Unethical (8 page)

Shit
.

Chapter Nine

Payton

“What the hell is your problem?” I pushed off the stool too quickly, and the wooden seat smacked against the linoleum. People peered around their computer monitors to get a glimpse of the real life reality show unfolding in the library. We could name this
The Young and the Horny
. I didn’t know about Blake, but when he’d stood between my legs, I had to dig my nails into my palm to combat the intense urge to rock my hips into him.
Detox program. Stat.

“I said I was sorry. It just popped out.”

How could he say that to me? He knew where I stood on the dad issue. Even if he did say that in high school¸ it so didn’t make it right.

“Well, I hope other things of yours aren’t popping out.”
OMG.
Why couldn’t I stop this word vomit? I pinched the bridge of my nose and focused on taking deep breaths. My skin still sizzled from when his fingers grazed over my cheek. I shouldn’t want him, but every time he was near me, the continuous battle to wrap my arms around him waged war in my body.

No. I had better things to focus on, like writing the pros and cons about assisted suicide. Why had I stupidly agreed to do this topic? Not like I had much of a choice. What was I supposed to do? Let the fear of my dad rule my life? No way in hell. I had my cons list ready, but finding pros would take some time.

Blake’s eyes narrowed as he stroked his thumb over the bottom of the charcoal cross. My gaze followed each flick. God, that tattoo was so hot. I licked my lips and imagined what his skin would taste like as I traced the outline with my mouth. Okay, I had reached an all-time low if I resorted to fantasizing about kissing tattoos. Getting a sober sponsor to talk to about these urges grew more vital every minute I was with him
.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

I knew it. At that point, the whole computer lab probably knew it, but my pride—that stubborn bitch—wouldn’t let him win this.

“What did I ever see in you?” Oh God, what did I just say?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His nostrils flared, and the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. I opened my mouth to apologize when someone interrupted.

“Is everything okay?” Jules walked up beside Blake and leaned against the counter top next to our computer. She touched his arm again, for, like, the millionth time today.
He said he wasn’t interested. Take the hint.
Territorial Cavewoman Payton peeked her head out of her hidey-hole and glared at Jules.

“Yes!” The constant hum of fingers tapping on keyboards came to an abrupt halt, and the silence hung heavy in the air like a looming storm. A group of guys entering the computer area stopped and stared.

Jules took a couple steps back and put her arms in front of her, palms facing me. “Damn girl, what crawled up your ass?”

“Sorry. Just a lot of information to process for this stupid assignment. I need to go get something from the printer.”
And get your freakin’ hands off my ex.
I trudged to the printer, ignoring the stares from everyone in the computer lab.

Why did I let myself get so hot and bothered by him? We were over a long time ago, and I had better things to focus on. In fact, Andrew had asked me on a date after that night at the drive-in. Maybe I should take him up on his offer. Even if he did totally bash my dad, he was still a better option than Mr. Tequila.

“I don’t understand why we have to do this. I’d rather make a damn PowerPoint.” Blake held a cut-out letter like it harbored flesh-eating bacteria. Since Dr. Centafont hated technology with a fiery passion, barely able to work the PowerPoint presentation during his lectures, he asked everyone to make posters by hand—meaning twice as much work. The only reason we had an online discussion forum for the second portion of the assignment was because of his TA, who moderated the threads. Dr. Centafont really needed to join the twenty-first century.

Andrew was mysteriously MIA, and Jules had been called into work at GNC tonight. I wanted to get the project out of the way, but being in the room alone with Blake, I realized I should have rescheduled.

“It’s not that hard. Glue, apply, repeat.” We had printed out the information for assisted suicide, and now we needed to put it together on a poster board. This task transported me back to old memories of middle school science fair projects. Pretty much the only good thing about middle school. Except for Blake. But whatever.

He set the package of cut-out letters on his desk and sat on the daybed in his room. “Easy for you to say. You can actually position stuff in a straight line.”

True. Blake sucked at posters in high school. Doubtful he’d improved since then.

I sighed. “Hand me the glue.” I held out my hand and planted the other on my hip.

Blake reached behind him, grabbing the glue sitting on the windowsill. His hoodie rode up, exposing the band of his blue striped boxers. A hard lump formed in my throat. They looked similar to the pair of blue boxers he had on before the first time we made love. I remember because I couldn’t get them over his erection when we were undressing each other. Super embarrassing.

My face warmed, and I looked down at the poster, focusing on where I should put the title.

“What’s up?” He held out the glue and cocked his head, assessing me.

“Just hot.” I pulled off my jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his gaze traced down my body. My breath hitched at the unmistakable need in his hooded eyes. I cleared my throat and looked away, not trusting myself to stare into those eyes for much longer. How was it possible to dislike someone so much and want them to screw you at the same time? “Where should we put the title?”

“You’re the expert on these things. I’m just along for the ride.” His gravelly voice scorched every bit of my exposed skin.

I’d definitely like that ride. One where he pounded into me until I screamed out his name. The thought of him between my legs sent a shot of heat straight to my core.

I shook my head, not allowing myself to go back down that road, and squeezed some glue over the letters in the title.

“Have you talked to your dad?”

I clenched the tube, glue spurting across the poster. “No.” Why bring him up? Because our freakin’ poster was about him? Morbid curiosity?

“I bet he’d love to hear from you.”

Bet he would, but so not happening.
“And you know what’s best for me and my family?” Heat flamed across my cheeks, and little dots swarmed in my vision. How could he possibly think he knew what was best for me—or my dad?

“I wasn’t saying—”

“Shut it, Blake. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, ’cause you seem like you really have your shit together.”

Hell to the no. He lost the privilege to shell out advice when he gave up his boyfriend role. “Go screw yourself.” I wound back and chucked the glue at his chest.

The container hit his pec with a loud
thwap
, and glue spurted onto his cheek and eyebrow
.
He sat there, the milky-white substance drizzling down his face, arms crossed over his chest. “Real mature, Payton.”

I gave him my best stink eye, grabbed my keys and purse off his desk, and strolled out of the room. General consensus: Way too soon to be spending time with him.

Two days had passed since the fight with Blake. Jules went over to the frat last night to help finish the poster while I made up some lame excuse of having cramps to get out of going there.

I had bigger things to focus on—like the internship that I should have heard back from by now. Fourteen days and nada. Cabin fever set in as I holed up in my apartment, compulsively peering out the window every few minutes for the mailman like a total stalker. My chocolate stash was dwindling, and if I didn’t hear something soon, I’d have to run out to the store to gather more goodies and put myself into a carb coma.

I stuffed another piece of chocolate in my mouth and read my response for my pro/con assisted suicide assignment for the twelfth time. So far I had six cons

No closure for family

Violates doctors
’ Hippocratic oath

Demeans value of human life

Giving up too early

Doctors given too much power

Miracle recoveries can occur

I stared at my list. My dad violated all of these. I wasn’t going to kid myself. As a future med student, I had known my mom wasn’t getting better, but a part of me still hoped some type of miracle recovery would have happened. What made it all worse is that I didn’t have a say in any of it. My opinion didn’t mean jack to my mom and dad. I didn’t have anything against assisted suicide before my mom died, but now, it was the most unfair thing life offered me so far.

I looked at the pro list again. From the articles I had printed out at the library, I couldn’t really find any pro I agreed with. But I guess it didn’t matter if I agreed with them, I just needed to name them to get a good grade.

My finger traced along the words, searching for any crap excuse I could put down in my response when I came across one that I found the least offensive. Vital organs could be used to save other people’s lives. My mom couldn’t donate her organs since they were riddled with cancer, but a lot of patients who chose assisted suicide could if their organs were healthy enough. Take a life to save a life. How noble.

One pro wouldn’t be enough to get a good grade, though. I needed to find more. Later. It wasn’t due until Friday, so I had a few more days of procrastinating.

I pulled out the letter from Otis Law Firm and Associates that I had shoved into the bottom of my backpack after my latest mail check. Freakin’ parasites. I shouldn’t have updated my address when I moved back to California. This was the third letter in a month. I hadn’t opened any of them, instead stuck them in the back of my closet, along with the unopened letters from my father. Whatever their reason was for contacting me, I wasn’t interested.

Jules burst through the door, waving a white envelope in the air. “You’ve got mail, chicky!”

I quickly shoved the envelope into the depths of my backpack. Sneaky bastard mailman. He must have come by while I folded my chocolate wrappers into paper cranes. There were enough of them to line the perimeter of the coffee table, and my stomach gurgled in disgust at my chocolate gluttony.

I bounded from the couch to the kitchen, snatching the letter from Jules’s hand.

Staring at the envelope, I debated if I really wanted to open it or not. I rubbed my thumb across the return address of the university. What if it said I didn’t get the internship? What would I do then?

“Aren’t you going to open it? You’ve been waiting all week for this.”

Two weeks. Two long weeks filled with lust, lattes, and the consumption of more chocolate than I was proud to admit to.

My hands shook as I handed the letter back to Jules. “Can you read it? I don’t think I can.” My stomach made the twenty-story Tower of Terror drop as she took the letter.

She nodded, her eyebrows pressed together as she opened the envelope one millimeter at a time. Obviously, she didn’t take Present Opening 101 as a kid. Or she was trying to torture me, which I didn’t think she would do…intentionally.

Unfolding the letter, she let out a few
hmm’s
and
mmm’s
and nodded her head as her eyes scanned the paper.

“Well?”
C’mon, my grandma can read faster than this. “
What does it say?”

Her lips pressed together into a thin line, and she tugged at one of her earrings. “I don’t know if you want to read this.”

Oh no. My throat tightened, and hot tears built in the corners of my eyes, ready to blur my vision. I didn’t get it. That meant my application would be in the same pile as the other thousands of applicants for medical school.

“Because—” Jules’s lips cracked a smile. “You got the internship!” She squealed and jumped up and down, shaking my shoulders with each bounce.

My pulse hammered in my ears. Had I heard her right? “I did?” I grabbed the letter from her. Hot tears ran down my face. My heart crashed against the wall of my chest and I worked to control my jagged breaths. I wiped the stray tears and set the letter on the counter, my hands shaking too much to read the tiny print.

Dear Ms. Daniels,

There were many wonderful applications submitted for this internship position at Good Samaritan. With the quality of submissions, the medical board has decided to create two internship positions instead of one. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into our internship program. Please arrive at the visitor center at the front of the hospital on Monday at 7:00 p.m.

I scanned the letter five more times to make sure I’d read it correctly. Each time, my stomach did toe touches.

I got the position. I was good enough.

If I made a good impression, this could be my ticket to Drexler’s medical school. Sure, my grades were good, but this would solidify it.

For the rest of the night, Jules and I raided my closet to find the perfect outfit to wear to the internship. I tried on half my closet and was getting tired of being her personal Barbie for the night. I threw on my second to last outfit, a pair of black slacks and a white blouse.

When I catwalked across my room and spun for her, she gasped and said, “That is so Grey’s Anatomy!”

“You think so?”

“The way your badonkadonk looks in those pants, you’ll find your McDreamy for sure.”

I wiggled my ass in her face, and she smacked it. We both laughed, and I plopped down on the bed beside her.

Maybe she was right. My own personal McDreamy could totally be at this hospital, just waiting for me to show up. A girl could wish, right? I mean, one hot doctor already worked there. Dr. Centafont was pretty cute, if you were into that whole cradle-robber thing, but I’d prefer my McDreamy to be fresh out of med school. I giggled as I imagined what my future husband would look like, all decked out in scrubs.

“You’re thinking about him, huh?”