Unethical (9 page)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I batted my eyes, just the way she did at me when she feigned ignorance.

She rolled to her stomach, resting her head on my lap. “So are you more of the tall, dark, and handsome type, or maybe into the blondies?”

“Definitely tall. I like dark. Always loved Italians. And I like hazel eyes.”

“Mmhmm.” She unwrapped one of the chocolates from the bag on my bed and popped it into her mouth. “Oh em gee, you know who you totally just described?”

“Who?”

“Blake!” She squeaked and clapped her hands. “Too bad he’s hung up on his ex. He totally fits that description.”

I giggled and chucked a chocolate at her. Completely ridiculous. Did I really just describe Blake? I thought about his skin that had a year-round tan, and his piercing hazel eyes that turned my body to putty with just once glance.

Yeah, I had, but there were tons of other guys who met that description. Ones who didn’t know about my past. Ones who didn’t piss me off one minute and turn me into a hot mess the next.

By the time Monday rolled around, I had drained an entire bag of chocolate covered coffee beans, sufficiently landing me in the
eating my feelings
category. When Sunday night hit, the caffeine buzz cut into my sleep, my heart racing from anticipation of the internship and maybe a pending cardiac arrest. The hospital was my Disneyland, my happiest place on Earth. Jules was also up when I last checked my cell phone at a quarter ’til two. I almost went to her room to hang out but didn’t want to bother her.

Even though I only got three hours of sleep, the adrenaline kept pumping through my veins, pushing away the need for a nap. After class, I stopped back at the apartment, changed into my professional hospital attire, and rechecked the letter, making sure I showed up at the right time.

I parked my car in the empty visitor lot, locked the doors, and made my way to the main entrance ten minutes early. As my old choir teacher used to say,
Being early is on time, being on time is late, and if you’re late, don’t bother showing up at all.
Maybe that was where my punctuality issues stemmed from.

As the double doors opened, the welcome scent of antiseptic and cleaning supplies flooded into the walkway. Most people I knew hated going to the hospital, but this was where I felt most in my element. Alive.

In elementary school, my dad used to take me to the hospital to do his rounds, where he visited patients and checked on their progress. I would sit under the desk in the nurses’ station, pretending I was their doctor getting ready to check their vitals. The speed at which he rattled off medical terms during dictations was awe-inspiring. From that moment on, I wanted to be a doctor. I had never wanted to do anything else. Ever. Okay, besides in the fifth grade when I wanted to be a runway model, but that was a phase. Plus, that whole height requirement thing.

I inhaled deeply and took the first step into the hospital. I studied the directory in the middle of the lobby, trying to locate the visitor center. My heart swelled as I took in the sight of the hospital again. Today might have been the best day of my life since the lawsuit ordeal.

The description of the internship didn’t give too many details, but in my mind, the opportunities were endless. Maybe I’d give people their meds. Hopefully spend a lot of time with patients and learn stuff that could only be gleaned from hands-on experience.

As I walked to the sliding double doors, a familiar voice said, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

No. It couldn’t be.

I turned to Blake. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. My stomach did a triple back handspring, and I sucked in a deep breath.

No. No. No.

I tried to play it off like him being here wasn’t curling-up-in-the-fetal-position worthy. “Don’t tell me. You got the other internship position.”

He yanked a slip of paper out of the back pocket of his dress slacks and held it up. Between my chocolate-coffee-bean OD and this, my heart flatlined as I looked at the letter identical to mine. The good news? I was conveniently in a hospital.

I folded my arms across my chest and stared him down. Why did he have to rain on my hospital-happiness parade? “This is just freakin’ great.”

His jaw worked, and he looked like he was going to say something, but then he stopped. He breezed past me in the direction of the visitor center and said, “Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

I leveled him with a glare. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Everything was totally not fine.

Chapter Ten

Blake

I could barely keep my eyes open as I read through my medical ethics textbook. Keeping up with Dr. Centafont’s explanation of hospital procedures and being around Payton completely drained me. What were the odds the two of us would be stuck at the same internship together? Fucking horrible odds.

After Dr. Centafont had given us a tour, he handed Payton and me off to Brittany, the nurse/intern-babysitter, and we spent the rest of the time restocking supplies at the nurses’ station. My brain had split into two camps—the one that wanted to get as far away from Payton as possible and the other that wanted to bend her over and make her scream my name. Neither had happened; I was trapped in that damn hospital with the girl who drove me insane. Bring on the straight jacket and white padded room.

Andrew strolled into the room without knocking. Living at the fraternity had many advantages, but zero privacy wasn’t one of them. Neither was having Andrew as a roommate. Juniors and seniors only had to share a room with one other person, rather than three, but we all had to sleep on the sleeping porch because of some stupid fire code regulation. The rooms were meant for studying and hanging out, but I had slept on the daybed a few times.

It would be nice to move out, but since I did odd jobs for the fraternity, I lived here for free. And living on campus would be too expensive. Damn money. At least the food was good here, but if I wanted any alone time with a girl, it was either her place or my truck. Most girls didn’t opt for the second option.

“You look like shit.” He had his shirt off again. He always had his shirt off. I got it, he loved his body, but going around bare-chested upped his douche rating from epic to legendary. It wasn’t like he was lacking in clothes. I’d seen his closet enough times to know that he had every Abercrombie polo they’d kept in stock for the past five years.

I flipped him off. “Thanks.”

“Stro says there’s a clog in the kitchen sink.”

Groaning, I marked my spot on the page with my thumb. “I’ll get on that as soon as I’m done with this assignment.”

“Need a little pick-me-up?”

My gaze shifted from my assisted suicide assignment to the little baggie in his hand.

I tossed my papers and textbook aside and sat up on the daybed. “What the hell is that?”

He closed the door and took a seat in his chair. The pills shuffled around as he opened the bag, took one out, and popped it into his mouth. “Adderall.”

Where the hell was he getting Adderall from? Andrew may have been a lot of things, but ADD wasn’t one of them. Or at least he didn’t fit the stereotype.

I held up my hands. Using drugs to get through college wasn’t an option for me. Well, if I didn’t count caffeine. “I’m good.”

He shrugged and shoved the pills back into his jean pocket. “Suit yourself. If you ever need some, I have an unlimited supply thanks to my dad’s prescription pad I jacked last year.” He pulled the pad out of his drawer and flashed it in my face. Apparently, nothing from our medical ethics class had stuck with him. I shook my head. And he was going to work with the public. The thought made me sick.

Putting the pad back in the drawer, he said, “How’s the internship with my dad going? He’s a boring sack of shit, isn’t he?”

If I had a dad, I wouldn’t be talking about him like that. I never got to meet him because he died in combat overseas two months after I was born. His flag was packed up in the back of my closet. I wasn’t going to take the chance of putting it on display and having one of my brothers decimate it in a drunken stupor.

“It’s all right.” And I wasn’t about to trash talk the one person who could get me a scholarship for medical school. Who knew what Andrew told his dad? Luckily, Payton was still kept in the dark with the whole Andrew and Dr. Centafont connection. I was surprised he wasn’t using that to get in her pants.

“My dad said you and Payton got the internships.” He cracked his knuckles. “I don’t get it, man. She’s such a prude. She needs to loosen up.”

I gripped my textbook, and the thick cardboard cover warped under my white knuckles. The hell she did. I wasn’t sure how I felt about her at the moment, but I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to Andrew.

Resisting my instinct to smash his head into the wall, I pointed to my book and hoped he got the hint that I was busy and didn’t want to talk.

He didn’t take the hint.

“Maybe a little home-theater action will do the trick.”

“She doesn’t like movies.” I immediately regretted this knee-jerk response. Unless there were things blowing up, Payton could only stand to watch a movie for about thirty minutes before moving on to something else.

He raised his brow. “How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t. It’s just—” Shit, how could I cover this one? I was too damn tired to come up with a good excuse. “She just didn’t seem that into the movie at the drive-in. Didn’t you say she looked bored the whole time?”
And nothing to do with our argument while getting food.

“You’re right.”

“Why don’t you take her mini golfing?” The odds of him fondling her decreased tenfold out in public. Plus, Payton hated golfing. She only went with her dad because he loved it so much. Now, I bet she loved golfing about as much as she loved being stuck in a room with me once a week.

“Bro, you’re a genius.” He smacked my shoulder, pulled out his phone, and walked out of the room.

I sunk back against my pillow and dropped my laptop onto my lap. Time to write my response for medical ethics. I was hoping Payton read it. If anything, maybe she’d see that she was being too hard on her dad.

Chapter Eleven

Payton

Jules sat cross-legged on the sofa when I entered the living room. “Where is he taking you tonight?”

“Rinky Dink.” The local mini-golf place also had bumper cars and a rock-climbing wall. Rinky Dink was more of a family fun center than strictly just golf. And with the success of the franchise, they should have been able to come up with a catchier name.

I used to love golfing. It was part of my family’s Sunday ritual. Mickey Mouse pancakes, a trip to Home Depot—I knew how to work my way around a busted sink or two—and a round of mini golf.

Andrew’s idea to go mini golfing was the worst possible date choice. Ever.

Golfing without my dad felt about as right as putting my shoes on the wrong foot, which I had done twice in the past few days. Starting the internship at the hospital stirred up a lot of memories. I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat three times this week, dreaming about my dad.

I focused back on Jules, instead of recounting the horrific dreams about the last minutes of my mother’s life.

Her eyes did a once-over, moving up the full length of my body. “You’re going in
that
?”

I looked down at my outfit. Jeans, ballet flats, and a tank top. “What’s wrong with this?” This whole obsession with what I wore started to grate. Didn’t she have anything better to do than give me fashion advice?

She rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Girl, you are never going to get laid in that. Go put on a skirt. That’s an order.” She twirled her finger, motioning for me to go back to my bedroom.

I put my hands on my hips and scoffed. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to get laid?” Okay, total lie, but I hated being told what to do. Especially when it came to fashion.

“With that fine piece of ass barking up your tree?”

Point taken.

I ran my fingers across the stitching of the seat in Andrew’s BMW and took in the unmistakable scent of eau de new car. My skin peeled off the warm leather as I crossed my legs. It was an uncharacteristically hot day for mid-October. Good call on Jules’s part with the skirt, because I would have been sweltering in jeans.

The leather creaked as I adjusted my skirt, which had ridden up for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes. It didn’t go unnoticed that Andrew stared at my legs each time I shifted in my seat. Stupid skirt. His gaze was still on my thighs as the car veered to the right and shook as it passed over the rumble strip on the side of the road. If that wasn’t an ego boost I didn’t know what was. Although, I wasn’t quite willing to die because he liked my legs.

Andrew quickly corrected the car and cleared his throat. “So, what’s your story?”

“Well…” What could I say that gave him just enough to know I had a crappy past, but not enough to want to ask questions? “Both of my parents are gone.” Technically not a lie. “Mom died of cancer two years ago.” Again, not completely untrue. I failed to mention that my dad “helped put her out of her misery.” That was what he’d told me when she had OD’d on morphine. I’d listed this as one of the pros listed for assisted suicide when I researched the topic for class. I got it, really. But up until that point, Mom didn’t seem like she was in that much pain. Either she deserved an Emmy, or she declined remarkably fast in the last couple weeks of her life. But why hadn’t she told me? And why wasn’t I important enough to be included in her decision?

“I’m sorry.” Andrew shifted in his seat and cracked his neck. He must have been hanging around Blake a lot, because that was a total Blake-ism. “What kind?”

“Breast cancer.” I swallowed past the tightness in my throat that happened whenever I thought of Mom. Too soon. It still stung. “What about you?” I managed to squeeze the words out as my throat constricted.

“Oh, you know. Being a doctor’s son sucks. Always too hard on me. I’m already awesome. Why do I need to be pushed further, ya know?”

Wow. My jaw dropped an inch. I didn’t know people talked like that outside of reality TV. I stared, speechless, out the passenger window.

He elbowed me. “Hey, I was just kidding. You really think I’m
that
full of myself?”

Did he want me to answer this? I wanted to believe he was kidding, but as my dad had once said, there’s always a little bit of truth in every lie. Instead, I laughed, hoping this would pass off as a polite response.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of Rinky Dink. Andrew paid our admission, and I grabbed a club and an orange ball while he picked a black ball.

My dad should have been the last person I thought about while I was on a date with Andrew, but at every hole, some funny memory came to mind. There weren’t too many mini-golf places around, and since Rinky Dink was close to our home, we were regulars. In third grade, I fell into the pond trying to retrieve my ball. In eighth grade, I hit some random guy in the butt with a rogue putt. The memories left a bitter taste in my mouth, like somehow my dad robbed me of all my happy memories and replaced them with death. I tried to push him out of my head and focus on my date with Andrew.

Andrew definitely lacked in the mini-golf-mastery department, so I took it easy on him. I stuck to sinking the ball in two shots instead of the hole in one just so I didn’t make him feel bad. I doubted he was holding back, because the way he bragged about everything he did, it wouldn’t make sense for him not to show off his mad golf skills. Which he claimed he had.

As we traveled farther into the course, the idea of sending a rogue putt in the general direction of his head or drowning myself in the pond just to end this date sounded more appealing. Sure, he was cute, but I needed more than cute. I deserved the whole package, and though I had no doubts about Andrew’s package, it wasn’t the one for me.

A waterfall gushed down at the seventh hole as we walked up the narrow path lined with garden gnomes and little shrubs. Water droplets ricocheted off the ground and smattered against my leg as I readied myself for the putt. With a windmill in the middle of the green, I loved the added challenge. No more holding back, time to go for the hole in one.

“Your form looks a little off. Let me help you with that.” Andrew slid his hands down my arms, and my skirt rode up as he pressed himself against my body. My pulse quickened and pounded in my ears. My skin prickled, goose bumps cascading down my arms and legs. He was totally feeling me up. In public.

“It’s all in the knees, sweetheart.” He pushed on the inside of my thigh with his knee, forcing my legs farther apart. The contents of my stomach curdled, and I hesitated, not sure what to do. On one hand, he was totally hot, but on the other, he did nothing for me. It was like he was Kraft when I wanted Velveeta. Both classified as macaroni and cheese, but I definitely preferred one over the other.

“Mmhmm.” God, it really had been too long since I’d been with a guy, but something didn’t feel right about Andrew. Just the thought of being with him left a sour taste in my mouth.

I looked down the green at the hole. A decade of mini golfing told me the position Andrew set me in wouldn’t get me anywhere near a hole in one.

“There. You should be good to go.”

Unable to decide what to do, I stayed pressed against him for a few moments until a father and his small son strolled up behind us, waiting for their turn. We broke apart, and I rolled my shoulders to release some of the tension. No, I couldn’t go for him.
Stick with Velveeta.
Stupid Velveeta.

I readjusted my skirt. “Thanks, Andrew.”

When he pulled out his phone, I couldn’t ignore my Grand-Canyon-sized perfectionist streak. I discreetly changed my stance, swung my arms back, and took the shot. The little orange ball squeaked between the blades of the windmill, rolled over a hill, and sunk into the hole. I fist pumped, and little bubbles released low in my stomach.
Booya, bitches.

My first thought after the ball disappeared into the hole was to high-five my father. But he wasn’t there. The fizzy bubbles in my stomach filled with lead, heavy and toxic. I tried to push away the emptiness in my heart, but thinking of him made my hole in one suddenly not so important. The need to be wrapped in one of his bear hugs rushed through my veins so abruptly and intense, I nearly doubled over from the impact.

“What did I tell ya? All in the knees.”

I forced a smile and refrained from rolling my eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

I managed to derail the freight train heading straight to memory town for the remainder of the course, which took us twice as long as it normally would have taken. I was hot, tired, and thirsty—definitely not the second date I was hoping for, but at least the view was a good one.

“Wanna get us a couple of sno-cones? I’m gonna use the restroom.” He tossed his wallet to me and walked in the direction of the pro shop. I stared at the black leather wallet in my hand, the edges a dull gray from wear and tear. As I opened the wallet, I noticed how young Andrew looked in his license picture. Andrew James Centafont. One hundred seventy-five pounds of glorious muscle.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop the press
. Centafont? Like in relation to Dr. Centafont?

The wallet slipped through my trembling fingers and dropped to the ground. I scrambled to pick up the Visa cards that had fallen out of the folds. He had failed to mention this little tidbit of information. I mean, sure, I didn’t tell him about my dad, but his dad was our freakin’ teacher. Justifiable piece of info in my mind.

I pulled out my phone to text Jules.

Plans have changed. Call me so I can make up some excuse to leave. NOW.

A hand landed on my shoulder as I hit send, and a loud yelp slipped past my lips. “Hey, I thought you were going to get us sno-cones?” Andrew gave me a lopsided grin, showing off his dimples.

I froze, thinking of some excuse, any excuse, of why I was sans sno-cones. “Uh.” My phone buzzed, and I showed him my screen with Jules’s call picture where she was sticking out her tongue. I hit accept and brought the phone to my ear. “Hey, Jules. I’m kinda busy on a date.”

Jules scoffed on the other end of the line. “I know, lame ass, you texted me.”

I quickly turned down the volume on my phone just in case Andrew had super hearing. He hadn’t bragged about that in the car or on our date, but I’m sure if given the chance, he’d cop to being able to understand bat echolocation.

With one semester of high school drama under my belt, I put my skills to the test. I widened my eyes and said, “Uh, huh.” Exaggerated gasp. “Oh no. I’ll be right there.”

“You’re welcome.” She laughed and hung up.

Andrew’s brows knit together as he shifted from side to side, his thumbs hitched on his belt loops. Definitely much cuter when he didn’t talk. “Everything okay?”

I tucked my phone into my purse and stared at the zipper. He’d call bullshit if I looked at him. No amount of drama classes could help me in that aspect. “No. Jules is sick. She needs me.” I kept my eyes trained on my purse when he cocked his head.
Oh look, I need to polish the metal emblem on my purse. Yesiree, it looks really dirty.

“Oh.” He unhooked his finger from his belt loop and caressed my shoulder. His lips turned into a pout like he’d just learned that Santa didn’t exist for the first time. “Okay.”

After running my thumb over the leather a few more times, I resorted to zipping and unzipping my purse, still not able to look at him. Maybe I should sign up for a drama class next semester. “Sorry.”

Could this date climb any higher on the awkward meter? My guess was no. After tonight, I wouldn’t go out with him again. Knowing who his dad was solidified that for me.

“I guess I’ll take a rain check on the sno-cones.”

Yeah, right, buddy.

The door swung open before I even had a chance to pull my keys from my purse. Jules peered out of the apartment and turned to me. “What happened?”

“It was horrible! He’s the definition of narcissist. You know how I can’t stand braggers.”

“Bummer. Seemed like he’d be a good lay.”

I smacked her arm. “You don’t even know the worst part.”

Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed my hand and dragged me to the couch. Once we both plunked down on the cushions, she put her hand on my leg and said, “Spill.”

“Andrew’s dad is Dr. Centafont.” I buried my face in my palms and let out a muffled grunt.

“Say what?” Her eyes bulged. “No way.”

“Why does there always have to be something wrong with the people I like?”

She pried my fingers from my face and held my hands in her own. “In his defense, he can’t help who his dad is.”

Ain’t that the truth.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” I couldn’t hide this from Jules anymore. She was my best friend, and I needed to talk to someone.

She squeezed my hand. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“What? No!” I swallowed past the hard lump in my throat. What if she got mad that Blake was talking about me when he said he wasn’t over his ex? Well, I assumed it was me, at least. “It’s about Blake.”

“You found out who his ex was? Let’s go spit in that bitch’s drink.”

“Jules.”

“Or key her car.”

Damn, remind me not to get on her bad side. “Jules.”

She gave a mischievous smile. “What?”

“I’m the bitch.”

“
Como?
” She cocked her head, her brows disappearing beneath her bangs.

“I mean, I dated Blake. I think I’m the ex he was talking about.”

She stared at me like I had a forked tongue and spit fire, her mouth hanging wide open. “Holy shizballs! Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stared down at my hands. “I wasn’t exactly proud of how I ended things with him.” Crap, she was totally going to hate me now. She had already voiced her opinion loud and clear about the bitch who broke it off with Blake. Maybe I was a bitch.

“That’s insane, Payton.” She let go of my hand and ran her hands through her hair. “Now I’m the bitch, dating my best friend’s ex.”

I grabbed her hand again, which had a slight tremor. God, she had nothing to be sorry about, couldn’t she see that? “You’re not a bitch. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how.”