by Kat T. Masen
I didn’t know where tonight would end, but I now know this—it’s definitely my lucky day.
Chapter Eight
Drew
Working in a hospital is never predictable. One minute you’re filling out paperwork, and the next, you’re assisting in saving someone’s life.
Some days I wonder what it would be like to work in an office, nine to five, with a set lunch break and less pressure. Then, I’ll have one of those days where something I do makes a difference, saves a life. Those are the times when everything I’ve worked so hard for—the blood, sweat, and endless hours of studying—are brought to light. There is so much more I need to learn before I’m a qualified surgeon, but that doesn’t stop me in the slightest.
However, this week’s schedule is wearing me down. With one intern on vacation and another two struck down with the flu, we’re spreading ourselves really thin. Almost every shift this week is rostered to be a double.
The hospital is understaffed in general. It isn’t as big as the main hospital in the city, given it’s in a seedy part of town. However, poverty and lack of healthcare make the waits even longer and stretch the resources. Tonight’s one of those nights, not having even stopped to grab something to eat. Somewhere during the night, my energy level fell low, forcing me to go to the vending machine to grab a protein bar to get me through the rest of the night.
Taking a seat on the uncomfortable plastic armchair near reception, I pull my cell out of my pocket to check any calls I might have missed. Earlier on, I’d felt it vibrate in my pocket. Usually, I ignore my cell at work, but something compels me to check the message. I enter my passcode, and the text appears on my screen. It’s from Zoey.
Zoey: Code Red
My eyes do a double take staring at the illuminated screen in shock. Code Red? I hadn’t received a Code Red text in forever. My eyes read over the message again. It definitely says Code Red. I shove the cell back in my pocket, ignoring the text, praying it will magically disappear.
It’s been a long, fucking day with the hospital inundated with some sort of stomach virus that’s plaguing the city. The last thing I need is my roomie sending me texts because she’s about to get fucking laid, especially since we were messaging earlier about her good news. Is this how she celebrates?
I close my eyes and try to get a grip on why Zoey’s text is angering me. Code Red has me seeing red.
We came up with Code Red when I first brought a girl home, and Zoey walked in on the chick unzipping my pants on the couch. It was agreed then and there that we needed to set boundaries and forewarn each other to avoid situations like this. It’s never been an issue before, and it shouldn’t have been now. I just didn’t think Zoey would send me a text like that. And why is it bothering me so much?
The stark-white wall beside me looks like a perfect target to smash my fist into because the frustration and unknown feelings are consuming me. I’m not that guy—the one with a chip on his shoulder, carrying the jealousy gene which can destroy relationships. But the thought of another man touching Zo is simply unbearable.
Get over it. She’s dated and fucked men before.
The roomie code. Remember the roomie code.
One of the shift supervisors approaches me. “Hey, Drew. John called in sick. Any chance you can cover his shift?”
“Sure,” I agree, exhausted.
I accepted the second shift to get my mind off it, but only an hour into the shift, my thoughts won’t settle, and I find it impossible to focus. Why would she do this? It’s unlike her to bring someone home—a stranger. She hasn’t mentioned she’s seeing anyone, so I can only assume it’s some guy she’s picked up. It could be Rob. That’s even worse because the guy’s a fucking dick. Yet, you had no problem setting them up a week ago.
Luckily, it quietens down, and the hospital agrees to send me home.
Hopping onto the next bus, I ride until it approaches my stop. It’s still two blocks until our apartment, and with very little energy left in me, I run all the way home, only to be greeted by an empty apartment. What the fuck did I expect to do if they were here, anyway? I throw my keys onto the table, walk through the small hall flicking all the light switches on.
My immediate plan is to race to the bathroom and remove all the condoms, just in case they do turn up. No glove, no love. Brilliant!
Inside the bathroom, I open the bottom drawer to find an almost empty packet. Oh yeah. I forgot about how I’ve used them up. After dumping what’s left into the trash and covering it with an empty bottle of shampoo, I lie on the couch, drifting away into a restless sleep when the sound of keys tapping against the lock wake me.
Behind the door, Zoey’s giggles echo through the common hall. The door opens wide forcing me to sit up, and all I see is a pair of hands all over Zoey’s ass.
And her lips are glued to some jerk’s face.
I clear my throat, mostly to release the grunt that wants to escape.
“Drew?” She acts surprised to see me, letting him go while she adjusts her dress.
Crossing my arms, I sit up on the couch, not budging. I’m not going to fucking leave now, but I also don’t want to sit here while she takes him back to her room and fucking screws him. I need a plan. Think fast.
“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well so I was hoping we could stay in,” I mumble, coughing slightly.
Her face immediately drops. “Did you get my text?”
“Text? Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. What did it say?”
“Never mind,” she responds, disappointed.
With her hands pressed against his chest, she pushes the guy out the door. In the hall, I hear mumbling followed by more laughter. When the door opens minutes later, Zoey walks back into the apartment alone, locking the door behind her. She throws her purse on the hall table and sits on the couch beside me letting out an annoyed huff. Kicking her heels off, she places her feet on the couch and begins to rub them.
Her constant exhales, her disappointed face, and the way her body slumps to the cushions tell me one thing—she’s annoyed I stopped anything happening between her and the jerk. Well, high-five to me! It still doesn’t erase the fact that she’s disappointed she didn’t fuck that loser. Something I have no control over.
The thought, morbid and twisted in my overtired mind, only enhances the jealousy.
“You need anything?” she asks quietly as if she knows my body will explode at any moment due to my erratic heart rate.
Blunt and without any consideration, I fire back, “Who was that guy?”
“That guy? Don’t you remember Noah? My rebound after Jess.” She chuckles innocently as if this is some big fucking joke. “Remember how my friend, Audrey, knew him through a friend? Apparently, he’s dubbed ‘Mr. Rebound.’
“That was Noah?”
Of course, I remember the guy. He’s some loser she met after she broke up with Jess. A rebound. She fooled around with him a couple of times, but then admitted she still loved Jess, so there was no chance for Noah.
That, and apparently Noah Mason had a reputation for finding vulnerable women.
“Weirdest thing ever. I ran into him today at a bar while having a few drinks with Mia. He looks good, doesn’t he?”
“Am I supposed to answer that?”
“I swear, for someone who works in a hospital, you’re such a grumpy bum when you’re sick.” She places her hand on my forehead, pretending to know what she’s checking. It’s comical, to say the least. And coming from someone with a medical background.
“I’m not sic—” Shit, I nearly blew my cover. I hide it with another cough. “So what did your text say?”
With a conceited grin, she divulges, “It was a Code Red. Yeah, I know. I haven’t done that in a while, but I really need to get back in the game. I’m this close to joining the nunnery.”
“You don’t need to do anything, Zo. What’s wrong with being single? Sex isn’t everything,” I play it off. “Besides, lots of people masturbate, and it’s perfectly healthy. In
fact, studies have shown that people who masturbate daily have longer and happier lifespans than those who don’t.”
“Says the man who has a revolving door in his bedroom.” She rolls her eyes. “And you’re trying to sell masturbation to me over the touch of a man?”
“Yes.” I act confidently. “But it’s different for a male. The whole sex thing. It doesn’t matter how many women we sleep with.”
“No, it’s not, Drew. Women equally have that urge. That need to get down and dirty as much as a man. It’s just not as widely accepted for women to feel that way without being called a tramp.”
“You don’t need a guy to validate yourself.” I sound like a fucking hypocrite, given I was trying to push her onto Rob that day at the beach. But that was different. And it was before I thought I was going to lose her. Things have changed. Jesus fucking Christ, listen to yourself! What is all this ‘feelings’ bullshit going on in my head?
She pulls her hair out of the bun, the waves cascading down her back. It smells like shampoo, and I want to reach out and run my fingers through it before my head does a reality check.
You can’t just touch her hair. That’s an intimate gesture. One that roomies shouldn’t do.
“So how about I fix us something to eat, and we watch a movie?” she says with more enthusiasm, dropping the subject completely.
“No pizza.”
“I can make grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. Sick people food.”
“You haven’t made that in ages.” I smile.
“Well, I must like you or something.”
She wanders off to the kitchen, and the sounds of the pots clanging bounce off the walls. I quickly grab my cell, ready to turn it off, not wanting to be interrupted tonight. With the television turned on, some news program plays until Zoey returns with a plate and bowl on a tray. She places it on my lap, then heads back to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.
“My God, this smells so good, Zoey.”
“Thanks, roomie. What are you going to do one day when I’m married with kids? I’ll have to build a makeshift room in my garage for you to live in like a third wheel. Like in Full House. You can be Uncle Jesse… the hot one.”
I stop mid-bite. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean…” I clear my throat. “You’ll never settle down. You’re not exactly a kid-person.”
In a sudden and unexpected move, she slams the bowl onto the coffee table creating a bang. Wild eyes stare directly at me, breathlessly waiting for some sort of apology. My comment, merely innocent, was not intended to cause Zoey to lash out.
“I am so a kid-person,” she answers in defense, crossing her arms under her heaving breasts. Stop fucking staring at them.
“You have the memory of a goldfish,” I scoff in a deadpan voice. “Remember when you dragged me to your cousin’s birthday, and her kids made you go on that bouncy castle thing, and one kid threw up? You were the first to run out leaving all the kids crying.”
“Wow! Sooo, I don’t react well to vomit.”
“And the next birthday after that, when the same cousin made you take care of the baby for like ten minutes, and you forgot leaving it in the stroller in the front yard?”
“So what! It couldn’t go anywhere. It was wearing a seatbelt.” She brushes off like it was no big deal. “Just because I don’t ramble on like other women or have had a few incidents, doesn’t mean I don’t want kids. I just haven’t found the right person who gets my ovaries all riled up. You know, that one guy who makes my ovaries yell, ‘Yippee!’”
“Okay…” I say, unsure of where to go from here. “Medically speaking, ovaries do no such thing.”
“It’s a metaphor. Of course, they don’t do that,” she responds heatedly. “Honestly, you are such a guy. You have no clue sometimes when it comes to women.”
Zoey’s been really crabby lately. I can’t go one conversation with her that doesn’t end up in a fight. Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said she would never settle down. I just don’t want her to yet. There, I’ve said it. I have admitted that her being with another guy right now feels like a stab in my fucking heart.
She grabs the bowl again but remains disgruntled, exhaling at regular intervals, purposely letting out grunts to show me she’s annoyed. I know this conversation is far from over, but I’m a man. I don’t want to pull all that emotional bullshit out of her, so I change the subject to something more lighthearted.
“So, the wedding. It’s black-tie formal?” I sway the conversation.
“Yeah,” she answers, disinterested.
And that’s the end of our night.
Saved by the bell. My pager goes off with an emergency at the hospital. Although I’m exhausted, I take it willingly, wanting to escape the mess that’s unfolded before my eyes. I quickly finish dinner, then explain that work had paged.
Zoey doesn’t appear surprised, and instead, disappears to her room without saying goodbye.
***
It has been the shift from hell. A pile-up on the interstate with multiple injuries. Ten hours later, I am released from duty and finally able to head back home to get some much-needed sleep.
Seeing our apartment has never felt so good until I walk into the kitchen, oblivious that there would be an unknown male inside making coffee. His back is facing me, and just when I’m about to fucking hit him, he turns around, and I see that it’s Noah.
“Oh, hey. Drew, right?” Noah extends his hand as a courteous gesture.
I don’t know why I shake it. Maybe the lack of sleep or my blurred vision from the numerous cups of coffee I’ve attempted to hold down last night.
“It’s me, Noah.”
Code Red guy.
My grip tightens on his, but like a handshake of death, I pull away, clenching my fist to curb the rage building inside of me. The fucking nerve of her to bring him back here after last night. Did my being fake sick mean nothing to her? Or the conversation we had afterward? And what about the rubbers? She better not have fucked him bareback.
The temperature in the room rises at a rapid rate, my lungs barely able to hold the air I need to breathe. I could kill him here, now, with my fucking bare hands. Nobody would know.
“Oh, good morning, roomie. You remember Noah, right?” Zoey strolls casually into the kitchen without a worry in the world. She’s awfully cheery and has that glow. Yeah, the kind of glow the ladies get after multiple orgasms.
“Uh, yeah…” I manage.
The two of them gather at the coffee machine, laughing quietly. My eyes move to her torso covered in his shirt. When she stretches on her tiptoes to grab a mug from the top cupboard, her sheer black panties are slightly exposed.
Fuck.
My teeth clench, straining the words, “Can I speak to you for a second?”
She kisses Noah on the cheek, then follows me down the hall, overly pleased with the situation.
“You brought him back here?” I fume, clutching for coherence as my brain seethes in pure and utter rage.
“Yeah. Is that a problem? I told you. Code Red.”
“No. You didn’t get my permission.”
Fuck, wrong choice of words.
“Permission?” She laughs. “I’m sorry. You’re my roomie. Not my boyfriend. And I don’t recall you seeking my permission when you brought Kristy back or even Michelle.”
“I didn’t sleep with Kristy. I hope you’re being safe,” I scold her.
“Um, okay, Dad. Thanks for the lecture. I think I know not to sleep with a guy without being protected, and you know what?” She points her finger at me, her tone bitter and laced with resentment. “I’m sick of your double standards. Lately, it’s been all about you. Drew can do this, sleep with whoever he pleases, whenever he pleases. But Zoey… no. God forbid I have a life outside of this apartment. It’s almost like… like…” she trails off without finishing her sentence.
“Like what?”
“You’re contro
lling and jealous,” she admits. “There. I’ve said it.”
Quick to defend my actions, I growl, “I am no such thing. Why… why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, Drew. Something is changing between us. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not sure I like it.” She faces the floor then looks back at me with her deep green eyes warning me of what’s about to come. “Last night, Noah gave me exactly what I wanted, what I needed. I don’t feel ashamed for that, and you shouldn’t make me feel that way either.”
I’ve said it before. I’m not a violent person, but the thought of my fist against his face is so tempting I have to mentally restrain myself from harming him. As for Zoey, I have no fucking words right now. I mumble something and escape to my room, throwing myself onto the bed. The tiredness is overwhelming but not as much as the anger toward Zoey for bringing that douche home. What the fuck is she thinking? Oh, that’s right… she’s not thinking. A thousand names run through my head, but nothing I should be saying or voicing an opinion on. Don’t be that guy that calls her a name you know you’ll regret.
Everything she said rang true. I am turning into this guy who has double standards, who wants to control the situation. And the jealousy is becoming difficult to ignore all because of the threat of losing her. The mere thought of them being outside my bedroom door with his hands all over her is enough to drive me insane. What can I do? Nothing. You are helpless. Helpless, unless you admit to yourself that you want Zoey Richards to be more than your roomie.
The thinking, stress, and deliberation are all too much.
Somewhere in my admission to myself, I doze off, and in my dreams I see her face.
It’s beautiful, glowing, and she’s smiling back at me with adoration.
She’s calling my name.
Zoey’s begging me to touch her, begging to feel me deep inside her.
In my dreams, she is mine.
Chapter Nine
Zoey
Drew has been acting weird all week. Our relationship has been strained ever since that morning when Noah stayed over and our heated argument that followed. Since then, he’s been avoiding me, and when we’re in the same room, he doesn’t talk much, retreating to his room any chance he can get. It’s almost like he’s jealous I had another man over, but then that would be very hypocritical of him and makes no sense to me whatsoever. I narrowed it down to male PMS. That, and he’s exhausted from his double shifts at the hospital.