Page 41 of Best Man on Campus

“The next playoff game is in Boston. I’ll get you a ticket. We’ll go out afterwards.”

“I’ll come to your shitty playoff game, but I’m not going out with you and your friends.” She watches my face and I don’t hide my surprise, or my disappointment.

“Cheer up hockey boy,” she continues. “How about if we have sex afterward instead?” She says half defiant, half sexy teasing. Then she adds, “Real sex. With your goddamn condom. You can fuck me.”

In spite of the harshness of her words, the note of unenthusiastic condescension, a spike of excitement kicks my heart beat from fast to thundering and a stupid smile erupts onto my face, the kind I can feel stretching my soul.

“Don’t talk like that, Jazzy. I want to have sex with you, but it’s not like that.” I’m stupid to say the words I feel, but hell. “It’s more than that.”

“It’s exactly like that and that’s all it is. Don’t kid yourself otherwise.” I feel her hostility rising, but she’s the one kidding herself. I’m betting on that, but I don’t challenge her. I’d rather leave tonight without a scene. Without getting thrown out at the last second.

“You don’t want to go out?”

She smirks. “Not a chance.” She doesn’t explain, but I can guess.

“You’re not a people person.”

“Your world is not my world, hockey boy.”

“I thought I was a unicorn?”

“I thought you knew I was being ironic.”

I laugh and then bend to kiss her forehead, but she catches my face in her hands and turns it into a real kiss, a parting kiss, the kind that makes me want to stay. In true form, she pushes me backward into the door. So I open it, shaking my head, but smiling because even though she’s trying to hide it with a smirk, she’s smiling.

* * *

This is not one of those normal relationships like I’ve had in the past where we text each other, share what’s going on, and talk on the phone when we don’t see each other. Not with Jazzy. I text her in the morning after our skate and by the time I’m back to BMOC House for dinner, I still haven’t heard from her. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I’m preoccupied when I pull up a chair at dinner. Between Jazzy and the upcoming organic chem exam weighing on me, I’m quiet.

Kace notices and says, “You cut out early last night. You with Jazzy?”

I nod. Give him a half-hearted smile in return for his grin.

Stone takes the chair next to me and Majik brings in the food on a small cart. Spaghetti and meatballs with a huge salad.

“I want every bit of this salad gone,” she says, flailing her wooden spoon as if we’re little kids. Her little kids.

“Don’t worry,” Voz says, “Ben’ll eat it.” The guys laugh. Majik gives me a look and nods. I think she’s going back to the kitchen without comment, being a woman of few words, but she stops at the door and surprises me.

“That’s because Ben is smart and patient and he knows how to eat right and put off the dessert until the time is right.” She looks around the room at large, but it’s fucking obvious she’s sending a message to me. Obvious to everyone. Both Kace and Stone elbow me when she leaves.

“Well that was strange,” Billy comments as he digs into his food.

Kace stares at me, expecting a reaction or explanation or comment of some kind, but all I have is a shrug. No way am I sharing any of the fucking details about me and Jazzy. With anyone. Not Kace or Stone and especially not Majik. I told her as much as I’m ever going to tell her. I fill my plate with lettuce and spaghetti as my guilty conscience screams at me. Fuck.

Majik is right. I need to back off Jazzy. She’s not ready for a relationship. Not the kind I want.

“We should start planning our party now,” Voz says to the table after we’ve all stuffed our faces to fill our bellies and are slowing down enough to talk. “For when we win the Frozen Four Championship.”

“We’re well on our way, but not there yet by a longshot,” I say. “We can wait to plan it, or maybe it should be spontaneous.” I get up from the table, first to throw in my napkin. “The salad bowl isn’t empty. Make sure it is before the last person leaves.”

Voz says, “Let me guess, you’re going to study. Why do you even bother? You’ll be drafted into the pros and all those good grades will be for shit.”

“Med schools don’t care whether I’m drafted by the NHL. They’ll be much more impressed with the grades.”

“You really gonna give up the NHL for med school? For real?” He asks the question and a lot of the guys are nodding and wondering the same thing. It’s like I’m a traitor to the brotherhood for even considering the possibility. I flash a glance at Kace, but he’s wondering too, interested in my answer even though we’ve had the discussion before. They don’t believe I’ll go through with med school.

“I’m really going to med school. Period. Not that it’s any of your fucking business.” I leave the dining room, going through the kitchen, but Majik is gone. Early for her, but it’s just as well. Voz’s words ring in my ears, sounding like temptation. I probably should have quit the team last year if I knew it was going to be such a struggle this year to get the grades for med school with the demands of hockey growing with the team’s success. But hockey’s been my solace in spite of the hoopla, the increased press, expectations from everyone: the coach, the team, the student body, and the administration. Right now I need to be responsible and study and get my grades. I open the old book from my dad and stare at the column of terms. Fuck.