Page 10 of Breaking the Lawyer

I let out a semi-frustrated groan. "You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

Christian laughs. "Guilty, I guess. Still, will you answer?"

Sighing, I move to sit on the edge of my bed, the setting sun warming one side of my face. "Because I shouldn't care whether you find me attractive or not."

"But you do?"

I'm not sure why that makes me smile, but it does. "Of course not. That would be ridiculous.” I sigh. "It's like you broke me, or something."

"Ibroke you?" He asks, chuckling. "You came up tome, remember?"

Another smile ghosts my lips, the memory so fresh yet somehow already ingrained somewhere deep in my brain as I observe it in my imagination, remembering details I'm not even sure I noticed last night.

"Brooks?"

"Mmhmm. I'm shrugging."

"Oh, you're shrugging. This line of communication is more verbal, you know."

"And now I'm rolling my eyes." That's a lie. I'm actually grinning.

But then, Christian speaks again and my smile fades in a way I'm not ready to examine. "I think I should go now."

"Yeah," I say, although what I really want to say is 'don't', then wait.

And wait.

And then wait some more until my smile finds its way back when, as if following an unspoken contract, both of us play our characters perfectly—idiots who suddenly forgot how to end a call. "Can I ask you something?"

He stifles a chuckle and in my mind's eye I can see a small dimple appearing on his left cheek. "Will you drop it if I say no?"

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Go ahead, then."

The second I open my mouth my bravado evaporates with my silent exhale. As it should—it's a bad idea. A terrible idea. Probably the worst idea I've had since…at least last Tuesday. I catch my reflection in the mirror mounted on my closet's door and negotiate with myself.

Sure, it'd be wiser to just shut up, but I'll never see him again. Hell, we'll never even talk again, most likely. It's not like there'll be consequences.

And with that oh-so-compelling argument, I finally say, "What are you wearing?"

On the plus side, he doesn't make me wait long. Everything else, is a shitshow—from the unmistakable shift in his tone, to the prolonged sigh he lets out as he says, "Why are you asking?"

Fuck. Think fast. Backpedal. Dosomething. "I am, umm…" I dart my eyes across my bedroom like the rest of the sentence is written on a wall somewhere. Unfortunately, it isn't, and what I end up with is, "interested in fashion?"

Which would have worked if it wasn't for the fact he's already, you know,seenme.

As if agreeing with my sentiment, Christian laughs. "Oh, I see." At least he doesn't sound so stern anymore. "Clothes. I'm wearing clothes."

"Ohh,clothes," I mutter, my cheeks changing colors so rapidly I have to turn away from the mirror to spare myself. "Here I thought you were an armor type of guy."

Still chuckling, he says, "What areyouwearing?"

And even though I know he isn'treallyasking, I fully intend to jump right into the abyss of this particular conversation. That is, until I look down at what I'm actually wearing.

I whine, then mumble, "Clothes." And just as I'm about to call this exchange out for what it is—hopeless—the lawyer part of me takes over, determined to get its way at all costs, embarrassing the shit out of me in the process. "Seven inches."

I changed my mind.Thisis the worst idea I've had since last Tuesday.

---