by Sarina Bowen
I can’t help it. Pure instinct makes me kiss the palm that’s pressed against my lips before lifting it away. “Fine. I’m not very superstitious. But I don’t need any bad luck right now, either.”
“Why?” she whispers.
Whoops. The urge to unburden myself of my problems is so fucking strong. I haven’t felt so comfortable with anyone in a long time. And Lianne is everything I like in a girl—she’s smart and fun, with a great sense of humor. And I’m so attracted to her that I ache when she looks up at me with her warm, intelligent gaze.
But I don’t stay a word. “Your line,” I prompt.
We get through Act One, and then take a short break. Lianne peeks out the window, peering around the edge of my makeshift curtain. “I think he gave up. I hope he did, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t he have better luck stalking famous people in New York or L.A.?” I wonder aloud.
She drops the curtain. “Absolutely. And I’m not very newsworthy. So I really can’t figure out why he’s here. I was thinking of asking my manager to look into it.”
I hate the idea of this weirdo following her around campus. I mean—what if he’s some crackpot with a thing for her? “No point in waiting. Why don’t you call him now?”
She bites her lip, and I wish I could bite it for her. “Okay, you’re right. Thanks.”
I go into the kitchen to give her some privacy. I’d bought brownies at the grocery store, and I cut them into bit sized squares and put them on a plate. When I return, Lianne is already off the phone. “What did he say?”
Lianne shrugs. “I left a message. He isn’t great about following up when I ask for help. But maybe he’ll ask his assistant to look into it. I’ll probably get a lecture about security. He never wanted me to come to Harkness in the first place.”
“Why?”
“Money, of course. I’m a better paycheck when I’m working. And I’m harder to control when I’m not in California. That’s why I chose this place, actually. Because I couldn’t see him showing up in Connecticut to boss me around.” Her grin is sweet and evil at the same time.
“Well.” I nudge her knee with my mine. “I’m glad you did.”
She gives me a happy smile, and I inwardly kick myself. I can’t flirt with this girl. I can make her dinner and be a good friend. The fact that she’s even sitting here beside me means more to me than I’ll ever let on. A year ago, I had a million friends, a fun job at the rink, and another three years at Harkness ahead of me.
Now? I’ve got the job and that’s all. And even that will end if they kick my ass out.
Lianne smooths her copy of the play open to the start of Act II. She nudges me with a slender knee. “You’re Banquo.”
I deliver the line. “How goes the night, boy?”
Lianne’s voice is low and steady. “The moon is down. I have not heard the clock.”
Banquo’s next line is, “And she goes down at twelve.” For some reason this line sounds dirty to me, and my stomach contracts with a laugh that I hold in.
“I take ’t ’tis later, sir.”
Wouldn’t you know it? My next line is: “Hold my sword.” I choke it out, but it’s a struggle.
Lianne uses her book to slap me on the belly. “Mind out of the gutter, DJ. This is serious business.” But then she bursts out laughing.
“Sorry,” I sputter. “Maybe you should have hired a theater student.”
Grinning, she rolls her eyes. “You’re not the first guy to ever turn the bard into a dirty joke. I’ll bet there’s even Shakespeare porn.”
There’s something distracting about the word “porn” coming from her exquisite little mouth. “You mean like…” I wrack my brain for a good title. “The Taming of the Screw?”
“Sure. Or Two Gentlemen Do Verona?”
“Good one. And don’t forget As You Lick It.” Lianne giggles, and now I’ve made her face turn red. “Your turn.”
“Uh, King Rear.”
“Yeah!” I high-five her. “And Coriolanus! You don’t even have to change the title. Unless it’s to Coriolanal.”
Lianne snorts, and her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God. You are way too good at this. And bonus points for obscurity. Nobody knows that play.” She wipes her eyes. “Come on. Back to work. Read Banquo’s line.”
So I do. And I manage not to laugh again, even when Banquo says the king went to bed after having been “in unusual pleasure.” Not even when I declare I’ve kept “my bosom franchised.”
Since we’re home alone, it’s awfully quiet. And when rain starts pounding the window behind us, we have to speak up a little. But Lianne doesn’t stop. She reads the famous speech by Macbeth, “is this a dagger I see before me?” And I forget about our jokes and the rain and everything else, because she really gets into it. The highly paid actress sitting beside me has wrapped the language all around herself like a coat. I close my eyes and hear only a tortured man trying to decide if he can plunge a dagger into his king and seize the crown. The speech is perfect, and the last line arrives before I’m ready. “I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell.”
I have chills when I open my eyes to find her looking up at me.
11
What? Like That's Weird?
Lianne
I can’t interpret the expression on DJ’s face. He’s studying me, as if he’ll be quizzed later on the details of my features. I don’t understand the intensity of his gaze, but I don’t mind it, either.
Then he smiles at me in that way of his—like he sees me all the way through.
In my life, I’ve been some exciting places—red carpet ceremonies. Movie debuts. Yachts in the south of France. I’ve met more movie stars than you can shake a wand at. But I’ve never had as much fun as I do whenever DJ and I are in the same room. It doesn’t matter if we’re drinking watery beer at the pizza place or sitting on his roommate’s old sofa with books. Wherever I can see his lopsided smile, I feel happier than if I’d just won an Oscar.
Then he opens his mouth and says the perfect thing. “You really want this part, huh? This plot is so sinister.”
It takes me a second to answer, because I’m so touched that someone is interested in what I do. Even my asshole agent has never asked why I want this part—or any part. And here’s DJ, waiting to hear what’s on my mind. He leans forward, listening with his whole self. And we’re so close together! If I leaned forward, we’d be…
Wait. What was the question? Focus, Lianne! “The fact that it’s sinister is what I like about it. Shakespeare didn’t write any other female parts like this one. Lady M is much more interesting than Juliet. The plot is messy and complicated. Just like real life. There’s no magic fix.”
“No kidding.” DJ’s eyes drop to the page and stay there.
Now, I’m a decent actress. And all good acting is the interpretation of emotion. He’s got this whole dark and broody vibe working. But he doesn’t revel in it. It’s not intentional. I can see so clearly that this boy is troubled. Those big, expressive eyes don’t always shine with joy. There are shadows there, too. Something’s bothering him, but he’s not going to tell me what it is.
We probably don’t know each other well enough yet for me to ask. He’s so close to me, though. I feel our awareness of each other grow loud. It’s like the scratchy silence between tracks on an old vinyl record. Giving in to temptation, I reach up and palm my favorite part of his jaw—the squared-off bit where the stubble looks dark against his smooth skin. His eyes fall shut when I touch him, and unless I’m crazy, he leans into my hand.
A roll of thunder startles me, and my hand twitches. DJ’s eyes fly open and he gives me an amused smile.
He’s right there. We are as close together as two people can be who aren’t kissing. I’ve never planted a kiss on a guy before. But DJ makes me feel brave. And he won’t mind, right? He made me dinner. He’s reading the world’s most depressing play as a favor to me. On
a Saturday night!
Yes, I can do this. I can kiss him, and it won’t end in disaster.
But I don’t do it. Too scary.
DJ watches me think about it, his smile growing wider the whole time. Then he reaches his hand out and cups my jaw. We’re mirroring each other.
Before I can finish the thought, he slides his big hand around to the back of my head and tugs me closer. And strong arms pull me against a hard chest before I can get my panic on.
Yessssss. He dips his chin and presses hungry lips against mine. Happiness is being wrapped into a kiss.
I make a ridiculous whimpering sound, but maybe DJ doesn’t notice. He gathers me closer as he deepens our kiss. His mouth is both soft and demanding at the same time. I sort of ooze against him, melting into a puddle of helpless goo as he gently parts my lips and tastes me. All I can do is lean into it. His next kiss is deep and warm and everything I ever wanted. He tastes like cola and Shakespeare and Saturday nights. I’m greedy, like Veruca Salt at the chocolate factory. But without that bitchy voice.
Loud rain beats against the window, or maybe that’s my pounding heart. DJ is kissing me and I might expire from wanting him. In fact, my hands have begun to explore his chest, which makes him groan. And I love that sound.
But then there’s another noise, and it takes my lust-fogged brain a moment to register the voices outside and the clatter of keys in the front door. I leap away from DJ, back to my own cushion of the couch.
I pick up my book just as the front door bursts open. Orsen lumbers into the room, shaking himself like a big wet dog. He’s quickly followed by DJ’s brother. They’re both carrying giant duffel bags—big enough to stuff a body inside. Before he passes us, Leo Trevi notices us on the couch, then quickly looks away. Then he looks back again in a classic double take. “Whoa! Hey, you’re—” His eyebrow quirks. “—Reading Shakespeare on the couch?”
“What. Like that’s weird?” I snap. I’m quite grumpy that he’s just interrupted the hottest kiss of my life.
Leo’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens. “Uh… I guess not.”
“Why was the door locked?” Orsen asks. Then he looks from me to DJ and shakes his head. “Never mind.” Then he disappears into his room.
The door was locked because of the asshole photographer. But the fact that Orsen believes otherwise makes my face flame. All of me is pretty much on fire at the moment, and I sure hope it doesn’t show.
DJ frowns up at his brother. “Why are you here?”
“Where is the love?” His brother chuckles. “Can I throw my gear in your room?”
DJ grunts his assent. “I meant—how are you back from Providence already?”
Leo disappears momentarily to toss a giant hockey bag into one of the doorways at the back of the house. “It was a four o’clock game. Perfect, right?” He reappears, grinning. “We finish a two-game sweep and still have time to party. Feel like setting up your stuff and spinning some discs? Orsen just invited the whole team over.”
“Oh.” DJ closes his book and turns to me. “Maybe we should hit the library.”
Nooooo! Not hardly. I’ve made it half way through my freshman year without attending an actual college party. It’s time to peel the big L off my forehead. “I’d rather play with your DJ equipment.”
It takes me a second to figure out why Leo doubles over with laughter. I replay the sentence in my head, and a flush creeps up my shoulders and neck. Play with DJ’s equipment… Just shoot me. “For music!” I sputter.
But Trevi the elder has already laughed himself into the kitchen. “Lasagna!” he yells from the other room. “Hell yes! Deej, I can have a piece, right?”
“Sure,” DJ grumbles.
My face is still on fire, but I don’t have to look at DJ yet because the front door opens again, and another trio of hockey players come trundling in, but without their gear. “Hey!” the first one says. His jacket reads RIKKER. The second jacket says O’HANE. The third face is one I know. It’s one of Bella’s besties, Pepe. “Bonsoir,” the big Canadian greets me.
“Avez-vous gagné votre jeu?” I ask. Did you win your game?
“Naturellement,” he replies.
“Merveilleux!”
“You speak French?” DJ asks me.
“Sure. One of the benefits of getting dragged around Europe as a child.”
He smiles, then stands and reaches a hand toward me. When I take it, he pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get out the turntable. I’ll teach you to beatmatch.”
“Cool! I’ve done that a few times.” I’m not letting go of his hand until he makes me.
He tugs me toward his room, presumably for the turntable and computer. “Of course you have.”
DJ’s room is small, like a little monk’s cell. The double bed takes up most of the space, and the place isn’t decorated at all. There are no posters on the wall. It’s tidy, though. The books on the desk are stacked into a square pile, and all the pens in the pencil cup point downward.
I open my mouth to remark on it, but I don’t get the chance. DJ takes my face in two hands and kisses me. Hard. It’s sudden and the way he steps into my space until our bodies are aligned is impossibly hot. He gives a sort of growl that rumbles through my chest in a happy wave.
Just as I’m really getting into the swing of it, he releases me, steps back, and leans down to fish for something under the bed. “Haven’t used this stuff in a while,” he says in a completely normal voice. A coil of cable lands on the bed where he tosses it. He kicks his brother’s hockey bag out of the way and reaches under the bed for what must be a portable turntable in its case.
Meanwhile, I’m just standing there trembling, mouth open, face flushed. I mean—after a kiss like that, I need a cold shower or at least a few minutes alone to cool down. He’s actually whistling now, going about his business as if the room didn’t just tilt a minute ago when we tried to climb in each other’s mouths.
“You coming, smalls?” DJ gives me a smile, which doesn’t help matters. Because those dimples make my insides feel squishy.
“S…sure,” I say shakily, following him out of the room.
12
Cherry Lip Gloss
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 spe
ak. 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.
