Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  A tall, grandma-ish looking lady waved us both up to her open register. I paid for Payton’s Coke and my popcorn without thinking twice, like old times.

  The cashier handed Payton a cup and passed me the bag of popcorn and some spare change. We walked over to the condiment stand, and I watched her as she studied the soda fountain dispenser.

  She turned to me as she pressed the cup against the Coke option. “Are you doing this to rub it in my face?” The fire in her narrowed eyes sent my balls ducking for cover.

  “What?” It had been a while since I’d seen her pissed off, and holy hell, her brand of scary ranked up there with the girl from The Shining. My balls suctioned up into my body, and I now had a pair of ovaries, unable to follow through with the plan. “This was Jules’s idea. Not mine.” Great job, dip wad. Throw her roommate under the bus. Real fucking mature.

  She continued to level me with her glare, and Coke spilled over the edge of her cup, the dark liquid running down her hand. I pulled a few napkins out of a bin beside the condiments and blotted her skin. She stiffened and then yanked her hand away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she growled.

  Fuck. My emotions were all over the place. Why couldn’t I go back to the numbness I’d endured the past two years of college? Anything was better than this feeling shit. Something about seeing her again made me so aware of everything.

  Somehow, I had resumed my role as doting boyfriend.

  I handed her the napkins, grabbed my popcorn, and pumped the butter dispenser enough times to guarantee I’d have a heart attack by the time I finished this messed-up double date.

  Assuming I would live long enough to survive Miss Flamethrower’s death glares. Even though my dick did everything in his power to botch it, my plan was working. At this rate, I would only have to see her an hour a week in class.

  She wadded up the napkins, sunk them into the trash with a perfect layup, and put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you dating Jules to get back at me?”

  My shoes scuffed against the pavement as I searched for an answer. Why was I dating Jules? Well, she had that whole not making me feel like a piece of shit thing going for her, and it didn’t hurt she was easy on the eyes. But it didn’t feel right. Even kissing her on the cheek felt forced.

  “I’m just trying to move on.” I inwardly growled at myself. These newfound ovaries must be pumping estrogen into my body by the barrelful.

  She raised her brow, and her mouth pursed into a pout, obviously not wooed by my honesty.

  “I don’t need any of your stupid excuses. I didn’t come back for you. I came back because I had to.”

  The words themselves were a swift kick to the nuts, but her tone shook as bad as my arms on the last rep of bench presses. I didn’t buy it. There had to be some part of her that still felt something. Or maybe I was just an idiot for being stuck on her for so long.

  “No one said I was waiting for you.” Even though that was pretty much why I had stayed in California and ruined my chances at a full ride to Baylor. She didn’t need to know that, though. “Maybe you should have stayed in Florida.” Maybe then I wouldn’t feel like someone carved out my heart with an ice pick.

  Her features twisted for a millisecond and then quickly recomposed. “You’re an ass.”

  She wound back her arm, the universal sign for I’m about the slap the shit out of you. No need to stop it because I deserved it, and physical pain was much more preferable than this ache in my chest. Just as she reeled her palm toward my face, the breeze picked up her perfume and carried it under my nose. Something inside me snapped and brought me back to junior year, when our relationship just started heating up. Memories of her sprawled out naked on my bed flooded my brain. Her perfect perky breasts, her tight stomach. And those fucking irresistible green eyes and strawberry curls.

  I grabbed her hand before she hit my face and pulled her to me. Before she had the chance to react, I crushed my mouth against hers. Her soft lips tasted of Coke and cherry lip balm and God damn perfection. My other hand went to her hair, my fingers tangling in its waves.

  Her free hand ran down my back and slipped under my shirt. She traced tiny circles across my skin, and I throbbed for her to take it further.

  She moaned as her lips fell into motion with mine, and for a split second I forgot we had broken up. It was just us. Back when shit was simple. It wasn’t until I slipped my tongue past her teeth that she stiffened and pushed off me.

  Her eyes had that faraway look, the one she always had after an orgasm. She shook her head, and her gaze came back into focus. Moment over. “What the hell, Blake? I’m on a date with Andrew.”

  Shit.

  I raked my hand through my hair. What was I thinking? I was supposed to be on a date with Jules, and I fucking kissed my ex-girlfriend?

  She huffed out a sigh, staring at her soda. “Stay away from me.” She whirled around and stomped off toward the truck.

  Idiot. I shouldn’t have done that, but I couldn’t help it. Being around her turned me back into that horny guy I was in high school—the one that could never keep my hands off her. The popcorn bag crumpled underneath my clenched fist, and kernels rained to the ground. That couldn’t happen again.

  I made my way to the truck, wasted popcorn crunching beneath my feet, and cussed under my breath.

  She turned around and said, “By the way, you forgot Jules’s Coke.”

  Fuck.

  We safely deposited Payton at her apartment after the movie. Jules wanted to hang out for a little while longer, so the three of us headed back to the frat.

  When we returned to my room, Andrew shook my hand and pressed a condom against my palm as we released our grip. He winked and strutted out of the room, closing the door behind him. A chuckle and scoff mixed in my throat as I looked at the foil square. Not where the night was heading, but good to know he used protection.

  Jules flopped down on my bed, her long legs crossed at the ankles as she leaned against my pillow. I sat next to her and propped my elbows on the bed.

  “Jules.” The words I needed to say next had my throat in a chokehold. I wanted to tap out, but it was the right thing to do, even if I didn’t like it. I had the whole ride home to make my decision, and the more I thought about it, the more I hated myself for being so hung up on Payton. But that kiss. Our lips fit perfectly together, and, by the way she moaned and her back arched into me, she wanted me, too.

  Her eyes shifted from my bedspread to my face. “Blake.” She smiled and rolled from the pillow and straddled me.

  “Listen—”

  “Maybe I don’t want to listen.” She giggled and poked my stomach.

  What was I, the Pillsbury Doughboy? Normally this wouldn’t bother me. I mean, hot chick with hands all over me? Awesome. But between my emotions taking me on a wilder ride than Ryan putting us in a ditch during drivers ed and that confusing random kiss with Payton at the drive-in, my patience meter ran on empty.

  She kissed my neck, and I desperately wanted the queasiness in my gut to go away.

  Nope. Hiller, grow some balls. My newfound ovaries protested.

  “I think you’re a great girl, but—”

  She stopped kissing me, sat back on her heels, and nibbled on her bottom lip. “But what?”

  “I can’t do this.” I motioned my hand from her to me.

  She cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  Shit. During the whole ride home, it didn’t occur to me that she would question this. Hell, I didn’t even know how to explain this. Except I did. I took a deep breath and flinched as I said, “I still have feelings for my ex.” Damn. That hurt to admit out loud. Keeping it inside, it was a secret, one I could control. But now that it was out in the open, it was true.

  I still loved Payton.

  Chapter Seven

  Payton

  Jules pulled her hair back and tied it off with a tan elastic. She opened the door to the gym and said, “Things with
Blake aren’t going to work out.”

  I walked through the doorway and turned to her. Had I heard her right? “Why?”

  We started our trek up the two flights of stairs to the indoor track. She was slightly out of breath as she said, “Some lame-o excuse he gave me last night when he took me back to his room.”

  “What excuse?” My innards did a happy Snoopy dance as we reached the top of the stairs and walked through the hallway. Not that I particularly enjoyed my best friend being miserable, but at least now I wouldn’t have murderous thoughts when she brought up Blake.

  What was with that kiss last night? It wasn’t like the way he used to kiss me. This time was urgent and needy, not like before when he would take his time and explore every inch of my skin. The way his lips melted into mine… If I had continued, I’d never be able to get over him. He was like a drug, and I needed to be in a twelve-step program to resist these urges.

  The entrance of the indoor track opened to a carpeted area for stretching and a wall with locked cubbies that stored personal belongings.

  I sat down on the carpet, stuck both legs straight in front of me, and touched my toes.

  “Some bullshit excuse about not being over his ex.”

  My breath caught, and I buried my burning face in my quads. Was he actually being sincere when he said he was still trying to get over me? Doubtful. Blake had a smooth tongue. A very nice, smooth one. I tried not to think about that tongue, my cheeks heating in response. But to tell Jules he wasn’t over his ex. Well, that couldn’t be me. Too much time had passed; there had to be someone else.

  “That sucks.” I busied myself with retying my ponytail, looking anywhere but at Jules.

  “Wonder who it is.” She tapped something in her phone and then shot me a look. “She’s a dumb bitch. How could she seriously dump him? He’s a total catch.”

  Oh God. I didn’t have it in me to explain my fifteen-month relationship with Blake. And now she thought I was a dumb bitch. Just freakin’ great.

  And, yeah, he was a great catch, but he came along with too much baggage—like choosing Ryan over me when I needed him the most. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was still hung up on me.

  I needed to clear my mind, to think of anything but Blake. “Mind if I run a few warm-up laps?” I gave Jules credit for offering to run with me, but she was more of the window shop at mall exercise type than a conditioned athlete. Don’t get me wrong, power shopping was exhausting, but it didn’t use the same set of muscles as running.

  She waved me off, still hyper-focused on her phone.

  I cranked up the music on my iPod to the point where I’d receive hearing aids as a thirtieth birthday present. My feet pounded against the rubber in lane one, and each step sent delicious tingles up my legs. Fergie and I were up in the gym working on our fitness as I mouthed the words and lost myself in the music. Rounding the corner, my muscles twitched in anticipation for a full-out sprint.

  My arms brushed my sides as I accelerated my pace. I passed a guy two lanes to my right who had sweat soaking the back of his gray T-shirt. My feet made contact with the ground on each beat of the song. All I focused on was my stride and breathing, nothing else. Nothing could hurt me when it was just my music and a place to run. I needed to escape.

  He’s not over his ex. Maybe he’s not over me.

  No. We were over. Period. End of story.

  Chapter Eight

  Blake

  Not too many things made me see red. Actually, I could only think of two: Andrew’s hands all over Payton, and my Aunt Lily. An email from my aunt sat in my inbox like a steaming plate of pretentiousness with a side of bitchiness.

  I decided to open the email now. Like hands being duct-taped to a forty during a drunken night of Edward Fortyhands, it was better to get it over with all at once and rip it off. Unfortunately, the annoying, stinging pain didn’t go away in regards to my aunt. She was more like an irritating gnat that dive-bombed my head every five minutes.

  Dearest Blake,

  I hope the $100 I sent you last month was enough to cover the cost of food. I am wiring another $100 tomorrow. If you want to earn some more money, you could always come help re-floor my apartment. Well, I am off to take Frederick to the groomer. Chuck and I are traveling to Vail for Thanksgiving, so please find somewhere else to spend your holiday.

  Aunt Lily

  I equated Aunt Lily emails to that of having a one-sided conversation with an ADD kid. Completely beyond me how she had her master’s and worked as an accountant.

  The amount of fucked-up things with this email piled higher than my overflowing garbage can full of takeout cartons and coffee cups. With Lily being the executor of Mom’s estate, she had held the insurance money over my head for almost five years. I wouldn’t get the money until I turned twenty-five, so when it came to college, I depended on last minute scholarships and my aunt’s money. And she always looked for ways to make my life hell now with her money invested in my future.

  A hundred bucks? A laughable amount in terms of food. If it weren’t for the frat, I’d be one scrawny-ass dude living off Ramen noodles.

  My mouse hovered over the reply button. Did I really need to respond to her? If I wanted any extra cash, yes.

  I clicked reply and started typing.

  Dearest Aunt Lily,

  You’re far too kind. It breaks my heart to say that I will not be able to help re-floor your apartment. I will be wallowing in self-pity due to the fact I cannot be at your service. I need to study for midterms, but I will be able to help out with small projects around the house when I come home for winter break. Have a GREAT holiday.

  Blake

  Barf.

  Aunt Lily didn’t speak fluent sarcasm; it was something that flew over her head whenever I’d made snide remarks in the past. If she had noticed, she’d never let on.

  My phone beeped, taking me out of my Aunt Lily-induced stupor. My heart sped up as I grabbed the phone and turned on the screen. Jules. I didn’t know who to expect, but definitely not her, not after the most awkward breakup in the course of my pathetic dating history. My pulse stalled to a lazy thump as I read her message.

  J: Where are you? Class is almost starting.

  The clock in the corner of my computer screen read 8:53.

  Shit.

  At least it only took five minutes to walk from the A Sig house to class. I pulled my fraternity letters hoodie over my head and rushed out the side entrance.

  Jules smiled and brushed her hand across my arm as I eased into my seat. She had, for the most part, backed off since our crash-and-burn date at the drive-in, but she still liked to touch my arm. A lot.

  “Thanks for the text. You saved my ass.”

  She squeezed my hand. “No prob.”

  My notebook and pen sat ready on the fold-out desk with two minutes to spare. I ignored Jules’s hand still stroking my arm and risked a glance at Payton. I immediately regretted that decision. Her frosty glare sent a chill running through my core. Welcome back, Ice Queen.

  “Good morning, everyone. After that very stimulating conversation last week, I’ve decided to start our group project early. You may pick from the topics listed on the board and have up to four people in your group.”

  Behind him was a list of at least twenty topics to choose from.

  Before Dr. Centafont finished his instructions, students were picking out group members. Jules and Payton included.

  “This is too easy. Payton, Blake, and Andrew.” She bounced in her seat. Damn, this girl needed an intervention for her sugar intake. By the way Jules packed down junk food, she probably crapped out rock candy. She was on a crash course to Diabetes Land.

  Andrew draped his arm across Payton’s shoulders. “Sounds good to me.” Lucky for him, Jules sat between us, or else I’d remove his arm from its socket.

  Payton stared absently at her notebook sitting on the desk, her thumb ruffling the pages. “Yep.”

  Just peachy.

&nbs
p; I’d asked for this— Hell, it was for the best, but damn if it didn’t twist my insides seeing a frown on her face. The need to go over there and comfort her was encoded in my DNA, but that part of my job description didn’t exist anymore. It was Andrew’s job. That thought hurt worse than any ass kicking.

  Dr. Centafont said, “I see that everyone is chomping at the bit, so I’ll let you choose your topics and use this class time to do some research at the library. You’ll need to post information on the topic, along with the pros and cons, and respond to three classmates on the class forum.” He held up a paper, waving it around. “Also, your group will need to make a poster. Guidelines are in the syllabus. Class dismissed.”

  I scanned the list of topics on the screen.

  Early diagnosis of learning disabilities in children

  When to send someone to hospice

  Overprescribing pain medicines

  Assisted suicide

  FDA rules and regulations

  Before I had a chance to read through the entire list, Andrew said, “Let’s do assisted suicide. Nothing like researching that fucker in jail.”

  Holy hell.

  I glanced at Payton, the color draining from her face as she squeezed the shit out of the armrest. This crisis needed to be averted. I couldn’t sit around and let this douche annihilate her dad.

  “I’d rather do the childhood learning disability diagnosis,” I said with enough nonchalance that he wouldn’t think this topic choice was a big deal.

  “Of course you would, Mr. Future Pediatrician. Grow a pair. The assisted suicide one is an easy A.”

  Like father like son. Dr. Centafont must have fueled this sudden hatred Andrew had toward Payton’s dad. No clue why Dr. Centafont disliked him so much, but he sure made an attempt to shoot Dr. Cooper down any chance he got.

  “Maybe you should expand your horizons. Plus, you don’t know the whole story.”

  “And you do?”