Changing Teams (10 page)

Sam didn’t waste any time deepening the kiss, pressing my hips against his as his hands found their way to my butt. Sam’s lips against mine somehow removed all the anxiety I’d felt over Ben’s presence, somehow it made everything right. I wrapped my arms around Sam’s neck and the world fell away around us. I could have gone on kissing him forever.

Before we could get too inappropriate for a public place, a bright light distracted us.

“What the—” Sam said, blinking. “Someone just take our picture?”

“Guess so.” I stepped back from Sam and tugged down my dress. “Want to go back out there?”

“Only if you’re ready.”

I slipped my hand inside his. “Let’s do it.”

In the short time we’d been in the alcove, the gallery had filled with patrons. Michael waved at us from across the room, surrounded by admirers and purchasers alike.

“I’m so glad this is going well for Michael,” Sam said. “He’s worked toward this for a long time.”

“Thinking about getting back together with him?” I teased. “He is awful handsome.”

“No checking out other guys when you’re with me,” Sam admonished. “And no, Michael and I won’t be getting back together.”

“Too bad. I bet you two were a cute couple.”

Sam speared me with one of those devilish looks of his. “We were damn hot, thank you very much.”

I giggled, but before I could tease Sam further, a man carrying a voice recorder stepped in front of us. “Leonard Hughes, covering this opening for the
Soho Arts Weekly
,” the man said, referencing the neighborhood paper. “Can I get some quotes from the two of you?”

“Um, sure,” I said, glancing at Sam. It was then that I noticed the man with the video camera standing behind Leonard. “Why does a paper need video?”

“It’s for the website,” Leonard replied. “Names?”

“Britt Sullivan, Sam MacKellar,” I said.

“Thoughts on the opening?”

“It’s wonderful,” I said. “Michael is a very talented man.”

Leonard stuck the recorder under Sam’s nose. “Yes, Michael is one of the best young artists in New York. The city is lucky to have him,” Sam said.

“Great! Thanks, you two.” Leonard and the man with the camera went off in search of their next victims, while Sam just shook his head.

“That was surreal,” he said.

“I can’t believe we were interviewed,” I said. “Well, sort of.”

“All sorts of interesting things happen when Michael’s involved,” Sam said. “Come on, darlin’, let’s get some more champagne.”

The crowd thinned out as the night wore on, but that didn’t dampen Michael’s spirits in the slightest. He was sailing about on cloud nine, and I could hardly blame him. Someday, maybe I’d have a gallery opening of my own, with a packed room fawning over my creations. I thought about what Sam had said, that I just needed to make time for my art, and I decided he was right.

Sometime close to midnight I slipped away from the crowd and visited the restroom. When I emerged, Ben grabbed my shoulders and thrust me against the wall.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he demanded. “I thought we were friends.”

“Why did you lie to me?” I shot back. “Why did you trick me into sitting there naked for you? You treated me like some kind of prostitute!”

“Yeah, well, you kept coming back for more,” he said, dragging his fingers down the side of my neck. “Admit it, you liked having all those people watch you. You liked getting naked for money. For me.”

I gasped, so mad I was speechless. Then Ben was yanked away from me, and I saw Sam holding him by the back of his shirt.

“I told you to stay away from her,” Sam growled. “The lady does not want your attention.”

“Lady?” Ben spat. “You call a slut like her a lady?”

That was when Sam hit Ben, and Ben’s nose spurted a fountain of red as he went down on the hardwood floor.

“You fucking bastard,” Ben yelled. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I’d like the answer to that as well,” Michael said, striding over. “What the hell is going on here, Sam?”

“He had Britt up against the wall, wouldn’t let her get away,” Sam said. “He’s been following her.”

“He was bothering her earlier too,” Matilda said as she and Jorge came to stand next to Sam. I silently sent her my thanks. “Britt was not happy to see him.”

Michael looked from Matilda to Sam to Ben, then at me. His lips were pursed so tightly white lines of tension marred his dark complexion. “Well, Britt? What’s your version of this mess?”

“Ben’s sick,” I whispered. “He’s been following me, calling, and texting me. I’m thinking about getting a restraining order.”

“Restraining order?” Ben screeched. “You kept coming back for more, you—”

“Enough, both of you,” Michael barked as Sam wound up for another hit. I grabbed Sam’s arm while Michael looked down at Ben, shaking his head. “Well, Benny boy, you’d best go quietly so I don’t have to call on New York’s finest. On second thought, I do love a man in uniform.”

Ben got to his feet, all the while glaring daggers at Sam and me. “You’re really taking their side?” Ben demanded. “I’m the one bleeding here!”

“You also seem to be the asshole here,” Michael countered, then he made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on, get. Oh, and if you bleed on any of my work I’ll be sending you a bill,” Michael added.

Ben turned and shoved his way through the crowd of onlookers. Once he was out of the gallery, I turned to Michael. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I wish none of that had happened.”

“Me too, sugar.” Michael’s frown dissipated, and he patted my shoulder. “Ben’s always been a bit, shall we say, socially awkward. Luckily you had Cowboy Sam here riding to your rescue.”

“I call him a cowboy too,” I said, enjoying Sam’s embarrassed frown.

“He is one for the damsels in distress,” Michael said. “Keep an eye on your cowboy, sugar. I need to see to my guests.”

Michael melted into the crowd, followed by Matilda and Jorge, then Sam pulled me into his arms. “I wish you hadn’t hit him,” I said against his neck.

“You’re not the only one. My knuckles are killing me.” We burst out laughing at that, and Sam hugged me a bit tighter. “Want to get out of here?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

***

Sam and I ended up going to his place, just like he’d asked me to earlier. After what had happened at the gallery there was no way I was spending the night alone in my apartment, not until I was positive that Ben had no idea of where I lived. And there was the fact that Sam’s apartment was pretty awesome. It was a two bedroom, with a tile-topped half wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The walls of the living room were painted a warm cocoa brown, and Sam’s furniture was all buttery soft leather and dark wood. The rich colors coupled with the stark white trim and light blue throw pillows made the place look like a design catalog. Then again, Sam probably had one of his interior decorator friends set everything up for him.

The awesomeness of his apartment didn’t end with the living room. The kitchen sported sunny yellow walls, light wood cabinets, and a big window over the sink that let in plenty of light. All of the appliances were stainless steel, and the granite countertops would have made materialistic people like my cousin Melody drool. Okay, maybe I’d drooled a bit when I first saw them. There was also the fact that the kitchen and living room alone were as big as my entire apartment, and Sam still had two entire bedrooms and full bathroom.

The spare bedroom was mostly full of junk, with things like props and costumes from photo shoots past stacked against the walls, along with a few bookcases. I’d investigated the shelves, and found a respectable collection of horror and science fiction movies. He could seriously use some more reading material, though.

As for Sam’s bedroom…well, I hadn’t been in there yet, except for that quick trip to find a tee shirt after I’d showered. I decided that gaining entry to his bedroom was my mission for the evening. A girl had to have goals, right?

Once we were inside the apartment, Sam and I stood there staring, as if we didn’t quite know what to do with each other. I wondered if his thoughts were in his bedroom too. Eventually, I said, “You reminded me earlier that you’re a photographer.”

“That I did.”

“Show me some of your work?”

He offered me one of those crooked smiles that went straight to my heart. “Have a seat. I’ll get my laptop.”

I sat on the couch, and Sam joined me a moment later carrying his laptop in one hand, two bottles of beer in the other. After he powered up the laptop and opened a few folders, he angled the screen toward me. “Here are some landscapes,” he said.

“These are great,” I said, scrolling through the images. My favorites were a series of shots featuring a small, oddly-shaped castle. “Was this taken in Europe?” I asked, indicating an image of the castle at sunset.

“Nope, right here in the city at Central Park,” he explained. “That’s Belvedere Castle.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, noticing the American flag waving from the castle’s turret.

Sam clicked around his desktop, and called up another set of images. “These are of the abandoned hospital on North Brother Island. Typhoid Mary used to be a patient there.”

I shuddered. “Isn’t that place condemned? How did you even get clearance to shoot there?”

“Clearance?” he scoffed. “Art needs no clearance. I thought your horror movie-loving self would be into that sort of thing.”

I smiled and clicked through a few more images. “Do you only do landscapes?” I asked.

“Not hardly.” Sam opened a different folder, which was a series of nudes featuring a black man and white woman, the man’s dark skin a sharp contrast to the woman’s milky flesh. One of the images showed the man’s face in profile, and I recognized him.

“Is that Michael?” I asked.

“Sure is,” he affirmed. “You’re not the only artist that picks up modeling gigs to make ends meet.”

“He really is beautiful,” I said, taking in the next image. “Who’s the girl?”

“Her name is Starla. She used to be Michael’s neighbor, but she moved out to Colorado a year or so ago.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering why anyone in their right mind would leave the city for a godforsaken place like Colorado. I advanced to the next image, only to squeal and hide my eyes. “Sam, he’s naked!”

“Michael and Starla are naked in all of them,” Sam said with a wry smile.

“Well, I couldn’t see Michael’s penis in the other shots,” I said. I peeked around my fingers so I could appreciate the image. Michael was lying on his back, his arms crossed and propping up his head as he stared into the lens, his sly smile telling the viewer he was unashamed. Starla was pressed against his side with her hand splayed across his abdomen, fingers tense and threatening to grab him. “I can’t believe you broke up with someone that gorgeous.”

Sam shrugged. “What can I say, he wasn’t my type.”

Sam and his ever elusive type. I clicked through the rest of the images, all of them showcasing Michael and Starla’s distinct complexions and near-perfect forms. “You did a great job with these,” I said. “They’re so sensual and erotic, but tasteful at the same time. Well, except for the cock shot.”

There was the wry grin again. “Hey now, that cock shot’s my favorite.”

I dropped my gaze, and stared at my fingers. “Do you still want to shoot me?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

“I will.”

Sam’s hand was on the nape of my neck, then he touched his mouth to mine in one of his soft kisses that went through me like a hot knife through butter. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said against my lips. Then he closed the laptop and retreated into the bedroom, presumably to gather his equipment.

“You kiss all your models?” I called after him.

“I never kissed Starla,” he said, returning with camera in hand. Despite my current profession I don’t know that much about cameras or other photographic equipment, but that one looked awful expensive. “Now, where to pose you,” he murmured, looking around the apartment. “Ah.”

Sam beckoned me into the kitchen, then he had me lean against the wooden table where we’d eaten breakfast that morning. “You have legs for days, baby,” he said, the camera clicking away. “Move to your left, and cross your ankles?”

I did, and Sam smiled. After a few more shots, he searched in his cabinets and emerged with a brandy snifter. After pouring in a finger’s worth of cranberry juice, he handed it to me. “Hold it in your left hand, and stretch your right arm straight across your waist. Let the glass dangle. Yeah, just like that. God, you are so gorgeous.”

I was used to photographers instructing me to turn this way and that, but when Sam said I was gorgeous it caught me off guard and I slipped. “Bet you say that to all the models,” I quipped, trying to recover.

“I only say it to the gorgeous ones.” He grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and set it before me. “Sit backwards on the chair.”

I did, my arms extended over the back and crossed at the wrists, aware that the position pushed my dress up to my waist and put the white hot pants I wore underneath on full display. I tossed my hair to the side, giving Sam my best sultry gaze as he snapped away. After he’d captured me from a few angles, he lowered the camera.