Page 6 of Breaking the Lawyer

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.

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