Page 5 of Best Man on Campus

Now I can’t have you when all I want is you;

Jazzy, you make me so insane.

Her words are soft at first, but her voice gathers strength, stops shaking, and I listen to the sadness as I search the kit for antibiotic cream and bandages. The song was obviously written for her by a past lover. A stab of lonely envy strikes me and I laugh at myself. Jazzy? The last thing I need is trouble with a girl like her. Someone else can have her and her deep-seated wild passion. I can see clearly now it’s born of past pain. But no matter how vulnerable she looks, I know she’s not worth whatever it would take to make her whole. I don’t know her. I can’t afford to care. Not past taking care of a few cuts on her hand, even if I can see and hear in her voice that she suffers from cuts far worse, the kind deep in her soul.

I find what I need to clean the blood from her hand and arm.

“Nice song,” I say when she stops and I secure the bandage and stand, gritting my teeth against the surge of nausea now that I’m finished. I take a long slow deep breath to shake it off.

She ignores my comment, venturing a look at her hand, and then smiles at me.

“You’re good at this.” I’m in danger of vomiting, but I don’t tell her.

“Tell that to the med schools I’m applying to.” I take her good hand to pull her from the chair. “All set.”

“Med school. Damn. I thought you were going to be a big hockey star and I could score myself some big-shot jock cock.” No humor in her sarcasm, she eyes me with interest more than disappointment.

“Guess you’re feeling better. And don’t pretend you’re disappointed.”

She laughs. It’s a startling sound that does more to light my cock than the sight of her nipples through her wet T-shirt.

“You’re right, I don’t give a fuck what you do. Maybe the rumor I heard isn’t true.”

“What rumor is that?”

“That you’re being scouted for the NHL.”

I shake my head, suppressing the beat of excitement. “It’s true.” I shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. Being a doctor is more important than playing hockey.”

She gives me an evil look like she knows, as if she can see through to me to the dilemma in my soul. No way she has a clue.

“Big decision. Play hockey or go to med school,” she says as if I haven’t already made the decision, hadn’t just told her my decision. Fuck. “The way I see it, it’s all about choosing now or the future. Which is it, unicorn boy?”

Ignoring her sarcastic unicorn boy tag, I say, “No contest. I’m only playing hockey for the scholarship.” I lie my ass off. There may have been some truth to it once, but I love hockey and playing for St. Paul University with these guys is the best thing in my life, if I’m honest. Now pretending that I only play for the scholarship is a lie that’s getting harder and harder to pull off with the Hockey East Championship and Frozen Four Tournament coming up. And the real possibility for a shot at the NHL taunting me.

“Let’s go,” I say as we step out of the back room.

She laughs at me, for real, and I wonder again if she sees through me as we head back to the bar. I escort Jazzy along the bar toward the front with a hand on the small of her back hovering just above her perfect round ass. The bartender calls out to her from the back, less crowded corner, offering her a free beer to make her forget her pain.

“Honey, you can pour an ocean of beer down my throat and it won’t put out the fire of this pain. It’s who I am. I’ll be out of my misery when I die.” She bellies up to the bar and takes the beer from Leon anyway.

“Here’s a beer for you, too. Least we can do for you for patching up our Jazzy.” Leon grins and slides me a beer, so I sit with Jazzy in the back corner. My team is on the far side of the long bar making noise and having a good time from the sound of it.

“You don’t have to sit with me,” she says, her chin in the air and her eyes flashing, though at a toned-down level from before.

“I should stay with you. Make sure you don’t faint again.” I’m teasing, partly. And partly fascinated. “You sing here regularly?”

“As regular as I can. Sunday night’s my usual night. Tonight’s extra. What about you? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

I saw Jazzy sing once, the beginning of fall semester, before hockey season. Before classes started up because Sunday nights are my study night. Normally. But I remember her performance. She was sitting on a stool with her guitar looking like she was alone in the universe. Her hot sensuality captivated my cock, and the sound of her voice, deep and sad and haunting, made my heart bleed.

There was no question she was fucked-up trouble, especially for a guy like me so easily addicted to trouble like her. Though I didn’t exactly vow never to come into Wildbeast Pizza on a Sunday night ever again, I didn’t jump at the chance either, sticking to my Sunday night study routine. Tonight must be my lucky night. Or not.

“I don’t come in much. I study at night. The team comes in sometimes after home games. Usually late and I don’t stay long. But we just finished the regular season so…” I shrug.

“You’re a serious bastard, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering her, I drain my beer because suddenly I don’t want to be serious tonight.