DJ
AN HOUR LATER, the house is full of people, and the doorbell is still ringing. I keep opening it, wondering when the cops are going to show. I didn’t used to be a worrier, but my lawyer’s advice to stay out of trouble is ringing in my ears. Though I couldn’t bail on this party, because Lianne is here at my invitation and she’s having a blast.
We set up my gear on a table in the corner beside the sofa. I’ve let Lianne choose all the music, and she’s on a classic rap kick. At the moment, she’s dancing on the coffee table with Pepe, everyone’s favorite tipsy Canadian. I’ve already removed all the hockey magazines and empty cups, so she won’t stumble. And I’ve tucked my brother’s banner around the window more carefully. If that reporter is still out there, I don’t want him capturing this. And every time she sets down a half-empty drink, I take a big gulp of it, because I’m not sure she understands that there’s a pretty hefty dose of vodka in this punch that Orsen whipped up. Lianne must weigh about ninety-eight pounds soaking wet.
Okay—that’s really not the image I need right now.
A few kisses with Lianne and my head is spun around like the records on the turntable. It’s not wise to start something with her. My rational brain knows this. But she’s ridiculously attractive to me. She’s also a natural dancer; my eyes keep drifting to the sway of her hips and the shake of her pert little ass.
It’s been a while since I felt this kind of attraction. A long while. Like, I wondered if my dick was broken. I didn’t have a sexual thought all last semester. That’s pretty freaking weird, and if I didn’t have a hundred other problems I’d probably be worried about it.
Lianne though…she just kills me. Up on the coffee table, she and Pepe shake their butts to a funny part in a Public Enemy song, conversing in a language I don’t speak. She’s wearing a silly smile, and I just want to haul her off of there and kiss her again.
She’s having too much fun, though. And why shouldn’t she? Except for me, all the people in this room will still be at Harkness after the midterm break. She should make friends who might actually stick around.
When I look around the room, though, I notice that not everyone is friendly to her. Lianne is clearly a source of curiosity. From some people there are sidelong glances and whispered asides, as if Lianne is an alien species or a zoo animal. One girl is downright nasty, and unfortunately that girl is Amy, my brother’s girlfriend.
At first, I hoped I was imagining it when Amy elbowed her puck bunny friends every time Lianne bent over the turntable. But then I heard her make a snarky comment about Lianne’s powers of sorcery, and I realized Amy really has nothing better to do with her time than to poke fun at someone she doesn’t know.
My brother’s girlfriend is a bitch on wheels, and while I have my theories about Leo’s choices, I still don’t know how he puts up with her. He’s too easygoing to enjoy someone so high maintenance. Every time I hear another insult fall from her carefully made-up face, I can only assume that she’s more fun in bed than out of it. When I cross the room again, I hear Amy say, “If I were her, I’d use my magic powers to increase my cup size to at least a B.”
I give her an ornery glare, but she doesn’t even notice. My opinion doesn’t even register with her because I don’t play for her favorite hockey team.
“DJ,” she says, grabbing my biceps as I walk past. “Play me something from this decade?”
She always speaks to me like I’m the help. Not even a please. “You’ll have to talk to Lianne,” I say. “She’s the DJ tonight.” I’m not trying to complicate Lianne’s evening, but I’ll bet Amy is too self-absorbed to actually go and make eye contact with my favorite freshman.
But it turns out I’m wrong about the girl. (This is a theme in my life.) She marches over to Lianne and taps her hand. Lianne hops off the coffee table and cocks her head to hear better. Amy makes her request, and I watch as Lianne gives her a once-over, trying to decide whether or not to give in.
“‘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.
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.”
“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.
