“Not back in 2001,” she retorted. She’d been a sophomore in college back then. “Are you sure this is the same guy? Tall, looks delicious in a three-piece suit, annoyingly adept at taking a woman right to the edge of frustration and then—bam—sneaking in with a surprisingly sweet word or two?”

The three of them stared at her.

“Um . . . I would’ve gone with ‘brown hair, six-foot-four, two hundred and ten pounds, but we can use your description if you like,” Ford said.

Hmm. It sounded suspiciously like the same man. Brooke couldn’t decide if she was irked that she’d never known this about Cade, felt foolish, or was intrigued. Perhaps all three. “He mentioned something about a shoulder injury. Is that a football thing?”

“My God, woman. It’s only one of the most famous moments in college football history,” Ford said.

Charlie jumped in. “See, Northwestern was down by four points.”

“Which is a big deal to start with, because Northwestern barely ever makes it to the Rose Bowl,” Tucker added.

“Right. But Morgan was awesome that year—everyone was saying he would go pro,” Charlie said.

Ford picked up at this point. “So there’s fifteen seconds left on the clock, and it’s like, third and nine or something.” He stood up and pantomimed, reenacting the scene. “And Morgan pulls back out of the pocket just as this huge linebacker charges at him full speed as he goes for the sack, and then he throws this perfect sixty-five-yard pass right into the hands of a wide receiver in the end zone. The whole stadium went absolutely crazy.”

Charlie actually looked a little teary-eyed. “It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Brooke was impatient to hear the rest. Screw the game. “What happened to Cade?”

Ford grimaced. “Took a bad hit from the linebacker and landed the wrong way, I guess. Northwestern was so busy celebrating, they didn’t even realize at first that he was hurt.”

“He broke his collarbone, and totally messed up his shoulder,” Tucker said. “He never stepped on a football field again.”

Brooke sat there, finding it hard to believe that they were talking about Cade Morgan, the successful assistant U.S. attorney who’d made a name for himself prosecuting corrupt politicians and other high-profile white-collar criminals. “I never knew that about him.”

Just then, the door from the suite opened. Speak of the devil.

Cade stepped onto the skybox terrace, followed by Huxley and Vaughn. His eyes landed immediately on Brooke. Seeing his lips curve in amusement, she naturally opened her mouth to get in the first quip and—

—was cut off by a loud cheer from Ford, Charlie, and Tucker.

“Cade Morgan! Dude, we were just talking about you,” Tucker said enthusiastically.

So much for the hard-ass routine.

Ford reached out to shake Cade’s hand. “I was telling Brooke about your Rose Bowl victory.”

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” she said to Cade.

“Wait a second.” Vaughn looked at Cade in mock surprise. “You played football in college? Get out of here.” With a wink, he and Huxley joined Brooke at the railing, as Brooke’s three friends circled eagerly around Cade, bombarding him with questions.

“We’ve heard the Rose Bowl story before,” Huxley explained to her.

“I take it Cade likes to reminisce about the good old days,” Brooke said.

Huxley thought about that. “Actually, he never brings it up. Everyone else does.”

Brooke was surprised to hear that. Cade Morgan, being modest? Inconceivable.

She looked over at him, wondering if there was some kind of story there. She watched as he nonchalantly brushed off an effusive compliment from Tucker, something about how he’d put up great numbers at Northwestern despite not having an elite receiver.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise with him right then, seeing how her friends were fawning over him like twelve-year-old girls who’d scored backstage passes to a Justin Bieber concert. So instead, Brooke fell into an easy conversation with Huxley and Vaughn, talking a little about work, and then about the game.

At one point, she peeked over just as Cade said something that made the group laugh. She watched as Ford grinned and spoke animatedly, clearly into the conversation, and she couldn’t deny that it was a little heartwarming to see her best friend getting along so well with a guy she’d introduced him to. Maybe a lot heartwarming.

Luckily, Charlie’s voice rose above the fray before that line of thought went any further. “Probably, we should all hate you,” he was saying to Cade. “Illinois played against Northwestern that year for our homecoming, and you totally slaughtered us—” He broke off at the sound of a knock on the interior door to the suite.

A woman in her early twenties, dressed in a skirt and a black T-shirt with “Sterling Restaurants” in red letters, walked into the suite pushing a three-tiered dessert cart.

“Sweet Jesus, it’s here,” Charlie whispered reverently.

Brooke fought back a smile. The dessert cart was something Sterling Restaurants had introduced a year ago, as a perk for all of the skyboxes and luxury suites at the sports arenas they collaborated with. Needless to say, it had been a huge success. Four kinds of cake (chocolate with toffee glaze, carrot cake, traditional cheesecake, and a pineapple-raspberry tart), three types of cookies (chocolate chip, M&M, and oatmeal raisin), blond brownies, dark chocolate brownies, lemon squares, peach cobbler, four kinds of dessert liquors, taffy apples, and, on the third tier, a make-your-own sundae bar with all the fixings.