Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  A light that’s painted with roses, romance, and all that mushy stuff I never expected to feel for my roomie.

  And the worst part—he has no idea.

  No idea how his touch ignited me.

  No idea how I tried to pull away but just couldn’t.

  No idea I can’t look at him without wanting him.

  I was able to catch up with Mia for a quick cup of coffee before they were due to fly out. Troy had organized their honeymoon on a remote island near the coast of Mauritius.

  Mia was upset that her perfect wedding had drama not even related to her. I apologized a million times because, in the end, I hatched that stupid plan and it backfired in my face, big time.

  I prayed that I hadn’t ruined our friendship, but Mia was forgiving, and with a honeymoon destination of a secluded resort on a tropical island, you could only move forward with a positive attitude.

  With minimal sleep and a brain that won’t stop ticking, I run through the night over and over in my head. Stupid and idiotic don’t even cover how I feel about myself. I was so focused on getting Jess back I didn’t see what I was doing to myself and Drew.

  I’m almost thirty years old and acting like a teenager. I have nothing to show for my life. No, I’m not suicidal, I won’t be that dramatic. But fuck, I have no idea how to untangle myself from the web of a mess I’ve somehow continued to create for myself.

  Avoiding Drew allows me time to clear my head, but that only lasts so long. When he sends me a text asking me where I am, I know I can’t avoid him any longer, and so, I reluctantly make my way back to the apartment armed with shopping bags and a massive credit card bill.

  I haven’t shopped in forever, yet all of sudden, I have the desire to update my wardrobe, especially my lingerie. And several times throughout my Victoria’s Secret binge, I shoved aside the nagging feeling I was doing this for someone else and not me.

  Yellow thongs aren’t exactly my thing.

  Drew’s favorite color is yellow.

  I put it back on the shelf, remaining strong willed.

  Do I expect him to see me wearing it?

  Do I expect to be intimate with him again?

  Questions, too many of them, swirling in my head ready to cause an explosion.

  And when I reach the checkout, I slip it back into my basket.

  I guess, I just answered that question.

  Seeing him is hard. Even with a massive hangover, he looks so beautiful. He’d come back from the gym covered in sweat and wearing those shorts that made his legs look muscular and sexy. His tank’s drenched which only shows off his bulky arms.

  After we discuss last night and his failure to remember a single thing, I want to scream at the top of my lungs and remind him of what he’s done to me. What I allowed him to do. I want nothing more than to refresh his memory even if it means getting down on all fours and re-enacting the moment.

  But that would be greedy. Just because I experienced the best orgasm of my life doesn’t mean a single damn thing.

  There—I’ve admitted it.

  Playing the avoidance game has worked well for me until he’s dragged me out to go grocery shopping.

  I bit my tongue as hard as I could channeling out all these unwarranted thoughts.

  Throughout our grocery trip, Drew keeps rambling on about everything and anything not related to the wedding. I pretend to listen, but every time he bends over or pulls up close to me, my body betrays me and refuses to ignore how much I want him.

  And in the end, I give up.

  He wants everything to go back to normal between us. We are friends. He can’t have made that any clearer to me.

  Thank God, it’s over.

  He has a late shift at the hospital and left shortly after we arrived back home a short time ago.

  Being alone, as much as I want it, gives me too much time to think.

  Jess has been texting me, asking me if I have made a decision.

  Drew sent me a couple more texts, just checking in to make sure we’re still okay.

  Gigi came over with some ice cream, the answer to all my problems. I welcome that until I find out it isn’t really ice cream but rather some soy substitute.

  From every direction, every angle, I feel pressure to make decisions, life-altering ones, in the space of a short time. Ignorance is bliss.

  The only thing that comforts me is my music, and so, I scrolled through my iPod and listen to P!nk’s album again. I normally don’t listen to pop music released after 1989, but tonight, I want to try something different.

  I want to be someone different.

  ***

  I keep to myself for most of the week. Jess hasn’t relented, his texts bordering on obsessive. I should have just said no to getting back together, but instead, I keep on telling him I need more time to process.

  Apparently, time is of the essence, with him giving me yet another ultimatum. I choose to ignore his childish bribes, deleting his text messages until I can think about the whole situation properly.

  Work’s extremely busy, starting the week off with a mountain of tasks to get through with ridiculous deadlines.

  By Wednesday, the shit’s hit the fan.

  Mr. Becker has major attitude, slamming doors and raising his voice at anyone who comes near him.

  With Mia gone, our department’s under the pump, and everyone’s feeling the pressure.

  I was due to have a meeting with some key stakeholders when Mr. Becker told me to stay in reception and answer calls. It’s a big slap in the face, but with everything else that’s going on, I don’t know how to fight for what I want anymore.

  It feels like everything in my life is falling apart.

  ***

  With my birthday looming, I’m looking forward to spending it at the amusement park. According to all the media press, it has one of the fastest rollercoasters in the Northern Hemisphere and a haunted house guaranteed to make you shit your pants. Exactly what I need. A day to let my inhibitions go and forget that turning thirty means I’ll need to be responsible with my life. The joys of turning back the clock and being a kid again, if only for one day, but with booze and a haunted house. Now that sounds like fun.

  Given that the tickets are almost sold out, I decide to head over there this afternoon making sure I secure some for next Friday night. I ask Mr. Becker if I can leave half an hour early given that I’ve finished all my work and stayed late each night this week. He mumbles something which I take as a yes.

  With my bag packed and computer shut down, he calls my name, asking me to come to his office. Given his foul mood and threat to fire everyone in this building, I figure this is it. My severance pay. The final hurrah.

  “Close the door behind you, Zoey.”

  Nervously, I shut the door and take a seat fiddling with the hem of my skirt as I wait for the inevitable.

  “I’ve been watching you, Zoey. For a long time. And I’ll be honest, you don’t belong here.”

  I knew it. My hands begin to shake, and I don’t want to be one of those people who cry at work, but the tears are gathering on the surface. The struggle to compose myself is becoming too hard, my lips quivering in anticipation.

  “You’ve got talent, Richards. And you staying here would be wasting that,” he says, offering a smile. “We have an opening in London. It’s a two-year contract with my brother’s company.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know it’s a big move, but my brother’s willing to pay for a fully furnished apartment and any transfer costs.”

  “You want me to work in London?” I ask, unable to get a grip on the enormity of his proposal.

  “Yes,” he confirms. “Unless, of course, there’s a reason to stay here. Like a boyfriend or something.”

  “No boyfriend,” I answer quickly, shutting down the notion. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

  “Let me give you this advice. It’s a great opportunity, one that only comes once in a lifetime. Grab it with both hands, Zoey. As
I said, you’re talented, and they could really use you for this project.”

  “When do you need to know by?”

  “By the end of the month,” he states firmly.

  “But that’s next Friday?”

  “Yes.” He stands up, placing his briefcase on his desk and inserting some paperwork.

  “I have to get to that meeting. How about we meet on Monday morning? We can talk more about what’s involved.”

  “Okay,” I stammer, nervous and barely able to think.

  “Have a good weekend, Zoey.”

  He smiles kindly, something rare, and leaves his office. I continue to sit in shock, not understanding how only moments ago I was terrified that I would lose my job, let alone be offered an opportunity that seems too good to pass up.

  But London’s so far away and cold. Everything I know is here in the States.

  This is home.

  I rush out of the office, not saying goodbye to anyone and jumping in a cab to pick up the tickets. The entire cab ride is spent staring out the window dazed and unable to grasp how big moving to London really is. I’m desperate to call Drew, run the thought past him given that he’s usually good at the whole advice thing. But things aren’t exactly back to normal despite what he may think.

  The only person who will understand is Gigi. Honestly, she should charge by the hour for the number of times I’ve knocked on her door with what I deem as the biggest problem ever.

  Although this time, it is pretty big and a short time later I’m walking through her door and discussing it with her.

  “London.” Gigi follows with a whistle. “Wow, doll, that’s a great opportunity.”

  “But all I know is here. My family and friends live here.”

  I have to admit being away from my parents wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I love them, but my mom has a way of smothering me, probably because I’m her only daughter. Dad is even worse. The boys get away with everything. They always do. Not Zoey. She’s too fragile like a baby bird. If they could wrap me up in bubble wrap, I’m sure they would.

  Gigi offers me some tea, another herbal concoction. It’s supposed to alleviate stress. A splash of vodka could also do that.

  She dips the teabag in and out of the boiling water. “There are so many pros to living in London. I spent three years there back in the eighties.”

  “Apart from the actual job? Like what?”

  “Pro… the British men and their sexy accents.” She smiles.

  “Con… the British men and their bad teeth.”

  She finally removes the teabag taking a sip from the small cup. “Pro… all the architecture and things to see.”

  “Con… it’s always cold and rainy. How will you deal with that?”

  “Pro… the queen.”

  “That’s a con,” I complain.

  “Pro… you would be away from everything in your life that’s toxic. A fresh start, new friends, new life. A chance to reinvent yourself. This could be the beginning of a new life, Zoey. The life you keep telling me you envision yourself living.”

  There’s no other con left on my list. Except one. Drew.

  I’d be leaving him. Yet my heart and head aren’t sure if that’s a con. Drew and I, whatever happened or is happening, there’s no right answer to that riddle.

  He’s my best friend. One I will be leaving behind. I really need to talk to him and contemplate calling him at work. But the rational side of me knows that this conversation has to be had in person.

  I spend the next hour talking to Gigi and looking at her photos from her time in London. It’s late, and I decide to call it a night saying goodbye and thanking her for listening to me.

  Exiting Gigi’s place, I close the door behind me and stop just shy of my apartment. My body freezes on the spot, and sick to my stomach I begin to shake while fueled with anger.

  Standing in front of me is Callie.

  My former best friend.

  She gives me a warm smile, but all I can see is the image of her on all fours sucking on my boyfriend’s cock. Her jet-black hair scattered all over her back, as Jess pushes her deeper causing her to gag as he demands she take him all in.

  “Zoey,” she calls, breaking me from the unpleasant memory.

  I’m quick to ignore her presence and anxiously fumble for my keys.

  “Please, Zoey. We need to talk. It’s important.”

  I almost pull a muscle in my neck with how swiftly my body turns to face her. “Talk? What on earth would you have to say to me?”

  “Please, Zoey. Can I come inside?” Her big brown eyes beg and plead, targeting the compassionate side of me that I strongly believe lays dormant when it comes to her.

  She was my best friend, the one person I confided in. Yet, the betrayal, it’s difficult to ignore. I didn’t only lose a boyfriend that day, I lost someone I considered family.

  I don’t say a word opening the door as she follows behind me. I throw my keys onto the table, missing it narrowly. Walking into the living room, I sit on the couch pretending to sort through my mail, disinterested in her presence.

  She sits in the armchair but at the edge of the seat, looking extremely uncomfortable. With the corner of my eye, I barely catch a glimpse of Callie.

  Two years had gone by since I last saw her, and boy, has she changed. She was never a skinny girl, voluptuous but with curves in the right places. With her South American heritage, she has olive skin that used to look fresh and vibrant, but something is different, her skin is pale with traces of yellow. Her weight has dropped dramatically, her collarbones are exposed and gaunt. Even the dark circles around her eyes can’t hide whatever she’s feeling.

  But that shouldn’t be my concern.

  I’m no longer her best friend.

  I’m not completely devoid of emotion, and as much as I want to reach out to her, a part of me, the burned and betrayed friend, decides it’s best to listen to what she has to say.

  “This is hard for me to say… to tell you,” she says in a somber voice.

  I open my big fat mouth with a sarcastic laugh. “That you’re sorry?”

  Her eyes leave the floor and look directly into mine. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. It was the dumbest thing I have ever done. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she apologizes, her posture slouched as she nervously bites her fingernails. “I wasn’t thinking. Jess had a way of…” I’m waiting, suddenly intrigued as to what possible excuse she can come up with, “… a way of making it seem like no big deal. That he wasn’t going to stay with you, that he wasn’t happy, and that he was in love with me,” she finishes.

  Ouch. I didn’t expect that. Even though the words came from her, they sting. All the texts he’d sent over the past week seemed insignificant and all one big, fat lie. I make a mental note to respond to him as soon as she leaves.

  “I was young. I didn’t know better,” she adds.

  “It was two years ago, Callie. That’s a pretty poor excuse, don’t you think?”

  She doesn’t comment, the both of us sitting in silence. When time passes and neither one of us talk, I’m about to ask her again why she’s here.

  “I’ve met someone. In fact, we got married a few months back.” She extends her hand flashing a simple gold band. “His name is Rodrigo. We met on a cruise.”

  “Congratulations,” I say, monotone.

  “Thank you.” She smiles. “He comes from a big family. Has five sisters and one brother.” She twists her hands nervously, the sweat beads forming on her forehead. “He wants to have kids straight away. He wants a big family.”

  I let out a long sigh, something’s telling me that I need to move on and forgive. There’s more to this story. We may no longer be friends, but I know Callie like the back of my hand. Something is way off. The anxiety is written all over her face.

  “He sounds great, Callie. I’m happy for you.”

  She nods her head with a small smile that shortly disappears as the darkness overshadows her once-beaming eyes.
“We’ve been trying for a while, and I finally decided to see a specialist. Zoey, I have chlamydia.”

  An STD? I’ve heard of it before but not sure what it is. Fuck! Is she dying?

  “Apparently, I’ve it for years, but because it went undetected, and I’d never been tested… I’m not fertile anymore.”

  In a state of shock, I can see how upset Callie is as she tells me her story. I haven’t been in love and gotten married with that desire for babies straight away, so I can’t imagine what she’s going through. But to know you can never have children is such a huge slap in the face.

  “I’m so sorry, Callie. That must be hard for you and Rodrigo considering you both want a big family.”

  “He left me. Well, he’s leaving me. It’s his deal-breaker. And I’m not a woman if I can’t produce babies,” she says faintly.

  “You’re still a woman, and there’s other ways to have children. Adoption, for example.”

  “If it isn’t both our blood, then he doesn’t consider it family.”

  He sounds like a selfish prick. So much for better or worse, till death do us part. I’m not going to say that out loud. I may be cold sometimes, but kicking someone when they’re already down is just mean.

  “Zoey, I need to tell you something.”

  Her voice is low and barely above a whisper. The sweat bead has trickled down her face, and instantly, she wipes it with her sleeve, embarrassed.

  “It’s Jess,” she begins, then stalls. “Jess infected me. He gave me the STD.”

  My stomach drops, the bile rising in my throat. I cover my mouth instantly, running to the kitchen and barely making it to the sink as I vomit profusely.

  I do all the mental calculations in my head, rewinding back to the time we were together. I wasn’t stupid, we always used a condom.

  Except that one time.

  The one time Drew and I stood in the bathroom fighting for the last one. He’d brought a girl home, and Jess was going away for the weekend.

  It was rock, paper, scissors that decided our fate, and I’d lost.