Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  He must have been a mind reader, though, because he tightened his grip on my side and slid his hand down my thigh. I squirmed under his touch, and the slow burn returned to my belly.

  He tugged me closer, and I swung my leg across him and straddled him. He looked at me through hooded eyes. “This is much better than the previews.” His erection pressed into my jeans as I rocked my hips into him. He let out a low growl, put one hand on the back of my neck, and pulled me to him.

  Our lips met, and his kiss, tender at first, quickly turned hot and needy. His tongue slipped past my lips and sent shockwaves through my system as our tongues tangled, getting reacquainted with each other. Our kiss was like the first mile of a run—an exhilarating endorphin rush. His soft lips moved in sync with mine, like we hadn’t taken a two-year hiatus.

  I pushed my hips into him once more. He snuck his hands under my shirt, massaging up my back, and my skin tingled where his warm hands caressed. My body curved into his touch, and I might have let out a purr. I was pottery clay in his hands, and I’d give anything for him to mold my body with his touch.

  He rolled me off of him, pinning me to the couch. His lips moved across my forehead, making their way down my cheek. “You know how long I’ve waited for this?”

  About the same amount of time I’d been waiting—too freakin’ long.

  He continued planting kisses down my neck and along my collarbone as I wrapped my legs around his hips and slipped my hand under his boxers, palming his erection.

  I arched my back, and he pulled his lips away from mine as his hands met the clasp of my bra. Just as he got the first hook undone, his phone rang. The theme song to The Phantom Menace blared over the movie preview. A pained look crossed his face, like he was unsure if he should answer the phone.

  “Need to get that?” Please say no. Finish unhooking my bra and take me to the bedroom.

  He groaned and pressed his forehead against mine. “Yeah, that’s the ringtone for my house dad. He wouldn’t call unless he needed something.”

  I kissed his neck and nipped at his skin. “Okay.”

  He thrust his excitement into me one more time before answering the call, and I climbed out from under him before he could tease me any further.

  “Hey, Stro.” All of the frat guys called their house dad—their live-in chaperone—Papa Stro.

  From inches away, Mr. Stromeyer’s frantic voice carried out of the receiver. Something about the ice machine going haywire and a leak in the upstairs bathroom.

  Blake nodded and mmhmmed a few times. As Mr. Fixit in their house, Blake repaired anything and everything. Especially at inopportune times. Like during a date.

  “Okay, Stro, I’ll be right there.” He hung up and pressed his head against the back of the couch. “I’m so sorry. Can we continue this later?”

  “No problem.” But the space between my thighs said this was a big problem. A painful ache pulsed through my core. I’d just been female blue balled. Did that make Mr. Stromeyer a vagina blocker? I’d save a special stink eye for him next time I went to the frat.

  He looked at me through his long lashes and licked his lips. Leaning in, he planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “I promise, it’ll be worth the wait,” he whispered into my ear.

  A shudder wracked my body. I knew just how good it would be.

  I tossed from side to side in bed, unable to sleep, too keyed up from the date. I clicked on the lamp on my nightstand and made my way over to the closet. Pushing past a pile of folded sweaters, I grabbed the stack of envelopes and brought them back to the bed. I tucked a pillow beneath my chest, lying on my stomach, surveying the envelopes fanned out across my ratty comforter. Quite a few were from the law firm, but a good chunk were addressed from the prison. Every single one remained unopened. I was not sure I could handle anything my dad decided to dish. But now, after months of agonizing over the what ifs, fighting back the pangs of missing him, I just wanted to hear his side. Someone so rational had to have a good reason for taking a life.

  My hands shook as I grabbed the first letter, dated one week after he was ushered to the prison. I opened the envelope and gingerly extracted the letter.

  Payton,

  I don’t expect you to understand the reasons behind your mother’s and my decision for ending things this way. It was a personal choice that no one could decide but your mother. I wish I could explain this in person. A meager piece of paper can’t adequately explain what went on the last few weeks of your mother’s life.

  From the moment I met her, I knew I was a goner. Your mother had this way about her, a sort of magnetism that drew everyone to her. She had an inner glow that made me want to be a better person. I see this when I look at you. Even if we share similar features, you have inherited every good characteristic from your mother, from her kindness and compassion to her stubborn streak that made her a top-notch lawyer. I’d do anything for her, Payton. Even go to jail for the rest of my life if it meant I spared her one more day of unmanageable pain.

  Do you remember the time you wrote a petition to kick Mom out of the house when you were seven because you were upset she wouldn’t let you sign up for motocross? I decided not to share this with her because it was hurtful and wouldn’t make a difference if she knew or not. You knowing in advance about your mother’s intent to commit suicide would only add to the pain. She wanted her last days with you to be normal, and not for you to treat her differently. I went along with this because I love her, and if I was presented with the same opportunity, I’d do it again. Please understand I didn’t do it to hurt you.

  I love you very much. Visitation begins in two weeks. It would mean a lot if you stopped by.

  Love,

  Dad

  I dropped the letter and curled into a tight ball. Sobs wracked through my chest, the need to be wrapped in one of my dad’s hugs so intense my body ached.

  My mom wasn’t the only person who needed him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Blake

  Payton sat in my computer chair, flipping through her MCAT study book in her lap. She had signed up to take the test next month in order to apply for early acceptance to Drexler. I planned on taking the MCAT in March, and I’d get my results back just in time to apply during the normal admission period to the med school.

  “When the chromosomes line up in mitosis, this is known as which phase?”

  “Aren’t you going to give us our multiple choice options?” Andrew’s edginess had built up, his patience growing thinner as Payton rattled off questions. From his refusal to participate, I was willing to bet he wasn’t nearly ready enough to take the test in a few months. For pharmacy school, he had to take the PCAT, which according to him was going to be a breeze. And from that, I assumed he meant his daddy used his position to reserve him a spot in the program.

  I answered, “Metaphase.” Basic science knowledge I learned back in seventh grade. “Come on, don’t go easy on us. Give us a tough one.” I kissed the top of her head and stared down Andrew. So far he’d kept his end of the bargain by keeping his mouth shut. Just a few more weeks and I’d be done with the semester of chemistry homework hell.

  Payton’s lips lifted up into a smile. I would do anything to see that smile all the time. I massaged her shoulders waiting for her to ask the next question. This was the third night in a row she spent studying in my room, and I could definitely get used to this new routine.

  Her lips turned into a pout as she concentrated, moving her index fingers from question to question. Those lips needed thorough kissing, but definitely not in front of Andrew. Knowing him, he had a hidden camera in the room. Bad enough he had a mirror on the ceiling.

  Ricky sprawled out on the daybed, flipping through an Abs of Steel magazine. He wanted to learn how to get his six pack to an eight pack. I’d offer to take him to the gym with Andrew, the abs guru, but the less time I spent with him, the better.

  “Here’s a toughie. Changes in sensory aphasia are often associated
with what lesion?”

  Andrew scoffed and glared at her.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, your options are frontal lobe, parietal lobe, Broca’s area, or Wernicke’s area.”

  “Damnit, Cooper. Nobody gives a shit about your questions.”

  My gaze shot to him, a cocky grin smeared on his dickhead face. Holy crap on a cracker. He just used her last name. That fucker just used her last name. He was going to pay for this.

  Ricky choked on his spit, I froze behind Payton, and her head reeled back against the seat like she’d been punched.

  “What did you just call me?” Her voice squeaked, but her tone dripped of pure poison.

  “You heard me. You want to become a doctor to finish what your dad started. Gonna play God with some patients, huh?”

  Standing behind her, I couldn’t see the full reaction, but her shoulders shook underneath my palms.

  She turned and narrowed her gaze on me. “You told him?” The hurt in her eyes made me want to kick myself in the balls. How did I let myself get so wasted that I told Andrew her secret? I’d pay for this the rest of my life.

  I gripped the back of the chair and said the one thing that meant nothing to her. “I’m sorry.” She would never forgive me. Not with our track record.

  She slammed the book shut, grabbed her keys off my desk, and flipped me the bird. Before I had time to react, she hauled ass out of the room. I should have gone after her, but there was no talking my way out of this one. I screwed up in epic proportions. End of story.

  I forgot there were two other people in the room when Ricky piped up. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I think you should go after her, little bro,” he said, his tone incredulous, like he had just witnessed a car crash. I would have taken a car crash over this any day.

  Andrew smirked and said, “Bitch ain’t worth it, bro.” Fuck his stupid country boy accent. Fuck him.

  I cracked my knuckles and planted my feet to prevent myself from walking over to his chair and pummeling his ass. “Chi Alpha, asshole.”

  Chi Alpha was our secret fraternity code to one another that signified when a brother did something great that deserved mention. From the huff and slumping of his shoulders, he got the sarcastic dig loud and clear.

  Did I really lose my chance with the one girl I’d finally gotten a second chance with because of one drunken night? Yes, yes I did. And like a fucking idiot, I just let her walk out.

  “Dude, go find her.” Ricky nodded his head toward the door.

  Right. I had to fix this.

  I ran to the parking lot just in time to see her car turn from the lot onto Walnut Street.

  I pulled out my phone, cussing under my breath. Pulling up her number, I hit send.

  Straight to voicemail.

  “Fuck!” I shoved my hands through my hair and pressed my fingers into my skull until my whole head throbbed. A few of my brothers inside laughed at something, the sound carrying out of the open window on the second floor. Probably just my shitty mood, but this sent me over the edge. I lost her. I fucking lost her. Again.

  She didn’t go to class on Friday. I got it, she was mad at me, but missing school? School was her religion, and she was the devout follower who would drink the Kool-Aid without question.

  When I asked Jules, she said Payton wasn’t feeling well.

  On Monday, she wouldn’t even look at me when I passed her in the hospital on my way to the ICU. Instead of working on the same floor, we now worked on total opposite ends of the hospital.

  She hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts, and when I went to visit her apartment, she didn’t answer the door, even though her car was parked in her spot—yeah, I had turned into one of those guys. Not one of my finer moments, but I wasn’t willing to let her go as easily as I had the night she walked out of my room, out of my life. Again.

  By the time the next Friday rolled around and she wasn’t in class, I realized I’d screwed this up in legendary proportions. First, I lost my chance with her, and second, her grades were bound to take a hit if she didn’t go to class.

  To keep my mind busy, I went to the gym with Ricky, benching a new max of 250. He hovered over the bench, his arm underneath the bar, waiting for me to collapse. I didn’t. I felt nothing.

  “I hate to say this, dude, but I think she’s made it pretty clear it’s over.” Hearing this from Ricky made it all too real. Couldn’t someone blow sunshine up my ass and tell me everything would be okay?

  I threw the bar back on the pegs and scrubbed my hands over my face. I didn’t want to believe it—we were over. I had screwed up my chances for good.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Payton

  It had been two weeks since I’d last seen Blake. My heart crumbled into tiny pieces each time I thought about what he had done. I’d trusted him, and he’d hurt me in the worst way possible. He knew how I felt about my father. Or how I thought I felt about him. After reading that letter, I didn’t know what to feel anymore. Two years of my dad alone at the prison, no visitors, gutted my withering heart. We both had no one, but could that be changed? I didn’t know.

  “You look like shit, Nikki. What did I say about frowning?”

  I cracked a smile and handed Mrs. Cripps a fresh cup of water, smoothing my fingers over the invisible lines on my forehead with my other hand.

  “Is it that ex-boyfriend of yours?”

  As I opened my mouth to answer, an announcement on the news caught my eye. Jules and I didn’t watch too much TV, didn’t have enough time. The headline below the newscaster with frosted, spikey tips and a Crest White smile read Fourteen days until Dr. Cooper vs. California. I folded my shaky arms across my chest and leaned against the end of the hospital bed. So soon. And he was going through it alone.

  Would it hurt to visit him once in prison? I’d never been to one before. I shuddered. What if prison changed him? What if he had sleeves of gang tattoos and a rain drop inked under his eye? Maybe a letter would be safer. I could do a letter.

  After my shift, I went to the library to study. Jules kept me updated with homework for our medical ethics class, and since attendance didn’t count as part of the grade, Dr. Centafont was none the wiser that I had been skipping. Or at least he hadn’t said anything when I saw him at the hospital.

  Putting myself into full-blown study mode allowed me the escape I needed. I avoided my usual spot in the library basement, knowing Blake would probably check there. Instead, I camped out on the sixth floor, tucked into a corner. Pretty dismal location—no window, no view of anything but the sides of bookcases. No Blake. Why did he have to hurt me every time I put my trust in him?

  I stared at the blank piece of paper sitting next to my MCAT study guide, the supposed letter to my dad—if I could ever figure out what to say. Maybe it’d be better to send him an edible arrangement. People liked those, right? Nothing said Good luck; I hope you don’t get a life sentence like fruit shaped into a flower. As I contemplated whether to add kiwis or mangos into my gift basket, someone pulled out a chair across from me and sat down.

  “Hey, bitch.”

  I pulled out my earbuds and dropped them on the table. “Hey, skank.”

  “Whatchya studying?” Jules nodded toward the textbook that had enough highlighting on the open pages to flag down any nearby airplanes.

  I looked at the blank piece of paper. Forgiveness 101? “MCAT study guide.”

  “Ew, gross. Don’t remind me about that.”

  I closed the book and slid it to the side. “What’s up?”

  “I talked to Blake.”

  The other stress-inducing man in my life. My eye ticked at the use of his name, and my stomach lurched, pins and needles washing over my skin. They could talk about me until the cows, sheep, and whatever other freakin’ animal decided to come home, but nothing could make it better. He had told Andrew the one thing I didn’t want anyone to know. How could I ever forgive that?

  But when it came to Blake,
I might as well change my middle name to glutton for punishment. “What did he have to say?”

  “He’s a wreck. I don’t think he meant to tell Andrew, and he’s been doing his chem skill builders for, like, a month to keep him quiet.”

  I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. “Whatever.”

  He did Andrew’s chem homework? God, my own chem homework took a few hours a week. I couldn’t imagine doing double duty, especially since the equations were randomized. Jules and I quickly learned that when we tried to help each other out with homework.

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but maybe cut him some slack. He’s crazy about you.”

  I sank lower in my seat, glowering at the MCAT textbook.

  “Stop it. You’re acting like an effing child. This guy has been stuck on you for two years. Love like that doesn’t come around…like ever.”

  No, love like that didn’t exist. Someone always let me down. Like sharing something that wasn’t theirs to tell. Sure, my identity was bound to come out sooner or later, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be on my terms. And definitely not before my acceptance to med school.

  But a part of me wanted to believe Blake would never do anything to hurt me. If I could give my dad a second chance, didn’t Blake deserve one, too?

  General consensus: I was an idiot. I had flip-flopped my mind on Blake so many times, and why? Because I was scared—scared I might lose him again. Grasping at anything to push him away had become a bad habit over the past couple years—one I had a hard time kicking.

  Fat chance he’d want me back after I’d ignored him, but I’d give it one more try. I got ready for the hospital and rehearsed the speech in my head.

  Twenty minutes later, I arrived at the hospital and made my way through the lobby. You can do this. He waited for two years, what’s a couple weeks? I shook my head. Yeah, right. You are so kicked to the curb. Heck, I’d kick my ass to the curb if I was him. “Hey, Brittany, do you know where Blake is?” Brittany was on intern-watching duty for me and Blake tonight while Dr. Centafont made his rounds in the hospital.