Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  “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?”

  “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

  Bla
ke

  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 se
at. 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.