Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  The driver keeps to himself humming some familiar tune. Beyond the horizon, the city lights shine from afar, and this ride home seems so long when you’re staring out into nothing but darkness. I close my eyes and try to forget tonight. Forget how I allowed myself to do the unthinkable. Forget about how much I wanted to reach out to her and touch her just one more time before reality faces us.

  Breaking the ice and the cold, harsh reality between us, I switch my tone to something softer. “Is your ankle okay? Can you move it?”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” she fumes, ignoring my question.

  I lash out instantly, “Why did you let him fucking kiss you?”

  “I didn’t. I pulled away.”

  “You didn’t pull away, Zoey. You acted like a little puppy standing there and forgiving him for all his mistakes,” I accuse.

  “How dare you say that? You have no clue how I feel.”

  “I think I do. He treats you like yesterday’s trash, but somehow you think it’s all going to work out again and he’s changed just because he says ‘I love you.’”

  “You don’t know me,” she seethes. “I’m your roommate. Not your girlfriend.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I bite back. “I know you better than you know yourself, Zoey. I’m the one who helped you pick up the pieces after he cheated on you. I’m the one who watches you waste your life away. Don’t say I don’t know you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, shocked.

  “I said… fuck. You!”

  Well. That’s unexpected and rude. My anger doesn’t subside, and as soon as we hit the main road, not far from home, I ask the driver to pull over at the liquor store. Zoey watches me in frustration while I quickly duck into the store and purchase a bottle of bourbon. Fuck, it’s been a long time since I drank this much, but tonight calls for it.

  Back in the cab, I open the cap and take a long swig, my throat clenching at the raw burn. Zoey continues to ignore me until the cab driver reaches our block and pulls up in front of our building. She immediately opens the door leaving me with the huge bill. Serves me right, I guess. If I hadn’t been drinking, I could have driven home.

  The cab driver takes off leaving me alone on the sidewalk. I have two choices—the easy road out which is to walk in the opposite direction and continue on with the night, pretending tonight didn’t happen or walk upstairs and deal with the devil.

  Unwillingly, I find myself walking in the opposite direction until I realize it isn’t the best decision. I can’t maintain my balance, and my surroundings are becoming a blur as my body knocks into things, which I can only assume are people judging by the threats.

  Somehow, I manage to stumble back to the apartment. Fumbling with the knob, the door appears locked, and I try my best to find the right key before Gigi walks out into the hallway.

  “Good night, huh?”

  She’s dressed in purple pajamas holding one of her cats and stroking its fur softly.

  “Great night,” I say sarcastically. “The best night.”

  Gigi opens her door motioning for me to come inside. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

  “What the fuck did she tell you?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I immediately regret them. There’s no need to drag Gigi into this, but Zoey must have ranted about my inappropriate behavior tonight. The two of them are super close.

  My face softens. “I’m sorry, Gigi. I didn’t mean to… you know.”

  “The both of you need to calm down. Take it from me, no good will come out of you arguing.”

  “She just… she just gets on my nerves,” I vent.

  “You know her very well, Drew. Jess was a big part of her life. She needs time to adjust to him not being a part of it anymore.”

  “She’s had plenty of time,” I yell in frustration again, taking it out on Gigi. “And the way she was with him tonight… I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in our kitchen making breakfast tomorrow morning like that other fucking jerk… what’s his fucking face.”

  Gigi remains placid, allowing me to vent and not commenting further. I can tell by the look on her face she’s tired, and it’s well past midnight. “I really think you should sleep on my couch tonight. Just to give each other some space.”

  “Go to sleep, Gigi. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We always are.”

  She walks back into her apartment closing the door behind her. Even in my dazed and alcohol-fueled state, I know one thing, I don’t want her to run to Jess. And everything about my behavior tonight has pushed her into his arms.

  Maybe, just maybe, this is all my fault.

  Time passes as I stand in the hallway outside our apartment gathering the courage to face Zoey. So much of tonight has changed our relationship, and I’m not sure that change is a good thing. After much hesitation, I open the door and find the lights turned off. She must be asleep. Down the hall, I see the light underneath her door. The closer to the room I get, the more the sounds become apparent. Like a crazed stalker, I place my ear against the door and attempt to listen. She’s talking on the phone. The conversation carries on, and my gut feeling is to continue listening until the moment she says his name.

  She’s talking to Jess.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zoey

  What a fucking night.

  If I could purchase some sort of bleach to erase what happened, I would gladly do so in a heartbeat. It was bad enough I had to deal with Jess and his familiar jealous ways, but I didn’t expect Drew to follow in his footsteps.

  Okay, so maybe my idea to pretend Drew and I were dating wasn’t genius. It worked to a certain extent. I got my revenge on Jess. So, why aren’t I over the moon? Why wasn’t I jumping for joy watching the man I gave my everything to be torn apart because he couldn’t handle watching me with another man?

  Sure, I missed him—a lot. But I didn’t think I was in love with him anymore. Tonight only confirmed that. He’s familiar, comfortable, yet there are so many elements in our relationship that destroyed me as a person. I know better than that. At least I think I do.

  What rubbed me the wrong way is Drew thinking I would so carelessly throw myself back into Jess’s bed. Give me some fucking credit! And to call me a puppy dog? I would have happily punched him in his beautiful face had he not been drunk. Not to mention he was already sporting a cut lip and bruised cheek from fighting with Jess.

  I decided to leave Drew wandering the streets. He’s a big enough boy to be responsible for his drunken actions. I’m not his girlfriend or his keeper. He usually isn’t so careless, and I can probably count the number of times on one hand over the past years when I’ve seen him this intoxicated. Unlike myself, he only drank himself into this stupor when there’s a reason.

  The first time he’d done it was after a big altercation with his dad. It happened another two times after that. The fourth time was when he almost got fired because of Angela stalking him, and his almost-fail on a medical assignment.

  The fifth—well, something happened tonight.

  As much as I don’t welcome drama, I know I’m partially to blame for the violent outburst. Okay, maybe all to blame.

  With Drew gone, I decide to stop by Gigi’s to unleash my inner thoughts. I need Gigi’s wise words to give me guidance. Something she often does when I’m clueless.

  Gigi stares at me, expressionless, after I explain to her what happened tonight. All of it. No holding back.

  “That’s some night. So, the question is… do you still love Jess?”

  “No,” I say with a slight cough.

  “I sense hesitation in your voice.”

  “My throat’s itchy. So, what do I do about Drew?”

  “You let him cool down. I agree, it’s out of character, but the two of you have a great friendship. Let him sober up, and I’m sure you’ll have a long talk and smooth it over.”

  She’s curled up on the sofa with Diana and a cup of herbal tea. Graciously, she offers
me one, which I politely refuse. My stomach’s feeling off with all that quail and champagne floating around.

  “So, this thing with you and Drew. How serious is it?” she questions.

  “There’s no ‘thing’ with Drew and me,” I quickly correct her. “We’re just friends. Roomies.”

  “C’mon, doll. From what you’re telling me, Drew doesn’t feel the same way.”

  I’m rewinding the conversation in my head. Did I tell her that?

  “Everything was for show. Sure, it felt nice, but it can never be like that between us. I mean, it’s Drew.”

  “Yes, it’s Drew,” she reiterates. “Sometimes the best relationships start as friendships.”

  “Gigi, he’s a manwhore. Plus, I’m not the type of woman he’s into. He likes model-looking chicks,” I brush it off. “He’s all about the modern woman, you know… the ones who like all that new music and hitting the gym.”

  It’s past midnight, and Gigi’s cats provide me with that much-needed companionship that cats are supposed to give you. We talk a bit more about Jess, my feelings for him, and the possibility of him changing his ways.

  “People can change. Husband number three had a gambling addiction. Blew his entire wages each week on the slots,” Gigi tells me. “Then, I packed my bags and threatened to leave. From that day on, he never stepped foot near a machine.”

  “Then why did you guys divorce?”

  “He got hit by a bus.”

  Speechless, I try to find the right words to say. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

  “He was drunk. He started drinking to replace his gambling addiction. Some things aren’t meant to be.”

  “Like Drew and me,” I say quietly.

  I leave Gigi’s and head back home still with a guilty conscience. Why? I have no idea. Confused about everything and everyone, I decide to head to the shower but I’m interrupted as my cell dances across my nightstand. Not recognizing the number, I answer with hesitation.

  “Hello?”

  There’s silence followed by a shallow breath. “It’s me.”

  “Jess?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes… no… I don’t know, Zoey. Tonight was just… fuck… I don’t know.”

  There’s a sharp noise in the background, the sound of glass shattering. I pause and gather my thoughts like a rational human being. “I’m sorry Drew hit you. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

  “He loves you… that’s what he’s thinking.”

  “Jess, it’s not like that—”

  “The man fucking loves you, Zoey. I should know. I fucked everything up between us, and now he has you.”

  “No one has me, Jess,” I answer, slightly annoyed at his reference to me being a possession.

  “Tell me what I need to do, Zoey. I’ll do anything to get you back.”

  His desperate pleas are exactly what I wanted to hear a year ago. But now, they stand like empty promises. And yet some part of him has a hold on me, and I hate that fact. Why can’t I just let go of this man and everything we had? Why am I even thinking about getting back together with him?

  “Jess, just give me time to process tonight. You and I… I just don’t know.”

  “How much time? A day? A week? Tell me,” he slurs.

  “I don’t know,” I almost yell back. “I can’t think… there’s so much history between us, and I don’t know anything tonight. Stop pressuring me.”

  The door swings open, slamming against the brittle wall. In shock, I see Drew standing at the entrance with the same bottle still in hand. His eyes are bloodshot, and he can barely stand straight. With his dress shirt unbuttoned, I can see his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.

  “Jess, let me call you tomorrow,” I tell him before ending the call without a goodbye.

  I put the cell down. “You can’t barge into my room whenever you feel like it.”

  “Why? We’re roomies. You do whatever the hell you please, so why can’t I?” he argues back, his tone malicious and very unlike him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I stand up and cross my arms, fed up with his antics.

  “You…” he rages.

  “Me what?”

  “This is all your fault.”

  “Okay, so my plan wasn’t the best. But you caused all the shit tonight, Drew. I’m not the one who hit Jess,” I remind him.

  He doesn’t say another word, so I turn around with my back facing him to take off my necklace hoping he’ll disappear to his room. My body jerks forward, his hands sliding around my waist until his grip is full, and his body is pressed against mine. With my heart beating a million miles a minute, my body is trying to ignore the burning desire that’s rising by him touching me this way. Count sheep, Zoey, think of an ugly bald man running naked in a field of corn.

  “Drew, what are you doing?” I whisper, desperate to ignore how good he feels.

  He’s drunk, you’re only slightly buzzed. Think rationally, Zoey.

  He refuses to say any words, and instead, his hands move tracing my hips with a slight rocking motion.

  Don’t close your eyes.

  Don’t close your eyes.

  Fuck.

  I close my eyes.

  Whatever happens in the next moment becomes a blur. My body is pushed onto my bed, and I’m forced to hold myself up on all fours. His groin repeatedly rubs against my ass, and it’s impossible to ignore how hard his shaft feels against me.

  Don’t let out a moan.

  Don’t let out a moan.

  Fuck.

  I let out a moan.

  I’ve given him the green light. Handed him the card that says, ‘Advance to Go—Collect $200,’ minus the two hundred dollars. That sounds awfully cheap.

  At the same time, I hear the low grumble escape his throat, and his hands move in a frenzy that consumes me. I can’t think. The touch of his skin and hands move around to my chest. Waiting in high anticipation, I think he will circle my breasts with a gentle tease, but instead, he doesn’t resist, cupping them with a tight squeeze in his bare hands.

  My body shudders, my knees shaking uncontrollably on the mattress. My shallow breaths move unevenly, grunting softly, begging my brain to control the situation and pull away before it’s all too late.

  From behind, I can’t see his face, but maybe that’s what makes this okay. Like we can erase it after.

  Gee, Zoey, did you have a plate of stupid for dinner?

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers into my ear, arching over me, controlling the way my body moves.

  Just drunk talk.

  Tell him to stop.

  It’s the bourbon and champagne.

  It’s not your roomie or your best friend saying these words.

  It’s not Drew.

  In just one motion, his hand glides down and skirts the outside of my panties. The aching throb is enough for me to buckle under his command, and with my arms shaking uncontrollably, I cannot find the strength to push him away.

  Or you don’t want to push him away.

  Shut up! Shut up!

  My panties are soaked, uncomfortable, yet in a pleasurable way. His fingers move in rhythm, my clit becoming swollen with every stroke. My panties seem to be an issue, and before I know it, he yanks them down and forces my thighs open as much as possible. He continues the strokes sliding into me with his finger. Fingers. Fuck, I can’t even think.

  “You’re so tight… and hot,” he mumbles. “I need my cock inside you.”

  Shit! My body wants him, every inch is crawling with a desire to have him enter and fill me, but I’m the conscious decision-maker here. I didn’t drink a whole bottle of bourbon before entering the room. This moment could destroy everything between us.

  Say. Something. Now!

  “Drew, we can’t,” I beg, drawing my body forward away from his touch.

  He senses my resistance, wrapping his arm around my stomach and pulling me
back to him. With his spare hand, he moves to my hair and pulls the pins out allowing my hair to fall down my back. As soon as it does, he wraps his hand around my hair, twisting it into a tight fist.

  “Don’t fucking fight me.”

  Fight him? Why do those words sound both domineering and hot?

  Go to your happy place, Zoey. Your happy place will bring you much Zen and steer you to make the right decision.

  But what if this is my happy place? And it’s no longer the time I went to that Madonna concert and met that cute boy who danced to Like a Virgin with me. In my dreams he was the one, but let’s face it, he’s probably in Ibiza now wearing a pink netted singlet and handing out Barbara Streisand CDs.

  “I know you’ve wanted this for a long time. I bet you lie here at night and rub your pussy begging me to find you so I can make you come.”

  My skin is on fire, embarrassed by his honestly if, in fact, he thinks that, and by the thought of that exact image. Yes, I have done that, but never have I thought about Drew doing those things to me.

  Now it’s the only thing I can think about.

  My thoughts are brutally interrupted as he takes his fingers out and drags them to my ass. Shit, my weak spot.

  Oh my God. What do I do? Tell him to back off and explain to him that if he goes anywhere near my ass, things will never, ever, be the same.

  My chest rises and falls unevenly panicking at the thought.

  “This fucking ass. Just like you want it, Zoey.”

  I don’t even have time to process what he says, distracted by the warm saliva touching my skin the moment he spreads my cheeks. My head falls into the bed, the pillow muffling my moans and enabling my body to focus on every single touch and sensation, and although I should protest this forbidden act, I fall into his spell allowing him to have me.

  His fingers circle the entrance, and then it happens.

  My roomie sticks his index finger in my asshole.

  This can’t be happening.

  It’s so dirty, so forbidden.

  And why does that turn me on even more?

  Slowly gliding in and out in a comfortable pace, his moans accompanied by his desire to do this to me intensify the pleasure spreading to every part of my body. The familiar build-up is quicker than expected, and I struggle to curb the urge to let my body completely go. But resistance can only go so far, my inner beast pushing back against him signaling for him to thrust deeper.