Changing Teams Read Online Free PDF Page A

shirt too,” he said, then he whipped my tank top right over my head. It was only after he tossed it aside he asked, “Oh, do you mind being naked with me?”
    As if me not wearing a shirt really mattered at that point. “Come here,” I said, holding out my arms. Sam let me wrap myself around him, and we held each other as we drifted off to sleep.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    Sam
     
    Before I opened my eyes, I knew that two things were wrong. For one, I was in a bed that wasn’t mine. Too soft, too comfortable, and the sheets and blankets smelled like lavender. I adored the scent of lavender, but I’d never once rubbed tiny purple flowers on my bedding. I’m just not that gay.
    That scent of lavender brought me to my second problem: the woman who owned the bed I was currently lying in was snuggled up against me, naked as a jaybird, and damn it all if I didn’t like being in that bed with her. I had no idea what sort of insanity had come over me. I had a nice life here in New York, with cool friends and a budding career, as far removed from my past as I could get. The last thing on my mind had been lolling about in bed with one of Nash’s models, male or female. Then two days ago, I met Britt Sullivan.
    I hadn’t been kidding when I told her I’d wanted to call her after the tapas bar and spend the night talking to her, or about wanting to bring her to Astrid’s party. Then, in the ultimate act of serendipity, Britt had strutted right into the party looking like the sexy Bohemian goddess she was. After introducing Britt to the boys, I downed shot after shot of liquid courage while I tried to get up the nerve to talk to her. By the time I found her alone I was out of my mind drunk, but Britt didn’t mind me sloppy. She hadn’t minded when I crawled into bed beside her, either.
    And there was what happened afterward. If I hadn’t been so embarrassed over coming on Britt’s stomach, I’d have called last night the best sexual experience of my life. Maybe I could get myself a replay that didn’t involve so much mopping up.
    Since Britt was still asleep, I took a minute to look around her apartment. It was a small studio—cluttered, but it was a good sort of clutter. One corner held the kitchen, two others the couch and the bed we were nestled in. What interested me the most was the wall between the bed and couch, which contained a table heaped high with canvases and brushes and tubes of paint.
    Good God, Britt was an artist. And if the canvases propped up against the wall were her work, she was a damn good one. All that magnificent art multiplied the desire I’d already felt for her by ten. No, a thousand. A million, maybe.
    I kissed Britt’s hair, and realized that for all that was good in that room a third thing was wrong: while I’d slept in Britt’s bed, I hadn’t had any nightmares. Some pretty terrible stuff had happened to me when I was a kid, and I had the misfortune of reliving those events whenever I closed my eyes. It made intimacy hard for me. I’d hardly ever been close with a man, much less a woman. Not only had my nightmares forgotten to pay me their nightly visit, lying there in bed with Britt felt more right than anything I’d ever known.
    Britt stirred to wakefulness, shifting her hips against me in a way that reinforced the rightness of the situation, then she raised her head and kissed me full on the mouth. “You suck at being gay,” she said against my lips.
    I grinned, because it was true. “I thought we were blaming last night on the booze.”
    “Mmm. Booze.” Britt stretched next to me, then wrapped her arms and legs around me like an octopus. Maybe that’s why she won’t eat them, because they’re her kin. “You were pretty drunk, and we didn’t really do anything.”
    With my forefinger, I tilted her chin up so she faced me. “Excuse me, darlin’? I may have been drunk, but I recall many, many things that were done.”
    “Not really. We made