Changing Teams by Jennifer Allis Provost Page B

least provoked me to ask a few questions. It seemed that my only recourse was blocking Ben’s number and never setting foot in the museum ever again.
    I shut my laptop, shoving all thoughts of shady art teachers to the side as I wondered what I’d do with myself all day. After wandering around my apartment for a bit, I sat at my art table and started sketching. Probably since I was feeling a bit frustrated, what with sleeping against Sam’s hard, muscular body last night but not doing a thing with it, I’d drawn a nude man. He turned out to be smoothly muscled, with dark hair that fell rakishly across his eyes, a scruff of a beard darkening his chin.
    Sam’s hair was always falling in his eyes. On the one hand I wondered why he didn’t cut it, but he sure was cute peeking out from under that dark fringe. And that body of his…Sam must do more than just run. He must belong to a gym or something, or have a personal trainer instructing him on how to keep those muscles plump and healthy.
    Actually, I bet his building had a gym, probably on the first floor or thereabouts. I bet Sam took regular classes there, lifting weights, doing a bit of cardio…
    I blinked, snapping myself out of my daydreams about Sam’s body and all the ways I could play with it. When I looked down at my sketch I laughed out loud; I’d drawn Sam naked.
    “Wow, I really am a mess,” I said to the sketch. “I didn’t even notice that the art teacher was obsessed with me, and now I’m obsessed with a gay man.” I added a few more lines to the sketch, and mumbled, “Please be bi, Sam. It would really make me happy if you turned out to be bi.”
    At seven forty-five on the dot there was a knock at my door. I looked through the peephole and saw Sam standing in the hallway, wearing his typical uniform of tee shirt, jeans, and boots; he’d also thrown on his battered black leather jacket for the occasion. My mouth practically watered at the sight.
    “You’re early,” I said as I opened the door. “Miss me?”
    “Always.” Sam looked me up and down, his appreciative gaze telling me how much he liked Jorge’s dress on me. In keeping with the hippy vibe of the dress, I’d straightened my hair and parted it down the middle, and created a cat eye look with some black liquid liner. After adding some clear gloss and the white boots, I was the perfect sixties siren.
    “Around,” Sam said, making a twirling motion with his hand. I spun around, letting the dress’s hem bell out. When I faced him again, he pulled me into his arms. “You look great.”
    “You too,” I said, stroking my hand over the flat plane of his chest. “Burgundy shirt tonight? You really do have one of these in every color, don’t you?”
    “I match the colors to my moods,” he replied. Before I could ask what mood burgundy signified, Sam slid his hands down my back, underneath my skirt, and squeezed my butt.
    “Hey,” I said. I tried squirming away, but I had no chance against those muscles of his. “What gives?”
    “Just making sure you’re wearing something appropriate underneath this very short dress.”
    “And if I hadn’t been?” I asked, winding my arms around his neck.
    “You would have gotten a stern talking to, young lady.” His blue eyes bored into mine for a moment, then he said, “Come home with me tonight.”
    “Why, Mr. MacKellar, whatever for?” I asked, fluttering my lashes.
    “I want to shoot you in this dress. I’m a photographer too, remember?”
    “You’re suggesting that I let you take pictures of me at night, in your apartment?” I asked with a raised brow. “Sounds like you’re an evil mastermind, luring me to your lair so you can have your way with me.”
    Sam gave me a crooked smile. “That a yes?”
    “It’s a maybe.” I kissed his chin, then I wiggled out of his arms and grabbed my purse. “I’m ready if you are.”
    “Then let’s go, darlin’,” he said, offering me his arm.
    After a short cab ride we arrived at