Page 38 of Best Man on Campus

Fuck. The last thing I want to do is get into that shit. Heat rises to my face and I feel like a freak. Not that I’m ashamed of running a coat drive or helping people, but I’m fully aware that my behavior isn’t considered usual. My teammates might admire me, but they think I’m extra and not all of them are fans of the Humanitarian Award nomination.

“Never mind that,” I say as I drive to her apartment, concentrating on the destination, filling my head with visions of naked Jazzy sprawled in the messy bedclothes of her lousy pull-out couch. And visions of me on top of her, inside her. Shit. I reach a hand out and put it on her knee. I hope that’s what we’re headed for, because freaky do-gooder or not, I want her badly. We have something. I’d be angry with her, but I know who she is and I made the choice to play with fire.

“I’m not letting you off the hook that easy, hockey boy.”

“Of course not,” I say, pulling into her parking lot, the déjà vu of the moment hitting me in my cock as the promise of sex works his magic, turning me uncomfortably stiff in my pants.

“Now you have me curious about why you’d be holding back. What happened?”

Her question is more serious than teasing and I turn to her as I shut off the engine. If I want her to share, then I need to do the same, like it or not.

“Last Thanksgiving when I left my mom’s house after dinner—late because I stayed with her since Dad never showed up—I was at a stoplight in downtown New Rochelle—”

“You’re from New Rochelle, New York?”

“That’s what you’re asking me when I admit that my fucking father missed Thanksgiving dinner?” I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath. “Sorry. It still burns me. On the upside, he managed to have Christmas dinner with us. But I digress. You want to know about the coats because you think it’s random.”

“No. I’ve seen plenty of coat drives. There’s flyers for them on every street corner run by churches and boy scouts. I want to know what made you think the world needed one more?”

“There was a man standing at the stoplight. There often is. This guy had a sign and he looked okay, except for his eyes. His sign said he needed to keep his kids warm, which is unusual. The signs usually talk about needing food.”

“You’re a connoisseur of bums with street signs, of course.”

I reach over and squeeze her thigh, appreciating her teasing attempt to lighten my mood which has gone decidedly dark. Even compared to her, which is a sick twist of affairs.

“Of course. But it was more the look in his eyes, like he was haunted, that made me lower my window. I asked him what he meant about keeping his kids warm. He said they needed coats. His older twins were too big for the kids coats they give out at the church. I noticed what he was wearing and realized it was no more than a hoodie. He looked cold. So I asked him where his coat was and he laughed and shrugged. I said, ‘You gave your coat to your kids, didn’t you?’ He shrugged again. I asked him what church he went to and he told me. I know the place. A poor parish.”

“So not the one your family goes to, I’m guessing.”

“My family? I haven’t been to church in a decade and I don’t think I ever saw my father step inside one. My mom? Well I think she spreads it around and tries to go to all the local churches. To make up for me and dad.”

“I’m starting to think your mom is the real unicorn in your family,” she says.

“You would be correct.” Her observation pleases me more than it ought to and I lean over, cupping her face, and steal a kiss, a short one to test her mood. She doesn’t bite me. She kisses me back, mild and unforced, a kiss of affection and reassurance. Or that’s how I’m feeling it.

“So you started a coat drive at his church?”

I nod, taking in the exceptional beauty of her face unmarred by a frown or grimace or haunting pain. Her pale skin glows in the streetlight, the lush red of her full lips teases me with their perfect bow. And those eyes, gold specked, deep and brilliant, vibrate with life.

“Wait, what about the guy? He’s still cold, right? And how do you know his kids are going to get the coats at the church?”

Shit. She’s going to make me tell her. I sigh out a breath and confess the one detail I managed to leave out of the story for everyone else, the one that no one but the guy at the stoplight and I need to know.

“I took care of him.”

“You gave him money?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She stares at me, narrowing her eyes as I wait a beat, hoping she won’t force me to say it, then it hits her and she lets out a laugh like she just got the punch line of a brilliant joke.

“You gave him your coat. You literally took the coat off your back and gave it to the guy on the street! You’re the one, the fucking only person in the history of corny sayings to actually do it..” She shoves at me, her excitement unnerving and embarrassing and of course, why not, sexy as fuck. But she could be in rags and bleeding or vomiting—because we’ve been through both—and she’d still be sexy as fuck to me. I’m a sick bastard. Or maybe she’s a special girl—woman.

Giving her a grudging smile, I say, “Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I gave him my coat and turned up the heat.” I draw the line at confessing the coat was a brand new North Face, a birthday gift from mom. She takes me by the face and pulls me in for a violent kiss, a soul-deep kiss of appreciation and horny intent, telling me she’s turned on in spite of all her protests of my foolishness. And as I kiss her back, pulling her tight against my chest to feel her plump breasts mashed against me, I don’t feel the least bit foolish.

Her fingers climb into my hair and the lush taste of her mouth and that Jasmine scent of her wafting up wreaks havoc, adding to the dizzying need, the bulge of my cock in my jeans. With a shake in my hands like I’m a sex junky in need of a fix, I release her, pushing her back, and open my door. She grabs onto my jacket, a Wildbeast bomber, and pulls herself across the seat, like she can’t let go, can’t lose contact.

I take her hand as I stand and pull her the rest of the way out of the door and she stumbles to a stand next to me, into my arms.