Page 37 of Best Man on Campus

“Is that the only way I’m going to get any answers from you?” He follows me so I don’t bother to answer, which is the perfect answer.

We head out the back door and I know I’m pushing it with Leon to blow off my set, but I’ll make it up with a free night and sing a double set. My chest tightens because Leon is one of those people who’s opinion I care about. But I can’t not follow Ben to his car, annoyed and sick and conflicted about everything except that this is what I need to do right now.

His car is a fucking beat-up beast and I want to kick it as a stand in for Ben. Or for myself.

“A fucking Jeep Wrangler? Really?”

“Why not? It’s an old one, but I like it. I call it the Wildbeast.”

“I’m kinda surprised you don’t drive a Volvo wagon or a Subaru Forester,” I say as he opens my door. He gives me a little shove, the only indication that he’s paying attention to my barb. It makes me laugh. He gets in, turns the key, and looks at me again.

One of those what am I going to do with you looks. I have an answer for that, but he talks first.

“You can’t put anything about me in social media, Jazzy. Med schools check that shit these days and I can’t afford any questions about my character or—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout and lean in, getting in his face. “Are you saying being with me is bad character? That I bring down your rep? What the fuck, Ben? That’s…” Mean. And unexpected from him. I sputter because the idea slices deep, too close to the truth, to my own conscience telling me he’s too good for me. Or worse, that unicorns really aren’t real.

“No,” he shouts back. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He slams a fist on the steering wheel and I flinch because I never expect to see him lose his cool like this. Sexually, sure, but not a violent outburst.

“Oh my God, Jazzy. I can’t believe what you do to me. The issue isn’t with you. It’s me, it’s the impression that I’m a man-whore, out to bone chicks for the hell of it. Med schools want students who are stable, in stable relationships. They don’t want people out messing around and potentially getting into trouble.”

“What is that? Some kind of rule? Does it say no messing around somewhere in the med school application handbook?” He has to be wrong. My guilty conscience insists on it.

“Yes. Not in so many words, and not in a handbook, but I’ve talked to admissions counselors and enough med school students to know. Before social media, it was different. Now they use it as a tool to weed out people with bad habits or questionable principles.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the one applying and not me,” I say and I mean it, plus I’m making a point. “My video is about me, not you.”

“Really? I think I’ve been mentioned in the replays and comments.”

He swipes his hand through his gorgeous hair and I want to touch him, to grab hold of his face and run my fingers through that hair, to plant my lips on his, to drive my tongue down his throat until I touch his soul.

“Besides, it is about me. I was there. I’m not innocent. I was out messing around and we have anything but a stable relationship. Maybe I’m not what med schools are looking for.”

When he looks at me, I lick my lips and meet his eyes with a clear message.

He barks a laugh.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?”

I shrug and lean in.

“I think you’ll get into med school. no prob. You got all that do-gooder shit going on that will outgun one porn vid by me.” One night of messing around and a not-stable relationship. I don’t say the words out loud because they hurt me to think them. Am I stupid enough to have been hoping otherwise? If I could get away with it, I’d slap myself right now.

“Don’t underestimate the power of sex, Jazzy.” He clears his throat because his voice has gone gravelly.

“Like you need to tell me?” I understand very well the power of sex. Too well. But before I can make a move, he pulls the car from its spot and out onto the road.

“Your place or mine?” he asks like we’re in a B movie from the sixties.

“Mine. And while we’re on the subject, tell me what’s with all the do-gooder shit? What the hell made you start a fucking coat drive?” What the fuck made you think it would do any good? I want to shout the words, to shake him up, but I don’t. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe coats will do some good. For someone else.

Fuck. I’m a self-centered narcissist on top of being bat-shit crazy and sexually dysfunctional. Or maybe I’ve been cured of that much. I’m not sure. I don’t want to guess, don’t want to think about it. Though I know I’m headed like a freight train in the direction of testing whether I’m cured. Trial by fire. God I hope I don’t go up in smoke.

I hope even more with a shaky breath that I don’t light Ben up in smoke and leave him and his Disney life in a pile of ashes. If I haven’t already.

Chapter 9

Ben