Jules looked nervously from me to Andrew, her ponytail whipping me in the face when she turned. “Guys, why don’t we make a compromise?”
Payton stood and grabbed her backpack. “No. Let’s do assisted suicide.”
“That’s my girl,” said Andrew. He patted her leg and brushed his fingers across her ass.
My inner-Hulk rage threatened to ensue until Payton swatted away his hand and walked toward the aisle.
Good. Stay away from him.
An Arctic blast funneled through the quad as we made our way to the library. Brown leaves littered the ground, leaving the cement a slippery mess that guaranteed to keep the hospital busy. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to not look as cold as my frozen testicles. Sorry, buddies.
The tall glass windows of the library came into view as we walked past the Memorial Union. My home away from home. People might as well address my mail to the fifth floor.
The rotunda on any floor constituted as prime studying real estate. Students roamed around the room for an open table like my A Sig brothers circling the dance floor, looking for a hot chick to get lucky with at a party. Once one opened up, it was an all-out sprint. For those already seated, this was fucking hilarious to watch. If not, it sucked balls to wait another fifteen minutes until someone else packed up to leave.
“Oh my god, there’s an open table!” Jules ran to a table overlooking the fourth floor. She cut off a dude wearing Kappa Sig letters and chucked her backpack onto the table.
The Kappa Sig grunted and threw his arms above his head. “What the fuck!” Fuck echoed through the cavernous room, and I bit the inside of my cheek to resist chuckling.
Jules planted her hands on her hips and stood her ground in front of our newly acquired table. “Sorry.” Her tone conveyed anything but sorry.
I maneuvered myself in between Jules and the Kappa Sig in case he wanted to throw down with a chick in front of all these people in the library. “Is there a problem?”
“No.” He mumbled “bitch” under his breath as he stormed out of the rotunda.
I high-fived Jules. “Nice job.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo. You just gotta show them who’s boss.” She snapped her fingers in a Z pattern across her chest.
Payton let out a loud sigh and slammed her backpack on the table. If we weren’t all med majors, I’d think she carried around bricks or a small arsenal. She said, “You’re ridiculous.”
Jules smiled and shrugged. She and Andrew pulled laptops out of their backpacks and plugged their power cords in the center console.
“I didn’t bring my laptop today. I’m gonna head down to the first floor and get on a computer.” Not to mention my laptop’s sad condition, on its last leg. Nobody needed to witness the ghetto-ness that could be classified as my laptop.
“How about you and Payton research state laws for assisted suicide?”
Payton’s warm breath ran across the back of my neck as she stood behind me in the computer area.
“You didn’t have to do that for me.”
I smiled at the screen. Finally, I did something right. Maybe she’d got it through her head I wasn’t the douche bag ex she made me out to be. “I know.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles. I’m a big girl.”
“You seem pretty small to me, fun size.” She flinched at the use of my nickname for her in high school. She hated it, but I thought it suited her well. Tiny and delicious—just like the miniature-sized candies.
She scoffed, and a blush spread across her cheeks. “You know what I meant.” Flipping through her notebook she said, “What state should we look up first? Washington?” Her voice came out calm and even, but I couldn’t help but notice she refused to look at me the entire way to the computer area.
This subject hit too close to home for her. I didn’t think she’d be up to researching this topic, not with Dr. Cooper’s trial starting in a couple months. The news stations had a countdown, always willing to add their two cents about the situation. I should have put up more of a fight with Andrew. No matter my feelings toward her, she didn’t deserve to go through this shit.
“Sure. How about you type and I’ll take notes.” I pulled up the research database program and scooted off the stool.
She hopped on the stool and typed in Washington Assisted Suicide Laws.
About twenty different sources popped up immediately. I let out a low whistle. A long day of research lay ahead of us, especially writing about a few states. Her knuckles turned white as she held the mouse in a death grip. Time to break the tension before she broke school property.
“You know, you’re kinda cute when you concentrate. Got that whole constipated look down. Add in some grunts, and I think you’ll be good to go.”
It came out of left field, but I was pretty sure this would take her mind off her dad for a few moments.
She shook her head, and even standing behind her I knew she rolled her eyes. Good, it worked. “Thanks. Just what I was going for.” She clicked the print button on an article and said, “How’s your aunt?”
“Oh, you know, same stick up her ass, different day.”
She giggled and turned to face me. Her legs were on either side of mine, and I moved in closer. Our thighs brushed together, and she opened wider, inviting me in. The logo on the front of her hoodie moved with her erratic breathing. I zeroed in on the soft spot on her neck right below her jaw, my mouth just inches away, close enough to kiss her smooth skin.
I couldn’t help it. Being this close to her drew me in like a jumbo magnet that attracts metal from across the room. My options of keeping my heart intact didn’t include getting back with her, but my resolve to push her out of my life disintegrated in her presence.
Stop being such a vag.
A flush crept across the exposed skin of her neck. “Come on. She’s not that bad.” Her breath fanned my face, and I ached to close the six-inch gap between our lips.
Damn. I couldn’t do this, not again. She had crushed me once. What was to say she wouldn’t do it again? Cool it, Hiller.
I rocked back on my heels, putting some distance between us. I poked her side and said, “You didn’t have to live with her.”
“I guess you’re right.” She playfully swatted my hand away and grabbed my finger. The touch sent jolts of electricity straight to my heart, like someone had just went all Pulp Fiction on my ass and stabbed me with an EpiPen. Okay, fuck it. I’d go to hell and back just for another chance with her.
“Like always.”
Her eyes rolled so far back into her head, only the whites visible with a hint of green. “Men.”
I brushed the back of my hand over her soft cheek, and she leaned into my touch. Her lips parted, and she closed her eyes. If I leaned in and kissed her, would she go along with it or shut me down like she did at the drive-in?
Thoughts of taking her right here in this fucking library invaded every neuron in my brain. Damnit, I was hard again. I shifted and pulled my hoodie lower to hide my raging erection.
Puppies.
Me-Maw.
Aw, hell, I just needed to say some smart-ass comment to keep my cool and not let her see how much I wanted her. Way too vulnerable for my taste.
I leaned in and whispered, “Who’s your daddy?” As soon as the words left my mouth, it was clear I had fucked up in epic proportions. I used to say that to her all the time in high school to get a rise out of her. Old habits die hard. And apparently bite me in the ass.
Her eyes flew open, and she gave me the Marvin the Martian glare.
Shit.
Chapter Nine
Payton
“What the hell is your problem?” I pushed off the stool too quickly, and the wooden seat smacked against the linoleum. People peered around their computer monitors to get a glimpse of the real life reality show unfolding in the library. We could name this The Young and the Horny. I didn’t know about Blake, but when he’d stood between my legs, I had to dig my nails i
nto my palm to combat the intense urge to rock my hips into him. Detox program. Stat.
“I said I was sorry. It just popped out.”
How could he say that to me? He knew where I stood on the dad issue. Even if he did say that in high school¸ it so didn’t make it right.
“Well, I hope other things of yours aren’t popping out.” OMG. Why couldn’t I stop this word vomit? I pinched the bridge of my nose and focused on taking deep breaths. My skin still sizzled from when his fingers grazed over my cheek. I shouldn’t want him, but every time he was near me, the continuous battle to wrap my arms around him waged war in my body.
No. I had better things to focus on, like writing the pros and cons about assisted suicide. Why had I stupidly agreed to do this topic? Not like I had much of a choice. What was I supposed to do? Let the fear of my dad rule my life? No way in hell. I had my cons list ready, but finding pros would take some time.
Blake’s eyes narrowed as he stroked his thumb over the bottom of the charcoal cross. My gaze followed each flick. God, that tattoo was so hot. I licked my lips and imagined what his skin would taste like as I traced the outline with my mouth. Okay, I had reached an all-time low if I resorted to fantasizing about kissing tattoos. Getting a sober sponsor to talk to about these urges grew more vital every minute I was with him.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I knew it. At that point, the whole computer lab probably knew it, but my pride—that stubborn bitch—wouldn’t let him win this.
“What did I ever see in you?” Oh God, what did I just say? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
His nostrils flared, and the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. I opened my mouth to apologize when someone interrupted.
“Is everything okay?” Jules walked up beside Blake and leaned against the counter top next to our computer. She touched his arm again, for, like, the millionth time today. He said he wasn’t interested. Take the hint. Territorial Cavewoman Payton peeked her head out of her hidey-hole and glared at Jules.
“Yes!” The constant hum of fingers tapping on keyboards came to an abrupt halt, and the silence hung heavy in the air like a looming storm. A group of guys entering the computer area stopped and stared.
Jules took a couple steps back and put her arms in front of her, palms facing me. “Damn girl, what crawled up your ass?”
“Sorry. Just a lot of information to process for this stupid assignment. I need to go get something from the printer.” And get your freakin’ hands off my ex. I trudged to the printer, ignoring the stares from everyone in the computer lab.
Why did I let myself get so hot and bothered by him? We were over a long time ago, and I had better things to focus on. In fact, Andrew had asked me on a date after that night at the drive-in. Maybe I should take him up on his offer. Even if he did totally bash my dad, he was still a better option than Mr. Tequila.
“I don’t understand why we have to do this. I’d rather make a damn PowerPoint.” Blake held a cut-out letter like it harbored flesh-eating bacteria. Since Dr. Centafont hated technology with a fiery passion, barely able to work the PowerPoint presentation during his lectures, he asked everyone to make posters by hand—meaning twice as much work. The only reason we had an online discussion forum for the second portion of the assignment was because of his TA, who moderated the threads. Dr. Centafont really needed to join the twenty-first century.
Andrew was mysteriously MIA, and Jules had been called into work at GNC tonight. I wanted to get the project out of the way, but being in the room alone with Blake, I realized I should have rescheduled.
“It’s not that hard. Glue, apply, repeat.” We had printed out the information for assisted suicide, and now we needed to put it together on a poster board. This task transported me back to old memories of middle school science fair projects. Pretty much the only good thing about middle school. Except for Blake. But whatever.
He set the package of cut-out letters on his desk and sat on the daybed in his room. “Easy for you to say. You can actually position stuff in a straight line.”
True. Blake sucked at posters in high school. Doubtful he’d improved since then.
I sighed. “Hand me the glue.” I held out my hand and planted the other on my hip.
Blake reached behind him, grabbing the glue sitting on the windowsill. His hoodie rode up, exposing the band of his blue striped boxers. A hard lump formed in my throat. They looked similar to the pair of blue boxers he had on before the first time we made love. I remember because I couldn’t get them over his erection when we were undressing each other. Super embarrassing.
My face warmed, and I looked down at the poster, focusing on where I should put the title.
“What’s up?” He held out the glue and cocked his head, assessing me.
“Just hot.” I pulled off my jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his gaze traced down my body. My breath hitched at the unmistakable need in his hooded eyes. I cleared my throat and looked away, not trusting myself to stare into those eyes for much longer. How was it possible to dislike someone so much and want them to screw you at the same time? “Where should we put the title?”
“You’re the expert on these things. I’m just along for the ride.” His gravelly voice scorched every bit of my exposed skin.
I’d definitely like that ride. One where he pounded into me until I screamed out his name. The thought of him between my legs sent a shot of heat straight to my core.
I shook my head, not allowing myself to go back down that road, and squeezed some glue over the letters in the title.
“Have you talked to your dad?”
I clenched the tube, glue spurting across the poster. “No.” Why bring him up? Because our freakin’ poster was about him? Morbid curiosity?
“I bet he’d love to hear from you.”
Bet he would, but so not happening. “And you know what’s best for me and my family?” Heat flamed across my cheeks, and little dots swarmed in my vision. How could he possibly think he knew what was best for me—or my dad?
“I wasn’t saying—”
“Shut it, Blake. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, ’cause you seem like you really have your shit together.”
Hell to the no. He lost the privilege to shell out advice when he gave up his boyfriend role. “Go screw yourself.” I wound back and chucked the glue at his chest.
The container hit his pec with a loud thwap, and glue spurted onto his cheek and eyebrow. He sat there, the milky-white substance drizzling down his face, arms crossed over his chest. “Real mature, Payton.”
I gave him my best stink eye, grabbed my keys and purse off his desk, and strolled out of the room. General consensus: Way too soon to be spending time with him.
Two days had passed since the fight with Blake. Jules went over to the frat last night to help finish the poster while I made up some lame excuse of having cramps to get out of going there.
I had bigger things to focus on—like the internship that I should have heard back from by now. Fourteen days and nada. Cabin fever set in as I holed up in my apartment, compulsively peering out the window every few minutes for the mailman like a total stalker. My chocolate stash was dwindling, and if I didn’t hear something soon, I’d have to run out to the store to gather more goodies and put myself into a carb coma.
I stuffed another piece of chocolate in my mouth and read my response for my pro/con assisted suicide assignment for the twelfth time. So far I had six cons
No closure for family
Violates doctors’ Hippocratic oath
Demeans value of human life
Giving up too early
Doctors given too much power
Miracle recoveries can occur
I stared at my list. My dad violated all of these. I wasn’t going to kid myself. As a future med student, I had known my mom wasn’t getting better, but a part of me still hoped some type of miracle recovery would have happ
ened. What made it all worse is that I didn’t have a say in any of it. My opinion didn’t mean jack to my mom and dad. I didn’t have anything against assisted suicide before my mom died, but now, it was the most unfair thing life offered me so far.
I looked at the pro list again. From the articles I had printed out at the library, I couldn’t really find any pro I agreed with. But I guess it didn’t matter if I agreed with them, I just needed to name them to get a good grade.
My finger traced along the words, searching for any crap excuse I could put down in my response when I came across one that I found the least offensive. Vital organs could be used to save other people’s lives. My mom couldn’t donate her organs since they were riddled with cancer, but a lot of patients who chose assisted suicide could if their organs were healthy enough. Take a life to save a life. How noble.
One pro wouldn’t be enough to get a good grade, though. I needed to find more. Later. It wasn’t due until Friday, so I had a few more days of procrastinating.
I pulled out the letter from Otis Law Firm and Associates that I had shoved into the bottom of my backpack after my latest mail check. Freakin’ parasites. I shouldn’t have updated my address when I moved back to California. This was the third letter in a month. I hadn’t opened any of them, instead stuck them in the back of my closet, along with the unopened letters from my father. Whatever their reason was for contacting me, I wasn’t interested.
Jules burst through the door, waving a white envelope in the air. “You’ve got mail, chicky!”
I quickly shoved the envelope into the depths of my backpack. Sneaky bastard mailman. He must have come by while I folded my chocolate wrappers into paper cranes. There were enough of them to line the perimeter of the coffee table, and my stomach gurgled in disgust at my chocolate gluttony.
I bounded from the couch to the kitchen, snatching the letter from Jules’s hand.
Staring at the envelope, I debated if I really wanted to open it or not. I rubbed my thumb across the return address of the university. What if it said I didn’t get the internship? What would I do then?
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