Unethical Read online

  Head-turner dress? Check. Back-raking nails? Check. Operation BH was in full effect.

  Jules drove barefoot to the fraternity, her high heels lying at my feet. I would have been driving barefoot, too, if I was wearing her ridiculous skyscraper heels.

  I stared out the passenger window as we turned onto Greek Row, the street lined with fraternities and sororities.

  Jules’s stilettos and my kitten heels clacked against the pavement as we made our way along the dark stone steps. Alpha Sigma Sigma remained one of the oldest fraternities on campus, and their house looked like it should be on a plantation farm, rather than in the middle of Greek Row in a college town. The white marble pillars extended to the top of the second story, which had a wraparound porch. A few guys milled around on the upper deck. One wolf whistled as we approached the door.

  Jules rang the doorbell, and a guy I’d never seen before, wearing a black suit and gold tie, answered the door and waved us in. “Evening, ladies. You look nice.”

  We both thanked him and walked into the house.

  “Gonna run to the bathroom real quick. Wanna come with?” asked Jules.

  “That’s okay. I’ll go find Andrew.” Maybe tonight he would find something more interesting to talk about than his workout routine. Not that I minded the product of his one thousand sit-ups—the exact amount he did each day. Seriously, who took the time to count that many sit-ups?

  Jules opened a door that led to another hallway like she owned the place and disappeared.

  I walked to the table in the foyer where a few pamphlets and flyers lay spread out across the surface. I picked up an orange flyer for a sorority fundraiser to support autism research. Someone across the room cleared his throat.

  A familiar voice said, “Wow.”

  I turned to Blake. He leaned against the railing at the bottom step of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze drifted from my hair all the way down my body. “You look beautiful.”

  The same exact thing he’d told me the night of senior prom. Three weeks before my mother’s death.

  Mom was so sick that day, spending most of it on the bathroom floor. That was pretty typical after her chemo sessions. But she had told me this time she felt different. I thought she meant better.

  “Just one more picture,” Mom had said, her finger getting a little trigger happy with the camera. A barrage of flashes blinded me, and I put my hand in front of the lens, blinking away the spots swarming across my eyes.

  “Blake, honey, you look so handsome.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Daniels. You’re looking much better today.”

  She smiled and took his arm in both her hands. “Thank you. We’ve been trying a new chemo drug, and I think it’s working better this time.”

  “I hope so. I need you better in time to send me cookies when I’m in Texas. Can’t play a game without eating those first.” He winked at her.

  He knew just the right words to say to make anyone feel better.

  She drew him into a hug and whispered loud enough so that I could hear, “Take care of my baby girl.”

  At the time, I didn’t think anything of her comment. Now, I wondered if she had meant more behind that statement—not just telling him to be careful at prom, but to take care of me once she was gone.

  I swallowed past the hard lump in my throat and wiped away the tears that brimmed over my eyelids.

  “Thank you,” I said, bringing myself back into the present. Blake stared at me, a concerned look twisting his handsome features.

  “Hey, babe.” Andrew walked down the stairs, crossed the room, and slid his arm around my waist. “Lookin’ hot tonight.” His pet name for me made me all kinds of stabby. We weren’t even dating, and I definitely didn’t want him calling me babe.

  “Uh, thanks.” Even the way he complimented me had my gagger going. I’d need to take a shower in hydrochloric acid to scrub off the thick film his words left on my skin. I would take Blake’s compliment on how I looked beautiful over his any day.

  I wiggled out of his grasp, took a couple steps back, and pushed a stray curl behind my ear. Andrew frowned at my physical shutdown, but Blake hid a smug smile in back of his hand. Wait, he was happy I turned Andrew down? I smoothed my hands over the fabric of my dress and tried to hide my discomfort by chipping at my polished pinkie.

  Jules came bursting through the hallway door and said, “Hey, handsome. You clean up well.”

  “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” Blake pulled her into a hug.

  A swarm of angry bees stung my heart as I tried not to focus on their embrace. I kept chipping away at my polish, the yellow flakes falling to the floor. If this was her way of hooking us back up, I wasn’t sure this plan would work. The polish on my right pinkie had completely chipped off, and I was busy working on my middle finger. If I wasn’t careful, my whole right hand would be unpolished before we even started dinner.

  “I know, right,” she jested. “But the real beauty is Payton. Did you see the back of her dress?”

  “She looks amazing,” Blake mumbled.

  My face burned, and I bet by now, my neck and chest matched my hair. I peeked in the hallway mirror. Yep, hot mess, party of one. Great.

  The chapter president, Chad, seated us at the long table in the formal dining room. A lot of girls wore flapper dresses with fringe hanging from the hems, but a few girls dressed in formal gowns, similar to mine.

  Chad instructed guys to sit on one side and girls on the other. Andrew pulled out my chair and scooted it back in as I took a seat. Blake did the same for Jules.

  Silver heart-shaped confetti littered the white tablecloth along with vases filled with red roses. Great ambiance—minus the stale beer stench. Apparently, the pledges shirked on their mopping responsibilities after the party last night.

  Jules babbled on about a tailgating party for tomorrow’s game against some Washington college. On Tuesday, she made me stand in the freezing-ass cold before the sun had even come out to get section 228 tickets for the game. According to Jules, this was the best student section at the stadium. I would have been fine sitting in the end-zone section, but not my football-obsessed roommate. Her parents and grandparents went here, and she grew up on Lion football.

  I’d rather go watch the soccer game tomorrow. Shaggy-haired guys in soccer shorts did a whole lot more for me than players in spandex and shoulder pads. Blake used to play but lost his chance at a scholarship when he tore his ACL junior year. All those years of club team and—poof—his dreams shredded along with his ligament. He had still planned to play on Baylor’s intramural team, but it wasn’t the same.

  I remembered that day clearly—the torrential downpour, the droplets tamping down his unruly curls, the asshole player who slide-tackled straight into Blake’s shin, ruining his future soccer career. When Blake didn’t get up, my heart dipped into my stomach. I held his hand the whole way to the hospital as he tried to hide the tears, staring out the passenger window.

  Soccer had meant everything to him. Did it still? Or was everything from high school ancient history?

  “We’ll all meet in front of the stadium at eleven?”

  Did I miss something? Thinking about sexy soccer players—make that one sexy soccer player—must have distracted me from the conversation. “Huh?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? You, me, Blake, and Andrew are going to the game together. They have tickets in the same section.”

  “Cool.” I pushed around the smoked-Gouda mashed potatoes steaming on my plate with my fork.

  I glanced through my eyelashes to catch Blake full-on staring at me. Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I stuffed mashed potatoes in my mouth and focused on the smoky cheese flavor. Definitely not on my ex-boyfriend undressing me with his eyes. Did he feel it, too?

  He raised his brow, a fuck me smile curving on his full lips. Oh, yeah, he felt it. I slid down in my chair as a familiar ache built in my stomach. My defenses lowered with each look he sent, and my
eyebrows fell into conversation with his.

  Yes, please screw me again in the back of your pickup. I pleaded with my eyes.

  His brows scrunched together. Missionary or doggy style?

  I licked my lips, and his gaze followed my fingers as they trailed down the material of my dress. Both.

  Jules cleared her throat and leaned in close to my ear. She whispered, “Is it getting hot in here?”

  Way too hot.

  I glanced at Andrew, who was typing something on his phone. He yawned and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Glad to know I was that interesting. Then again, Blake and I were eye-fucking across the table.

  After dinner ended, one of the fraternity guys plugged his iPod into the speakers. Couples got up from the table and made their way to the dance floor. Andrew still hadn’t returned, and I wasn’t in the mood to get sweaty in my dress.

  A slow song came on, and a freshman asked Jules to dance. She winked at me and left me sitting at the table alone with my chocolate tiramisu. Before I heard him, I smelled him. His sweet cologne sent tingles drifting down my spine.

  “May I have this dance?” Blake gave me a crooked smile and extended his hand.

  “Sure.” My heart did cartwheels along my ribcage. Yep, my defenses were nonexistent. My twelve-step program resolve stayed parked at the table next to my tiramisu. I grabbed his hand, and my skin tingled as our fingers laced together.

  We walked hand in hand to the dance floor, the scene a complete déjà vu. A few years ago, this could have easily been us at prom.

  He pulled me close to his body, and we swayed to the beat of the slow song. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my thumbs brushed against his soft hair. I laced my fingers together, fighting against teasing them through the dark waves.

  He held me at arm’s length and examined my outfit once more. “Payton, you look so gorgeous.” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat.

  My cheeks fried, like they’d spent a day out in the Florida sun with no sunscreen. I worked hard to control my breathing as my pulse thrummed in my ears. He felt it. Could we try our relationship again? Was it possible? I’d give anything right now for him to be mine again, for his mouth to run freely over every inch of my skin. Being with him made me feel whole. “You’re not too shabby, either.”

  Blake’s grip around my waist tightened, his thumbs pressing into my hips. His other fingers gently caressed the small of my back, sending delicious shivers running from the base of my spine to my neck. Goose bumps trailed down my arms, and I hugged tighter to Blake’s warm body. I slipped my arms inside of his open blazer and wrapped them around his broad chest. Resting my head in the crook of his shoulder, I sighed and breathed in his heavenly scent.

  It wasn’t fair to keep blaming him for my problems. I had been so mean to him these past couple months. He had no clue my mom would pass when he was on his trip, and I really hadn’t given him the opportunity to talk about it. I’d had to get away. The grief from losing both my parents was suffocating, and it blinded me to everything else.

  “I’m sorry about everything. About leaving you and not telling you where I went. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you.”

  He whispered, “We can talk about that later. Let’s just dance.”

  Not exactly an acceptance of my apology, but definitely a start.

  My body relaxed as I nestled my head deeper into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes. I missed him. Everything about him. The way he smelled, the sweet taste of his lips, the way he ran his fingers through my hair as we made love.

  It all became so clear.

  I still loved him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blake

  My sad, sorry excuse for a laptop wobbled as I opened the screen. It barely hung on by my last-ditch duct tape effort. Andrew had tripped over the power cord during a party, and my laptop had sailed across the room, starting the gradual downfall of the POS. Unlike what I originally thought, duct tape did not fix everything; it just delayed the inevitable—biting the dust.

  I logged in to the forum for class. Even though I had given more than three responses and already had a grade for the assignment, Payton and I had kept exchanging cryptic messages. It was pretty fun, but I probably should just text her in case the TA decided to go perusing the forum.

  No new posts popped up when I clicked on my original message, but as I exited the forum, my phone buzzed on my desk.

  Payton.

  P: Had a great time the other night. Made me think of all the good times we had.

  Did this mean she was ready to give it another try? Definitely the vibe I was getting from her text. Grinning like an idiot, I hit the reply button.

  B: Yeah. I miss the good old days.

  A text rang in a few second later.

  P: Me, too.

  Finally. Took her long enough to admit it.

  I put down my phone and logged in to my email. Ten new emails and a mountain of messages I still needed to reply to. Most of them were questions about fraternity events this month and our annual fundraiser for leukemia. Fall was our biggest party season, which meant more time spent decorating, and more time cleaning. My Social Planning Committee position meant I headed all major functions. Luckily, Ricky had given me his notes from last year when he ran that position. So far so good. And if I didn’t fuck anything up too bad, I had a good possibility of being chapter president next year. I’d held a position in office all three years, and I was pretty sure I would get the position after spring elections.

  Under the cluster-fuck of fraternity emails, one sat, unopened, from my aunt. A queasy feeling settled in my stomach. She never emailed me to relay good news, and she’d already told me about her plans for Thanksgiving, so this must be bad. Really bad. I popped the muscles in my neck and steeled myself as I clicked on the message.

  Dearest Blake,

  I am so sorry to inform you that Uncle Chuck lost his job. Money will be tight until he finds a new one, so we won’t be able to help with your tuition next term. Your bedroom is still here if you need to come back and take a break from college. I’m off to go get a mani and pedi and pick up my dry cleaning. Frederick misses you. Toodles.

  Aunt Lily

  I couldn’t do anything but stare at the screen. She said they were strapped for cash, but she could go get fucking manis and pedis—whatever the hell that was—and dry cleaning? And their stupid-ass dog missed me? Who the hell cared? Now, she could benefit from Andrew’s Adderall.

  I banged my head against the wooden desk until the pain from the head bashing canceled out the pain in my chest. The laptop slammed shut and caught my pinkie in the process. Fuck.

  My pinkie throbbed as I brought it to my mouth. I used my other hand to lift up the screen, and my suspicion was confirmed: laptop screen was a goner. The wires hung out, exposed through the plastic. I tried to prop the screen up again, but it slammed shut. Why did something always have to happen when my life started getting on track? The big man upstairs stared down at me, flipping me the bird.

  I opened the screen all the way until it sat next to my keyboard like a book. There. Now it was a tablet without the touchscreen. I gave the finger right back at the big man. I’d made it this far and wasn’t about to give up this quickly.

  With an emergency laptop purchase in the near future, I figured it was time to find a job. Next term was gonna be a bitch juggling school, the frat, the internship, and a job.

  I pulled up Jobslist on my computer and searched for any openings. Jobs in a college town were few and far between.

  Scrolling down the page, I looked at the options.

  Paper route. What, am I twelve?

  Tanning salon. Yeah, let’s sell something that causes cancer. That’ll look good on a med school application.

  Bikini Coffee. I liked to look at girls in bikinis, but doubted I’d look as hot in a coconut bra.

  The rest were for restaurants and required experience, which I had non
e of. I scrubbed my hands over my face and let out a sigh. Noticing I had fifteen minutes until econ, I closed down my computer, grabbed my jacket, and headed to class.

  I had to look at the positive. Only a few more weeks ’til the semester ended, just in time for winter break. Even better, my twenty-oner was next week. My big, Ricky, had planned it, so I was pretty sure we were going to Dod’s, A Sig’s favorite hangout, and Sancho’s before I passed out.

  On autopilot, I walked down the sidewalk toward Bexel, texting Ryan to see if he had any solid advice. Aside from being a gigolo, I was open to whatever suggestions he had.

  The phone buzzed in my hand.

  R: No clue. I could talk to a few people when I come home.

  I sent him a quick text back thanking him. He had been MIA the past few weeks, so I was surprised to hear from him. It’d been a hard two years for him. I was supposed to be his roommate at Baylor when we graduated high school, but, like an idiot, I stuck around Drexler, hoping Payton would return. By the time I got my act together, my scholarship was gone.

  Would I have been better off if I had joined Ryan? If not me, at least Ryan would have been. Instead of having me as an awesome roommate, he was stuck with a guy who ate enough garlic to ward off anyone with a sniffer. I’d been trying to get him to transfer here for a while now. Maybe I could wear him down during break.

  My phone buzzed again. Payton.

  P: What are you up to tonight?

  I smiled. She knew exactly what I had planned. The same thing as her.

  B: Internship.

  P: Sounds lame.

  B: It would be, but there’s this cute girl there that I’ve been dying to see all week.

  P: Oh, really? What’s she like?

  B: A pain in the ass.

  P: …

  B: An adorable, sexy pain in the ass.

  P: Maybe this girl will get you alone in the storage room and show you just how much of a pain in the ass she can be.

  Seven o’clock couldn’t roll around fast enough.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Payton

  I strained on my tiptoes for the box of water bottles on the top shelf in the storage room. Small stature definitely had its advantages—heck yes to never bumping your head on things and always having leg room on airplanes—but being shut down like a kid attempting to raid a cookie jar on top of the fridge wasn’t one of them. I stepped back, surveying the room; no step stool in sight. The bottom shelves looked like they could support my weight if I scaled a few.