Unethical (4 page)

Chapter Four

Blake

“Smells like a frickin’ jock strap in here. He made this nasty garlic pizza. My girl won’t even come in the house.”

Listening to Ryan recap his botched night with the girl he’d been seeing was the highlight of my screwed-up day.

“Sorry, dude. Sounds pretty shitty.”

“At least I get a break from him on Christmas. We’re still on for the concert, right?”

We bought the tickets six months ago. I’d woken up at the ass crack of dawn to order them. They sold out in the first six minutes.

“Got the tickets. Just waiting on you.”

“Anything new on your end? Any chicks riding the Blake train?”

Ryan would give me so much shit if I told him about seeing Payton at the party and for even thinking twice about her.

“I’m going out with this girl tonight. Her name’s Jules. She’s got that whole old-school Britney Spears look going on.”

“Before or after she shaved her head?”

“Before.”

“Hot.”

Yeah, she was pretty hot. Normally blondes didn’t do anything for me. There was something about feisty redheads that got me going. I didn’t really know her well enough, since we’d only met last week, but she seemed nice. A little on the hyper side, but nice.

Going for Payton’s roommate put me in D-bag territory, but I didn’t care anymore. I was done with her. Or at least that was what I kept telling myself.

“Mmhmm. Well, I need to get going. Supposed to pick her up in twenty.”

“Okay, dude.” He coughed into the receiver and said, “Damnit, Dwayne. Do you really need to put garlic on your mac and cheese?” Something clanked in the background, and Ryan resumed talking. “Blake. You still there?”

I shook my head. Ryan had this thing about smells. He was a super taster and smeller. Or so he said. All I knew was, he was sensitive to smells and was the pickiest eater alive. And his roommate loved to cook anything that sent Ryan’s gag reflex into overdrive.

“Yeah, man.”

“Have fun on your date. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

“Night.”

I threw on a polo, checked my hair in the mirror, then grabbed my keys.

Even though it was only the first week in October, the distinct smell of fall—damp earth and smoke from a nearby field—funneled through the parking lot. It had just rained, and soggy leaves were plastered against Betty’s windshield. Betty was my 1976 Ford pickup—the only reliable woman in my life. I plucked off the leaves from the windshield and hopped into her.

Turning the key in the ignition, I floored it in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, Betty sliding across the slick leaves.

Jules’s and Payton’s apartment took about a ten-minute walk versus a two-minute drive. The prior saved on gas money, which ate a hole through my already empty pockets, but, seriously, who walked to pick up a date? That would not earn me any brownie points.

I pulled into Whiskey Creek apartment complex and parked in the spot in front of her apartment. Whiskey Creek was tucked into a residential area on the outskirts of campus. These higher-end apartments most likely cost at least an arm and my firstborn child. Thanks to my dirt-cheap living arrangement at the fraternity, I didn’t have to worry about giving up future little Blake—or Blakette.

I got out of the truck, walked into one of the many alcoves that housed the bottom floor apartments, and knocked on the far right door. Clicking came from inside the apartment, and the sound grew louder as it drew closer, only stopping when Jules opened the door.

She smiled and leaned on the side of the door with one arm. “Hey! I’m just about ready.” Opening the door wider, she swept her hand toward the apartment, Vanna White style. “Come on in.”

My stomach turned a little queasy as I glanced into the apartment. What if Payton was there? Should I play it cool? Give her shit? No. Definitely play it cool. I didn’t want her to think she still had anything on me.

The apartment smelled like one of those froufrou pumpkin drinks from Starbucks. I smirked. Ryan would be in hysterics by now, probably curled up in the fetal position, begging to leave this pumpkin-overload hell.

Jules and Payton had a typical girl apartment. Frilly placemats on the kitchen table, decorative pillows, and candles on the living room table.

I waited in the kitchen, leaning against the counter top, while she ran back into the bathroom, her heels clacking on the tile. I picked up a spatula in a metal container and spun it around in my hand. “Where’s your roommate?”

Her voice echoed in the bathroom as she said, “She went to the library to study. That girl lives and breathes school.”

I chuckled and said, “Ya think?” It was meant more for me than Jules, but she caught my snide remark.

“How do you know Payton, anyway?”

Well, shit, Blake. Good job digging yourself into a hole.
“We met through mutual friends.” I dropped the spatula back in the container and walked over to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of Jules bent over the sink. Not a bad view. Unwilling to go into how well I actually knew Payton, I changed the subject. “Want to pick up snacks to eat during the movie?” The mutual friend was Ryan. Back in eighth grade, he had it bad for her that whole year, but he never knew how to show it beyond sticking pencils in her hair and drawing penises on her hand in Sharpie.

Then again, most thirteen-year-old guys didn’t know how to talk to girls that were confident and beautiful.

“That sounds great. I’ve been craving Oreos like mad.”

Thirty minutes later, we made our way back to the fraternity, a pack of Sour Patch Kids tucked under my arm and Oreos under Jules’s. She wasn’t kidding around about the Oreo cravings; her inhalation of half of the bag was awe-inspiring. Most girls wouldn’t eat much on a first date—something that always irritated the crap out of me. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was girls who thought guys wanted them to be stick-thin. Screw that. I’d take a healthy eater with some curves over an anorexic chick any day. But this girl? Man, for such a tiny person, she could pack down those Oreos.

We sunk into the leather couch in the second row of the movie room. With black walls and red movie theater curtains, it made for the darkest room in the whole house. This place turned into hookup central during parties if people’s rooms were otherwise occupied.

“Can I have one of those?” I reached for an Oreo in the bag on her lap. She pulled the bag closer to her body and growled.

For a second, I thought she was serious and maybe had a slight problem with sharing, until a wicked smile broke out on her face.

“Fine, but just one.”

She handed me one, and I tossed it in the air and caught it in my mouth on the way down. I tried to sneak another one, but she swatted my hand away. Damn, she was protective over those Oreos.

The projector mounted overhead illuminated the movie onto the entire wall. Jules’s legs glowed softly in the projector light as she draped them over my lap. I didn’t understand why she wore a miniskirt and heels in this crap-tastic Fall weather, but I wasn’t complaining as I skimmed my hand over her silky smooth legs. She snuggled closer to me, and rested her head on my shoulder as I flipped through the previews.

She had picked out one of those romantic comedies that had just come out on DVD. Payton would never be down for this. She’d want to watch the newest war movie or action film. She had always been a tomboy, even in eighth grade. While most girls had their little bitch fits in the cafeteria, she arm wrestled anyone willing to take her on. Most of the time, she won.

Just as the movie started—sappy music and all—the door to the movie room swung open and banged against the wall.

“Whoops, sorry,” said a high-pitched voice, followed by ear-piercing giggles.

“No problem, babe. I’m sure worse has been done to the walls.”

Ugh. Andrew.

Another giggle that registered on the spectrum between drunk, squealy sorority girl and dog whistle rang out.

The girl laughing was definitely not Payton. It was Mandy, one of his call girls. Meaning, he called them and they came running like his dick was made of a never-ending supply of chocolate. Why was he messing around with her when he said he was interested in Payton?

“Ouch. Blake, that hurts.”

I looked down at my hand gripping Jules’s thigh. Her skin had turned a funky shade of white around my fingertips. I released my hold. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was squeezing your leg.”

Damn,
cool it, dude.
I counted down from twenty, concentrating on keeping my emotions in check. I needed to focus on Jules, not my ex.

Andrew led Mandy up to the first row, right in front of me and Jules. She bounced on the leather couch and immediately latched onto his neck. Her blond hair fell in her face, blocking the view of her hickey fest.

I worked my jaw, finding it difficult to resist the urge to pull Andrew off the couch and create a new dent in the movie room wall with his head.

Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.

This made no fucking sense. I wanted to be over her. Why couldn’t I be over her?

Seventeen. Sixteen.

But I couldn’t. Not with everything too fresh for my liking.
Damn, Hiller, don
’t be a vag.

Jules must have been in an Oreo coma, because I doubted she would have been so relaxed after seeing her roommate’s love interest making out with some other chick. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d let that shit fly.

She nestled her head into the side of my neck and kissed the sensitive spot behind my ear. Her soft lips ran across my lobe, and my shoulders tensed, the whole thing off. I didn’t know how to explain it, but something about it was wrong. And not the so-wrong-it’s-right way.

Why couldn’t I enjoy a date with this hot, Oreo-gorging blonde? I smoothed my hands through her hair, forcing myself to get past the unease in my stomach. But her hair didn’t feel right—not curly enough, and not the right color.

Shit
. I did it again, just like with every girl after Payton. Why did my mind have to perform a mental checklist, seeing if my dates measured up to her? They never did.

Rustling came from the couch in front. The leather creaked, and Andrew let out a low growl as Mandy straddled him, facing me and Jules. Her eyes had a predatory look about them, the
screw me now
smolder. I’d seen that glint in many girls’ eyes as they ogled him. Funny, because as much as Payton had her hands all over him at Heaven and Hades, she didn’t have that look. And I spoke fluent Payton-ese, especially her
screw me now
look.

Damnit, stop thinking about her sexy,
screw me now
face.

I should have stopped a long time ago, but now was my chance. Jules provided the perfect opportunity to forget. But even as her hand roamed across my chest, I thought about the time at Payton’s house when we watched
Lord of the Rings
with her dad. He was too busy quoting Gandolf to notice us fooling around under the blanket in the dark room.

Another grunt came from Andrew, bringing me back to the present when I heard the distinct sound of a fly coming undone.

Fucking awkward. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take this to our room or the sleeping porch. I mean, sure, feeling up a hottie on the couch was one thing, but this drifted quickly toward touchdown category.

Jules smoothed her hand across my chest again and worked it down my stomach. “Hey, cowboy, you wanna go to your room and watch a movie?”

The green light, a no-brainer. Hot girl with an affinity for Oreos? Hell, yeah. But my brain clouded any thoughts of getting laid. This was wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. Something told me this would turn out like my drunken nights ending at La Conga. Those greasy burritos were glorious in the moment, but I’d regret it the next day.

I rubbed my hands over my face. Damn, what was wrong with me?

“Can you excuse me for a minute?”

“Sure.” A little smile tugged on her lips as she took her time feeling up my stomach before removing her hands. I had no doubt those hands were skilled, but I needed a minute to think.

As soon as I made it to my room, I kicked the door shut and flopped down on the daybed. I stared at the ceiling, counting down from twenty again. I reached zero and had to start over again to stop the mental train wreck blasting past HookupwithJules Station straight to Paytonville.

I stood up and paced the room, going from my desk to my closet to the door and back again until I finally slumped against my closet door.

“Why are you doing this, Hiller? You’re gonna screw everything over for your ex who obviously doesn’t give a shit about you?”

I banged the back of my head against the door a few times. Rationalizing with myself wasn’t working, so I opted for the literal route of knocking some sense into me. I was busy pounding my way to a concussion when my door flew open. Behind door number one was none other than Andrew and Mandy. Her fingers worked at unbuckling his belt as he grabbed her boobs, anyone in the hallway at this point getting one hell of a show.

My lip curled as I surveyed them. Before it involved Payton, I didn’t care who he fooled around with. But now? Yeah, I fucking cared now. That douche was a walking STD.

Andrew came up for air and said, “Mind giving us some privacy, bro.” Mandy didn’t blink an eye that I was there to witness their porno session. She focused on his belt buckle, working on the button to his jeans.

“No problem,
bro.”
I practically spat the words as I slammed the door behind me.

Poor Jules was probably still in the movie room, wondering when I’d return. I didn’t know how long I’d been gone, but it had been long enough. Seeing Andrew all over Mandy solidified it for me. My feelings for Payton were far from gone. But I wasn’t willing to play with fire anymore. She was into douche bags, and I couldn’t afford to have my heart ripped out again.

I opened the door to the movie room to find two people on the big screen stripping each other’s clothes off, getting down and dirty on the beach. Great fucking ambiance to end a date.