Page 29 of Best Man on Campus

“Playoff game tomorrow night. Want a ticket to the game?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll watch it on TV at home where I can fall asleep on the couch.”

It’s what she always says and I always pretend to be offended that our hockey games aren’t exciting enough to keep her awake. I skip that tonight.

“We should win.” I shovel some food into myself. She lifts her brows. It’s the outer limit of her range of expressions.

“Not unless you drum up more enthusiasm than that, boy.” She shoves my shoulder like she’s one of the guys, and I laugh.

“Nothing to worry about there. I’m just tired tonight. Long day.” I finish the plate of food in record time and glance at the stove, contemplating seconds.

“I’ll get you a refill. You talk. Tell me what’s on your mind, Ben.” That’s the kind of invitation to talk Majik never issues. My nerves wind up even tighter than they were. My shoulders are already sore from practice and lifting. And from the night with Jazzy, if I want to be honest. Fuck. Time to be honest.

“I spent the night with Jazzy Romano Saturday. I didn’t know she was your… that you were her foster mother.”

She returns to the table with a heaping plate and a roll and a glass of water.

“Did you think I was under the impression you were studying for the priesthood?”

I bark a laugh at that. Vintage Majik humor.

“No, but…” I push my hand through my hair, staring at the plate of food. “She’s a confusing girl.”

Majik laughs, loud and full, not her usual snort or snickering.

“Fuck you, Majik. I’m struggling here.” She settles down and pats my hand, which doesn’t have the consoling effect she’s going for. Or maybe she’s enjoying my frustration, the torture. Maybe she’s cut from the same cloth as Jazzy. No maybe about it.

“Don’t overthink it, sport. Just take care of her, don’t let her down.”

“Right. You know that’s fucking impossible.” I pull my hand away and push it through my still damp hair.

“Then don’t let me down,” she says. I’m wondering what that means and I get a bad feeling. Squinting my eyes at her, I ask the question. “You didn’t talk to her about me—”

“Of course I did. I want my Jazzy to have the best. You’re the best man on campus.” She smirks, knowing I hate that tag.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her about you. Suggested she should meet you.” Majik shrugs her meaty shoulders.

“Why? What makes you think I’m good for her?” I want to ask what makes her think Jazzy is good for me, but that would be mean. Besides, I can handle Jazzy.

“You’re not a shithead. You have good judgment. You don’t get in fights, you stop them.”

“That’s half the people I know.”

“You’re humble.” She smiles that sly smile. I should feel special that she’s strung more than five words together in a conversation with me. She’s not the most talkative woman, but that’s her main charm. Now she’s spouting off like someone spiked her coffee.

Something dawns on me. “This is important to you.”

“She needs someone special. She’s on the verge of…”

“Conquering her demons?”

Majik nods, no smile in sight. Then she tells me all about myself. How I’m unselfish. Smart. Ambitious. Patient. Open-minded. Fuck. If she only knew. Unselfish? That’s a fucking laugh. I shake my head.

“You’re generous to the point of bat-shit crazy in your opinion of me.”

“Put a sock in it, sport. You’ve already proven your humility. My girl is worth your effort and you are worth her pain.” She stands and goes to the sink where she turns on the water and starts rattling pans. I’m dismissed. Based on past experience, I’m not likely to get any more from her. Not even the opportunity to help with the dishes.