Page 20 of Breaking the Lawyer

"Brooks..." There's a warning in his voice, but it's half-hearted.

"Professional thoughts. Like, professionally speaking, you look nice."

He keeps his matter-of-fact expression on, but I don’t miss how he shifts in his seat. "We work together now. There are protocols."

"Right. Protocols. Like the protocol that says I shouldn't be thinking about what you look like under that shirt?"I reach across the table to straighten his tie, my fingers brushing against the warm skin of his throat. Totally by accident.

Christian's breath catches. "Exactly like that protocol."

"Good thing I'm a rule-breaker then." I deliberately mess with the tie, watching his face.

He looks down, then back up at me. Up close, I can see the single dimple on his cheek when he’s trying not to smile. I missed it already

"Your tie was crooked," I say.

"No, it wasn't."

"It is now." I grin, then add, "Oops."

He stares at me for a long moment. "You're trouble."

"You have no idea." I take a sip of my drink, suddenly feeling like I need it.

Because the truth is, it’s me who has no idea.

I have no idea what I’m doing exactly, or why. I do, however, know what I’mhopingfor, but the thought stays safely tucked on the back of my head. I’m not sure I’m ready to face it yet.

He leans back against the leather booth, his eyes never leaving my face. "You know what the really fucked up part is?"

"That you're attracted to the office newbie?"

"That I haven't been able to stop thinking about Sunday night." His voice goes quiet. Intimate. Like he's telling me a secret in a room full of strangers.

I swallow hard. "Which part specifically?"

The look he gives me is pure heat. Raw want. It hits me somewhere between my ribs and my gut, settling low and insistent. "All of it. Your voice, the things you said..."

"The part where I told you about my dick?"

His grip tightens on his glass. Knuckles white. Jaw clenched. Like he's physically restraining himself from doing something stupid.

"Especially that part." His words come out barely audible, and fuck, I can almost taste the tension crackling between us.

I'm staring at him across the table, and my brain is trying to make sense of what's happening to me. This isn't some casual attraction. This is need. Desperate, clawing need that's making me forget basic social conventions like not eye-fucking a man in public.

"Can I ask you something?" I set down my glass, suddenly needing to understand what's happening to me.

"Shoot."

"How long have you known you were gay?" The question feels important somehow, like the answer might help me make sense of the chaos in my head.

He tilts his head, studying my face. "Since I was fourteen. Why?"

I rake my fingers through my hair, suddenly feeling like I'm sitting naked in this booth. "I'm trying to figure out if I'm having a sexuality crisis or if it's just you."

His eyebrows raise. "Just me?"

"I mean, I've never looked at a guy and thought 'I wonder what he sounds like when he comes'. Until you."

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