Changing Teams (15 page)

“It’s all right,” Sam soothed, then he replied to Patrick. “I could not enlist due to a medical condition. It was a great disappointment, to both myself and my family. Since then I’ve done my best to support our military as a civilian.”

Patrick eyed him for a moment, then he clapped Sam on the shoulder. “We all serve where we can, son.”

“That we do, sir,” Sam agreed.

Before I could properly appreciate that Sam and my stepfather were getting along, Mom returned with the harpies. Instead of the harpies’ usual behavior, which involved sneering and looking down their noses at me, they were thrilled to death to be in the presence of someone who’d not only spoken to, but touched Giovanni. I wonder how they’d react if I told them how he’d oiled up his chest. Knowing them, they’d probably like it.

Chapter Sixteen

Britt

The harpies—I mean, my lovely relations who hoped to the dickens I’d get them Giovanni’s autograph—stayed close to Sam and I during the cocktail hour, but once dinner was served they let us eat in peace. My salmon was delicious, and Sam claimed that his gray-tinged chicken entrée was as well. After seeing the prime rib that Mom and Patrick had been served, I wished I’d selected the beef for my plus one.

While we ate, Sam regaled my mother and stepfather with stories of his youth in Iowa, and Patrick attempted to impress Sam with tales of his tour of duty in the Marines, though those stories quickly gave way to his work at the law firm. Yeah, because twisting legal loopholes around to suit your clients always made for riveting dinner conversation.

Once the dinner plates had been cleared, and Melody got all those required dances out of the way, Sam stood and extended his hand to me. “Dance with me, darlin’?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, and I let him lead me to the dance floor. Sam was a good dancer, but that didn’t surprise me. Wherever anything romantic was involved, Sam proved to be a master of the art.

“Earlier at my apartment,” he began, “after you saw to my tie, I told you I’d tell you later on why I kissed you like that.”

“I remember,” I said, the memory of that kiss warming me to my toes. “Later is now?”

“I think it is.” We swayed to the music for a moment, then he continued, “I love sleeping next to you. I love waking up with you, having breakfast with you. And your coffee is amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I really enjoy being with you too.” I didn’t add how much I missed him when we were apart, or how I thought about him constantly. I had a feeling he knew that.

“Britt, I have to be honest with you. When we first met, I thought I was just infatuated with a pretty girl. I mean, it would make no sense for someone like me to fall for you. I thought that for a few days, but…”

“But?” I prompted, slightly terrified that Sam was about to break up with me in the middle of the dance floor at my cousin’s wedding. Wait—could he even break up with me when we weren’t even technically dating?

“But I’ve realized that mere infatuation can’t account for everything that’s between us.” Sam gathered me closer, and asked, “You feel it too, baby?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then, when you took care of my tie earlier at my place, I had this vision of us together. Together for so long you tied my ties out of habit, because you’d done it so many times before.”

I placed my hand on his chest. “Stop.”

Sam straightened his back. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” I whispered. “But if you continue down that road, I’m either going to cry or kiss you like I mean it, and I can’t do either of those right here.”

He smiled, and gathered me against his chest. “Fair enough.”

“Tell me more later?” I asked, moving my hand so it was above his heart.

Sam smiled down at me, and covered my hand with his. “I surely will, my Britannica Lynn.”

The song ended, and the DJ announced it was time to cut the cake. Sam and I made our way back to our table, then he offered to fetch drinks for myself and my mother. Since Sam was at the bar, and Patrick was elsewhere, Mom and I took a moment to gossip.

“That boy has it bad for you,” Mom said, nodding toward Sam as if I hadn’t known who she meant. “You two look more in love than Melody and Darryl.”

“Sam’s just so perfect,” I said, ignoring the comparison between us and Bridezilla and her sugar daddy. “Sometimes, I can’t even believe he’s real.”

“Is that why you let him feel you up in public?” Mom asked.

“We were just dancing,” I said.

“I meant those pictures of you and him at the gallery,” Mom explained. “And why did he hit that other man?”

“That other man had been a jerk to me for weeks,” I said, giving my mother the edited down version of what had happened with Ben. “I’m thinking about getting a restraining order against him.”

Mom’s eyebrows shot halfway up her head. “Did he hurt you?” she demanded. “We can always sic Patrick on him. Being a legal nuisance is the one thing he’s good at.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” I replied, wondering just how much I disliked Ben. He was definitely a jerk, but sending Patrick after him would just be mean. “He just followed me around, wouldn’t stop trying to talk to me.”

“Sam hit him because he was bothering you?” Mom asked, and I nodded. “How gallant. No wonder you let him push your dress halfway up your back.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Are those pictures going to haunt me forever?”

“Welcome to the digital age,” Mom said, then she looked past me and donned her Mrs. Sullivan face. “Patrick.”

“Miss me?” Patrick asked, taking his seat next to my mother. “Britt, did you and Sam take the train up from the city? I’m sure one of the valets can bring you to the station so you can save cab fare.”

What a nice jab at my low income level. “Actually, Sam drove us here. In his
own
car.”

“Sure did,” Sam said, having returned with our drinks. “I love driving, but I don’t really get to do it much in Manhattan. Too much congestion.”

Patrick nodded, swirling the amber liquid in his glass; idly, I wondered what the liquid was. Patrick never drank alcohol outside of his home, preferring to pretend he was inebriated and therefore lull others into a false sense of security while they spilled their secrets. Really, being a slimy lawyer was his ideal occupation.

The waiters moved among the tables and tiny perfect plates of wedding cake were delivered, little slices of dark chocolate decadence with raspberry filling, along with cups of coffee that were almost as good as mine. While the guests ate their dessert, Melody and Darryl made their way from table to table, thanking everyone for coming. I excused myself to the bathroom before they made it to our table.

After taking care of business, I stood in the bathroom’s vanity area fixing my hair. The chignon had held up well, even if the loose curls around my face were looking a little wilted. As I reapplied my lip gloss, the bride herself entered the bathroom.

“Hey, Melly,” I greeted, using her nickname from when we were kids. “Need help with your dress?”

“No, I just came in here to get away from it all.” She eyed my lip gloss, and asked, “Got any red in there?”

I rummaged in my purse, and pulled out a deep mauve. “This is the closest I have.”

“It’ll do.” I tossed her the tube, and returned my attention to my own lips.

“You look really happy with Sam,” she said.

“I am,” I affirmed. “Are you happy with Darryl?”

“Yeah. I guess.” She put down the tube and looked in the mirror. “I mean, it’s what’s expected of me, to marry someone like him.”

“You mean what Patrick expects,” I said. “Always with his plans for our futures, never caring about what we might want.”

“Is that so bad?” Melody countered. “I have a secure future, and a pre-nup that means I’ll never want for anything. Maybe you shouldn’t have run screaming from Patrick’s plans.”

“See, that’s the difference between me and you,” I said, rounding on my cousin. “What I want is happiness, and the freedom to be myself. All you want to do with your life is stay home and eat bonbons all day.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted. “You think I don’t want to be happy? To be in love? We’re not all like you, Britt.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“You just ran off, didn’t tell anyone what you were doing, and started living your dreams,” Melody shouted. “Instead of going through with college—college that Patrick paid for—you dropped out, grabbed your trust fund, and became some kind of avant-garde.”

“Avant-garde?” I repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You know, those art types that don’t vote or bathe.” She gave me a once over, and amended, “Well, I suppose you still bathe. Good for you.”

“First of all, Patrick was not paying for my education,” I snapped, ignoring the insult to my hygiene. “I had a full academic scholarship. Second of all, I told my mother exactly what I was doing, every step of the way. She helped me get away from Patrick and his stupid plans.”

Melody’s eyes widened. “You had a scholarship?”

“I did, for NYU’s anthropology program,” I replied. “No way was I taking more of Patrick’s money than I had to.”

“But…you had a trust fund. I know you did.”

I laughed through my nose. “That wasn’t Patrick’s money, either. My father—my real father—won the lottery when I was ten, and he put the money aside for me.”

Melody leaned her hip against the counter. “You planned your escape from us for years.”

“I did,” I admitted. “I made my own plans instead of following Patrick’s.”

Melody nodded, then she looked in the mirror. “And I ended up with Darryl.” She glanced at me, and said, “Honestly, Britt, he is so gross. I can hardly stand kissing him.”

“He doesn’t seem that bad,” I said.

She shuddered. “You know how you’re always touching Sam, leaning on him or holding his hand?” I nodded. “I try to stay as far away from Darryl as possible. He sweats constantly, but his skin is always ice cold.”

It was my turn to shudder. “Sounds like a fish.”

“Great. I’m Mrs. Fish.” Melody made fish lips in the mirror, and we laughed.

“If he’s so cold and icky, how do you two, um…?” I asked.

She grimaced. “We haven’t. I’ve been telling him I’m saving myself for our wedding night, but that excuse won’t work any longer.”

“Maybe you can get an annulment on the grounds of no consummation?” I suggested. I guess some of my stepfather’s law knowledge had seeped into my brain. Ick. “Check your pre-nup, though, there might be a clause about that.”

Melody’s eyes lit up. “That would be perfect! Then I wouldn’t have to sleep with Darryl, and I could sleep with men like Sam instead!” My back stiffened, and Melody amended, “Hey, I wouldn’t sleep with
your
Sam. Just someone like him.”

I smiled tightly. “I know. I just want to keep him all to myself.” Mel and I stood there grinning like fools for a moment, just like when we were kids, then I took her hands. “Listen, if you need ever need anything, call me. We were friends once.”

“Yeah, before you left me,” she grumbled.

“I wasn’t leaving
you
,” I clarified. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they send a search party in after you.”

Melody checked her reflection one last time. “All right. New mission: not fucking Darryl.”

We were laughing as we returned to the reception hall, which made both Patrick and Darryl eye us suspiciously. Melody ignored her husband in favor of talking to more guests. I looked around the hall and saw Sam leaning against the bar, drink in hand, and made a beeline toward him.

“You two looked like you were having fun,” Sam murmured once I reached him, draping his arm around my shoulder. “I thought you and Melody didn’t get along.”

“We were really close when we were younger,” I said, wondering if the rift between Mel and I really had come about by me fleeing Patrick’s carefully constructed plans. “I guess she’s not so bad.”

“What were you two talking about that was so funny?” Sam asked, brushing his lips against my temple.

I stood on my toes, and whispered in his ear, “Fucking you.”

Sam choked on his drink, and turned an impressive shade of red. After I pounded on his back he said, “You ladies couldn’t find anything else to discuss?”

“Nope.” I grabbed his now empty glass, and signaled the bartender. “Let’s get you another drink.”

“Just water,” Sam replied. “I need my wits about me if I’m to drive my beautiful Britannica Lynn home tonight.”

“Am I staying at your place again?” I asked, even though I had no intention of going to my own apartment.

“As if I’m letting you out of my sight,” Sam declared. “I still need to tell you the story behind the bracelet.”

“That’s right. You do.”

The reception wound down shortly afterward. Melody threw the bouquet, and one of the silver-haired harpies caught it; great, the harpies were also cougars. After Sam and I said our farewells to Mom and Patrick, we made our way to the bride. To my surprise, Melody wrapped her arms around me in a bear hug.

“Thank you for coming,” Melody said. “I’m going to call you.”

“Remember, no fucking your husband,” I whispered in her ear.

“Only if you promise to fuck Sam,” she whispered back.

“Deal.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at our whispered exchange, but didn’t ask what it was about. We stopped by the coat check for my shawl, then we went to the car port so the valet could bring up Sam’s Beemer. The night was chilly, and the first thing I did when we were in the car was activate the heated seat.