Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  He sucked in a deep breath and lay on the bench like a cadaver on an exam table. If he didn’t move soon, guys waiting for an open bench were going to be pretty pissed. Nothing worse than some asswipe chillin’ on equipment.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted blinding pink shorts, a white tank top, and smoking hot legs running on the indoor track one floor up. Even though she ran in the opposite direction, her auburn curls gave her away. Andrew still lay on the bench, panting like he’d run a marathon rather than lifting 225 pounds.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He waved me off, his eyes still closed.

  I made my way through the cardio machines, entered the stairwell, and took the stairs two at a time. Payton rounded a curve, heading straight for me as I entered the track area.

  Her curls bobbed with the pace of her stride. The muscles in her legs flexed with each push off the track. Not an ounce of fat on those legs. She was cut in high school between cross country and track, but this was a whole different level. Like P90X meets marathon runner. My hands itched to run over her thighs and feel her hard muscles.

  I leaned against the railing and traced the outline of my tattoo. She slowed her pace from a sprint to a light jog and took out her ear buds.

  She didn’t stop, so I pushed off the railing and jogged beside her. Good thing I didn’t do legs today, or I wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Her slow jog was most people’s running speed. “Heard about your epic fail of a date.”

  She grimaced for a millisecond and recomposed herself, her arms still pumping at her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Payton was about as good at lying as she was at commitment, which was to say she sucked a big one. She hadn’t always sucked; she used to be a great girlfriend, but she dropped the ball when she went AWOL. “Should’ve listened to our chemistry teacher when she said you were a horrible liar.”

  She was one of the goody-goody types in high school. One night, she snuck out of her house to be with me—okay, I should amend the first statement to clarify her goody-goody status only pertained to grades. Needless to say, she was a little preoccupied and forgot to do her homework. She tried to lie to her teacher, saying she left her assignment at home. What a fucking train wreck. She stuttered, turned red, and kept babbling on about a dog. She didn’t own a dog. The chemistry teacher called her out, told her she was a horrible liar, and said she could turn it in the next day as long as she never tried to lie again.

  Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. “Whatever.” She wiped some hair that had fallen into her face with the back of her hand. “Jules was sick.”

  I ran—sprinted—in front of her, turned, and jogged backward. “You stick with that. How’d you enjoy mini golfing?”

  Her shoes skidded against the track, then she walked up to me, close enough that her Big Red breath filled the void between us. She pointed her finger at me and poked my chest. “That was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

  I gnawed on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Throwing this in her face was satisfying, but the Marvin the Martian glare aimed at me? Icing on top of this delicious cake called payback.

  Her blotched cheeks and neck turned a deeper shade of red, the flush traveling down her chest and disappearing underneath her running top. I’d give anything to see where that flush ended. “You’re…you’re impossible!” She really needed to work on her comebacks, but she was so damn cute when she was flustered. I just couldn’t resist.

  “I might have suggested it to Andrew, but you wouldn’t have liked the alternative.”

  “Excuse me?” She poked my pec harder. Her finger dug into my tired muscles, and I had to fight back the urge to flinch. “How would you know? Do you know what I like now?”

  She had a point. I’d like to know. Did she still watch The Lord of the Rings trilogy when she had a bad day? Or drink strawberry-banana smoothies after a long run? I wanted to know her favorite class. I wanted to know everything I had missed out on freshman and sophomore year.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “From now on, just butt out. You have your own life. Why do you need to keep trying to make mine miserable?”

  Was she referring to just my date suggestion or the post I had submitted on the forum? She hadn’t brought it up, but I had a feeling I’d upset her by my opinions. Whatever she was mad about, it hit hard.

  I had been so focused on her ruining my life over the past couple years when she left me that I really didn’t think about her feelings. A rift had come between us ever since my senior trip, and she never let me explain myself. She needed to know what really happened, and I knew this was my only shot.

  I grabbed her hand and led her to the stairwell. She tried to wriggle out of my grip, but I pulled her into the secluded area, determined to set it all straight.

  I let go, and she immediately brought both hands to her hips, staring me down. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to explain what really happened in Mexico.”

  My aunt had bought me a trip to Mexico for a graduation present. I went with Ryan, my best friend since elementary school. It wasn’t planned—at least, I wasn’t part of the planning process. In fact, Payton and I had arranged a chill little getaway. When I bailed on her last minute, her implementation of the silent treatment and her patented death glare said it all—I made the wrong choice.

  She leveled me with her glare. “I got the gist. I saw the Facebook pics.”

  “It was just body shots, Payton. I’m sorry, that was a douche thing to do. But that’s not what I meant.”

  “You did more?”

  I clenched my fist, fighting to find some patience. How could she seriously think I’d cheat on her? I loved her. “No. Will you please just sit down and listen for a minute?”

  She looked at her imaginary watch on her freckled forearm. “I’ll give you fifty-eight more seconds.”

  We sat down on the stairs, my leg brushing against hers, a flush still painted over her porcelain skin. I took a deep breath and started before she could interrupt any more.

  “Your dad promised me that your mom was fine; that’s the only reason I went.” Her brows scrunched when I mentioned her father, but she didn’t interrupt. “I didn’t know anything about the trip before graduation, and if I would have known it’d cause so much trouble between us, I would have never gone.

  “The first night we were there, Ryan pushed me into the pool and my phone was in my pocket. Ryan refused to let me use his phone—said it was a dudes-only trip.” She picked at her fingernail, glaring down at the floor. Even if she didn’t want to talk to me after this, at least I tried. She needed to hear the truth.

  “I had no clue what happened while we were in Mexico, and when I got back, my aunt told me, but it was too late. You were gone. I tried calling you, but, well, you know the rest.” I rested my hand on her knee, her skin warm against my shaking palm.

  “Payton, I would never do anything to hurt you. If I’d had the money, I would have flown to Florida and found you myself. You have to believe me.”

  She stared straight ahead, her eyes, for once, not giving anything away.

  Fuck. How else was I supposed to convince her? Do cheeseball nineties karaoke to profess my love? Because, at this point, I’d do anything.

  The few beats of awkward silence went by. Oh-kay. She liked that one *NSYNC song, maybe that would work. I cleared my throat. I could own the pre-pubescent, boy-band high notes.

  She shook her head, still not looking at me. The song lyrics stalled in my throat. Sound the buzzers, ladies and gentlemen. Game over.

  I shifted to stand when she grabbed my hand. “I believe you.”

  I leaned back against the steps and mentally saluted the big man upstairs. For once, something was going right when it came to Payton.

  This was it. I needed to tell her I still had feelings for her, that I still loved her. “Payton.” I grabbed her chin
and looked into her eyes. “I lo—”

  Steps echoed in the stairwell, and Payton pulled away from my touch. Andrew rounded the corner, eyeing me and Payton still sitting on the stairs.

  “Hey, babe.” Andrew ran his hand down Payton’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. Fucker. When he looked away to answer a text on his phone, she wiped her arm where Andrew had touched her.

  Babe? What a dickwad. That was my name for her. It just sounded douchey coming from his mouth. And what was the kiss all about? I thought their date had bombed.

  She said, “Hi,” and continued to stare at the ground.

  He pocketed his phone and turned to her. “I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight, if you want?”

  Say no. Don’t go out with him again.

  She scuffed her shoe on the track and didn’t look at him. “Can’t. I have a study sesh with Jules at the library.”

  Go ahead, mention you have to take care of your dog, too.

  “Cool. Blake and I can join you guys. We need to study for chemistry.”

  “Uh.” She picked at something on the bottom of her shirt.

  This bordered on painful. All signs pointed to not interested. Take your head out of your ass and get a clue she isn’t going to put out.

  She said, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

  What the hell? Was she into him? And I almost told her I still loved her. Just fucking great.

  I glared at Andrew. “No. I’m gonna study in the room.”

  “Come on, Blakey Wakey, don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  “I’m good.” Hell would turn into a winter wonderland before I subjected myself to a night of Andrew hitting on Payton. I’d rather wash my eyes with acid. And before Andrew had a chance to give me more shit, I said, “I’ll meet you back at the house. Gotta go run and do something.”

  Nothing had changed. How had I deluded myself into thinking she still had feelings for me? Of course she wasn’t into me anymore. Fine. She could have him. Time to move on.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Payton

  I could officially add Internet Stalker 101 to my transcript. Two days had passed since I’d posted my comment on Blake’s thread in the forum, and he still hadn’t responded. He didn’t need to; he had replied to three other people in the class, but it still bummed me out he didn’t want to address my post.

  Still in my sweaty clothes and steaming from the tanked situation with Blake, I took a long shower. What had he wanted to tell me? Andrew just had to come in and ruin our moment. The only reason I had agreed to study at the library with Andrew was because I thought Blake was going to be there. Now that he bailed, I wished I could cancel, but hated to be one of those people who flaked on plans last minute.

  I let the warm spray wash over me, rinsing away the sweat from my run. After drying off, I trolled Facebook and snuck one of Jules’s Oreos while I waited for her to get back from GNC so we could go study at the library with Andrew.

  I logged into the class forum, and a notification popped up that someone had recently posted in his thread. My heart thudded against my chest as I opened his response.

  B Hiller 12:32 p.m.

  P Daniels,

  You’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about from first-hand experience, but I do know what it’s like to lose someone and not be able to say good-bye. I can’t say which one is worse, but if I had the chance, I would tell her I loved her one last time. Closure can sometimes be a good thing.

  Oh, God, his mom. Could I get any bitchier? I had rubbed it in his face that it wasn’t fair that I had to see my mom die, but he never even got a chance to say good-bye. He had no one except his witchy aunt. My throat constricted and tears burned my eyes. How could I have been so mean to him? Why did I block him out of my life when I knew he was in so much pain?

  Jules opened the front door, and I quickly wiped away the tears streaming down my cheeks. I needed to make this right, I just didn’t know how. We were so broken.

  “He should spend the rest of his life in jail, don’t you think, Dr. C?”

  “He’s definitely not a good person. People like that are better off not practicing medicine,” Dr. Centafont agreed.

  Class went this way every Friday. Someone put down my dad, and Dr. Centafont did nothing about it. I got it, he had an apparent grudge, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

  Jules squeezed my hand and gave me a sympathetic smile. Even if I didn’t agree with my dad’s choices, I couldn’t stand to see people putting him down. They didn’t know the whole situation. Come to think of it, neither did I.

  Someone in the second row raised her hand, and Dr. Centafont motioned for her to ask her question.

  “I don’t get it. How did they know he assisted in her suicide?”

  “Good question. According to sources, the oncologist reported that Dr. Cooper asked him for a large amount of morphine, more than recommended. When his wife died, the oncologist put two and two together and turned him in.”

  Huh. They’d planned way in advance? Yep, and I so wasn’t part of their decision-making process. One thing still bothered me, though. Dad hadn’t forced the pills down her throat. Mom had taken them when he was out mowing the yard, and he’d ushered me in when she was fading out, just in time to tell her I loved her one last time.

  The thick tension in the room sucked out all the oxygen and left me fighting for air. I shifted in my seat, hoping another position would clear out my windpipes. Jules didn’t seem to be having any issues breathing as she typed a message on her phone and smiled as she put it down on her desk. She tapped her toe against the concrete floor to the same rhythm as her fingers drumming along the table top. After a few people in front of us turned around and gave her the stink eye, she stopped fidgeting.

  Blake and Andrew skipped class today to help decorate the fraternity for some big event, but I couldn’t remember what.

  “That’s enough for today. How about we save this wonderful academic conversation for another day? I want you to get started on your next assignment. Since our next unit of study is treatment of the elderly, you’ll need to conduct an interview with someone over sixty-five at a care facility. Two pages, due the week before finals. Class dismissed.” His voice remained calm and authoritative, but Dr. Centafont’s normally cool exterior was marred by the sweat beading above his brows.

  Jules stood and grabbed her bag. We made our way out of the building, and I tugged my scarf around my neck, the cold air burning my exposed skin.

  “What are you wearing tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow? Oh, crap, the fraternity formal. Before I had realized Andrew and I weren’t compatible, I promised him I’d be his date for the formal, Seamus O’Leary. From the way Andrew had described it, it sounded like prom, mobster style. Dates, flowers, fancy dinner, and pinstripes—the whole shebang. I opted out of buying a new dress, and instead would use one from my junior year of homecoming.

  “A dress from high school.”

  Jules’s jaw dropped a fraction of an inch as she stared at me like I’d just told her I decided to go naked to the event instead of wearing an old dress. “You can’t go in something you’ve already worn. You need something new. Especially for Operation BH.”

  I rolled my eyes. Jules had it in her little matchmaking head that I should get back together with Blake. When he asked her to the fraternity formal as friends, she jumped at the chance to make things right between us.

  Way too late for that, though. He avoided looking at me the past week during the internship and class, so I doubted he felt the same way.

  “I don’t know.” I bit the inside of my cheek. A new dress would be nice. My normal definition of dressing up included jeans and a button up, definitely an upgrade from my fifty million pairs of running shorts and racer-back tanks.

  “I still need to get one. Let’s go to the mall, get manis and pedis, and look for a dress at Nordstrom.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to look. I mean, not like I
had to buy anything. And if I did find a cute, cheap dress, I had saved a ton of money by rooming with Jules and cutting out late-night, fast-food runs. “Okay. I’m in.”

  At least two dozen dresses hung off every hook in our dressing room. Colored fabric covered all available surface space like a rainbow had thrown up all over the walls. Jules insisted we share a dressing room to make the process go faster, because apparently taking two steps out of the room took up too much time. I could tell her patience was dwindling at my noob shopper status.

  I shimmied into a red number that had a low-cut, sweetheart neckline. The luxurious satin rubbed soft against my skin, but I didn’t like how the waist bubbled out, making my hips look like something out of the Elizabethan era. Next.

  The second, a strappy, blue dress, had an intricate zigzag pattern on the back. Cute, but not perfect. My eyes bugged as I glanced at the price tag. Definitely not worth two hundred bucks.

  Slipping into a pale yellow, floor-length dress, Jules gasped as I pulled up the zipper on the side. “Oh em gee. You look hot. I would totally do you in that dress. Definitely an outfit for a mobster doll.”

  Glancing in the mirror, I admired the modest front. The material hugged my curves in all the right ways. The real beauty of the dress, though, was the open back that slinked down to right above my butt.

  Okay, totally stupid to buy a new dress, especially for a fraternity event, but I needed this dress. I eyed the price tag and was relieved this dress wouldn’t chip away at my savings. In fact, at ninety-nine dollars, it made for the cheapest dress I had tried on.

  Jules settled on a hot-pink, strapless dress that made her look like she should have been boxed up and put in the Barbie aisle.

  After we purchased our dresses, we headed to the nail salon next door to Nordstrom. My toes and fingers now matched my dress perfectly, and Jules rocked a French manicure with Pepto Bismol-pink tips.