Love Irresistibly
Page 37
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.”
Fourteen
“ARE YOU GOING to tell us anything about this mystery man before he shows up?” Ford winked at Brooke. “If you want, I can give him the lowdown on your new approach to relationships. That the only gifts you’re accepting these days are sex toys and massage oils.”
“You mention those rules, and I’ll have the Wrigley Field security team haul you out of this skybox so fast your head will spin.”
“It would almost be worth it,” Ford said with a chuckle. “Except then I’d miss the dessert cart.”
“When is that coming, anyway? I love the dessert cart,” Tucker chimed in from the back row.
“Hey now, we can’t be wasting our time talking about dessert,” Charlie said. “We need to start planning all the questions we want to ask the mystery man. Gotta grill the guy to make sure he’s good enough for Brooke.”
Brooke realized she needed to cut them off at the pass. Ford, Charlie, and Tucker tended to get a little weirdly protective of her whenever she brought a new guy around—which was bad enough when she was actually dating the man in question. But Cade was just a friend. Of sorts. Friend-ish. “I appreciate it, guys. But I think you can skip the interrogation this time. I haven’t even had dinner with him yet.”
“I want to play the part of the hard-ass friend today,” Tucker said. “You know, just sit in the corner and glare at him the whole time. See if he crumbles.”
“I’ve seen your hard-ass face, Tuck,” Charlie said. “Mostly, you just look constipated. Ford, you’d better do the glaring.”
“No glaring, and no hard-ass routines.” Brooke said definitively. “No offense, but I doubt it would work, anyway. He’s a prosecutor. He works with the FBI, DEA, and Secret Service all the time.”
“Great,” Ford said, rolling his eyes. “Now he’s some hotshot lawyer type.”
“Hey. I am a hotshot lawyer type,” Brooke said.
“Yeah, but it’s different since you’re a girl. It’s cute.”
She threw him a look. “You did not just say that.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of this guy,” Tucker declared, out of the blue.
Brooke threw up her hands in exasperation. “You haven’t even met him. Besides, you three don’t like any of the men I introduce you to. You didn’t even like the Hot OB.”
“The Hot OB was a douche,” Charlie said.
“This mystery man better not be another douche, Brooke,” Ford warned. “I can’t spend six innings trapped in a skybox with a douche.”
Truly, she was losing brain cells just listening to this crap. “Seriously, if I were here with girlfriends, right now I’d be drinking daiquiris and talking about which of the players has the cutest butt.”
Ford chuckled. “All right, we’ll play nice. What’s the mystery man’s name, anyway?”
“Cade Morgan,” she said.
“Get out of here,” Charlie said in shock.
Ford pulled back in surprise. “Cade Morgan?” He looked her over for a moment, and then grinned approvingly. “Well done, you.”
Okay . . . that was kind of an odd reaction. “You boys have a thing for assistant U.S. attorneys I never knew about?”
They all looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head.
“Cade Morgan used to play football,” Ford said. “Quarterback for Northwestern. Won the Rose Bowl in 2001. How do you not know this? You deal with people in the sports industry all the time.”
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.”
Fourteen
“ARE YOU GOING to tell us anything about this mystery man before he shows up?” Ford winked at Brooke. “If you want, I can give him the lowdown on your new approach to relationships. That the only gifts you’re accepting these days are sex toys and massage oils.”
“You mention those rules, and I’ll have the Wrigley Field security team haul you out of this skybox so fast your head will spin.”
“It would almost be worth it,” Ford said with a chuckle. “Except then I’d miss the dessert cart.”
“When is that coming, anyway? I love the dessert cart,” Tucker chimed in from the back row.
“Hey now, we can’t be wasting our time talking about dessert,” Charlie said. “We need to start planning all the questions we want to ask the mystery man. Gotta grill the guy to make sure he’s good enough for Brooke.”
Brooke realized she needed to cut them off at the pass. Ford, Charlie, and Tucker tended to get a little weirdly protective of her whenever she brought a new guy around—which was bad enough when she was actually dating the man in question. But Cade was just a friend. Of sorts. Friend-ish. “I appreciate it, guys. But I think you can skip the interrogation this time. I haven’t even had dinner with him yet.”
“I want to play the part of the hard-ass friend today,” Tucker said. “You know, just sit in the corner and glare at him the whole time. See if he crumbles.”
“I’ve seen your hard-ass face, Tuck,” Charlie said. “Mostly, you just look constipated. Ford, you’d better do the glaring.”
“No glaring, and no hard-ass routines.” Brooke said definitively. “No offense, but I doubt it would work, anyway. He’s a prosecutor. He works with the FBI, DEA, and Secret Service all the time.”
“Great,” Ford said, rolling his eyes. “Now he’s some hotshot lawyer type.”
“Hey. I am a hotshot lawyer type,” Brooke said.
“Yeah, but it’s different since you’re a girl. It’s cute.”
She threw him a look. “You did not just say that.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of this guy,” Tucker declared, out of the blue.
Brooke threw up her hands in exasperation. “You haven’t even met him. Besides, you three don’t like any of the men I introduce you to. You didn’t even like the Hot OB.”
“The Hot OB was a douche,” Charlie said.
“This mystery man better not be another douche, Brooke,” Ford warned. “I can’t spend six innings trapped in a skybox with a douche.”
Truly, she was losing brain cells just listening to this crap. “Seriously, if I were here with girlfriends, right now I’d be drinking daiquiris and talking about which of the players has the cutest butt.”
Ford chuckled. “All right, we’ll play nice. What’s the mystery man’s name, anyway?”
“Cade Morgan,” she said.
“Get out of here,” Charlie said in shock.
Ford pulled back in surprise. “Cade Morgan?” He looked her over for a moment, and then grinned approvingly. “Well done, you.”
Okay . . . that was kind of an odd reaction. “You boys have a thing for assistant U.S. attorneys I never knew about?”
They all looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head.
“Cade Morgan used to play football,” Ford said. “Quarterback for Northwestern. Won the Rose Bowl in 2001. How do you not know this? You deal with people in the sports industry all the time.”
