Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  “Yeah, okay, busy as usual,” I lie.

  My gaze moves past him, pretending to be more interested in the people standing near us. I let out a small breath, and thankfully, I smell nothing but two awkward exes making polite conversation.

  “You look good,” he adds, not without his signature smirk.

  What a load of shit. I may be all dressed up, but I have gained weight since I was with him.

  In my head, I’m fat.

  There, I’ve admitted it.

  The man who caused my binge eating is standing before me trying to tell me I look good. The memory of the moment I saw Callie on all fours in his dirty workshop invades my thoughts, and the anger rises at a fast and rapid pace. All of a sudden there are so many words I want to say, but this isn’t the right time or place. I owe it to Mia not to ruin her million-dollar wedding. Remember Gigi’s advice—be the mature person.

  “Thanks, I guess. So, how do you know Mia and Troy?” I calm myself enough to carry a polite conversation.

  “Troy’s my second cousin. And you?”

  “Mia and I work together.”

  “Right.” He nods. “I notice you’re here with Drew.”

  “He’s my date,” I blurt out. “And boyfriend.”

  His demeanor changes, and his hands instantly recoil, clenching a fist beside his thighs. If the room had been silent, the grinding of his teeth would have echoed through the castle.

  “You’re dating him? I always knew—”

  I cut him off, placing my hand to block the distance between us. “So, I better get back before he comes looking for me. He’s very protective. See you around, Jess.”

  Walking back to the table, my urge to use the restroom disappears, and I take a seat next to Drew, my body shaking. I whisper into his ear, “Okay, game on.”

  His smile falters, and with a bothered-looking face, he places his arm around me in a romantic gesture. From the corner of my eye, I see Jess sitting back at his table. He looks livid. His eyes are doing that wild swirl, his nostrils flaring like an angered animal. Okay, I’m exaggerating slightly. I can’t make out his features from this far, but I can, however, see him drinking a beer in one go, then opening another bottle almost instantly.

  Great! I turn to face Drew who’s busy talking to the bearded lady about heart surgery complications. Honestly, I can’t take him anywhere. To grab his attention, I squeeze on his thigh under the table. He jumps, then abruptly turns to face me. “What was that for?”

  Placing my hands on his cheeks, I pull him in and kiss his lips. Closing my eyes, making it more believable, we kiss for a few seconds, no tongue, before I pull away. “I just missed you while I went to the restroom.”

  “Uh… um,” he mumbles. “Okay. A little warning next time?”

  “You don’t warn someone when you kiss them.”

  He clears his throat. “Yes, you can. What’s wrong with doing that?”

  “It’s called spontaneity. Look it up in the dictionary sometime.”

  Honestly, men are hopeless. Is romance seriously a dying form?

  More champagne is needed for me to get through this night alive. Drew continues to sit there dazed like a fool. For someone who screwed more girls than I can count, he sure is acting funny. And we didn’t even use tongue!

  “Maybe you need to slow down on the alcohol a bit.” He takes the glass from my hands and places it back on the table.

  I move it toward him. “Maybe you need to drink more.”

  “I’m driving,” he reminds me. “Besides, someone needs to take care of you. Let’s face it, you’re not the best drinker in the world.”

  Exhaling, I cross my arms at his snide remark. “I can hold my alcohol just as much as you.”

  “Do I need to refresh your memory, Richards? Remember the night you went to that banana concert?”

  “You mean Bananarama? Hello,” I exclaim. “They hadn’t toured in like… forever. If there’s any night to celebrate, that was the night.”

  “I found you passed out in the janitor’s closet of our building with a bottle of tequila and your panties missing.”

  “My panties were in my bag,” I remind him. “That was the week I had that bad cough and took some painkillers. It was unfortunate, that was all.”

  “Then what about the time the police called me to pick you up because you were being a public nuisance and calling every guy on the street a cheater?”

  “So, I’ve had a few incidents.” I use the word loosely. “I can control myself tonight, okay? I think you need to pull the cork out of your ass and unwind.”

  Drew doesn’t make any further comments, and luckily, dinner is being served. This time, I make sure the waiter places the fish in front of me. Something edible. We enjoy our meal and converse with the other guests at the table until the MC announces the married couple’s first dance.

  Mia and Troy gracefully dance the waltz to Inspiration by Chicago. It’s such a beautiful song. They look so happy and in love, and it raises the questions I refuse to ask myself. Will I ever find this type of love? Someone who rocks me to the core and who I can see spending the rest of my life with. A person who will challenge my intellect, yet at the same time, love me unconditionally, flaws and all.

  Ugh. This is why I despise weddings.

  “Shall we?” Drew stands, reaching out his hand.

  He waits patiently, much like a knight in shining armor. Or a knight in a charcoal Versace suit. His eyes plead with me to join him. How can I resist his charm? Especially when I look around and almost every woman has her eyes on him.

  Several couples have gathered on the dance floor to join the bride and groom. I don’t know how to waltz and still remember my ill-fated prom dance with my dad which resulted in me tripping on my dress and face-planting the floor. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life.

  “I don’t know how to slow dance,” I murmur, embarrassed.

  “But you fast dance?”

  “That’s different. I have two left feet. Trust me, you don’t want to dance with me.”

  Drew drags me to the dance floor, not allowing me to hesitate any longer. I lift my hand to meet his and slowly place my other on his shoulder. I’m conscious of my steps, careful not to trip and to follow his lead. The pace of the music is slow, some song I haven’t heard of, and trying to dance intimately with Drew seems very natural. He doesn’t allow me to fall, holding on to my waist tight enough and taking the lead. I find myself enjoying the dance, even more so when the music switches and The Bangles Eternal Flame which blasts through the speakers. Without thinking, I rest my head on his shoulder and sway softly to the music.

  “I love this song,” I say to myself.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a classic,” Drew follows.

  I lift my head off his shoulder surprised by his comment. “You mean you’ve actually heard of it? Mr. Never-Listens-To-Anything-That-Isn’t-Played-In-A-Club?”

  He stills, holding on to my waist tightly. His face saddens, but he quickly covers it with a smile. “The woman who raised me for a few years used to play it a lot. I remember that.”

  “You mean your mother?”

  It’s callous of me to use that word considering he’s never spoken about her before. Drew’s dad had mentioned her a few times, but like most men, he didn’t want to dig up the past. I knew she was around for a couple of years before she passed away.

  “I guess you could call her that,” he says painfully.

  I’m not sure what to say. He’s finally opening up to me, here on the dance floor amid a classic Bangles’ song.

  “Drew,” I whisper softly. “Despite your parents divorcing, she’s the woman who brought you into the world and is your mother.”

  “She may have brought me into this world, Zoey, but she didn’t raise me.”

  “She didn’t have the chance to. You can’t blame her for that.”

  He doesn’t say another word, pulling me in close to his chest. I think about his words and how easily f
ate had intervened and stolen from a little boy something that most of us take for granted. A woman we called Mother—Mom. I want to ask him more questions, learn more about what he’s feeling but am quick to see Jess dancing with some floozy only a few feet away. His eyes are on me, tortured, yet taking a turn at playing this game we call ‘who could make the other more jealous.’

  Drew turns his head, immediately spotting Jess. At this moment, I feel guilty for making Drew play along but I’m brutally interrupted as he moves his hands away from my waist and places them on the sides of my neck planting a kiss on my lips. There’s still no tongue, just a soft, sensual kiss, enough to make my skin tingle and leave me breathless.

  My arms move around his waist, and without thinking, I pull his body closer to mine and press my lips harder onto his. With Drew, it all seems so easy, maybe because we are friends. I feel at ease kissing him, and when he returns my kisses, I don’t stop him.

  In fact, I want more.

  To taste him.

  To feel his soft lips.

  And maybe, just maybe, the roll of his tongue against mine.

  The music turns to a faster song changing the mood on the dance floor. We pull away from each other but still keeping our bodies close. We dance to some song Drew seems to enjoy and is singing along to, and for a brief moment, he places his hands on my butt as if we’re a couple.

  “Nice move, Baldwin.”

  “Nice ass, Richards.”

  I let out a small laugh. “I like this song.”

  “But it’s Bruno Mars. He’s way too modern for you.”

  “Maybe I should change. You know, mix up my taste.”

  His eyes lighten, a smile playing on his lips. “I like you just the way you are, Zoey Richards. Don’t change for anyone.”

  The way he stares back at me sinks deep into the pit of my stomach. My body is touching his, and if this were a club, we’d be grinding and dry humping like two desperate animals. “Well, I like you just the way you are, Andrew Baldwin. Don’t you change for anyone.”

  He instantly scolds me for calling him that but is quick to let it go. The song continues, and both of us enjoy ourselves, laughing, finally mellowing to some crazy dance moves. Maybe it’s the champagne that I forced Drew to drink, but as time goes on he relaxes, and we start to have some real fun.

  But fun is overrated. And I’m gullible enough to think the night can end like this.

  In the middle of the dance floor, during the first verse of If I Could Turn Back Time, Jess interrupts our dance to ask if he can cut in. Drew doesn’t say a word and surprisingly backs off, unusually quiet for someone who’s usually so opinionated.

  Eying Jess with extreme wariness, he lingers for only a moment then walks to the foyer, disappearing from sight.

  Ignoring my body language, Jess forces himself on me by grabbing my waist and pulling me closer to him. There’s no time to think about his touch or the way his hand rests so comfortably on my hips before he lashes out in a malevolent tone, “I knew you always had a thing for him.”

  My strength is weak compared to his, and so, despite my anger toward him, I continue to allow him to touch me. “Get over yourself, Jess. You were cheating on me. Don’t forget that.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t think you were cheating first.” His disturbing laugh that follows, coupled with his sinister gaze on my barely-covered chest, should have warned me of his intentions. “Those days when you said you were busy? I knew you went home to fuck him. It’s the only reason I did what I did. I was hurting. I loved you, and you broke my heart.”

  I stop moving, standing perfectly still in front of him as the disco lights reflect off my body in the dim light. “Are you kidding me? Your excuse gets worse over time. Tell me, Jess, was it worth it?”

  He pauses, and without any emotion in his aging face, he whispers, “No. I still love you, Zoey.”

  Ouch.

  The words I so desperately wanted to hear, yet in reality, they mean nothing. Empty words from someone who scarred my heart and left me to pick up the mess he created. There are words for people like him, words that sit on the tip of my tongue, itching to be said, but Gigi’s voice replays in my head. Be the mature one, the bigger person. Walk away with dignity and show him that you’re over him.

  So what do I do next?

  I blurt out some nonsense about finding my boyfriend because I miss him and need to get laid.

  Great! Pat on the back for the drunken slur, Zoey.

  I pull his hands off me and scramble outside desperately needing to find Drew. Beside the entrance, I find him busy with some skank that’s stroking his arm as he leans against the wall with a bottle of champagne in his hand. He takes a long drink straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Oh, for the love of God. It’s going to be one expensive cab ride home.

  I put on my fake smile and call out to him, “There you are, babe.”

  The skank backs off immediately. Standing next to Drew, I move closer and wrap my arms around his waist burying my face into his neck. He smells so nice and masculine. My lips move against his skin, and he doesn’t stop me, not even when his arms move up the side of my waist, slowly tracing the curves of my breasts.

  The skank mumbles something about leaving, and when a gust of wind almost lifts my dress up, I realize we are alone, and there’s no longer a display for anyone. Yet, we are clinging to each other.

  My pumps are extra tall, giving me a height advantage, my eyes almost in line with Drew’s. And here, outside, beneath the stars with no one to watch us but the ornamental cupids surrounding the fountain, our eyes are drawn to each other. Staring curiously, without reason, the way he looks at me climbs into my soul, searching for something, something I’m not sure I can reciprocate.

  After all, it’s Drew.

  But I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try, the magnetic force pulling me to him. Whatever it is in the moment feels right, and I tilt my head slightly until my lips are on his. He tastes sweet, and with his tongue kneading mine slowly, we stay locked into this kiss until some smokers come outside and interrupt us.

  I touch my lips with my fingers savoring the sensation that lingers. “We should probably head back inside, you know, save the show for where it counts.”

  I regret my words almost instantly.

  His body instantly recoils. Taking another drink from the bottle which appears empty, infuriating him further. He throws it into the bush, ignoring displeased bystanders. His aggressiveness is very unlike him, but I dare not say a word for I am the one causing this huge headache.

  “That’s right. This is all for Jess,” he almost spits.

  “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” I quickly apologize. “I just got—”

  “Don’t hide the truth, Zoey. You’re shit at lying. You want to make him madder? Make him regret his actions? Give him a show?” he barks, the fury driving his normally calm demeanor. “Then that’s what we’ll do, Zoey. No more holding back.”

  Drew grabs my hand tightly and with force almost dragging me back inside. I struggle to keep up begging him to slow down as my heels skid against the marble floor.

  The lights are still dim, and amongst the crowd, Jess is leaning against the wall with a beer in hand again. The envy in his eyes intensifies the moment Drew pulls me onto the dance floor. Our bodies jerk forward almost banging into each other, and Drew purposely places his hands on my naked lower back with a tight grip. I want to tell him to stop, but something reminds me I’ve created this monster myself.

  Drew brushes his lips against the base of my neck until he reaches the bottom of my earlobe. Gently nibbling, he’s once again stirring something inside of me despite our argument outside.

  “I don’t play fair, Zoey,” he says in a hushed tone, confidently holding on to me like I belong to him and only him. “You want a war? You’ve got one.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Drew


  When I was twelve years old, my dad and I entered a go-kart-building competition. You designed your own go-kart, and the fastest one to the end won. It was the biggest thing to happen in our small town, and being my dad was mechanical-minded, I had every bit of confidence we would win. Weekends and countless hours were spent perfecting this kart, making sure it would be crowned a winner.

  I was up against a kid named Jed. Jed was the town bully and, of course, talked his mouth off about winning the competition. His dad was some hotshot lawyer, and although his kart had all the bells and whistles, mine had the steady engineering.

  The morning of the race, Jed approached me. He was an overly confident kid who used his manipulation to his advantage.

  “Nice kart, Baldwin. Your mom help you build that?”

  The idiot knew I didn’t have a mom, but I didn’t let him get to me. I was that confident we would win. My dad was the best mechanic in town. Well, the only mechanic in town.

  “Good luck, Jed,” I mumbled.

  “I don’t need luck. I’m going to win. You and your dad are losers.”

  It was one thing to mention my mom, who was no longer with us, but my dad, you didn’t say shit about my dad.

  I was determined to win.

  I had to win.

  The race was ready to begin, and I remember my dad’s words as clear as day, “Son, you’ve got every chance of winning. But life doesn’t also end up with a win. Try your best, and that’s all you can do.”

  I lost the race that day. Jed’s dad had paid some engineer to build his go-kart and won but was eventually stripped of his title as State Champ. But that race taught me a big lesson—I didn’t want the Jeds of the world to win.

  And today is no different.

  Zoey is the trophy.

  There’s no question my jealousy has been climbing by the minute, and attempting to curb it with some champagne seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have known better. When does alcohol ever solve the problem? And despite my medical knowledge of how damaging drinking is to your liver, I ignored any sense of reason and drank the entire bottle.