.”

“An even bigger douche,” Ford scoffed. “You know how Cade’s different from those other guys?”

“He’s not a douche?” she guessed.

“Exactly.”

Brooke smiled, appreciating Ford’s flash of protectiveness, before turning serious. “I like Cade. A lot. But there’s so much happening at work these days, good things, and I need to stay focused. I’m pitching to the Bears on Monday, and I should be preparing for that, or working on the other 137 things on my to-do list, and not skipping out early on a Friday to relax. Because that’s not something I can typically do, and soon enough he’ll figure that out. And I don’t want to start this, only to have Cade tell me in four months that I’m not a ‘big-picture’ girl or some other ‘Sorry, sweetie, it really is you, not me’ line like that.” She shook her head. “I just can’t hear that . . . from him.”

Ford looked over and nodded. “Okay.”

They both fell quiet, looking out at the skyline. Finally, Ford spoke. “You know you brought this on yourself by not following the Rules.”

Smart-ass. “I did follow the Rules.” Well, mostly. “But I somehow ended up here, anyway.”

And, unfortunately, she knew what she needed to do about that.