The Fifteenth Minute Read online

  “‘Centuries’ is the team’s win song,” I hear Amy whine. “It’s by Fall Out Boy. The team will expect you to play it.”

  This is laughable, because most of the guys she’s referring to are at the other end of the room playing video games. They don’t give a fuck.

  “Interesting pick,” Lianne says, hopping off the coffee table. “The riff in the middle almost makes it eligible for the jukebox at Capri’s. That bit by Suzanne Vega.”

  “Who?” Amy asks, scrunching up her perfect nose.

  Lianne only shakes her head. “They’re just not teaching nineties hits to the kiddies anymore. You can cue it up if you want. Knock yourself out. I’m going to see what they’re playing.” She points at the boys at the other end of the room.

  I’m a little bummed she gave in. Amy is wealthy and attractive and used to getting people to do her bidding. People should say no to her more often.

  But Lianne gives me a little, secret smile and drifts toward the other end of the room.

  The front door opens for the millionth time, admitting Bella and her boyfriend Rafe. A cheer goes up among the hockey team. As the former team manager, Bella is very popular. “Nice win tonight, guys!” she calls. Then she does a double take. “Lianne Challice! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “By ‘all over’ I assume you mean my room?” Lianne asks. She’s squinting at the TV screen, a studious frown on her beautiful face.

  “And I texted!” Bella walks over to give her a soft swat on the head. “Thanks for telling me about the party. What kind of a friend are you?”

  “Didn’t know about the party until it started,” Lianne mutters. She’s leaning over Orsen’s shoulder now, captivated by whatever game he’s playing.

  “Huh,” Bella grunts, her forehead wrinkling. “Then you owe me a few other details.”

  “Hey man,” Rafe says, high-fiving me. “How are you?”

  “All right. Drinks are in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever.” Hell, Rafe is underage, too. But what’s one more? This party had better not get busted. I feel like I’m seconds away from turning down the music like somebody’s grandpa.

  I decide to watch Lianne some more, because that always takes my blues away.

  She’s biting one of her small fingers now, like someone who wants to say something but isn’t sure she should. I watch her eyes go from worried to exasperated. “Gah,” she says. Then she leans on the back of Orsen’s chair. “Okay, NO! Don’t go that way. You just saw the troll sweat on the floor, right?”

  Four heads swivel around to look at her. “What?” my brother says, which is exactly what the rest of them are thinking. They’re trying to wrap their heads around the idea that a girl knows something about their gory video game.

  Lianne rolls her eyes, pointing at the screen. “That shimmer in the corner? A troll passed through here. You need an x-force weapon or you’re toast.”

  “Um…” O’Hane chuckles. “Okay, that’s probably why we’re always biting it on this level. Who has an x-force?” He looked from one player to another. “Bueller? Bueller?”

  “I could…uh…lend you one,” Lianne says. “I mean, I don’t want to hone in on your game.”

  My brother reaches over the back of the big chair he’s sitting on, grabs Lianne’s hand and tugs her around toward him, while Orsen starts laughing. “Come here and teach us more about troll sweat,” he says.

  Lianne perches on the generous roll-arm of Leo’s chair. He puts the controller in her hands. Those small fingers fly over the buttons as she logs into the game under her player name—Vindikator. A new avatar leaps onto the screen. It’s a young man with golden hair and impeccable armor.

  There’s a chorus of approval. “Nice,” Orsen says.

  “Your avatar is a dude!” says someone else.

  “Holy shit—you’re Vindikator?” O’Hane yelps.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Lianne says sharply. “It’s my little secret.”

  “Wow,” O’Hane breathes. “Vindikator is…he’s like… famous.”

  Messages start popping up on one side of the screen. “VKATOR! Where you been tonight?” And, “You’re back, bro!”

  “Oh my God.” Orsen chuckles. “You have a following.”

  Without comment, Lianne does something that clears all the messages off the screen. “Okay, who wants the X-grade weapon? You can use a sword or a spear. There are advantages and disadvantages to both.”

  In the silence that follows, four hockey players exchange amused glances. It’s clear they have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Um, which one is bigger?” O’Hane asks. “Size matters.” The others chuckle.

  “The sword. And mine is lengthy.” She taps the buttons until a gleaming sword appears on the screen. “Step right up, boys. Who’s man enough to use this thing?”

  My brother raises his hand, so Lianne does something which transfers the sword to Leo.

  “Whoa,” he says. “I look fierce.”

  “Yes, you’re very intimidating,” Lianne agrees. “Just don’t cut off your feet, okay? I’ve seen that happen and it ain’t pretty.”

  “Good to know,” my brother says with a grin, giving Lianne’s knee a friendly squeeze.

  I’m surprised at the strength of my inappropriate jealousy when my brother touches her. He didn’t mean anything by it, and Leo would never make a move on a girl I liked. But I hate seeing it nonetheless.

  Jesus. As if I have any claim on her. Our friendship is probably toast after Harkness makes a decision about me. At least when I’m gone, and Lianne finds a great guy, I won’t be around to watch it happen.

  The only silver lining is that I’m not the most jealous person in the room. Amy has changed the music to Fall Out Boy, like she said she would. Now she’s swinging her hips around, looking for a little attention. And not finding it.

  Every dude in the room is staring at the screen, where my brother’s avatar has gone troll hunting. His pals follow him down a corridor, where there are creepy shadows between the torches on the walls. “Come out wherever you are!” Leo taunts the screen. “Imma gonna mow you down for once.” He heads toward a turn at the end of the tunnel.

  “Wait.” Lianne grabs his hand, preventing him from advancing. “He’s right around that corner. Let him come to you. Then go for the heart, it’s quicker. It will cost you less energy.”

  Amy is standing beside me now, watching Lianne and my brother. She’s stopped shaking her hips and started glaring.

  Everyone stares at the screen expectantly. Nothing happens.

  “Um, I think…” Leo starts. Then a giant, sweating beast lunges into view, coming for him. “Fuuuuuuck!” my brother says, laughing. On the screen he raises the sword and hits the troll in its gut.

  It roars as blood gushes out and onto the floor.

  “Ew,” Amy pouts.

  “You have to hit the heart,” Lianne repeats just as the troll lifts its arm to club my brother.

  Leo maneuvers the controller until his avatar can take another swing. This time he hits higher.

  The troll crumples into a disgusting heap on the floor.

  “Awesome,” several hockey players say at once.

  All at once Lianne’s avatar perks up and begins to moon walk like Michael Jackson. And “Beat It” is playing in the background.

  Orsen points at the screen and roars with laughter, and Lianne buries her face in her hands.

  Chuckling, my brother puts the controller onto her lap. “What’s the matter?”

  “I forgot I wrote that script,” she says, looking up at the screen. “It was just a little joke for whenever a troll bites it.”

  “Wait,” Leo stops her. “You wrote a script? Like…you changed the game?”

  “Sure.” She shrugs. “That’s how I feed my dragons, too. I automate things.”

  “You have dragons?” Orsen asks. “Like, plural?”

  “Yeah.” Lianne smiles. “A few.”

  “How many?�
� he presses.

  “Well, eighty.”

  There are sounds of disbelief. “Show us,” Orsen demands. “That’s so cool.”

  “Okay.” She presses a button on the controller and the scene dissolves onto a sunny hillside, with a castle in the distance. The viewpoint seems to fly over the rolling terrain, as if in a dream.

  “Whoa,” Leo says, reaching over to give Lianne’s elbow a squeeze. “You can fly? That’s cool.”

  “Trevi!” Amy whines. “Come and dance with me.” She walks over to the other side of his chair, takes his hand and tugs. “I put on a great playlist.”

  “In a bit, babe. I want to see Lianne’s dragons.”

  “Do you want to play?” Lianne asks sweetly. “I could probably fashion up some designer armor for you so you don’t hurt yourself too badly.”

  Amy gives her a sneer, looking quite capable of spitting fire, like one of Lianne’s dragons. “No thanks.” She stomps off, while all the other eyes are focused on the screen. There’s a sound of awe as the camera sweeps over the castle wall and into what looks like a medieval zoo, with a different colorful dragon in every stall.

  The beasts lift their heads as Lianne’s avatar floats down on a set of hidden wings, landing among them. “Hi babies! I’m home!” the avatar exclaims.

  The Harkness hockey team laughs while Orsen passes around fresh bottles of beer.

  While Lianne and her newest fans talk about DragonFire, I do some tidying up. I carry a bunch of empties into the kitchen. My plan is to take them out the back door to the recycling bin, but when I open the door to the back hall, there are two figures making out in the dark. One of them has the other one pushed up against the wall, wrists trapped by strong hands.

  It’s my brother’s teammate Rikker, kissing the hell out of his boyfriend, Graham. The back hall is a small space, and they’re in the way of my errand. So I drop the bag of empties to the floor with a jingle. “Take these out back when you’re done, kids.”

  One of them grunts his acknowledgment, and I retreat, leaving them to it.

  Just another day with the Harkness Hockey team.

  I finally get Lianne back about a half-hour later, after my brother and his friends have taken a few dragons on test drives into battle. She looks flushed and happy.

  “That looked fun,” I tell her. “I’m not much for gaming, but I did enjoy watching Amy get all jealous.”

  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.
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  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.”

  * * *

  It’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.”