Unethical

by Jennifer Blackwood

  I climbed the first shelf and, to my relief, the metal didn’t buckle. But even with my arm fully extended, my fingertips barely brushed the box. I scaled another shelf, bracing myself by holding on to the side. My foot slipped off the metal as I let go with one hand to push the box to the floor. I missed the box, let out a shriek, and grabbed the side again, pressing my face into a bag of cotton balls.

  “Training for Ninja Warrior?” Blake walked up behind me and pressed his hand against the small of my back, steadying my balance, sending a shot of heat straight to my core.

  Paging Dr. Blake. Please report to the supply room for a thorough make-out sesh.

  “I doubt shelf scaling for medical supplies is part of their obstacle course.”

  “Probably not. Want me to get something for you before you break your neck?”

  I let out a heavy sigh, still clinging to the shelf. “Yes.” I jutted my chin toward the top row. “That box of water bottles.”

  He reached up and grabbed the box without even fully extending his arms. Damn ogre. After he set the box on the ground, he said, “Need a hand?”

  Not really. I could jump down from the steps without breaking my ankle, but I’d be stupid to pass up an opportunity to touch him. “Sure.”

  Once he stood directly behind me, I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck while he scooped one hand under my legs, the other behind my back. Our faces were inches apart as I stared at his mouth. That full bottom lip just begged to be nipped. As if he could read my thoughts, he ran his tongue across it and pulled me closer.

  He bent his head down and planted a soft kiss right below my ear and whispered, “It feels good to have you in my arms again.”

  My insides liquefied, his words melting my muscles. I nuzzled my forehead into his shoulder, his heart pounding against my ear. “Yeah.” I’d give anything to stay like this, exploring every inch of his body, giving it the attention it deserved.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Blake quickly set me on the ground and separated just in time for Brittany to clomp into the room.

  I busied myself with opening the box, not able to look at Brittany. If she had been a couple seconds earlier, we’d be in some deep shit.

  “Blake, can you bring Mrs. Cripps her meds? Payton, she’ll need a new water container—are you feeling well? You look a little flushed.”

  Blake booked it out of the room before I answered. Wuss. I grabbed a bottle from the box and straightened. “Just had a hard time getting the box off the shelf.” And would have climbed Blake like a ladder if you hadn’t come in.

  She frowned. “There’s a step stool at the nurses’ station. Use that next time.”

  I nodded and continued to focus on the box.

  Once she left the supply room, I leaned against the shelving unit, resting my head on the metal. I needed to focus. This was my one shot at making a good impression with the doctors on the medical board. If they saw what had happened, they’d push my application to the bottom of the stack. As much as I wanted him, Blake was off-limits at work.

  Kicking the box to the corner, I exited the supply closet and trudged down the hall toward Mrs. Cripps’s room. Blake passed me, leaving as I entered, his lips curving into a smile as we brushed shoulders. If only I could lean in and get lost in his warmth. Instead, I smiled and kept walking. Eye on the prize.

  Mrs. Cripps lay in the hospital bed as I strode in the room.

  “Can I have another glass of water, Nikki?”

  I nodded and smiled at her. She’d resided in the intensive care unit for a few weeks now, her liver function in a dire state. Along with that, she couldn’t remember my name, so she called me Nikki. She called everyone Nikki, even Dr. Centafont.

  After pouring some water from the pitcher to the bottle, I handed it to her and set the container back on the tray.

  “How are you feeling today, Mrs. Cripps?”

  “Terrible. As always.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Liver disease, at least from what I researched, was a very painful way to go.

  “Me, too. This old body isn’t what it used to be.” She let out a heavy sigh and sunk her head deeper into the pillow. “When I was your age, I was head cheerleader. Dated the quarterback.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Married for fifty years until he passed from lung cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me, too. He was the love of my life. Never had any kids, so now it’s just me.”

  I put my hand over hers, rubbing my thumb over her dry, wrinkly skin. Saying sorry wouldn’t fix her problems, and probably wouldn’t make her feel better.

  Would that be me some day? Griping in a hospital bed to anyone that would listen? God, how depressing.

  “Buck up, Nikki. No use putting frown lines on that pretty face. Do you have a gentleman in your life?”

  I snorted. “Sorta. I’ve been working stuff out with my ex-boyfriend.”

  “Forget your ex-boyfriend. You need a nice man like that young man who brought my pills earlier.” She leaned in closer and said, “He has buns of steel. I copped a feel when he bent over to get my walker the other day.” I snorted. Blake had just brought her the nightly dose of her meds. If only she knew we were talking about the same person.

  I swiped my hand over my lips, hiding my smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Dad would’ve gotten a kick out of Mrs. Cripps. Every night at dinner, we’d play a game called who had the most ridiculous day. Dad would tell one crazy thing a patient did or said at the hospital, and I’d tell him something that happened at school. One time, a patient freaked after coming out of surgery. Still high off the anesthetics, she accused my dad of chopping a few inches off her left leg when the only part operated on was her broken wrist. Another time, a patient only communicated via a hand puppet.

  A dull ache pulsed in my chest as I realized I wouldn’t be able to share this with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Blake

  R: How about The Meat Locker? Ladies love a guy in a man thong.

  B: I only save wearing that for you.

  Ryan and I had been throwing around job ideas for the past thirty minutes. I’d kept my eye out on Jobslist for over a week, but nothing new popped up. The coconut bra at Bikini Coffee looked more appealing than ever.

  R: What about being a sign holder at Say Cheese Pizzeria?

  B: And have some assholes punch me in the nuts while I wear a smiling pizza suit? No thanks.

  R: Chicks dig that suit, man.

  I took the cement stairs of Bexel two at a time. Just before I opened the door to spend the next fifty minutes drooling on my desk, I spotted a bright yellow flier posted on the glass door. It had a picture of a dude in the thinker pose.

  Wanted: Art Model

  No experience necessary

  Possible nudity

  I almost laughed it off until I saw the pay. Two hundred bucks a session. Damn, that and my scholarships could easily pay for tuition if I did that a few times a week. How hard could it be to model? Sitting in front of a class sounded at lot better than a paper route.

  It was decided. Call me Magic Mike, because I was selling my body for cold, hard cash.

  “Take the shot, pussy.” Ricky pushed the shot glass of Patron in my face, some of the tequila spilling over the edge onto my shirt. I grabbed the glass and pounded the drink. After ten rounds, I didn’t even need the lime anymore. My taste buds must have been royally fucked over, because I couldn’t taste anything.

  Ricky clapped a hand on my back. “Good job, man. Let’s go to Cantina. We need to find you some fine ladies to dance with.” Ugh. Dancing. I did it because it was a necessary evil to pick up any chick at a party, but I had no interest in it outside of the fraternity. Plus, I didn’t want to dance with anyone at Cantina. I wanted to dance with Payton. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and feel her pressed against my body, my fingers threading through her soft curls. God, I sounded like such a vag tonight.
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  Brandon, our newest A Sig brother and also our sober driver for tonight, dropped us off at Cantina. I made it outside just in time to save the interior of Brandon’s car.

  The heat from the dance club spilled out of the doors and into the street where I puked the contents of Dods and Sanchos. Mental note: Tequila burned even when it came up the other way.

  Brian, one of the senior guys in the fraternity, patted my back and said, “Happy birthday, man. We’ve all been there. I’ll get you a water at the bar when we get in. Now look sober enough to get past the bouncer.”

  I wiped my mouth, the sour taste of beer and tequila coating my tongue. I squared my shoulders and put my best sober face on as I strutted up to the club like I’d been there before. The closer I got to the entrance, the more my skin fried like a bug flying into the sun, ready to combust into flames from the heat. My palms started to sweat, and my stomach sent warning flares indicating there might be a round two of puking out on the pavement. My head had that fuzzy feeling—the one that came along with drunken shenanigans and greasy burritos I didn’t remember buying.

  For some reason, we stopped, and I stumbled into Brian. The entrance was right there, straight ahead. Why weren’t we going in?

  Ricky elbowed me in the ribs. “Little bro, show them your ID.”

  My hands tingled as I reached for my wallet and fumbled around, trying to get my license out of the pocket.

  “It’s this guy’s twenty-oner,” Ricky said, like this was some sort of explanation.

  The bouncer smiled and nodded at him. He took my license, looked at it, and stamped my hand, a blue circle with a C in the middle.

  The club must have been going through global warming, because the heat created a greenhouse effect on the dance floor. If I didn’t get water soon, I would melt into a puddle in front of the DJ booth. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I scanned the room for the bar. The only thing that came close to a bar in my immediate sight was the girls dancing, their beer spilling on the floor as they dipped their hips. How dare they waste such precious liquid gold.

  Someone pulled me to a booth at the side of the room. A pitcher of beer and glasses with lemon wedges sat on the table. No water, but beer would do.

  God stuck his middle finger at me, probably smiting me for my binge drinking, when someone handed me another shot.

  A few hours later, I somehow made it back to the fraternity in one piece. I didn’t even remember what happened after the first round of shots at Cantina, but I still had the blue stamp on my hand as a party prize. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and tilted. I needed two things—a burrito and sleep.

  Andrew sat in the chair at his desk, highlighter in hand. “Wish I was twenty-one. Maybe I’ll get a fake ID and bring Payton to Sancho’s. That girl can dance.”

  I wished I could beat the shit out of him right now. That’d get me kicked out of the frat, but I didn’t care. I sat down in my chair across from him and scrubbed my hands over my face. “Stay away from Payton.”

  He swiveled around to face me. “Why?”

  “’Cause she’s been through enough shit.”

  “Huh?” He leaned closer to me, his elbows on his legs. “Bro, you’re drunk. Go to bed.”

  He was not getting this. I stood and pressed my finger into his chest. “Serious. Don’t fuck with her.”

  “What? Do you have a stiffy for her or something?”

  “You don’t know her. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

  He pushed out of his chair and puffed out his chest, like he was ready to throw down. “And you do?”

  “Yeah, I fucking do.”

  The last thing I remember before I blacked out was my fist flying through the air.

  I didn’t want to open my eyes. It was that crucial moment right as I came into consciousness from a night of drinking—the one that decided whether I’d hug the toilet all day or be lucky enough to escape hangover free. I opened my crusted lids, immediately rewarded with fifteen jackhammers carving the Sistine Chapel of all hangovers into my skull. The good news: I’d survived my twenty-oner. The bad news: I didn’t remember my twenty-oner.

  Apparently, I was smart enough to take off my shoes, but I didn’t make it to the sleeping porch. Instead, I lay on the daybed, facing the window, curled up in the fetal position.

  Alcohol: 1, Blake: 0.

  As I rolled over, it occurred to me that either someone jacked something from the room, or there was a scuffle. My lamp dangled off the desk by its cord, and my chair was turned over. Not to mention my chemistry homework scattered across the floor. What the fuck happened? The jackhammers, now going in full force, made it tough to recall the shit show.

  Let’s see. Shots at Sanchos. Beers at Dods. But anything after that remained a messed-up blur.

  Andrew strolled into the room and rummaged through his closet. He grabbed a black shirt from one of the dresser drawers and pulled it over his head. “Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

  “Fuck you, too.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, bro. You were enough of a bitch last night to last you ’til at least your next period.”

  Shit. What did I say to him? Did we fight last night? Is that why the room looked like an EF5 twister came all up in our shit?

  “Sorry, dude.”

  “You know, if you had a boner for Payton, you should have told me.”

  “Is that what I said?”

  “Yeah, and some stuff about her dad. You hulked out and totally annihilated our room, bro.”

  I pressed my thumbs against my temples, trying to remember what I had told him. Did I give away her secret? No, I could never do that. My head pounded to the same rhythm of the song I took Jell-O shots to last night. “Sorry.”

  He booted up his computer and opened a spiral notebook with some chem equations scribbled, or at least I thought those were equations. He had the doctors’ handwriting down to a science. “No big deal, but you’re cleaning up this mess. And you can have her. I don’t think she’s gonna put out. That bitch has her shit on lock down.” He shook his head and smiled. “Just tell me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Is she really that whack job’s daughter?”

  My heart stalled. What the fuck did I say?

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Cooper.”

  I smoothed my thumb and index finger over my brows, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. This was all my fault. Andrew didn’t let things like this slide. He’d use this to get anything he wanted from me. And I’d do anything to keep his mouth shut.

  He smirked. “Thought so.”

  “What do you want, Andrew?”

  “Do my chem skill builders for the rest of the semester, and we’ll call it even.”

  Fuck. It took me an insane amount of time to keep caught up on my own chem homework, and now I had to do Andrew’s? Yep. Anything for Payton.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Payton

  “I never get sick of drawing naked people.”

  I didn’t know why I had been so adamant on Jules joining the class at the beginning of the semester. She was totally ruining my zen moment as I prepared for figure drawing.

  Blake and I had texted a few times since the supply room incident, but we had both been swamped with classes. We’d planned on studying together sometime this weekend, but hadn’t set a date.

  I smiled, focusing back on my drawing pad. Apparently, this new model was all the art students could rave about. He started last Wednesday, so this was the first time I would be catching a glimpse of this “epic hottie.”

  This wasn’t a nude session, thank God. I didn’t think I could keep a straight face as I drew some guy’s ding dong on my sketch pad, but I was interested to see what all the hype was about with this model.

  I opened a fresh piece of paper in my notebook, staring down at the blinding whiteness of the blank page.

  “Oh my gawd,” Jules croaked in the sa
me tone used in the beginning of that one eighties song about some dude with an affinity for big butts. I resisted busting out into song in front of the class, but, honestly, I didn’t think they would mind.

  Her jaw dangled, seemingly unhinged, as she stared at the entrance. I followed her line of sight and clapped my hand over my mouth to hide my fish-out-of-water, open-mouthed gape.

  In a black robe and black flip flops, Blake walked through the doorway and shook hands with the professor.

  Professor Hayes motioned to Blake and said, “Today I want you to really focus on your shading. Pay close attention to every curve and detail.”

  “I can’t believe you dumped that fine piece of ass,” Jules whispered.

  I smacked her arm and gave her a death glare when she bent to grab something from her bag.

  Why had I insisted on her joining this class?

  Blake shrugged off his robe in the same manner as a stripper at Chippendale’s. Cue corny techno music. Underneath the robe was a pair of black boxer briefs that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Most of the girls and some guys nodded in approval at the half-naked man who was once considered all mine. Thank goodness he wasn’t naked. My face burned, and I broke out in a cold sweat. With my heart pounding like I just ran a 10k, I doodled hearts in the right-hand corner of my notebook.

  “And to think he’s single. If you don’t snatch him back quick, I might rethink trying to help you hook back up.” Jules winked and fanned her face. Yeah, just wait until I stick your hairbrush in the toilet later.

  I flip-flopped for a few minutes between wanting to maim her and cutting class to study at the coffee shop, not being able to handle everyone staring at him half naked.

  I looked in every direction but Blake’s. Of course, this had to be the day that I sat front row.