“I was simply probing—seeing if you were interested in going out.”
“I’m not,” I said—noticing that I wasn’t even the slightest bit aroused. “Am I free to leave the courtroom now or would you like to probe me for something else?”
“You are an ass**le!” She spun around and grabbed her briefcase off the floor. “You know, for your clients’ sake, I hope you’re a lot nicer.” She spat out as she left the room.
I wanted to tell her that I actually wasn’t nicer to my clients. I didn’t put up with bullshit from anyone, and since I hadn’t lost a single case since moving to Durham, I didn’t have to.
Looking at my watch, I figured I’d wait a few minutes before leaving. I didn’t want to run into her in the parking lot, and since the remaining courts were adjourning for lunch, I figured I’d wait a while.
I stuffed my hands into my pocket and smiled at lacy fabric that grazed my left hand. Pulling it out, I smiled at Aubrey’s black thong from this morning.
I took my phone out of my briefcase to text her about it, but she’d emailed me first.
Subject: Wet Panty Fetish
I’m not sure if you’ve realized that I left my thong in your pocket yet, but I want you to know that I did it for your own good, and that your secret is safe with me.
Ever since you f**ked me in the bathroom at the art gallery, I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to stare at my panties before taking them off.
You run your fingers across them, pull them off with your teeth, and then you stare at them again. I have no problem continuing to appease your panty fetish. I’m sure you place them over your face at night, and if you ever need more feel free to let me know.
Aubrey
Subject: Re: Wet Panty Fetish
I did realize that you slipped your thong into my pocket this morning. I’ve noticed that you’ve done this all week.
Contrary to your unfounded and silly assumptions, I do not have a panty fetish and I do not sleep with them over my face at night. I do, however, have a new fetish for your pu**y, and if you’re interested in letting me sleep with THAT over my face at night, feel free to let me know.
Andrew
I waited for a response—watched my screen for several minutes, but then I realized it was Wednesday and she wouldn’t see my email until later.
I made my way outside and slipped into my car. I didn’t feel like going back to the firm—my case files were all up to date, and it was too early to go home.
Revving up my car, I coasted down the street in search of a decent bar. As I was turning past the law school, I noticed Duke’s dance hall across the street.
I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I made a right turn and pulled into the parking lot. I followed the signs that read “Dance Studio” and parked in front.
There was a sign on the double doors of the auditorium that read “Private Rehearsals: Dancers Only,” but I ignored it. I followed the faint sound of piano keys and violin strings and opened the door to a colossal theater.
Bright lights shone directly on the stage, and dancers dressed in all white were spinning. Before I could come to my senses and make myself leave, I spotted Aubrey in the front.
Wearing the same feathered headband she wore at the art gallery, she was smiling wider than I’d ever seen her smile before—dancing as if no one else was in the room. There was a gleam in her eyes that I never saw while she was at GBH, and although I didn’t know shit about ballet, it was extremely clear that she was the best dancer onstage.
“Extend, Miss Everhart! Extend!” A grey haired man walked onto the stage, yelling. “More! More!”
She continued dancing—stretching her arms out further, extending her hands. “No! No! NO!” The man stomped his foot. “Stop the music!”
The pianist immediately stopped and the director stepped in front of Aubrey.
“Do you know what the characteristics of the white swan are, Miss Everhart?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He looked offended.
“Yes, Mr. Petrova.” She stood still.