Page 1 of Breaking the Lawyer (Straight No More #4)

THE LIGHTS WERE my first clue. Bright enough to make your eyes water when you look directly up, while simultaneously providing little to no visibility on the eye level, casting a purple hue on the cramped space, making everyone look way more enigmatic than they actually are.

This, and the several very attractive, very same-sex couples swaying between tall tables in a space that definitively wasn’t designed to serve as a dance floor

“This is a gay bar,” I mutter once my friends and I settle by a too-small table in a shadowy nook.

“You don’t say,” Tyler replies. If he’s trying to conceal the amusement in his voice, he’s failing. "I thought the rainbow flag outside might have been a clue."

So much for trying to get laid on my last weekend of freedom.

My face must have subtitles because Alex chimes in, “Consider it your final night of spontaneous fun before corporate America claims your soul. It’s all groundhog day from here on out.”

“Which syllable of celebration are you struggling with?” I call out to his back as he’s already making his way to the bar, a few pairs of eyes landing on me in the process.

Great. I’m already breaking etiquette and I haven’t even had my first drink yet.

I lower my voice and lean in closer to Tyler’s ear.

“Can we even be here? It feels illegal.”

He rolls his eyes."It's a bar, not a secret society. Just don't gawk at people like they're animals in a zoo, and you'll be fine."

I nod, trying to look casual as I scan the room. Men dancing with men, men laughing with men, men checking out men.

It all feels like I’m trespassing somehow.

A tray filled with ice cold beer glasses lands on the table as Alex materializes himself back, carving out space between Mike and I with his elbows.

"What happens if I get hit on?" I ask.

"Say thank you and politely decline," Alex says, already looking more comfortable than I feel. "It's a compliment, not a death sentence."

"Besides," Tyler adds with a smirk, gesturing at my worn jeans and baggy t-shirt, "pretty sure you're safe."

I straighten up, eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Tyler says, taking a sip of his drink, "that you look about as gay as a football coach at a monster truck rally."

"So you think I can't pull a guy?" I cross my arms. "I'm not attractive enough for you?"

Tyler snorts."I think you're missing the point."

"No, I get it." I square my shoulders. "You think I couldn't get a number if I tried."

Alex and Mike exchange glances, clearly amused at the turn the conversation has taken.

"I'll bet you a hundred bucks you can't," Tyler challenges, eyes glinting.

I know exactly what he’s doing. Unfortunately for me, he knows me well enough to know exactly what my next sentence will be.

"Make it a hundred from each of you," I counter, looking around at my friends, "and you're on."

"This I've got to see." Mike laughs, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Now, I’ve been alive long enough to know that’s exactly how I end up in trouble—with silent amusement painted on my friends’ faces. But to hell with that—it is my last breath of freedom for the next…forever? Come Monday, it’ll be all suits and ties and faking my way to my next salary bump.

Might as well make it count.

I take a swig of my beer, icy bitterness coating my tongue and push away from our table. I don’t even make it three steps before I march back to snag the glass and take it with me. I might need it.

Alex takes the opportunity of course. “Giving up already?”

I tilt my head and flip him off before turning around to take stock of my surroundings.

The not-really-dance-floor is fully packed now, bodies moving in sync with the beat. Not my scene. I opt to circle around it, making my way toward the bar instead.

I can’t say I have a plan per-se, but how hard can getting a man’s number be? Compliments, conversation, confidence—the three Cs never fail me.

Except… Pretty much everybody seems to already be coupled up, either dancing, or cozying up, or getting lost in this particular kind of conversation that screams, ‘ Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but wanna fuck ’?

I'm so lost in the one thing Tyler warned me not to do—gawking—that I don't notice the man directly in front of me until we collide, my shoulder bumping hard against his back.

"Shit. Sorry," I mumble, steadying myself.

He turns, one eyebrow raised."No problem." His eyes—dark and assessing—run over me from head to toe. "Though you might want to watch where you're going. You look a little lost."

I straighten up, taking in the stranger.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and a mouth that seems perpetually on the edge of a smirk, and there’s a small dimple on one of his cheeks.

His hair is dark and styled in that effortless way that probably took half an hour to perfect, and his shirt—a deep blue button-down—fits him like it was tailored specifically for the contours of his body.

Objectively good-looking, I suppose.

"Maybe a bit." I find myself admitting.

He leans against the bar. "Like a cardinal in a flock of crows."

"My friends bet me I couldn't get a guy's number," I blurt out, because might as well. It wouldn’t be him anyway—way out of my league. If we were playing the same sport, that is.

He laughs. It's a rich sound, coming from deep in his chest, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that lets me know he’s probably in his early thirties. "Your friends were right."

My head jerks back."That's rude."

"It can't be rude if it's the truth." He puts zero effort in trying to conceal his amusement.

"You're punchable, you know that?" I say before I can stop myself.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he drops his voice lower. "Pretty sure you’re not supposed to do that. You wouldn't want to do anything illegal now, would you?"

"Everything feels illegal in this place," I mutter, glancing around.

Especially myself .

His smile widens, revealing a row of perfect teeth. "First time?"

"That obvious?" I ask, feeling my cheeks warm slightly.

"Like I said—cardinal, crows." He extends his hand. "I'm Christian."

"Brooks," I reply, taking the offered hand. His grip is firm, his palm warm. The handshake lasts a beat too long before I pull away.

"So, Brooks," Christian says. "What's your plan? Going to bat those pretty eyes at some unsuspecting guy and hope for the best?"

I blink, then fake-cough a few times, stalling.

Bat my eyes? My pretty eyes? Typically, this would be my part of the script. Being on the receiving end feels… I’m not sure. I haven’t decided yet.

“Actually,” I say, then pause. Can I do it? Can I flirt back? How hard can it be? “Actually,” I repeat, “I’m going to seduce you.”

Shit. Guess I can’t do it.

Christian nearly chokes on his drink. "Excuse me?"

I take a deep breath. "You heard me." Might as well roll with it, right? "I'm going to make you want to give me your number."

He sets his glass down, turning to face me fully. The movement brings him closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—something warm and expensive that makes me think of leather-bound books and crackling fireplaces.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" he asks, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Good question. I haven't thought that far ahead.

"I'll start by buying you a drink," I improvise. "What are you having?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Whiskey, neat."

I flag down the bartender and order two. As I wait, I rack my brain for what to say next.

"So," I begin awkwardly when our drinks arrive. "Come here often?"

Christian's laugh is deep and genuine. "That's your opening line? Really?"

My face heats up and I straighten up in a desperate attempt to appear taller. "I'm new at this, remember?"

"Clearly." Christian takes a sip of his whiskey, eyes never leaving mine. His gaze is intense, almost intrusive. "But I appreciate the effort. It's... cute."

"Cute?" I frown. "I wasn't going for cute."

"What were you going for?"

I lean in, lowering my voice."Irresistible."

Something flickers in his eyes. His pupils dilate slightly, and for a second, I feel a rush of satisfaction at having caused that reaction.

"Bold of you to assume you could be irresistible to me," he says, but there's a new edge to his voice, a slight roughness that wasn't there before.

"Am I wrong?" I challenge, feeling a strange thrill at the back-and-forth. Maybe I’m not that bad at this game after all.

He studies me for a moment, his eyes tracking over my face like he's memorizing it. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his verdict.

"You're nice enough, Brooks," he finally says. "But I'm here for a reason, and it's not to entertain straight guys trying to win childish bets."

The words shouldn't sting, but they do. I guess it is kind of childish. Maybe even slightly inappropriate. But if I’m about to spend the rest of my productive life in trenches of corporate world, with my shirts always crisp and my hair always tamed, then fuck it—might as well be a little chaotic for once. Besides…

"I'm not just doing this for the bet," I hear myself say. “I’m having fun, actually.”

Christian inspects my face again, but doesn’t speak, one raised eyebrow doing the talking for him— I don’t believe you .

And so I continue. “I think you’re…interesting.”

"Interesting," Christian repeats, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "That's a new one."

"What do people usually say?"

"Hot. Sexy. Fuckable." His eyes are challenging, daring me to look away first. I don't. "Not interesting ."

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. "Well, I guess you're those things too. Objectively speaking."

"Objectively speaking," Christian echoes, his smile growing. "How scientific of you."

"I'm just saying I can see why someone would be attracted to you," I clarify, feeling my face heat up again. "You know, if they were into... that."

And now I’m rambling. Great.