Love Irresistibly (FBI/U.S. Attorney) Page 14

  The other part of him, however, thought he needed to stick his head under a faucet of icy water, or do whatever else it took to wake up out of this post-sex morning afterglow he was in.

  Because to get in with a woman like Brooke, he would need to let her in, too. And that was something he . . . just didn’t do. Wasn’t sure he knew how to do, even if he wanted to.

  But he did, at least, know one thing: he rocked the morning-after routine. He quietly got dressed, not wanting to disturb Brooke, and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, he grabbed the ingredients he needed to make a Denver omelette, the specialty of the house, and got some butter melting in a small skillet. He chopped up green peppers and onions and diced the ham, then tossed them into the pan. After that, he cleared off the small breakfast table at which he normally ate and set it for two, then got to work on the eggs.

  A few minutes later, as the scents of the sautéed vegetables and ham filled his kitchen, he peeked up from the stove to see Brooke coming down the stairs. Her hair was tousled about her shoulders, her cheeks had a rosy, just-woke-up flush, and she conspicuously wore the same Cubs T-shirt and shorts she’d had on the day before.

  “I can’t believe I slept so late,” she said, seeming rather abashed at the notion. She pointed to the stove. “What’s all this?”

  “Breakfast.” He nodded at the table by the window. “It’ll just be a minute, if you want to have a seat.”

  She seemed surprised by the offer. “Thank you.”

  Cade folded the omelette he had cooking on the stove, then slid it onto a plate. He immediately added more butter to the pan, then walked over and set Brooke’s omelette in front of her. He pointed to the items on the table. “Salt and pepper, that’s orange juice in the pitcher, and how about some coffee?”

  “Um . . . sure.”

  Cade grabbed the pot out of the coffeemaker on his counter and poured her a cup. Then he added the rest of the egg mixture to the pan, expertly lifting the edges of the omelette and tilting the pan as it set. He added the ham and vegetable mixture, and then some cheese, folded the omelette in half, and—voilà—had breakfast for two.

  He carried his plate over to the table and took a seat across from Brooke.

  “This is quite impressive,” she said.

  So she’d noticed. Good. “It’s no trouble,” he said with a wink. He took a bite of his omelette.

  Brooke dug in herself, chewing thoughtfully. “Let me ask you something. Do you tailor the breakfast to the woman you’ve just spent the night with, or is it always a Denver omelette?”

  Cade paused midchew.

  Oh, shit.

  Continuing on before he could answer, Brooke picked up her coffee cup and cradled it in both her hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a Denver omelette as much as the next girl. But I’m curious whether that’s your thing, or if you try to change up the routine depending on the specific woman. You know . . . like, green pepper because I have green eyes, ham because I’m so funny, and onions for all the tears you’ll shed after I leave.”

  She smiled cheekily when Cade threw her a look. Ha, ha.

  “It’s called a gesture,” he said. “One that other women seem to appreciate just fine.” This was not the way the morning-after breakfast routine typically went. Usually, the lady in question saw him working at the stove and was pleased, possibly even a little touched by his thoughtfulness. Often high jinks ensued from there.

  He should’ve known, however, that this woman would be tougher to impress.

  Maybe he should’ve left his shirt off while cooking.

  “So it is always the same omelette. Interesting.” With a teasing expression, she took another bite. “By the way, it’s delicious. I’m just usually more of a grab-an-energy-bar-on-the-way-into-work kind of girl.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of which . . . I really should get going.”

  “You’re working today?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Cinderella had her fun at the Cubs game and on the dining room table, and now she must get back to work.” She glanced down at her plate. “Sorry about the omelette.”

  Screw the omelette. Cade was more curious about something else she’d said. “Interesting analogy—you as Cinderella.”

  She appeared surprised, as if she hadn’t even realized what she’d said. Then she brushed it off. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just an expression.” Quickly, she changed the subject. “What about you? Any big plans for the day?”

  Cade tensed at the reminder. Actually, yes. Today he was meeting Zach for lunch, something he was both looking forward to and wholly dreading. He’d done a good job of ignoring the situation, of trying not to think about what the two of them would talk about, and pretending as though he didn’t have questions for Zach about the man who, technically, was his father.

  He saw Brooke watching him. “No big plans,” he said casually.

  “You have the same look you had the night we met at Bar Nessuno.” She studied him with her light green eyes. “Is everything okay?”

  Well, since you asked. . . . My father abandoned me before I was born, then abandoned me again when I was ten after deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble. And for years, every time I stepped onto a football field, it was to prove how wrong he’d been about that. But I moved on. Until my kid half brother showed up at my office, stirring up all sorts of crap I really don’t want to think about.

  Oh, sure. Because that info-dump wouldn’t leave her sorry she’d asked.

  Brooke was a busy woman; she’d already said that she needed to get into the office. She didn’t want to hear his maudlin, angsty tale. Frankly, if he had the choice, he wouldn’t think about it himself.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said. “There’s just this thing I have to do today. No big deal.”

  Her eyes searched his, and then she nodded. “Well, I really should get going.” She got up from the table, looked around the apartment, and then remembered. “No purse. Right.” She patted the back pockets of her jean shorts. “Money. Keys. It’s like I’m in college again.”

  Cade grinned. “I’ll drive you home.”

  Brooke waved this off. “That’s okay, I’ll catch a cab. Just, you know . . . text me sometime.”

  Text me.

  She didn’t need to say another word; every single man and woman knew what those two words meant after a hookup. And if Brooke wanted to keep things casual, that was A-OK with him. Great, actually. He had a lot going on in his personal life right then and didn’t need any more complications.

  In the doorway, he smiled at her, charming as always. “Don’t be a stranger, Ms. Parker.”

  He watched as she walked away, and then firmly, decidedly, shut the door behind him.

  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 though
t? 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 asshole.” 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 asshole 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 bei
ng 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.”