The Fifteenth Minute: A Hockey Romance (The Ivy Years Book 5)
The Fifteenth Minute: A Hockey Romance: Chapter 3

Lianne

I WAKE up slowly on Tuesday morning before my alarm. But that’s because another kind of alarm is going off on the other side of my wall.

Separating my room from Bella’s are two wooden doors and a small bathroom. That may sound like a decent divide, but acoustics are strange. Our bathroom seems to amplify the sound of my two best friends getting it on.

I have no idea what a “normal” amount of sex in a relationship is. I’ve never had a relationship, and I’ve barely had sex. But wherever the mean lies, I’m fairly sure Rafe and Bella are several standard deviations past it. Most nights I fall asleep to one of the playlists I’ve compiled to drown out the sounds of their passion. (A six-second crossfade is sufficient to cancel out the grunts and dirty talk that make it hard to look them in the eye over brunch the next morning.)

Mornings are trickier. I’m half asleep right now, my limbs heavy. But I become slowly aware of furtive little gasps and a low moan coming from the next room. My phone and earbuds aren’t on the bedside table where I sometimes leave them, either.

My heavy eyelids fall closed again, and I drift for a moment. Maybe it’s the porn soundtrack next door, or maybe it’s inevitable. But my sleepy brain picks that moment to remember a wonderful thing.

DJ kissed me last night.

Rolling onto my side, I smile into the pillow. He was so, so cute. And even sexier than I’d remembered. Every time he grinned that boyish grin, I became a little stupider. By the time we got outside, I was practically in a nervous coma.

But it was so worth it. When he’d pulled me against his hard body, I’d wanted to scale him like a tree.

I still want to.

The noises from next door have picked up the pace. My breathing accelerates just imagining what it would be like to have a man like DJ want me so badly he was breathing hard and making those low, eager grunts. Because I’m polite, I put my palm over my exposed ear to muffle the sound of the grand finale. But now I can hear my own heartbeat glugging along, wishing for someone who’s not here. I squeeze my eyes shut and think of DJ again, his moist lips, the hint of beer on his tongue. His fingers in my hair…

When I lift my palm off my ear a minute later, it’s quiet. I could get up and go out for coffee. But I don’t have class until ten today. So I lean out of bed just far enough to grab the FedEx envelope that arrived yesterday afternoon. When I tear it open, a fat script tumbles onto the quilt.

Nightfall. Screenplay by Roland Sebring. Based on the novel by Helen Botts.

I wonder what Helen Botts will think about Princess Vindi showing some skin. I’ve met Helen Botts, and she’s a lovely silver-haired librarian type who now drives a Bentley. I suppose if Helen Botts doesn’t like the movie, she can weep into her royalty statement.

Lifting the cover, I flip to the first page. Let the skimming commence. They’ve opened the film at the castle gates. Lucifer has found a way to appear like a storm cloud over the city, terrifying the children.

Yada yada yada.

Princess Vindi’s first line is on page eleven. “I am not interested in your excuses, Lord Shelter. The time for excuses has passed.”

Sigh. It could be worse. In fact, I’m sure it gets worse. I keep flipping.

The sex scene is on page 132.

They grope, caress, moan and fondle. Vindi’s robe slides off her velvet breast. Valdor ducks his head to catch the pink teat carefully in his fangs. The camera pans downward to reveal clothing falling to the floor. With a heated rush of sexual urgency, Vindi mounts Valdor. The soundtrack rises with the keening writhings of intercourse. Valdor’s shouts are increasingly loud. The camera pans Vindi’s milky white, heaving bosom as she screams in consummation. Cut to Vindi’s shuddering face. Valdor moans deliciously, pulling Vindi softly into his embrace.

I let out a shriek.

A few seconds later Bella comes tearing through the door, mouth gaping. Her eyes skate around the room until she replaces me in my bed. “What is it? A spider?” She’s wearing a Harkness Soccer T-shirt and nothing else except the flush of someone who was recently…

Gah.

I fall back onto my pillow. “There’s no spider, Bella. I wish that was the problem.”

“What is it then? Hang on…” She darts into the bathroom and reappears a second later wearing her bathrobe.

Words can’t do the problem justice, so I hand the script over. Her eyes scan the page, and I know exactly when she’s found the object of my horror. Because she bursts out laughing.

“Stop,” I whine. “It wouldn’t be funny if it was you.”

“Oh, honey,” she giggles. “I’m sorry. Do you really have a velvet breast?”

I throw my stuffed bear at her. “You mock my pain. I can’t shoot a sex scene. And I really can’t shoot a sex scene with Kevin Mung.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Why doesn’t that boy take a screen name? He’s pretty to look at. But I always think of mung beans.”

“Stay on topic.” I grab the script from Bella. “This is ten times worse than I thought it could be.” I feel sick just imagining a roomful of leering cameramen and me with no clothes.

And Kevin. Shoot me.

“Let’s break down the problem.” Bella sits on the bed. “Is it the boob shot? Is it the scream upon consummation? Is it the mounting? Is it the awful, awful writing?”

“It’s…all of the above. And…” I shudder. “Kevin. He happens to be, um, the only one I ever…” I can’t finish the sentence. I just look up into Bella’s blue eyes and pray she’ll understand.

Her mouth falls open. “You’ve tasted the mung bean?”

There’s a snort from the bathroom where Rafe is brushing his teeth, and I want to die.

Bella flicks my door shut and frowns at me. “So, not only do you have to shoot this awful scene. But it’s with a guy you’ve doodled? Was this recently? I thought he was dating that singer.”

I protest with a violent shake of my head. “We were fifteen. We did it because…” I bite my lip and realize that I really don’t know why. “Because on a movie shoot, there’s a lot of doodling. And I was young and socially inept.” Still am. “And I thought it would make me cool. Instead, it just made people talk about us behind our backs.”

Bella cringes. “That sucks, honey. Is it awkward with him now?”

“No, actually. We’re good friends—good friends who never ever talk about that night. But this would make it awkward.”

“So put your foot down,” Bella suggested, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re like a very small lion tamer. Just crack that whip and tell them you won’t do the scene.”

“I’m going to have to.”

“Wait…” Bella frowned at me. “Did you say the only guy you’d ever…?”

Ugh. “Unfortunately. I don’t meet a lot of guys. Or—I meet them, but it’s always on a set, where everyone knows everyone else’s business. I learned that lesson the hard way. Or I thought I did. Last year I kissed a model at an Oscars after-party. And he sold the story to a British tabloid.”

Bella’s face was all shock. “Seriously? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way. But why did they give him cash? I mean, I’m not paying DJ to replace out what happened when you ducked out the back door of Capri’s last night. I’m curious. But it’s not worth money…” She waits.

I say nothing.

“Okay,” Bella tries. “It’s not worth much money. Perhaps a small bribe. And I’ll beg if necessary. Or you could just spill already. Did you or didn’t you fool around with DJ?”

My room door opens a crack to reveal Rafe’s face. “Wait. Lianne hooked up with DJ?” His smile is about a mile wide.

“I didn’t,” I say quickly. Protecting myself is a reflex. These are my friends, though, who only want me to be happy. “But there might have been kissing.”

Bella lets out a whoop. “I knew you had your eye on him! Did you give him your number?”

“He asked me out for Thursday. Well, sort of. It’s just pizza.”

But Bella’s face is lit with victory. “This is so exciting. Something to look forward to. Now call that manager you’re always yelling at and tell him where he can shove his heaving bosoms.”

It’s only six a.m. in L.A., so it will have to wait a few hours. “I’ll do it,” I vow.

I catch my arrogant manager after my first class of the day, and the call goes about as well as could be expected.

“Bob, I’m not doing that scene as written.”

He sighs. “I know that, babe. But you know this script will be rewritten by fifty different people before it makes it onto the set. So it’s a waste of time objecting to this or that word. Instead, we’ll just lay out what they’re allowed to do. Maybe we’ll say that side boob is okay, but no nips. Or yes to ass cheek and no to full frontal.”

I experience a shudder from my “nips” to my ass cheeks. “How about no scene at all. A kiss and fade to black.” I could survive a kiss with Kevin.

Again with the sigh. “I can’t sell that.”

You mean you don’t want to. “How about this—you get me some progress on the Scottish play, and I’ll give you side boob.” I can’t believe I just formed that sentence. It sounds as if we’re describing a cut of meat at a butcher shop.

He’s as noncommittal as always. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Unsatisfied, I shove my phone in a pocket. Now there’s nothing left to do but survive a few more days of classes before I can go on a date with DJ. At least I have that to look forward to.