“Wow. That is some spread,” Vaughn said, wide-eyed.

Simultaneously, the men sprang forward, bulldozed their way through the suite door, and attacked the cart like a pack of starving Survivor contestants.

All except for one.

Cade stayed right there, on the terrace. He leaned back against the railing, stretching out his tall, broad-shouldered frame. “Whew. I thought they’d never leave.”

Brooke walked over, joining him. There was something she was very curious about. “Why didn’t you ever mention that you’d played football?”

“It didn’t come up,” he said with a casual shrug. He saw that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer and conceded. “It’s nice, sometimes, not to have it be the first thing people ask about.”

She supposed she could understand that. Her eyes traveled over him, easily able to picture him in a football uniform, especially given the way his T-shirt showed off his toned chest and defined, seemingly very strong arm muscles.

She gently touched her hand to his right shoulder. “Was it this shoulder?”

“Yes.”

Brooke looked up and saw the undisguised warmth in his eyes from her touch. When she moved her hand to the railing, he covered it with his own, lightly brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

“How many innings do we have to stay before grabbing that dinner?” he asked.

She felt sparks of excitement in her stomach at the husky tone to his voice. “Leave the Crosstown Classic early?” she said teasingly. “Never.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be tonight, is it?” His eyes held hers boldly. “Good.”

Fifteen

“I REALIZED SOMETHING,” Brooke said, in between bites of the chocolate chip cookie she’d snagged off the dessert cart. “I’ve seen you play football.”

After the game had ended, they’d hung out in the skybox with the other guys while waiting for the crowd to dissipate. Cade had suggested the two of them walk to a casual sushi lounge just around the corner from his apartment—a restaurant not owned by Sterling where, as he put it, “no one would be hopping around like jackrabbits on crack trying to keep Brooke Parker happy.”

She thought that sounded perfect.

It was a warm July evening, the air filled with the scent of backyard barbeques. Reveling in the Cubs’ victory over the Sox—a bigger cause for celebration on the north side of the city than the Fourth of July—people sat outside on front porches, balconies, and back decks, and played cornhole on the sidewalks and in the alleys while drinking wine, beer, and mixed drinks from plastic cups.

A far cry from the Gold Coast neighborhood she lived in. Brooke smiled, thinking about the likelihood of her Prada-clad neighbors ever getting together to drink beer and a play a round of cornhole on the rooftop deck of their high-rise building. Although, in fairness, they probably thought the exact same thing about her.

“Must’ve been a televised game,” Cade said. “Since we never played the University of Chicago.”

During their dinner at Bar Nessuno, Brooke had mentioned where she’d gone to undergrad and law school. “Nope. I saw you live and in the flesh. I was at that Northwestern/Illinois game Tucker mentioned earlier. Ford had invited me down that weekend for the homecoming festivities.”

Cade flashed her a confident grin. “And of course you now remember how impressed you were with my utterly brilliant performance.”

“Actually, I barely looked at the field. I was too busy flirting with this hot guy in Ford’s fraternity.” She smiled innocently when Cade’s grin turned to a frown. “You asked.”

They maneuvered their way through a crowd of people waiting on the sidewalk in front of an ice-cream shop. “I take it you’ve known Ford for a long time, then?” he asked.

“Since the fourth grade. We were neighbors,” Brooke said.

“Where did you grow up?”

She paused momentarily. “Glenwood.”

“I see.”

Brooke had heard that tone before, and knew exactly what Cade meant by that. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Glenwood was an extremely affluent suburb. In fact, Forbes had recently rated her hometown the ninth-richest neighborhood in the United States, something that had been repeated ad nauseam in all the Chicagoland newspapers.

“I know what you think you see,” she told him, as they turned a corner onto a residential street.

“Really?” He regarded her mock-archly. “And what do I think I see, Ms. Parker?”

“You see the pricey U of C education, the high-rise apartment off of Michigan Avenue, and then you hear that I grew up in Glenwood—”

“—Don’t forget those fancy red high-heeled shoes. As long as we’re generalizing.”

“—and you think you see somebody who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth.” She raised an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

He cocked his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, maybe I was thinking something along those lines. Tell me, then—what should I see instead?”

“Someone who has worked very hard to get where she’s at,” Brooke said, with no small amount of pride. That being all she needed to say about the subject, she kept walking, taking a few steps before she realized that Cade was no longer alongside her. She looked back and saw him waiting on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

“Just waiting for the rest of the story,” he said.