Free Changing Teams by Jennifer Allis Provost Page B

him at Astrid’s party, remember?”
    Of course I remembered the beautiful black man with the killer sense of humor. “What sort of artist is he again?”
    “Sculptor,” Sam replied. “This showing will be his first.”
    “Sam, why don’t you take the lovely Britt as your date?” Jorge called as he secreted the pinned fabric away in the back of the room. “It can be a rehearsal for your wedding adventures.”
    Red dusted Sam’s cheeks, but he didn’t miss a beat. “You free Wednesday night, darlin’?”
    “Sure am,” I said. I wondered if Astrid would be there. Based on how much Astrid had always supported me, I imagined she’d be there for her cousin.
    Sam grinned. “Good. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
    “And I have just the dress for Britt to be seen in,” Jorge announced, emerging from the racks. It was styled after the mod dresses of the sixties, with a short skirt, long sleeves, and an A-line silhouette. The dress itself had a white background and was patterned with abstract vines and deep green leaves. Astrid would freak if she saw something that so perfectly captured her favorite decade.
    “It’s gorgeous,” I breathed. “You’ll let me wear this?”
    “No, I will let you have it,” Jorge clarified. “It was part of my retro line a few years ago. Styles have since moved on, and I’ve been searching for the perfect person to bequeath it to. You, Britt, have the height and bone structure needed to carry off this dress.”
    “Thank you,” I said, hugging the dress to my chest. “What kind of shoes should I wear?”
    “Size?”
    “Eight and a half.”
    Jorge darted back into his store room, returning a moment later with a pair of square toed white leather boots with chunky heels. “These will be perfect,” he said. “I will also have shoes sent over with your dress for Saturday.”
    Figures; the designer didn’t trust little ol’ me to choose proper footwear for one of his creations. Based on the gorgeous clothes he made, that was fine with me.
    “Now, out with you both,” Jorge said, shooing us toward the door. “I have work to do. Britt, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
    “Thank you again,” I said as Jorge slammed the workshop door in our faces.
    “Jorge is Jorge,” Sam said with a shrug.
    “Artsy types can be cranky,” I said. “Sam, thanks again for going with me to the wedding, and for bringing me here. I really appreciate it.”
    Sam graced me with that lopsided smile of his, and my heart melted a bit more. Okay, a lot more. “Anything for my Britannica Lynn.”
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Ten
     
     
    Sam
     
    Thank God the Tuesday shoot at Nash’s was a standard one, because I was barely going through the motions. Instead of paying attention to my work, all I could think about was Britt. Specifically, Britt in that sky blue dress that enhanced the honey tones in her hair and eyes, and all that soft satin skimming across her curves. Jorge hadn’t been kidding about the delicate fabric; the weave was so fine it clung to Britt’s body, defining her firm hips and perfect little breasts. I had berated myself at least a thousand times for not having had the presence of mind to take a picture of her in that dress, so I consoled myself by shuffling through the images of her in the ochre gown whenever Nash wasn’t looking.
    Eventually the shoot wrapped up, and I attended to all the boring details that made up the bulk of my job. While I was shelving a few binders, Nash approached me.
    “Remember the brunette from the romance cover shoot last week?” he asked.
    “Britt Sullivan?” I asked without turning around. The last thing I needed was for Nash to see the dumb smile I wore whenever I thought about her.
    “That’s the one,” he affirmed. “She said you mentioned the harem series to her. When are we shooting one of those again?”
    I went to the computer and brought up the scheduling software. “Not until the month after next.”
    Nash