Unethical (3 page)

Yeah. And you left her for MY OTHER EX-GIRLFRIEND, while I had to walk her home.

“Right, man. I’m trying to get this stupid chem skill builder done.” If I had to hear Andrew talk about Payton’s ass anymore I would throw something through the window. Preferably Andrew.

Damn, when did I become so angry? Oh yeah, when douche bags like Andrew went for a girl who deserved to be treated like a lady.

Not my deal anymore.

“C’mon, bro. Tell me you didn’t notice how her tits looked in that shirt. I’m so going to tap that. She was totally giving me the ‘fuck me’ vibe.”

I smashed my pen down on the desk, and the sound echoed through the small room. “Fuck, dude. I need to get this done.” And if he called me “bro” one more time, I was going to turn green and rage.

“Damn, bro. Fine.” He stalked out of the room without bothering to put on a shirt.

I slammed my fist down on the table, and the computer screen wavered.

Was she really into these types of guys now? Not the Payton I knew. There was no way he was tapping anything of hers.

Not if I had anything to do with it.

Chapter Three

Payton

My pillow was wet and stuck to my face. I inhaled, and my nose wrinkled as the stench of beer, Kool-Aid, and—French fries?—stung my nostrils.

“Morning, sunshine.” Jules handed me a red Gatorade and ruffled my hair. She was eating curly fries and swiveled from side to side in my computer chair, the motion making me seasick. She shoved a fry in my mouth. “It’s good for your hangover. Eat up.”

I peeled my cheek off the fabric, chewed the fry, and sat up. Immediately, I laid back down and pulled the covers over my head, the material cold and damp against my skin. What the hell? With a dull ache in my hip and my head throbbing like it was having its own techno rave, it made it impossible to recount the events of the frat party.
Crap. What did I do?

“This is embarrassing, but what happened last night?” I pushed my comforter off and took a swig of Gatorade to dilute the stale alcohol taste in my mouth. I didn’t remember anything after seeing Blake at the party.

Crap, Blake.
What if he blew my cover?

“Let’s see. You got insanely drunk and were carried home by a total hottie.”

Oh, good. Andrew took me home. The night couldn’t have been that bad if he was there to take care of me.

“What’d you think of Andrew? So sweet, right?”

She raised her brow and stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “I’m talking about that guy with the cross tattoo on his smokin’ bicep.”

Shit
. “Blake?” I squeaked and buried my head into my palms, pressing so hard my headache was momentarily overridden by the black spots swarming across my eyelids.

She grabbed another curly fry and plopped it into her mouth. “Yeah, that’s it. Nice guy. I’m not religious, but he can make me praise God any day of the week.”

I frowned at the thought of Jules with Blake. He wasn’t religious, but his mom was a devout Roman Catholic. Never missed a Mass in her life. He got that tattoo after his mom died when he was sixteen—I would know; I went with him. Somehow, he talked the guy into tattooing him, even though, technically, people had to be eighteen in California to get ink. But that was Blake; he could talk someone into doing just about anything.

Shifting to get out of bed, I cringed as the fabric of my boxers pulled on my skin. I looked down to see a reddish-brown stain on the side of my shorts. Blood.

“Why the hell am I bleeding?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I waited for her response.

Jules’s smile turned into a Cheshire cat grin. Oh great.

“You insisted on swinging around the light pole like a stripper and fell on your ass. You even referred to yourself as ‘Wanda.’” She threw her head back and cackled.

Oh. My. God.

Could I seriously climb any higher on the embarrassment scale? Doubtful.

“Blake was really sweet and carried you up to the room and tucked you in. He got you a glass of water and everything.” I spotted the cup in the corner of my bed, which explained the wet comforter and pillow mystery.

“You kept saying how sorry you were. I don’t know what you had to be sorry about. I mean, we just met the guy, but I told him that you’d make it up to him by helping him out in medical ethics.”

He had class with me? How had I not seen him in class on Friday? There were only forty students since it was an upper-level class.

I groaned and took another sip of Gatorade. “Oh, goody.”

This was bad. So bad. Blake would want an explanation for going off the grid. I owed him one, but I couldn’t even explain if I tried. Then again, he also had some explaining to do.

How was I going to face him? Or Andrew?

Jules was sitting in the second row, twirling her hair around her finger as I entered medical ethics. She was flanked by Blake and Andrew. All three laughed, and my fight or flight mode kicked in, heavy on the flight.

Fifteen more classes in this semester. I did as my yoga teacher once instructed and inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled through my mouth.
In with the good, out with the bad.

I took another breath, but that prickly need to leave continued to pour into every crevice of my body, filling my head with irrational thoughts of dropping this class and purchasing the next flight back to Florida. Another deep breath of moldy carpet and stuffy auditorium air and it was clear that my
in good, out bad
routine wasn’t working
.
I was seriously lacking in the inner-peace department today.

Jules leaned in close to Blake and said something. He smiled at her, and I pushed away the urge to charge down there and smack that smile off his face.
Be rational
. There was no reason I couldn’t be a sane person and sit in the same room as my ex. My stupid ex that had been drinking tequila and watching the Mexican sunset while I buried my mother. Nope, pretty sure my sanity got lost somewhere between my layover from Detroit to Mckinleyville when I moved back to California. The only thing that kept me from withdrawing from this class was keeping my eyes on the prize. Medical school. Then my life would mean something. Then I could help people like my mother.

My legs begged me to turn the opposite direction with each step I took down the aisle. Would Jules really notice if I sat somewhere else? I mean, how could she possibly be thinking about me when she was sandwiched between two very attractive guys?

I spotted an open seat in the sixth row and was about to sit down when Jules turned around. She smiled and waved her hands in the air like a cheerleader who had ingested way too many shots of espresso. “Payton! Over here!”

Dangit.

Andrew patted the open chair to his left. “I saved you a seat.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Blake’s mouth slid into an easy smile when I looked in his direction. Any other girl might take this as flirting or, at the very least, him being friendly. I knew better than to trust that grin. Ten years of knowing someone allowed you to distinguish their genuine smile from their
I hope you eat shit and get run over by a bus
smile. This was the latter of the two.

I shot him a glare and plopped down into the seat next to Andrew. No way was I letting Mr. Tequila off the hook. He was just as guilty as I was that this relationship went south. He didn’t even have the decency to return my calls when I needed him most. And I saw those pictures Ryan posted on Facebook of some girl in a pink bikini doing body shots off Blake.

Andrew turned to me and said, “Sorry we lost each other after I went to the bathroom during the party. I went looking for you but couldn’t find you.”

His hair fell into his eyes as he gave me a sheepish smile. He flipped a few loose strands out of his face, sending wafts of musky cologne in my direction.

He shifted and propped his elbow next to mine on the armrest, and he slid his forearm against my hand, my skin burning from the contact.

“It’s okay. I don’t really remember much.” I glanced over at Blake. His eyes narrowed as he stared at my arm pressed against Andrew’s. I swallowed past the hard lump in my throat and removed my arm, placing it on my side of the seat. Was he seriously mad about me touching Andrew?

God, why did I even care what he thought? Completely ridiculous.

I leaned back and focused on my breathing as Dr. Centafont started the lecture. He did say he was a doctor, right? He had introduced himself by his first and last name the first day of class, not mentioning his credentials, if he had any. I took the class syllabus out of my notebook and scanned the front page.

Medical Ethics 314

Dr. Nicholas Centafont, M.D.

How had I missed this? The O’s in his first and last name were filled in from my absentminded scribbling the first day of class.

Below his name, it stated that he worked at Good Samaritan Hospital. My scalp prickled as I ran my hand over the hospital’s name. The same hospital my dad worked at… Well, before he was thrown in jail without bail, awaiting his trial date. Weird, because he never mentioned Dr. Centafont. He must have started there after my dad left. Heck, maybe he had replaced my father.

I managed to sit through Dr. Centafont’s lecture, take notes—spiral doodles instead of hearts in the margins this time—and tune out the chaos that churned deep in my stomach. How was I going to make it the rest of the semester in this God-forsaken class?

Dr. Centafont ended his lecture on childhood learning disability misdiagnosis and said, “Turn your essays in to the basket at the back of the room before you exit. See y’all—” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I mean, you all, next week.” My ears perked up at his use of “y’all.” Besides that slip, he didn’t seem to have a notable accent.

Andrew smiled at me and squeezed my hand. “See ya later, Payton.”

I nodded but continued looking at my notes. Andrew and Jules stood and exited up the aisle. Now if only Blake would leave so I could make my mad dash to anthro. I fiddled with my phone and flipped through my essay I needed to turn in when I left.

He remained in his damn seat, even though most of the class had emptied out into the hallway by now.

I checked my phone. Eight minutes to get to anthro. That would land me somewhere between fashionably late and so-last-season late. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to move.

When I grabbed my backpack and hauled ass for the exit, he stood abruptly, blocking my path.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Ms.
Daniels?
” Blake glared at me over his angular nose. His jade polo brought out the flecks of green in his narrowed, hazel eyes.

No.
“Yes. But can we walk and talk? I need to get to class.” I speed walked through the quad with Blake at my side, my quick, staccato steps a stark contrast to his fluid, casual strides. I guess it wasn’t that hard to keep up with someone who was five foot four when he was six feet tall.

“Listen about the other night—”

I cut him off, not willing to hash out my gold-medal-worthy, drunken escapades. “I’m sorry, okay? If I would have known you were going to be there—”

“What? You would have bailed to another state? Fucking run out on me again?”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through—”

He threw his hands in the air. “You wouldn’t give me the chance! I already tried explaining, but—”

“But what? You were too drunk to answer my calls? Hitting on girls with Ryan when you were supposed to be with me? Tell me. Spit it out!” I shoved his chest. He barely budged, which skyrocketed my need to throw an adult temper tantrum into dangerous levels. Damn him and his stupid muscles. Damn him being gone right after graduation on his stupid trip. We were supposed to have a low-key weekend at the beach, but that didn’t happen. Nope, he was off drinking with Ryan.

He stared at me for a beat. His shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. “You know what? Forget it.” His voice was eerily calm. “Just fucking stay away from Andrew.”

The muscles in my thighs tensed as I planted myself to the pavement. I worked to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but it tangled around my question, nonetheless. “Why?” I glared at him. He had no right to tell me who I could or couldn’t see.

His fingers ran up and down his sideburn as he stared at the ground. “He’s not a good guy.”

I didn’t know what he was getting at; Andrew seemed perfectly nice to me.
He
probably wouldn’t bail on me when I needed him most. Whatever Blake’s deal was, I didn’t want to hear it—not from him.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” I inwardly groaned at how much I sounded like a whiny little kid.

He scoffed. “Forget it.”

“Let’s just forget that Friday night ever happened. In fact, let’s forget that
we
ever happened. That’d make you happy, huh?” Did I mean this? No. But I wouldn’t let him know that I missed him. Even after all this time, I freakin’ missed him.

His eyes narrowed, and the heat radiating from his body pierced through my jeans and hoodie. “Sounds good.”

He walked off without looking at me.

Waves of people hurried around me as I watched him cross the quad and disappear into the Bexel Building.

I didn’t know what I had expected. Maybe for him to put up more of a fight? Tell me he missed me? Definitely not just give up so quickly and walk away. My lip quivered as I stared at Bexel, wishing he would come back out and wrap his arms around me. The need to get lost in his embrace just one last time triggered a dull ache deep in my belly.

I turned in the opposite direction of anthro, crossed the quad to the student parking garage, and got in my Honda. Screw class. Not like I could take notes through blurred vision anyway.

My fingers curled around the steering wheel, my thumbs running over the grooves in the leather. Warm tears trailed down my cheeks. A few dropped to my jeans, leaving dark circles spattered on the denim. God, this was so stupid. I had already shed enough tears for this boy to fill the Gulf of Mexico. Twice.

I wiped my eyes, let out a shaky breath, and shoved the key into the ignition.

“You’re home early.” Jules stood at the kitchen counter, spreading a glob of peanut butter on a slice of bread.

“Class was cancelled. Came home for lunch.”

She folded the bread in half and took a bite. A chunk of peanut butter dropped to the ground. She pulled out a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped the blob off the floor. “I need to power eat this and get ready for my next class.”

“You want to come to the library with me tonight?” I needed to keep my mind busy. Nothing like spending a Friday night at the library to numb my emotionally overloaded brain.

“Can’t,” Jules said, talking with her mouth full. She swallowed and said, “I have a date with Blake.”

My heart dropped like a pinball, pinging off the wall of my chest as it worked its way down my body and settled in the pit of my stomach. I doubled over from the shockwaves of pain pulsing through my veins. Opening the fridge, I pretended to look for something. I grabbed the mustard and read the nutrition facts—wasn’t it interesting that mustard was a delicious, zero-calorie condiment?—and kept my back to Jules. I needed to hide my tears that freely flowed down my cheeks. How could he do this to me?