James, Julie: Love Irresistibly

“Well, somebody should ask for it. Smart, gorgeous, no wedding ring, no pictures of kids or a guy in her office. That is one very fine, very single woman.” Vaughn held out his hands when Cade threw him a get-real look. “What? Like I’m the only one who noticed those things?”

“I don’t think I’m comfortable discussing Brooke this way while she’s assisting us in an investigation,” Huxley lectured from the driver’s seat.

Cade stifled a smile and turned back around to face the road. Here we go again . Huxley was a good agent—a very thorough, organized, by-the-book special agent—who hailed from Harvard Law School and was never anything less than immaculately dressed in three-piece suits. A direct contrast to Vaughn, who was far less interested in playing by the rules, frequently sported a five o’clock shadow and a wrinkled suit, and often looked like he’d just rolled out of some strange woman’s bed. And probably had.

It was no secret that the two agents, partners for the last year, drove each other nuts. They bickered and bitched about each other like the Odd Couple of the FBI, yet Cade knew that deep down (perhaps deep, deep down) they respected each other’s methods in the field.

“Fine. We can talk about something else,” Vaughn said faux amiably. “Like your big date Sunday night, Hux. With Agent Simms.”

Cade watched as Huxley’s lips twitched in a slight smile at the mention of the redheaded female agent’s name. Still, Huxley refused to rise to the bait. “It’s an undercover op, Roberts. Not a date. Unlike you, I’m perfectly capable of having dinner with a woman without obsessing all night about getting in her pants.” He shot Cade a look, clearly seeking to change the subject. “And why is he asking you about getting Brooke’s phone number? Did something happen with Jessica?”

Crap . Leave it to Vaughn to bring that out into the open. Although Cade supposed the subject of the demise of his relationship would inevitably come up at some point. He and Huxley had gotten to know each other well over the last five months while working on the Sanderson investigation and were familiar with each other’s personal lives.

Nevertheless, he kept his answer short and sweet. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

Huxley looked over. “Sorry to hear that.” He treaded lightly with his next question. “Any particular reason?”

Sure. According to Jessica, the problem was that he was “emotionally unavailable.” They’d been having dinner last Friday night at Sunda, a sushi restaurant located in the River North neighborhood, when she’d laid that one on him. They’d just finished dessert, and she’d said something about him being distracted, and he’d mentioned offhandedly that he’d had a crappy day at work. He’d had a cooperating witness go south on him that morning in a motion to suppress, a witness who’d already pled guilty and had cut a deal for a lesser sentence in exchange for providing complete and truthful testimony. On the stand, however, the witness—who’d been key to Cade’s motion—had suddenly become hazy about certain important facts and deliberately evasive and uncooperative.

It had been a frustrating day, to say the least.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Jessica had asked.

“Sometimes cooperating witnesses rise to the occasion, and sometimes they don’t,” Cade had said with a shrug. “It happens.”

And somehow, that perfectly innocuous comment had led into a Whole Big Thing about how he never opened up and told her these types of things, and how she’d been feeling like she didn’t really know him even though they’d been dating for three months, and how he seemed like this charming, easygoing guy on the outside but underneath that façade he kept himself closed off from any real, genuine intimacy and refused to let anyone in.

“I see,” Cade had said when she finished with her speech. “Remind me never to mention that I had a bad day again.” He took a sip of his Manhattan.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she’d asked him.

Yep, that had been his plan. They had been in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and Cade didn’t think it was necessary to entertain their neighbors with the numerous ways in which he was, apparently, an emotionally stunted Cro-Magnon. But from the stubborn look on Jessica’s face, he’d sensed that leaving the restaurant without saying anything further wasn’t an option. She’d wanted answers.

And, actually, there was something he’d wanted to say.

Frankly, he didn’t think he was that bad of a boyfriend. He’d been raised by a single mother to be respectful of women, he never cheated, and if he said he would call a girl, he did. He had a good job, a nice condo, and could make a mean Denver omelette for breakfast. Nevertheless, he’d gotten this lecture from more than one ex-girlfriend about his so-called “emotional unavailability.”

Normally in response, he simply apologized to the woman for not giving her what she wanted. But tonight? Screw it. Come to think of it, it had been a shitty day. So for once, he’d decided to skip over the usual BS and keep it real.

He’d set down his drink and leaned in. “Fine. You want me to elaborate, I will. Here’s the deal: I’m a guy . Generally speaking, we’re pretty simple folk. I know women always want to think we have these deep, romantic, and emotionally angsty thoughts going on in our heads, but in reality? Not so much. You women have layers and you’re complicated and mysterious and you say one thing, but you really mean another, and it’s this whole tricky package that intrigues us and scares us and challenges us all at the same time. But men aren’t like that. You talk about me not letting you in, but maybe what you don’t realize is this: there is no in .” He pointed to himself. “It’s all right here on the surface, Jessica. What you see is what you get.”

Jessica’s expression had said she wasn’t buying it. “I’ve talked about this with my friends, you know. They say you probably have a fear of rejection. I’m thinking it has something to do with whatever happened with your father. That thing you won’t talk about.”

Christ . And so the psychoanalysis began. “I think, by definition, one actually has to have a father in order to have father issues,” Cade had said dryly. And he most definitely did not. Just an asshole of a sperm donor who’d gotten his mother pregnant.

Jessica had glared at him pointedly. “Nothing going on underneath the surface, huh? Right . ” She picked up her purse and stood up from the table. “I think it’s probably best if you don’t call me anymore. We obviously have different ideas about what it means to be in a relationship. For me, it’s a little more than sex, having somebody to go to dinner with, and sharing the occasional interesting work story. It’s about putting yourself out there, Cade. For your sake, I hope you give that a shot someday.”

She’d stalked out of the restaurant, leaving Cade sitting alone.

He took another sip of his drink, ignoring the stares of the people seated around him.

Well.

That had pretty much sucked.

CADE REALIZED THATHuxley was looking at him, waiting for an answer about why he and Jessica had broken up.

“It was a mutual thing,” he said simply.

Huxley nodded. “Got it.”

And, being men, they left it at that.

“You know, I think we should celebrate today’s fortuitous turn of events with a drink,” Vaughn suggested. “Come Sunday night, we’ll have Senator Sanderson right where we want him, and to top it all off, Huxley miraculously has a quasi date with an attractive woman—granted, one who’s being paid to have dinner with him, but we’ll gloss over that part. All thanks to the lovely Brooke Parker.”