The Fifteenth Minute (11 page)

Lianne grins. “I’ll bet she put on this Miley Cyrus tune just to torture me. My ears are bleeding.”

“You better fix that,” I say. “Can’t have that.”

She leans over my laptop. My eye is drawn to a creamy inch of Lianne’s neck just below her ear, and I’m thinking about kissing it. But Bella and Scarlet Crowley run up and thrust out a drink for Lianne. “For that, you win a margarita.”

Lianne straightens up. “For what? Troll hunting?”

Scarlet tilts her head subtly toward whiny Amy, who has taken residence on the chair’s arm in exactly the same spot where Lianne had sat before. Staking her territory, obviously. “Yeah,
troll
hunting. Let’s just say I’m a fan of your work.”

Lianne winks, taking the cup. “I’ve never had a margarita.”

That makes Bella gasp and clutch her heart. “That is
terrible
. A girl’s first margarita shouldn’t be in a plastic cup. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Tasty!” Lianne declares after her first sip.

“I’m Scarlet,” the other girl says, thrusting out a hand. “And where were you a year ago? That wench has been giving me hell since I started going to hockey team events with Bridger.”

Lianne takes a deep pull of her margarita. “Maybe she hates women. I thought it was just me.”

“Nope,” I argue, my thumb massaging the small of her back. “She only hates the pretty ones.”

“Well, yay,” Bella says. “I must be very attractive. Because she’s never been able to stand me, either.”

“And here I thought she only hated sorceresses,” Lianne says, leaning into my touch. “If I was a real sorceress, I’d cast a spell on Amy. I’d stun her into next Tuesday.”

We all laugh. Pepe walks up with a pitcher of margaritas and tops up Lianne’s cup. “Come dance
avec moi
.”

She takes his hand and off they go. Lianne changes the music to “Baby Got Back,” and they’re just goofing around, talking and dancing half-heartedly so that nobody spills his drink. Pepe is a great guy, but now I wish he’d twist an ankle.

Where is all this jealousy coming from?

The party goes on, and I know my lawyer would tell me to get out of here—to take myself out for a nice cup of coffee somewhere, far from this bastion of dance music and underage drinking. But there’s no way I’m leaving Lianne here, and she doesn’t look like someone who wants to go home.

I collect a couple of used cups and ferry them into the kitchen, feeling like an outsider. I’m like somebody’s grouchy dad, surveying the party, looking for things that could go wrong.

Lianne is still dancing with the happy-go-lucky Frenchman, and I can’t watch. I’m jealous, and it’s not just because he’s got his big paw on the waist of the girl I want. On any given Saturday, I used to look as carefree as Pepe does right now. That used to be my life, too.

I tidy up the kitchen, which is a pretty pathetic move. There’s a freshman D-man making out with one of Amy’s singing-group friends against the refrigerator. They don’t even notice as I put the now-empty lasagna pan in the sink to soak. By the time I’m wiping down the counters, they’ve stumbled off, probably looking for a more private spot, which hopefully will not turn out to be my bedroom.

“There you are!”

The sound of Lianne’s happy voice makes me smile immediately. She breezes into the kitchen and hops up onto the counter beside me. But it’s a pretty good distance off the floor for someone so short, and maybe the edge where she puts her hand is still wet, because she doesn’t quite manage it. My hockey reflexes kick in and I step in front of her before she can tumble off and onto the floor.

Her body pitches against my chest with a warm thud, her chin landing at my shoulder. My arms are full of a pretty girl in a soft sweater.

“Whoops,” she whispers. But instead of struggling backward, she puts her hands up to cup the back of my neck. Then she turns her face into my neck and takes a deep breath. “Mmm.”

My hands land at her hips, and I give a shiver. She has no idea how potent it is to stand here pressed against her. Each of my senses leaps to attention. And when her lips press against my jaw, I let out a quiet groan.

Lianne lifts her head to look into my eyes at close range. “Hi,” she says with a shy grin.

I don’t get a chance to answer, because that’s when she kisses me, her soft smile landing on mine. “Mmh,” I hear myself say as she presses closer. And holy God, we’re off to the races. I take over, deepening the kiss. When I part her lips with my tongue, she whimpers into my mouth. She tastes like limes and happiness.

Kissing Lianne is magic. Her soft lips turn down the volume on all my worries. Even the party fades from my consciousness as my tongue begins to stroke hers.

My hips press forward as we kiss, and Lianne’s knees tighten around my body, as if she wants to make sure I’m not about to leave her. I’m pressed into the warm center of her, diving into her mouth while she melts like butter against my body. She makes a needy sound in the back of her throat, and I feel it everywhere. Her hands weave into my hair and I pull her closer. We’ve extinguished all the empty places between our bodies. But still we shift against one another, just double-checking that there’s no way we could get any closer without losing all our clothes.

I’m standing in my kitchen and so turned on it’s ridiculous.

Then her lips disappear from mine, and for a split second I’m crestfallen. But then she’s worshipping my neck with soft, open-mouthed kisses. And Jesus H, it’s amazing. The sweep of her tongue at my throat brings me more alive than I’ve felt in months.

Somebody moans, and I’m pretty sure it’s me. My body is screaming for more. And I can’t remember why I ever resisted her.

“I like that,” Lianne sighs between kisses.

“Hmm?” It’s hard to listen when she’s setting me on fire.

“You made a noise. A good one.” Then she giggles.

Oh, hell
. I cup the back of her head and slowly pull away, getting a good look at her. And, damn it, all the signs are there—her eyes aren’t focusing well, and her smile is blurry. “Aw, buddy,” I say, kissing her once more, softly. “How many margaritas did you have?”

She gives me a sloppy grin. “Doesn’t take much. I’m a cheap date. Can we go into your bedroom now?” She punctuates this request with a little burp, and then another giggle. “Please?” She leans against me, running a hand down my chest. “Mmm, I just want to lick you everywhere.”

This time when I groan, it’s with disappointment. Because no licking is about to happen. I’d never get busy with a drunk girl. And I shouldn’t get busy with Lianne, anyway. The timing is terrible, no matter how much I like her. “Smalls, we can’t do this tonight,” I say gently. But I can’t back away, because if I do, she’ll tumble off the counter.

“Why?” she yelps. “Is it because I’m socially awkward? Is it because I’m fun sized?”

“It’s because you’re wasted.” Chuckling, I give her one last kiss, this one on the nose.

“But I want to,” she argues, her small hand torturing me. Fingers spread wide, she sweeps down my stomach until that naughty hand lands on the bulge in my jeans.

And now I’m biting the inside of my cheek to keep from letting her know how much I wish we could fool around. I catch her slim hand in mine and give it a single kiss. “It’s time to take you home.”

I
t’s
a good thing I stopped drinking hours ago.

Bella and Rafe have already left the party. So I borrow Orsen’s car. Lianne sobers up a little by the time I explain that we’re going to make a run for the garage together, “in case that asshole photographer is out there somewhere.”

“It
rained
. I hope his fancy camera got soaked,” Lianne grumbles.

“He probably packed it in hours ago,” I agree. “But we’ll be careful anyway.” Lianne seems a little unsteady on her feet as she puts on her coat. “Piggyback ride?” I offer.

“Heck yeah.”

I crouch down until she puts her arms around me, then I stand up again, my hands under her knees. I open the door with an elbow and then trot across the darkened driveway and into the open garage.

Lianne kisses the back of my neck before I reluctantly set her down beside the passenger door of Orsen’s car. “Hop in, smalls,” I say, opening the door for her and eyeing the driveway. There’s nobody out there, though.

When she’s buckled in, I run around and get into the driver’s seat. A minute later we’re backing out of the driveway for the two-minute drive to Beaumont House. Lianne is quiet, looking out the window.

I assume she’s sleepy, but she turns to me when I pull up at the curb. “I had so much fun tonight,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I say, my voice rough. God, this girl kills me.

“More Shakespeare later this week?” She smiles when she asks it—an awkward little grin. It promises that Shakespeare won’t be our only topic.

“Absolutely.”

She opens the door and slides one foot out. I give her left hand a gentle tug. Lianne turns to me with a smile that turns shy when I hold her gaze. I can’t resist it. Leaning in, I pull her toward me. We meet above the gearbox for a kiss. And the happy sound she makes when our lips connect lights me up inside.

Ours is a kiss that wishes the night weren’t over. We’re in an idling car that’s parked in the fire lane. All we’ve got is this one last moment, so we make it a good one. Jesus H, she’s like honey on my tongue. “You taste so good,” I mumble between kisses.

She grips the back of my head and lets out a shaky sigh. “Cherry lip gloss,” she whispers before diving in for another.

Smiling, I suck her tongue into my mouth while my palms skim over her breasts, and she moans. I break it off, practically panting just from a few kisses. “It’s not your lip gloss, babe.” I know I need to say goodnight and let her go, but every time we’re together the chemistry is thick. As if Macbeth’s weird sisters have stirred up something in their cauldron that glues her tight body against mine.

Against my better judgment, I give her ass a suggestive squeeze. She moans again. I fucking love that sound.

But then there’s another noise and not a good one. It’s the insistent repetition of a camera’s shutter.

Fuck
, I curse under my breath as I pull back.

It occurs to me that Lianne could close the car door again so we can drive off together. But that’s not what happens.

The next moment Lianne is gone. Before one whole second has passed, she’s exited the car, crossed to the Beaumont gate and swiped her ID past the reader.

My heart crawls into my throat as the fucking photographer follows her all the way to the gate. I cut the engine, because if that asshole tries to follow her into Beaumont, he’s going to have to go through me.

But he doesn’t. When the big iron gate slams shut, Lianne is on the inside and he’s peering in after her, calling her name, asking, “Who’s your boyfriend?”

Fuck
.

My hands are squeezed into fists that I’d happily pound him with. And I’m considering the idea when he puts the lens cap back on his camera and backs away from the gate. Then he melts into the darkness of the pedestrian walkway that passes between Beaumont and the English building.

Only when I’m sure he’s gone do I restart Orsen’s car and drive back home.

N
ote to self
: anger and adrenaline can make even a drunk girl move fast.

By the time I make it inside my entryway door, I’m seething. Stomping up the steps to the fourth floor does nothing to improve my mood. The asshole paparazzo has
ruined
a perfectly good kiss. And there aren’t that many kisses in my life. It’s not like I have kisses to spare.

What must DJ think? It’s a pain in the ass to hang around with me, that’s for sure.

I’m still angry as I brush my teeth, still irritated as I climb into bed.

Falling asleep is difficult, too, as my mind runs through a blurry reel of the evening’s spectacular events. Maybe they’re not spectacular to anyone else. But look at me! I hung out on a Saturday night, just like anyone would do. I made an a cappella singer jealous with video game weaponry. I drank a margarita or four. I rehearsed Lady M’s part with the hottest boy at Harkness.

And he kissed me again. Many times. But even when I was brave and kissing the stuffing out of him, he wouldn’t take me to bed. He brought me home instead.

Damn.

In my mind, I replay the kisses several more times, because that’s more fun than worrying. Then I sleep.

I
t’s
noise that wakes me up in the morning, as usual. I almost wrap my pillow around my head in the standard evasive maneuver. Then I realize that the noise I’m hearing isn’t the sound of Bella and Rafe in the mad throes of passion, but my phone ringing.

Grabbing it off my bedside table, I see DJ’s name on the display. “Hello?” I squawk after swiping the screen.

“Aw, you’re sleeping?” he asks.

“No.” I clear my throat. “Okay, yes.”

He chuckles into my ear. “It’s late. I thought it was safe to call.”

“Damn.” No wonder the room is so bright, and there’s nobody yelling,
pound me, Rafe! Harder!
I’d slept through it. “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Wow, really?” I don’t know if I’d ever slept so late before. “My dragons must be hungry.”

DJ barks out a laugh and says something under his breath. It may or may not end with
so fucking cute
. “How’s your head?”

I give this some thought. My head is perfectly fine. But why is he asking? “Um… It’s okay. Shouldn’t it be?”

There’s that chuckle again, low and soft in my ear. I just want to climb through the phone and rub that sound all over my body. But I guess that would be weird.

“You got a little tipsy, that’s all,” DJ says softly. “I think it was the tequila.”

“Right.” Now that I’ve had a moment to wake up, the details of last night are coming into focus. The video game and Amy’s ornery face. The tasty margarita Bella and Scarlet gave me. And the one Pepe poured me after that. The dancing. And then DJ in the kitchen…
Oh my God
. I groan out loud.

“I thought you said your head was okay,” DJ prompts.

“It’s not that.”

“Your stomach?”

“Ugh, no.”
It’s my poor injured dignity
. “Did we…talk in the kitchen?” I remember sitting on the counter. We kissed, and I said…
Holy hell
. Please, Jesus, let me not have said those things out loud.

DJ’s silence is not encouraging. And when he speaks, the amusement in his voice is unmistakable. “We may have talked in the kitchen.”

“Right.”
And I said I wanted to treat your body like my own personal lollipop
. “Oh man. So that’s what happens when I drink tequila.” DJ’s chuckle is audible through the phone. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” he says, his voice amused.

“Can we never speak of this again?”

“Okay?”

“I’d better run,” I say quickly. I need to get off the phone and hide under something. Preferably forever.

“Wait.” DJ laughs. “There’s a favor I need to ask, too.”

“Really?” I can’t imagine what. And if he’s going to make a joke about
licking
, I will
die
.

“I have, uh, something I have to do next Saturday. And there’s a women’s hockey game I’m supposed to DJ at five o’clock. There’s a sub I called once last year, and he was okay. But I wondered if you wanted to do it.”

I’m listening so hard for him to tease me that it takes a minute to sink in. “Really? You’d let me DJ a game?”

“Of course. You’d be great. The pay isn’t much, though. Fifty bucks. I’m sure you usually work for a lot more than that.”

“I don’t want the
money
,” I scoff. “I want the
power
.”

He laughs. “Don’t ever run for office, babe. Or if you do? Pick another slogan.”

“This is going to be
great
.” Seriously. I can’t wait. “Saturday, right? I have six days to prepare.”

He rewards me with another warm laugh. “Don’t spend too much time on it. I know you’re busy.”

DJ may know me better than any other guy at Harkness. But he clearly hasn’t witnessed me on a tear. And I have so much to do before Saturday.
So much
. “Can I choose my own playlists?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!” I squeak. “Gotta go now.” I need to find some sporty, ass-kicking songs by
women
. Like, dozens of them.

“Okay, sweetheart. Have a good morning.”

“I will. Later!” We hang up, and I’m halfway to my computer before I remember again that I told DJ I wanted to lick him everywhere.

The groan I let out probably shakes the walls. Because Bella opens my door and sticks her head in the room. “What is it now? Another bad sex scene?”

I wish. “No. Just regrets.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? How’s your head, anyway?”

Why does everyone keep asking that? “It’s fine, actually. I might be one of those people who doesn’t get hungover.”

“Of course you don’t. Then how’s your sex life?”

“Bella!” The question catches me off guard, and my cheeks immediately flame like the coils in a toaster.

My neighbor grins at me. “Ah ha! You two finally did it! Your number just
doubled
, you hussy. How was he? DJ has that quiet, serious thing going on. I’ll bet he’s a very focused lover. And good with his hands…”

I clap my hands over my face. “Stop! Even if there were juicy details, I wouldn’t share them.”

“Wait—no details? You
didn’t
make the monster with two backs?”

“Ugh. Nice image.” I fling myself on the desk chair. “We didn’t. For a minute I thought maybe we would. But then we didn’t, and he brought me home.”

“Well, okay,” Bella says, twirling the end of her bathrobe tie. “That’s progress, right?”

“Right.”

“You could always ask for it, you know.”

“Um…” Actually I don’t know. “Not sure I could put it into words. Not sober, anyway.” Too embarrassing.

Bella snorts. “Sure you could. Repeat after me, okay? ‘DJ, let’s get naked. I want to bounce on your dick.’”

Yuh!
“That is not a sentence you will ever hear me say.”

“Never say never,” Bella chides me. “If you can’t say what you want, how do you expect him to give it to you?”

I made a grumbly noise. “It’s so obnoxious of you to make sense.”

“Honey, I
know
. Now get dressed. If you don’t have juicy details, I need brunch. Right now.”

“I need a shower,” I whine.

“Then take it already. Feed me food or sexual exploits. It’s one or the other.”

I’m hungry too, I discover. So I do as she suggests and head for the shower.