by Kat T. Masen
“Are you seeing anyone?” he’s quick to ask.
“Uh, kind of. It’s nothing serious. Just someone I met in Dubai. He’s from Ireland and… he’s really nice.”
How many times could the both of us use the word nice?
“Does he make you happy, Zoey?” He’s watching me intently making me self-conscious. What’s he thinking? Oh, to be a fly on the wall of his brain right now.
“He’s the most uncomplicated person I’ve ever met. It’s refreshing.”
“And boring?”
“Hey.” I nudge him with my arm. “It’s nice to date a guy who has no baggage.”
There’s that word again. Nice.
The wind begins to pick up, the sun setting on the horizon. The elderly couple has left, and with the darkness upon us, we should both be heading home. Or to the hotel, in my case.
“It’s late, we should probably head back,” I suggest.
He nods his head in agreement, standing up and extending his hand for me to latch on to. “How long are you here for?”
“I leave tomorrow night.”
I can tell that something’s bothering him. With a frown, his forehead creases, and his smile disappears.
“I have to go to dad’s place tomorrow to get some paperwork.” Clutching the back of his neck, he rubs it nervously. “I don’t want to go—”
“I’ll be there, Drew.” I smile, holding his hand to calm his nerves. “You don’t even have to ask.”
***
Stepping into his dad’s house brings back a lot of memories. I’ve been here numerous times, and suddenly, the sadness of him being gone creeps in. Don’t cry. Be strong for Drew.
The musky scent inside the living room smells just like him, and everywhere you look, there’s something that has a story to tell. The stuffed fox fighting the rattlesnake that sits next to the television, something that always creeped me out. The large photo frame with a picture of him feeding a crocodile back home in Australia.
And then, there’s a picture of Drew. Four years old, sitting on a bike next to his mother. The photo is old—sepia with corners fraying. I haven’t seen this picture before, and upon closer inspection, I look at the face that belonged to his mother. She’s beautiful. Same color hair as Drew and the lips do the same pose, curving to the left slightly when they smile.
“I’ve got the papers.” Drew stops just shy of where I’m standing.
“That’s my mother.”
“I kinda figured that. She’s beautiful, and you’re the spitting image of her.”
My skin begins to tingle, goosebumps appearing up and down my arm. I can’t see him standing behind me, but I feel it. All over. Every inch of me senses the warmth of his body right there. So close that his shallow, uneven breaths warm the tips of my shoulder blades.
And this, right here, is everything I was afraid of.
The sole reason that for the past year, I’d blocked out everything about him. I can’t deny it anymore. I love him. I’ve loved him for such a long time, long before that night.
But is love enough?
Can I honestly give up everything I’ve worked so hard for because I love a guy?
Just because you love someone doesn’t mean it’ll end up with a ‘happily ever after.’
“Stay,” he says, barely above a whisper.
“Drew.”
“No.” Gripping my arm, he turns me around, so we’re facing each other. “I should have asked you to stay that night. Maybe if I did, things would be different between us. Maybe Dad would still be here.”
I stroke his cheek with the palm of my hand wiping away the single tear that’s fallen. He missed his dad, but no matter what happened between us, it wouldn’t change the fact that it was his time to go. He’s hurting. So much of me wants to protect him, wrap him up in a cotton-wool blanket and sprinkle happy dust on him. But deep down inside I know I can only do so much. I’m not God.
“I… I can’t stay.”
He pulls away, my hand falling abruptly. “Of course, you can’t.”
“I want to. I really do,” I quickly add. “But what I’m doing, it’s for me. I don’t want to resent you because I stay here.”
“I get it.”
“Do you?” I ask, reaching for his hand again.
Tilting his head to the floor, he ignores my gesture and doesn’t make eye contact. “It’s never been right. Us. We’re just not meant to be.”
“I don’t think it’s not meant to be. It’s the timing, Drew. We’re both at different stages of our lives. If we’re meant to be, it’ll happen. It won’t be forced, and neither one of us will have to make a sacrifice.”
When did I become a relationship expert? I know nothing about love or relationships, for that matter. I know one thing and one thing only—I have to take care of myself first.
My voice croaks holding back my emotions. “My flight… I have to go.”
His body remains the same, and then out of the blue, he raises his eyes to meet mine with a genuine smile on his face. “Go, Zoey. Finish doing what you need to do.”
“Can we stay in touch this time? Don’t pull a girl tantrum on me and change your number,” I deadpan.
“Were you stalking me?”
“If I admit that I was, would that make you happy?”
His lips curve up, his eyes dancing in delight, grinning hopelessly back at me. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“Then yes, I stalked your ass big time,” I laugh. “Now, I really have to go.”
Pulling my body close to his, he places his hands on the sides of my neck leaning in and kissing my forehead. “Bye, Zoey Richards, until we meet again.”
The scent of his cologne lingers, and the memories of us flood back. Our laughter on the couch while I made him watch chick-flicks to our arguments in the kitchen over my lack of cleaning the dishes.
And the one memory I will cherish forever.
The way his eyes fluttered when he fell asleep beside me.
How peaceful and content he looked after we made love.
Love. That’s what happened between us that night.
We don’t need to say the words right now, or maybe even ever. It’s there, and there’s no denying it.
I whisper softly into his chest as we hold onto each other, “Till we meet again, Drew Baldwin.”
And there, in front of his dad’s house, we say our goodbyes. It should hurt more, I should be crying, but I’m not.
Drew, my best friend, did what all best friends do. He encouraged me to follow my dreams. Best friends don’t allow you to settle for anything less. They fight to build you up not bring you down. They see you through your darkest moments and hold your hand to guide you into the light.
I couldn’t have asked for a better friend, roomie, and maybe one day, soulmate.
I throw my bag into the trunk and get into the car. I open the window and see Drew outside, his gaze fixated on me. A mixture of sadness and pride.
And right then, I know there will be a time and place for us.
It wasn’t last year, and it’s not today.
But sometime, in the future, our cosmos will align, and everything will fall into place.
Epilogue
Drew
He said what?
I read the printed email that Gigi had sent me. Male, forty-six, professional molder. Perhaps we had our wires crossed. A molder was someone who molded, right? Molded what?
“So, Karl, when you just said you worked for Adults Delicious Entertainment, you meant…”
“I’m a penis model,” he says, proudly.
I choke on my saliva trying to cover it up with a cough. What the hell does a penis model do? Wrap it up in a bow and walk down a runway. This is uncomfortable, to say the least.
I don’t know why I ask, but my curiosity gets the better of me. “I’m curious. What exactly does a penis model do?”
“They use my penis to create molds for dildos.”
He takes out a box handing it ov
er to me. My instant reaction is to throw it across the room. I really don’t need to see a rubber dick sitting inside a box. I have my own dick—a perfectly sized one, according to the women I’ve slept with.
Karl is dressed in a sky-blue suit and white collared shirt which is buttoned down too low, exposing his tan yet hairy chest. He seems to enjoy his jewelry—a thick gold bracelet sits on his wrist accompanied by an oversized ring on his pinky finger. All he needs is a manicured mustache, and he’d mirror Robin Williams from the movie The Birdcage.
Walking around the room, he admires the ocean view and comments on the beautiful shade of the drapes. Winterberry, according to him. They’re fucking pink. Like the big, giant dildo sitting on my coffee table.
“So, listen, a bunch of other models will come by from time to time to test the products.”
Test the products? On each other?
I’m mentally strangling Gigi. What the hell was she smoking when she sent me this application? Or worse yet, maybe he’s one of her many ex-lovers.
Erase the image.
Erase the image.
“You mean there’s more of you?” I hesitate.
I’m living in a bubble, one that’s void of giant dildos. Who would have thought that there’s a whole army of penis models just frolicking around like it’s no big deal. ‘Professional molder’ is so misleading.
When I told Gigi I was looking for a roommate, I specifically said male. No more living with women and all the drama that comes along with it.
But this?
Is he gay?
I’m not opposed to having a gay roommate, but I don’t exactly want a tribe of them in my living room whipping their dicks out and comparing sizes, hashing out marketing plans for whose dick will have the largest profit.
Next.
I tell him that I’ll call and send him on his merry way, but not without him offering to leave a sample of his product for any lady friend or male who might be interested.
I smile politely and close the door behind him. Gigi is going to get an earful from me when I see her tomorrow for our weekly lunch date. That, and I’ll offload Karl’s parting gift onto her with the promise not to tell me what she does with it.
It’s about three months ago that I bought this fantastic, albeit rundown apartment near the beach. It’s a two-bedroom, decent-size living area with a dining room and a massive functional kitchen. My favorite area is the huge balcony which overlooks the ocean. With my hectic schedule at the hospital, I haven’t decorated or changed anything. The previous owner is one of Gigi’s friends, a retired lady who let the place go and needed to move to a more manageable unit. She’s the reason behind the ‘winterberry’ drapes and doilies scattered everywhere you turn.
For now, it will do. Finding a roommate will ease the burden of paying the mortgage with some extra change to start fixing up the place. Many of dad’s friends suggested I sell his place to renovate here, but I can’t do it. I want to keep his memory alive, and when I need a break or some downtime with Betty, I’ll stay there for a couple of days.
Heading to the kitchen and grabbing myself a beer, I hear a knock on the door. It’s the next applicant. Shit. I quickly look at the paper searching for his name. It’s nowhere to be found. A bad omen. Stupidity is not something I look for in a roommate.
“So, I hear you have a room available?”
I hear her voice, a sound that’s forever ingrained in my memory. It’s like a thousand butterflies fluttering around you in an empty room. Oh, wait, inside my stomach. That’s how she makes me feel. I haven’t even laid eyes on her, yet my excitement is paralyzing my ability to respond to her.
“Zoey, what are you doing here?”
Her back is facing me, and closing the door behind her, she finally turns around.
“I hear you have a room available?”
And there she is.
Standing in front of me.
No longer a figment of my imagination.
She’s more beautiful than I remember. Matured, yet still has her cute cheeky smile that lights up her entire face. She’s wearing a dress, strapless, that sits just above her knees. It’s very summery with little pineapples all over it. Pineapples. I smile at the thought. I notice her hair. It’s cut short sitting just above her shoulders.
“I do have a room available but…” I trail off, mesmerized by how radiant she looks. Then, I spot it. The gold pineapple pendant that sits on her delicate pale skin. She still has it.
“Well, aren’t you going to interview me?” she asks, trying her best to keep a straight face.
I play along with whatever game she’s playing and trying to keep a straight face.
She walks further into the room and stops at the coffee table. Arching her brow with a slight scowl, she lifts the box that Karl left behind. “Interesting choice of coffee table decoration.”
“Oh, it’s not mine,” I quickly say. “The guy who just left is a penis model. It’s bizarre, I know.”
The green in her eyes brightens, twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad it’s not yours, but then again, that’s kind of kinky. Huh, interesting profession.”
I want to kiss that smirk off her face. Tell her to stop being a smartass and get over here so I can show her what a real dick looks like not some rubber bullshit. But that would be rude of me. Just because I haven’t fucked anyone since the day she left doesn’t mean I should be so brazen. Stop thinking with your blue balls.
“So, are you going to ask me to sit down?”
“Yes.” I smile, extending my hand toward the couch.
“Where’s your interviewing etiquette? It’s almost like you’ve never had a roommate before,” she deadpans.
“I had a roomie once,” I play along. “You left your name off the form.”
“Did I?” she says plainly. “Zoey. Zoey Richards. And you?”
I take a seat beside her keeping the distance to avoid my blue balls mauling her in the heat of the moment. “Drew. Drew Baldwin. Some like to call me Dr. Drew.”
“Like Alec, Stephen, Daniel, and what’s the one that no one remembers?”
“Billy. And no, I’m not related.”
Bowing her head and hiding her mischievous smirk, she fiddles with the hem of her dress before moving her attention back to me. “So, you’re a doctor?”
“Training to be a surgeon. I specialize in cardiology.”
“The heart. An interesting choice.”
“Mending broken hearts. It’s kinda my thing,” I murmur, fixing my gaze on her lips. I’ve missed them. I have missed her.
“So, tell me about you, Zoey.”
“I’m an architect. I just started my own business the next town over, so this location is perfect.” With a sly grin, she slides closer to me lowering her voice as if she’s going to reveal a secret. “In my spare time, I like to cyberstalk my ex-roomie and see what he’s been doing with his life.”
I struggle to hold back my smile. “And how is he?”
“You tell me?”
“Zoey.”
“Drew,” she whispers back.
Our bodies are close enough that I could lean over and take what’s mine. But instead, I want to show her how much she means to me. That even after all this time, I have faith in us.
“I want to show you something.” I pull up my sleeve, and there on my forearm is my tattoo.
“You got a tattoo?” she exclaims. “And it’s a pineapple?”
I place my hand on top of hers, shocked at the jolt of electricity that runs through my veins the moment we touch. I know she feels it too. Her body jumps the moment mine did.
“See. There’s this woman, and I’m kind of in love with her.” I smile, continuing, “I realized that our timing was just off, and she has this thing for pineapples. Apparently, they’re good luck or something. So, I inked it on my skin because I knew one day she’d be back.”
Moving her hand on top of mine, she squeezes it tight. My eyes meet hers, full of content and joy that sh
e’s returned. “Oh, and she’s a real pain in the ass.”
“Drew, I love you,” she blurts out. “It’s always been you. I should have known all along. The day you walked into the apartment wearing that gross SpongeBob shirt of yours, it was a sign… SpongeBob lives in a pineapple under the sea.”
I smile hopelessly back at her touching her cheek with the tip of my finger, calming her nervous energy. “I love you, too, Zoey.”
“Is this it? Are we done with being done?” she asks, almost begging.
“We’re done with being done,” I repeat. “Stay with me?”
“I’m home, Drew. There’s nowhere else I want to be. You had me at ‘she’s a real pain in the ass.’” She smiles.
I close the gap between us and bring my lips to hers. They’re soft and taste like Coca Cola, just how I remembered them. I want to savor this kiss and all of her. Then it dawns on me, I’m never going to let her go. This is just the beginning. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more than I want her.
Pulling away, but keeping close, she reminds me, “You know, if we’re going to live together, we need to establish rules.”
“Hmm, okay. I’ll start.” I think for a moment, then it hits me. “I don’t like wasting water, so we should shower together every day.”
“Deal.” She grins.
Raising her index finger to the corner of her mouth, she adds, “I don’t like doing laundry, so don’t wear anything to bed.”
“Deal.” Unable to contain my joy, I pull her back kissing her feverishly and allowing her to moan while our tongues slide, battling with each other.
“Wait.” She stops me, pulling her cell out of her purse and typing quickly. My cell beeps, and she nods for me to check it. I lean over to where it’s sitting on the coffee table and open the text on the screen.
Zoey: Code Red
I shake my head grinning from ear to ear and throw my cell back onto the sofa, scooping her up and wrapping her legs around my waist. I drop my head to meet hers and plant a soft kiss on her lips, lingering as I allow it to sink in.