Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  “Let’s go out,” I say out loud, throwing the cushion aside and ignoring the slight head spin.

  “Zo, you need to rest.”

  “No, I’ve rested all day. C’mon, even just for an hour?” I beg.

  He looks at me oddly. “Are you okay?”

  He places his hand on my forehead, but I shake it off instantly.

  “I’m fine, Drew. I just—” I stop mid-sentence. If there’s anyone I trust more than my life, it’s Drew. No matter what, he’s been my rock through it all. He’s seen me at my peak and seen me hit rock bottom. “What have I been doing for the past year? Nothing. I let that creep get to me and bring me down. What’s the purpose of me surviving?”

  “Because you’re young and have your whole life ahead of you.”

  “A life of sitting on the couch unhappy?”

  “Zo, you can’t blame anyone for that. Life happens. Shit happens. How we react and how we move forward determines what type of life we live. Maybe this is a good thing. Pull you out of this funk you’ve been living in.”

  “Maybe. I guess I can only blame myself.”

  A lie. Of course, I could blame Jess. The hottest guy to walk into my life and treat me like a fucking queen, until one day I told him I wouldn’t have a threesome with him and this chick on our vacation. All of a sudden, our relationship went pear-shaped.

  I’ve never told Drew that part of the story. It’s bad enough Jess would ridicule my sexual acts for never being quite what he wanted, or because I didn’t perform as he expected. He fed off my insecurities, and I was the stupid idiot who believed him. The day I busted Callie giving him a blowjob was the end. It cut me like a knife.

  And to think I don’t feel I’m worth it is ridiculous. But, of course, I’ve let my insecurities get the better of me. Throwing myself into the dating scene is a lot harder than everyone makes it out to be. I’m not Drew. I no longer exude the confidence that lures the prey in and bingo, you’ve got yourself someone new. Men are jerks. They are untrustworthy jerks with wandering dicks.

  With my persuasive voice, I ask the question again, “So, are you up for a walk?”

  “All right. But promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

  “Yes, roomie.”

  A short time later we walk out the door. On this late summer’s night, the air is warm with a gentle breeze that laces my skin with goosebumps. Wearing only a light blouse and denim shorts, I cross my arms blocking my chest from the cool air.

  With the city lights as a perfect backdrop, we stop off at a busy ice-cream shop not too far from the apartment. There’s a small queue waiting to be served, forcing us to wait in line.

  The shop is decorated in 1970s’ décor with Elvis portraits hanging on almost every wall. In the corner sits a jukebox. An older woman is standing in front of it pressing the buttons and browsing through the catalog. Placing her hand in the pocket of her skinny blue jeans, she produces a coin and slots it into the jukebox. A U2 song plays. The woman looks very nostalgic until a man joins her. Their body language says it all. It’s a relationship on the rocks, and judging by the way the man’s eyes wander as a younger woman strolls past, I’m guessing it’s your classic trust issue.

  The song choice isn’t helping my already depressed mood. Thankfully, the line moves quickly, and we’re out of there in a flash, continuing our stroll through the streets.

  “Sometimes I forget how beautiful this city is,” Drew says wistfully, staring into the sky as he walks alongside me. “You know, growing up in Australia is completely different. Especially in a rural town.”

  “Do the kangaroos just hop around your front yard?”

  “Out where we lived, yes. But not in the city.” He laughs.

  “See, I’ve been misinformed. My understanding was that they hopped around everywhere and sometimes you hitched a ride with them to the local store to pick up a jar of Vegemite.”

  “They’re not donkeys, Zo. You never hitch a ride with a kangaroo.”

  “Do you miss being there?”

  We stop at the intersection and wait for the light to turn green. “From what I remember, Dad and I left when I was ten. Most of my growing up was done here in the States.”

  “You know, if you had a thicker Aussie accent, you would score more chicks,” I tell him jokingly.

  “Are you saying I don’t score enough now?”

  “I’m saying you haven’t scored the right one,” I point out.

  “The right one? I’ve scored some pretty good ones.”

  “True. But your Mrs. Right. Your damsel in distress. Where is she? All I’m saying is that maybe you should use your Aussie background to your advantage. Slap the accent on, then bam, she’ll be coming ‘round the mountain.”

  “I worry about you.” He laughs, again. “Honestly, Zo, you read way too much fiction.”

  He has a point. I love to read. Books have become my life since I have no one. Although I enjoy reading romance, I don’t limit myself to only that genre. For me, it’s the escape—the feeling of being transported somewhere else and pretending to be someone else if only just for that one moment.

  “There’s so much more I want to do and see,” I say to myself out loud, switching the subject without even thinking.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Travel… explore the world.”

  “You’re afraid of flying,” he reminds me.

  “I could take a boat?”

  “Where exactly would you take a boat to?”

  “I don’t know… London?”

  He grins, licking the top of his ice cream cone. The strawberry looks so good, and I instantly regret getting my vanilla groove on. “That’s a long haul if there’s ever one.”

  “I’m only afraid of flying by myself. With friends, I’m okay.”

  “Maybe we should plan a trip together?” he suggests.

  “You and me?”

  “Yes. Why not?”

  This time, I laugh. “Everyone will think we’re a couple.”

  “Why would everything think that? Males and females can be friends and travel. I’ve got a ton of friends who backpack through Europe together. It’s what our generation does.”

  “I’m just saying people will think that. So, don’t get all awkward when they ask questions or make like we’re such a cute couple.” I tilt my cone and lick the ice cream in a clockwise motion to avoid it dripping on my hand.

  “I wouldn’t be awkward. I’ll prove it.”

  He takes my hand and places it in his. This isn’t the first time we’ve held hands while walking, but to prove him wrong, I wait in anticipation. Around me, most people are busy doing their own thing until we almost run into an old lady.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologize, almost dropping my cone on the pavement.

  “It’s okay, my dear. Don’t want to let go of your boyfriend’s hand. I understand.” She smiles dearly.

  Drew’s face drops. With a widening smirk, I watch him with my I-told-you-so face. I love every opportunity to prove Mr. Know-It-All wrong. Drew is very competitive, so I know there’s no chance he will let this one go without getting worked up.

  Mimicking the old lady without being rude, “Oh, how dare I let go of my boyfriend’s hand.”

  “You’re a bitch when you’re right,” he grits, dropping my hand and shoving his own into his pocket.

  “See, you’re awkward. I personally don’t care. Do whatever the hell you want and—”

  My words are eaten up as his lips press firmly on mine. In complete and utter shock, I continue to stand still, frozen, eyes wide open as I try to comprehend what the hell is happening. I’m not a person who kisses with their eyes open. In fact, I don’t understand that concept at all, but when your roomie of four years is Frenching you like it’s high school, you stand there in complete surprise.

  I close my eyes quickly, fearing he will open his and an awkward glance will pass between us. Too late. He slips his tongue, gently grazing mine.

>   What the hell is happening!

  Drew pulls away, and I leave my eyes closed, uncertain of what to do.

  I can’t believe he kissed me.

  What does this mean and why the hell did it feel good?

  Who would have thought the former geek could kiss like that. No, don’t read any more into it. You haven’t had a boyfriend in like forever, and you just miss the touch of a man.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he says in a normal voice.

  “But if I do, it’ll be awkward.”

  “You said you didn’t care.”

  I open my eyes quickly. “Yeah! About holding hands. Not tongue wrestling.”

  My cheeks flush, the embarrassment far from over. Looking straight into his eyes, I ask the burning question, “What was that?”

  With a confident pose, he responds, “A kiss.”

  “Well, duh… but… now?”

  “Now what? We carry on, Zo. Point is, I’m not awkward. C’mon, I’ve seen you shave your pus—”

  “Oh my God!” I shout loud enough that people turn to see the commotion. “Twice in one day that incident has been brought up. We were never, ever, supposed to bring that up again.”

  “You brought it up first. Look, nothing will change between us. I promise you that.”

  Eyeing him dubiously, I try to downplay what’s just happened. “Okay, you’re right. A kiss is nothing. But hey, nice roll of the tongue. You got the moves, dude.”

  We both laugh in unison, yet inside, my body has gone into overdrive. That kiss could have sent me into an orgasmic meltdown, but as his roomie, I’m brushing it off and telling an awkward joke that I heard on the radio.

  It’s cringe-worthy but anything to forget the fact my lips still taste like him.

  Strawberry mixed with Drew.

  Fuck.

  What did we just do?

  Chapter Four

  Drew

  Fuck.

  Everything’s changed.

  It was supposed to be a joke. You know, something you do to prove a point and laugh about it afterward, then life goes on. I simply wanted to shut her up since she thinks she’s always right.

  Just once—I wanted to be right.

  I hate fucking losing, but this little stunt of mine has backfired big time.

  How does a man like myself, who’s spent years studying medicine act on a whim and change everything between us? And her lips taste so… fuck, I can’t even go there. I’ve kissed many women, yet no one—nobody—in the space of ten seconds has ever kissed me in a way that left me breathless. Geez, that sounds so fucking corny.

  It was the French vanilla ice cream mixed with her Coca-Cola Lipsmacker. You love French vanilla. Don’t mistake this situation thinking her lips always taste like that. Might as well blame my dick getting hard on that as well. Just don’t go there.

  After she told me this lame joke about a monkey, we agree to make our way back home which suits me fine. I’m worried her body’s still recovering from today’s events and don’t want her to push herself.

  The walk back feels longer than usual, but she’s appeared to let the kiss go, and on the way home we talk about random things like we normally do.

  Well, she’s talking. Rambling. And boy can she talk. I’m simply nodding and listening like I usually do. Thank God, because bringing up that bathroom incident has left me with a walking hard-on.

  It was all her fault, the entire thing. I still remember it like it happened yesterday. It was a year ago, and with a mouthful of pizza, she told me she was going to her room. Obviously, I misheard.

  My mind is all over the place. Melinda, this hot, older exotic dancer, just propositioned me via text. All I need to do is take a quick shower and get over to her place with a pack of rubbers.

  I clean the kitchen, quickly discarding the pizza box that lies on the countertop since Zoey can’t be bothered. Zoey mumbles with a mouthful of pizza that she’s heading to her room and grabs a bottle of soda as she walks away. With the kitchen tidied, I head to the bathroom and open the door.

  “Holy fuck, Drew, get the hell out of here!” Zoey yells, her high-pitched voice piercing my sensitive ears.

  In a state of disbelief, I continue to stand frigid on the spot. Zoey’s sitting on the edge of the bath with her leg up and spread open armed with a razor and some cream. I can’t look away. I mean her pussy is staring me in the face.

  It’s shaved.

  It’s pink.

  It’s so…

  Her legs close abruptly. She grabs the towel hanging on the towel rack and places it over her legs in a frantic rush. Then, she throws my toothbrush at me.

  Unfortunately, it lands in the toilet.

  “Fucking hell, Drew, why aren’t you listening to me? Get the hell out! Stop staring at me.”

  “I’m sorry, you said you were going to your room,” I yell back at her. “You were carrying a soda, for Christ’s sake.”

  For some unknown reason, the soda is sitting on the bathroom vanity.

  This is not my fault.

  How was I to know she’d drink soda in the bathroom while shaving her pussy? Oh my God, Drew, fucking stop using that word with Zoey’s name attached.

  “I said ‘the bathroom!’” She holds the towel with her hand and scrambles to push me out of the room.

  “Jesus Christ, Zo. Why the fuck are you shaving your—”

  Pointing her finger directly at me, her face is bright red, the shade complimenting her bright-green eyes filled with anger. “Don’t say it… don’t ever say what you saw. You got me?”

  I nod and almost tumble out of the room like an awkward teenage boy.

  Revert to Rule Number Five, the clause about accidental nudity. The rule was there to serve a purpose—I just never thought it’d be for something like this.

  I struggled for weeks after that incident, banging every girl I could to get that image out of my mind. Equally as affected, Zo took a trip to her parents’ beach house and returned a couple of weeks later. Thank God everything between us went back to normal, but every now and then, the image pops up, much to my discontent. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she has a great looking pus… genital area.

  Yet, I was a fool to kiss her tonight. Something odd’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. The thought of losing her almost killed me, and having her sob into my chest as I held on to her tightly drudged up questions that shouldn’t be asked. We are roomies. There’s a code of conduct that is attached to that label. We aren’t allowed to think of each other in any way aside from friends, let alone entertain sexual thoughts.

  And I’ll be damned if I break the code. I don’t break rules. They are in place for a reason. To prevent shit from happening. To avoid life being all fucked up because somewhere along the line you thought with your dick instead of your head.

  Again, what the hell was I thinking?

  I need to get away tonight, for my own sanity, yet I don’t want to leave her in case something happens. As much as she tries to convince me she’s okay, she looks exhausted from the close call this morning. Her normally pale skin looks even whiter, and the dull green in her eyes appears tired and lifeless. Even with the warm, humid air, she appears cold, her teeth slightly chattering. A sign she needs a good rest to recover.

  The sound of Zoey clicking her fingers in front of my face interrupts my thoughts.

  “Earth to Mars.”

  “Huh, what?” I ask, confused.

  “We’re home.”

  She opens the door throwing her keys onto the side table. It misses, and she turns back to watch them fall to the ground but continues to walk away. I swear to God this woman is going to drive me fucking insane with her disregard for a clean environment. Walking right behind her, I pick them up off the floor and place them on the side table where they belong.

  Twisting her arms, she removes her jacket and carelessly dumps it on the sofa. She’s wearing a white top with a hot-pink bra underneath. God, it looks fucking sexy. I shake my head
trying to remove my unnatural thoughts. She’s like a sister. Stop it right now.

  “You up for a movie?” She plonks herself on the sofa waiting for my response.

  “Yeah, sure. But nothing girly.”

  “Oh c’mon,” she pouts. “We haven’t watched Dirty Dancing in ages.”

  “No, my choice.”

  “Fine.” She sulks.

  “How about The Wedding Singer?”

  She smiles. I know she loves this fucking movie because of all the eighties shit, and this is the only one I can tolerate because of Adam Sandler’s comedic acting.

  “But no singing,” I warn her.

  “Deal.”

  I grab the remote and scan through the movies until I find it. The credits start as I take a seat beside her. She grabs the blanket and squishes in right beside me. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but all of a sudden I feel conscious about her being so close. Her legs are draped over mine, and why have I never noticed how soft her skin looks? My hands have nowhere to rest. Stretching my arms, I place them behind my head which has to be better than on her legs.

  “Do you think stuff like this happens? You know, people expressing their undying love by playing the guitar on a crowded plane?” she wonders out loud.

  “You’re asking me? You know I’ve never been in love, Zo.”

  “I don’t believe you. When you were dating that girl, Kim, you seemed like you were. Even though it was only for a month, you used to gush over her.”

  “I did not gush.”

  “Sure you did. You were gushing all the time. It was kinda cute.”

  “Don’t confuse the length of a relationship with love. We dated for two months. She was nice, but there was no future for us,” I remind her, my eyes fixated on the screen.

  She seems to let the subject go and shifts her focus back to the movie. It’s just what we both need. A good old laugh to shake off what happened tonight. That is until she excitedly squeezes my thigh when her favorite scene comes on—the one when the leads kiss for the first time.

  On cue, I stiffen up. Does she know my thigh has some sort of connection to my cock? Fuck, it’s on the same route and way too close for me to ignore.