I would be at Trip’s house in less than five minutes, and I was operating on only four hours of sleep. My therapist used to tell me that sleep disorders were common in people with a history like mine and had prescribed me several different pills to turn my brain off at night. Last night I’d had a particularly disturbing dream, so I’d been up reading since 3:45.It was one of those gauzy dreams that felt as if you were viewing everything through a lens smeared with Vaseline, like in the old movies. Things aren’t clear or chronological, just a bunch of disjointed images and sensations. I recall that I was in a warm bubble bath and that I wasn’t alone. I could feel a rock hard man behind me, his torso against my back, his erection pressed deliciously against my backside. Large masculine hands stroked every inch of my slick skin. Wildly aroused, I turned over in the tub to face my dream guy, and my head nearly exploded when I realized it was Sam Fucking Beaumont.I awoke with a gasp, confused and sexually frustrated.