Page 3 of Breaking the Lawyer (Straight No More #4)

THE AWFUL NOISE that wakes me up and splits my skull in half turns out to be my phone buzzing against the nightstand.

I promptly ignore it, groan, and summon all the strength I possess to haul my ass out of bed, then stumble toward the bathroom with one eye still glued shut.

At least I have the entire Sunday to get my shit together, so not all is lost.

The fluorescent light above the mirror feels like a personal attack, and I look exactly as I feel—not great, to say the least. My hair's sticking up in three different directions, there's a mysterious stain on my t-shirt that I don't remember acquiring, and my mouth tastes like I gargled with regret.

I'm halfway through brushing my teeth when my phone pings again. Then again.

"Seriously?" I mutter around my toothbrush, foam dripping down my chin.

I spit, rinse, and shuffle back to check my notifications. Two Venmo payments—one from Mike, one from Tyler, both with eye-roll emojis and variations of " fine, you win ," Mike's complete with an additional middle finger emoji for good measure.

I grin. Not bad for a night's work.

And then it all comes back.

Christian.

Yep. I did that. I flirted. With a man .

I give myself a moment to decide how I feel about it, and it feels... odd. Different.

Not bad, exactly, just…unexpected?

The way he challenged me, the verbal sparring, how he made me work for every reaction. It was fun in a way I hadn't anticipated.

I sink onto the edge of my bed, phone heavy in my hands. Does he expect me to call? Text? He did give me his number, but now I'm wondering if it was just pity. A consolation prize for the pathetic straight guy trying to win a bet.

Christ, what kind of asshole hits on someone for money?

I feel like a complete villain.

The three hundred suddenly feels tainted, like guilt money. Maybe I should just give it all to him and call it even.

Hey, sorry for being a dick, here's your inconvenience fee .

But then I remember his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when I said something particularly stupid.

He didn't seem offended. Amused, maybe. Entertained.

I should probably text him. Just to make sure I didn't cross any lines. But then I realize he doesn't have my number, and if I just text out of the blue, he won't know who it is. I could sign it, but what if he doesn't remember my name?

A voice memo seems like the middle ground. At least he'll recognize my voice—it's pretty unforgettable, if I do say so myself.

I open the message thread, stare at Christian's name for a solid thirty seconds, then hit record.

"Hi. Umm. Good morning." I glance at the screen. 11:30 AM. "Still technically morning, right?" God, I'm already rambling. "It's Brooks. From last night. Anyway, just wanted to wish you a good day and, umm, it was nice talking to you and... yeah. Take care."

Take care? Take care ?

A self-depreciating chuckle bursts out of me.

Okay, so obviously that was…not great.

Maybe I just need some practice. I clear my throat and try again.

"I had fun last night. No—last night was fun." I shake my head. "Might as well tell him he's hot or something," I mutter to myself.

Okay, be professional. I'm a grown man with a law degree.

"I hope I didn't offend you, that wasn't my intention." Too formal. I sound like I'm dictating a legal brief.

Maybe I should ask a question. But what? How much do you bench press? What's your favorite color? Do you come here often—oh wait, I might have already used that brilliant line.

Deep breath. I'm an adult. I can have a normal conversation.

"Hey. It's Brooks, from last night. You know, the pesky, argumentative straight guy." I pause, trying to find the right words. "Anyway, just wanted to check in and make sure I didn't accidentally offend you. Otherwise, have a great day. Peace."

There. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now I'll just repeat it without all the false starts and—

The second I release the record button, I realize just how much I've fucked up.

The entire rambling mess auto-sends.

All of it.

Every awkward pause, every false start, every snuffle.

All. Of. It.

"Nooooooooo. No, no, no, no, no." I shoot to my feet, frantically tapping the screen, trying to unsend it somehow, only to accidentally send a question mark followed by a string of random letters.

I'm making it worse.

Okay, okay, calm down. It's not that big of a deal. So I made myself look like an insecure, rambling goofball, so what? It's not like I'll never recover from this.

Except... did I actually call him hot in that message?

Jesus H. Christ.

I quickly power off my phone like that will somehow undo the last five minutes of my life, then throw it onto my bed like it's radioactive.

That settles it. I'll just change my phone, my number, maybe move to a different state, and I’ll never have to think about this again.

This day is clearly a false start.

I'm going back to sleep.

***

THE EARTHQUAKE THAT wakes me up some unspecified amount of time later turns out to be loud banging on my door, and it takes me a second to realize I'm not actually dying—I just wish I were.

I scramble out of bed, tripping over my shoes, and open the door to find Tyler looking like he wants to make my wish come true.

"Oh. So you are alive."

I squint. "What—"

"Dude, I've been calling you for hours. Thought you got mugged on your way home last night or something."

Oh… Right. "Yeah, I've..." I can't admit the real reason because then Tyler's going to have questions I'm not prepared to answer. "I forgot to charge my phone," I mutter, the guilt of lying to my friend itching in my chest. "Sorry about that."

He takes a few more verbal jabs at me, and it takes me several minutes to get back into his good graces—not before promising to buy him dinner next week.

There goes half of my winnings.

"Anyway, here," Tyler says once sufficiently placated, shoving a piece of fabric against my chest that I catch at the last second.

"What's this?" I ask as I try to untangle it. It feels silky between my fingers.

"Something blue and borrowed. Good luck charm. For your first day."

"I'm not getting married."

Tyler feigns offense. "Okay, then," he snaps and tries to take it back, but I press it to my chest and don't let go.

I have a feeling I'm going to need all the good luck I can get.

Tyler leaves with a final “Good luck,” and I close the door behind him.

What time is it, anyway? I look outside the window and find the sun already hanging low in the sky.

Awesome. Leave it to me to fuck up my sleep schedule the day before starting a new job.

I go back to my bedroom, pick up my phone from the bed, sigh heavily, and power it up.

First I see the time—5 PM, lovely—and then, notifications start flooding in.

My temperature spikes when I notice one from Christian.

I swallow hard. It's okay. I just won't open it and it'll be like it never happened.

I last about point-three seconds before curiosity takes over and, with shaky fingers, I open the conversation, bracing myself to burst into flames from embarrassment.

Christian left me a voice memo.

Three hours ago.

I suddenly wish it wasn't Sunday so I could get smashed before facing this particular dragon—The Drake of Impending Cringe.

I hold my breath and press play.

"You know," comes Christian's deep, silky voice, followed by a small pause, like he's thinking about what to say.

He does sound somewhat amused, but not overwhelmingly so.

"I always knew lawyers liked to argue, but witnessing one argue with himself is a first for me.

I'll admit, it's a rather... charming process.

" I'm still holding my breath while Christian lets out a sophisticated chuckle.

"Don't worry. You couldn't offend me if you tried.

Thanks for acknowledging I'm hot though—the denial made you blink at an unhealthy rate.

" And now I really wish I were dead. "You're not that bad yourself.

For a straight guy. Good luck on your first day, counselor. "

He remembered , is the first thought that forms in my brain as the message ends.

I shake it off. He just has a good memory, that's all.

I stare at the screen for a minute or two, finger tapping the edge of my phone. He didn't gloat at my antics. I know I would have. He seems…nice.

Maybe I should end it there, but before I can think better of it, the tip of my finger finds that damn record icon again. After all, how often do you randomly meet nice people?

"Why, thank you, but I'm all set—no luck necessary.” I hear myself say.

"I have my something blue, something borrowed," I recite, my eyes landing on Tyler's tie on the edge of my bed.

"And something old, by the looks of it. I won’t be surprised if they promote me right away.

Also, I'm not just not that bad , I'll have you know.

You just didn't get to see my best parts. "

The second the words leave my mouth I wish the floor would swallow me.

How do I continuously find new ways to embarrass myself?

I huff. "You know what? This damn auto-send thing is a hazard.

Whoever designed it needs to be sued, immediately.

For emotional damage and infringement of privacy.

It has a tendency of soliciting private thoughts in a way I don't appreciate. "

There. That ramble should serve as a sufficient decoy.

Seriously, who came up with this social death-trap?

I plop down on my bed and open the app settings, searching for a way to change that, when my phone pings again. I close the menu to find a new memo in the conversation thread. It's only fifteen seconds long. I press play.

"Marrying your job, huh? I guess congratulations are in order." His voice is a little breathier this time, like he's been walking or running. "Also, what would the best parts be?" There's a small pause. "Actually, don't tell me."