It was after a long, grueling week. Five of Blake’s seven cases got pushed back more than a month, one of his cases had gone on a little too long, and the last case, which was not his forte’, had not gone as well as he had hoped. He was never one for estate law, but his client, a shape-changer, was named in the will and the family was contesting it because she was a shape-changer, not a human.
Blake could see himself arguing for shape-changer rights at the Supreme Court, which was why he took on this case. The judge, however, had a thing against shape-changers who weren’t supers, and rewarded half of what it said in the will. Blake was going to work on the appeal over the weekend.
Trixie stopped him before he went into his office. She handed him a box. “This came by courier for you,” she said.
“From who?” he asked, looking over the box.
“Angry Emerald Enterprises.”
Blake chuckled. “Oh, really?” He couldn’t imagine what was inside. He hadn’t seen Scott in forever – mostly due to his own fault – so maybe this was his way of reminding him that they needed to get together sometime soon. He brought the box inside his office and set it on the desk. Ignoring his blinking voice mail, he tore open the box. On the top was a folded piece of paper. He took it out, and saw it was in Scott’s formal handwriting: “For your weekend warrior moments. Scott.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t,” said Blake with a smile, and unwrapped the tissue paper. Folded on top was a fine blue silk cape, which he pulled out of the box. The cape was attached to a large blue collar, and something that looked like a harness. He pulled out long blue gloves, and also blue boots, and a very skimpy silk blue pair of briefs with a …
“Codpiece?” Blake laughed, and looked inside the box. No shirt, but a small mask. He stepped away from the window, and stripped down. He watched what he was doing in the full-length mirror, putting on the cape first, fastening the large blue collar and shrugging into the harness. It was tight, and barely covered his nipples, but did nothing to hide his chest at all. He put on the skimpy codpiece and briefs, tucking himself in. Next came the boots that zipped up to his mid thigh, also silk and spandex. Last were the gloves.
“Jesus Christ, I look like a dancer,” he laughed, as he modeled the costume in front of the mirror. Everything was tight, skimpy, and felt great against his bare skin.
His intercom went off. “Mr. Thompson? Your five o’clock is here.”
“Shit!” He struggled out of the straps and silk, tangling up his arms for a moment and almost tearing the harness. He stripped down again, got dressed just as there was a knock on his door. “Yeah, hold on!”
“It’s only me, Blake,” said one of the partners.
He pulled on his socks, stuffed his feet in his shoes, and walked over to the door.
“Tyler,” said Blake, breathless.
“I never knew you were one of those thirty percenters.”
“One of what?”
“You know, the thirty percent that masturbate in their offices?”
Blake grabbed Tyler by the front of his shirt and dragged him into his office, slamming shut the door with his other hand. Blake got into Tyler’s face and growled, “Don’t you ever say that again.”
“Jesus, man, I’m sorry. It’s a joke.”
Blake let him go. “What do you want?”
“How did the case go?”
“She got half. I need help with the appeal.”
“This weekend?”
“Probably.”
Tyler put a hand on Blake’s doorknob. “Call me, then. You have a client waiting.”
“Yeah.”
“And put away the costume.” He nodded to the pile of silk still on his desk. “Or they’ll ask questions.” Tyler opened the door, and closed it quietly behind him.