The Fifteenth Minute Read Free

jukebox.
    Do I want to see him again? Heck yes .
    “Huh,” I say casually. “I am trying to get out more. But I’m not going to drink so much this time.”
    “Good call,” Bella agrees. “I wasn’t going to mention it. But it is easier to get a guy’s phone number if you can still focus your eyes at the end of the night.”
    I groan, because Bella is never going to let me live that night down. “Thanks for the tip.”
    “You’re welcome. Be ready at seven.”

----
    A fter lunch I have a History of Art lecture. But once that’s done, I’m free to go back to my room and obsess about seeing DJ again.
    The weird thing about being me is that I never have to wonder, “Will he remember my name?” Everyone under the age of thirty knows my name. It’s not vain of me to say that—it’s just a fact. And not because I’m amazing. It’s because the Sentry Sorcerer films are so popular. The first one came out ten years ago when I was nine. The script that arrived this afternoon from Bob’s office is for the fifth one.
    I haven’t opened it yet, because I’m afraid to read the spicy scene. Getting naked on a sound stage in front of forty crew members sounds terrifying. In the meantime, it would be awesome to have actual sex with a person who isn’t getting paid to touch me.
    That sounds simple enough. But in my life, nothing ever is.
    For tonight’s adventures at the pizza place, I do my face in a style I’ll call “Monday Casual.” Brown mascara, but no eyeliner at all. A whisper of gold eyeshadow. I want to look good, but I don’t want to appear too eager.
    When Bella sticks her head in from the door to the little bathroom that connects our rooms, I’m just finishing my lips— a lip stain by Stila and my favorite drugstore brand gloss over it. The gloss tastes like cherries, but it’s been two years since I got close enough to a guy to share it with him.
    Sad but true.
    “Let’s go,” she says.
    My stomach does a dip, and I grab my trusty baseball cap and follow her out the door.

    I t’s a Monday night , so Capri’s isn’t crowded. Bella sets us up at the hockey team’s favorite table. “You’re eating pizza with me,” she announces.
    “Great. I’ll have a slice.”
    “ Wow . Who are you and what have you done with Lianne?”
    I flip her my middle finger on the way to picking up the beer she’s poured me.
    Last semester I’d followed the rules set out for me by my asshole manager—no carbs or beer (because of carbs). But my New Year’s resolution is to stop listening to all the assholes in my life who want to control me. If I gain a couple of pounds, my career won’t end. Right?
    I hope so, anyway.
    Bella wanders off to order pizza. “Where’s Rafe tonight?” I ask when she reappears.
    “He took a catering gig at the dean’s office. They pay time-and-a-half for wearing a shirt and tie. He might turn up later.”
    The hockey team begins to arrive two or three guys at a time. “Hey, Bella!” they greet my friend, plunking their big bodies into chairs around our table. Trevi, the team captain, ends up beside me. He shrugs off his team jacket and gives me a friendly smile. Then he tosses his wallet on the table and announces that he’ll buy the next round.
    “Hi, Lianne,” Bella’s friend Orsen greets me. (It’s a huge help to me that the team wears their names on their jackets. I never get anyone’s name wrong.) “Can I sit here?”
    “Sure,” I say a little too brightly. I’m trying not to watch the door for DJ. Since I spent my Christmas vacation at Bella’s house in New York City, I’ve socked away quite a bit of intelligence about the hockey team. So I know DJ is Trevi’s younger brother. And I know DJ lives in an off-campus house with Orsen, the goalie.
    But Trevi and Orsen are here already, and I’m starting to worry that DJ isn’t going to show.
    More people trickle in, and I scan their faces hopefully. There’s Bridger and his cute little sister, who slides