Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  I want kids. I think having a baby will be the greatest thing based on some of my favorite movies like Three Men and a Baby. If three men can raise a baby, then Drew and Zoey Baldwin can too.

  But something feels off.

  Like I’m lacking any emotion or maternal instinct toward this baby I’m carrying.

  “So, don’t worry, babe. Soon enough, you’ll feel the kicks, and it’ll feel like you’re carrying a baby.”

  “Right, so we’re all good?” Susan asks.

  Drew and I nod at the same time.

  Susan presses on my uterus uncomfortably and pushing me to pee again. I’m about to beg her to stop, sure that I’ve already peed on the bed when her expression changes. She appears worried, her face stiffening, but it lasts only a moment before it reverts back to the same smile. Though this time, it’s followed by a small chuckle.

  “Oh my, well, look what we have here,” she says casually, grinning while typing on the keyboard.

  Drew gasps out loud gazing at the screen with his mouth wide open.

  “Oh my God, what is it?” I panic, swallowing the large breath stuck in my throat. “You found something weird? Okay, listen… I never wanted to admit this, but when I was eight, I accidentally swallowed my goldfish. Mom warned me every night to clean the bowl, and I was lazy. The fish died, and when she came into my room, I panicked and swallowed it, blaming the cat.”

  Drew and Susan stare at me oddly, my heart racing with fear and their silence not helping me calm down at all.

  “Since you’re a doctor, I’m guessing you can see it, too?” Susan questions Drew.

  Oh, Peaches… we meet again. I knew this day would come to haunt me in my adulthood. I’m carrying a half-human, half-goldfish. Hopefully, it’s a girl so it can at least get away with being a girl mermaid or something. I don’t even think there are boy mermaids, but hey, it is what it is. Love is love. If he wants to wear pearls then I’ll support him.

  “Zoey.” Drew rests his hand on my arm, rubbing it slowly as his eyes glaze over with a jubilant grin spreading across his face.

  I heave, loudly. “Twin goldfish?”

  “Babe, no. Twin babies. You’re carrying twins.”

  Susan points to the two sacs on the screen. I can barely make out the first one let alone the second one. Did Drew just say twins? Like two babies growing inside of me, swimming around with Peaches and having the time of their life in the two liters of water that’s now ready to kill me.

  “Hey, look at me.” Drew lowers his voice, using his calming technique that works magic on me every time. “It’ll be okay. They can share our spare room for a while and then maybe we can look at moving back to the house.”

  We moved to an apartment closer to the city just before we found out about the pregnancy. Between our busy work schedules, the commute from the big house became too much. We barely saw each other and spent more time on the road than in each other’s company.

  “But… but… I can’t carry two babies. I can’t even carry one baby,” I cry, sucking in my breath.

  “Susan, would you mind giving us a minute?”

  Susan nods, leaving the room with a sympathetic smile.

  Drew laces his fingers into mine, raising my hand toward his lips and kissing each knuckle gently. My head falls back onto the pillow, a tear running down the side of my cheek as I try to absorb this life-changing news.

  “We can do this, okay? You can do this. You’re stronger than what your give yourself credit for. Remember the time you got that nasty bout of food poisoning from the one-dollar taco you ate from that street vendor? You still woke up the next morning and ran the marathon with Mia and survived.”

  “I never told you that I vomited three times on that marathon. One of them was accidentally in this old lady’s picnic basket. It was crowded, and I panicked.”

  Drew lowers his head, avoiding eye contact and trying to hold in his laughter. Maybe it was funny to him, but vomiting in some stranger’s picnic basket isn’t one of my finest moments.

  Still riddled with terror, I sob again. “Once, I babysat the next-door neighbor’s kitten. Just the one. I went to put milk in its bowl and left it on the couch, and she fell off. I’m horrible. It was only one kitten. How on earth will I take care of two babies? I can’t even keep that orchid you gave me alive. I know you said it doesn’t require maintenance, but it died.”

  “Hey… breathe.” Drew runs his finger down my cheek, rising from the chair and leaning in to kiss me. His lips, warm and loving, ignite that fire in my belly each time he touches me.

  “You’ve got me, okay? We’re a team, and there’s no I in team.”

  “There’s a me in team.”

  “Zoey,” he whispers.

  “Drew.”

  “I love you. And I don’t think it’s possible to love you anymore, but here I am, proud to call you my wife and mother of my babies.”

  I exhale a small breath and smile at my husband. As long as I have him by my side, I can get through anything.

  “Now, let’s get out of here and feed my babies your favorite pizza, okay? But only this once. After today, you’ve got to start eating better.”

  Cringing, I barely manage to swallow. “Argh, gross. You know what I really want? That kale salad you bring home with that yellow slimy-looking dressing. Oh man, it smells so good.”

  Drew’s smile fades, and instinctively, he places his hand on my forehead with a cemented gaze and follows by checking my pulse. “Shit, are you okay?” His expression turns from worry to a know-it-all smirk as he once again toys with my raging emotions driven by my unpredictable hormones.

  “Aside from panicking that my vagina is going to become some waterlog ride shooting out babies and a potential dead goldfish… yeah, I guess so.”

  Drew extends his arm, supporting me as I sit up, handing me a tissue to wipe off the greasy lube they used on my belly.

  With my body now dressed and no longer exposed in a questionable gown, we make our way outside after a much-needed restroom stop, thanking Susan along the way, and walk toward the car.

  In the parking lot, amongst the many rows of vehicles, Drew steps ahead of me to open the door to our newly purchased car, latching onto my arm to help me in.

  Slightly irritated, I pull back. “I can get in the car. I’m not disabled.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “But you’re holding onto me like I’m precious cargo.” I sigh, bothered by his overbearing ways. “Look, okay, I’m fine. I just need to get my head around this whole twins’ thing. I didn’t expect this—”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. Listen, I’ve got twenty minutes if you want to go to the café down the road?”

  I nod, happy to spend time with my husband even if it’s only for twenty minutes. Grabbing my phone and fiddling with the stereo to activate the Bluetooth, I scroll through my list of songs, stopping at the perfect one.

  “Oh God, really? You know I only have twenty minutes and this song takes up six of my few precious minutes,” he complains.

  “Please?” I beg while clapping my hands together. “Just one more time. We’ve almost nailed our performance.”

  Drew groans loudly, annoyed at my persistence knowing full well he has no choice but to sing to Queen.

  “Ready?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy…”

  Chapter Two

  Drew

  “Great. My skinny jeans which weren’t even skinny jeans to begin with aren’t buttoning up.”

  Staring into the mirror, Zoey bites her nails as she often does when anxious, pronouncing a sigh before turning around to face me.

  “Nothing fits me.”

  I continue tying my shoelaces—bunny ears as dad referred to them when I was young. It’s interesting how we form these habits from such a young age and ones which I’ll need to instill in my children.

  Children.

  The realization hits hard again.

  We’
re having twins.

  My focus shifts back to Zoey. “I think it’s time you bought some maternity clothes.”

  “But maternity clothes are ugly. It’s just moo-moos and questionable leggings,” she complains, hopping in an attempt to force the zipper up.

  There’s no chance those jeans are going to fit. Carrying twins means she will progress in size faster than a single pregnancy. Zoey is a complainer. She can easily complain about anything for a solid hour before even entertaining a solution.

  “Society has moved on from moo-moos, and I’m sure there’s some pregnant celebrity out there showing off their hip pregnancy line of clothes. Have a look online and buy yourself some stuff, okay?”

  Standing up and grabbing my keys plus phone off the nightstand, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “You’re gorgeous. You’ve got that pregnancy glow.”

  Clearly frustrated, she exhales loudly making her frustration known so all of the building can hear her. If it isn’t that, it’s this annoying song she has on repeat. I can’t get the damn lyrics out of my head, and all I want before work is a Pina Colada.

  “That’s vomit glow. Why am I even gaining weight when I can’t hold anything down? Argh, whatever… listen, just go to work.”

  I hate leaving her for the fourth night in a row, but my roster this week has been switched due to a colleague contracting the stomach flu. And to be honest, Zoey’s self-pity moods are tiresome.

  Here’s the thing, Zoey nee’ Richards is and always has been this incredibly beautiful creature with an insanely quirky persona which makes me fall in love with her even more despite my distaste for ‘80s nostalgia.

  Through the course of our relationship, she has blossomed into this mature woman. Aside from recently trimming her hair into a shorter bob style and coloring it an ash brown—claiming it makes her skin look smoother and takes years off her face—her body has peaked. Morning runs and time spent with me at the gym working on her core muscles does amazing things for her physique and especially her confidence.

  But take all that away, and I love her for who she is no matter how she appears physically.

  I try not to overwhelm her with my praises, but the truth is, I’m damn proud of her. She started her own business, went back to studying to build on her knowledge and skill set, and most importantly, she doesn’t have to work with any sleazes who will attempt to get their dirty hands on her.

  But, every beautiful rose has its thorns, and Zoey’s thorns are coming out in full force.

  It’s been a month since our ultrasound, and given that it seems like sufficient time to process the news of having twins, I pray every day that Zoey will get into the swing of motherhood and embrace the pregnancy.

  Wrong.

  She’s nothing like the other pregnant women I’ve been around, always moaning about the things she can no longer do and quote, ‘my vagina isn’t built to be Disneyland. Everyone’s queuing up to go on the ride of their life.’

  I mean, who can believe we’ll have twins? Given both my parents have passed, I’m not sure of my heritage or if there were twins in the family, but Zoey’s mom, Lucille, has confirmed that her aunty is a twin, and there lies the connection.

  Finding out we are pregnant is this huge shock. All right, look, I admit we lost track of cycles, and I refuse to wear a condom. The woman is so damn delicious that I want every part of her—bareback.

  But finding out I’ll soon be a dad gives me this sense of hope. I miss my dad terribly, and in many ways, the Lord has blessed us with not only one but two miracle babies.

  In ways, and not admitting it has affected me, I purposely keep myself busy at the hospital. Being a surgeon means long hours most days, but every few days, I just stay back and catch up on paperwork.

  Leaving Zoey to spend the night working on a design she has to pitch this week, I have a good thirty minutes to spare before prepping for an aortic valve replacement.

  Our break room is just right of the main desk, it’s small and can only fit four of us comfortably. Doctors, nurses, and other staff generally hang out here for a quick break before prepping.

  “Drew, sweetheart, you’ve got to let her process this longer.” Dorothy, our oldest and most senior nurse, dips her cookie into her tea before taking a nibble. “Lord knows I was a hormonal mess with my first pregnancy. My husband would hide away in his shed and tinker with his cars to avoid me.”

  “But you went on to have six more kids,” I point out.

  “Because you forget everything. You forget the morning sickness, the aching back, the horrendous births and remember that soft bundle of joy in your arms falling asleep so peacefully.”

  “Zoey said this is it for kids. She wants me to get the snip.”

  Dorothy laughs, relaxing her shoulders moments later. “That’s what all pregnant women say. Trust me, it’ll pass. Just let her be. Whatever she needs, give it to her.”

  I don’t want to admit that it’s half the battle. I want to help her, but she will never let me. Apparently, I’m treating her like an invalid. And the worst part is, she looks so sexy with that pregnancy glow on her skin. Her tits have become fuller, and her stomach has popped out but nothing too noticeable. I want to make love to her for countless hours, but she complains about being tired, being sick, and calling me a selfish asshole.

  “You make it sound simple.”

  Dorothy pushes her chair back, tidying the small round table, and stopping momentarily to pat my shoulder. “Happy wife, happy life,” she humors me. “Words to live by.”

  ***

  The twenty-fourth hour has officially clicked over.

  The surgery took longer than expected with a few complications which extended the time needed. By the end of it, the patient’s doing well, and my shift is well over so I head home.

  Removing the keys from my gym bag and inserting them into the door, the stupid lock plays stubborn and refuses to open. The door swings wide open, my body falling forward and almost crashing into Zoey.

  “Yay, you’re home,” she exclaims, a smile gracing her refreshed face.

  Pulling the key out of the lock, I close the door behind me as Zoey retrieves my gym bag and places it on the floor before heading into the living room. She knows I prefer a clean and organized home which means the gym bag goes in the hall closet, not on the floor.

  “Come, come.” Zoey motions for me to move quicker, and with my feet feeling like dead weight from the hours of standing on them, I can’t move any faster.

  “Ta-da!”

  The room is spotless. Books which are normally scattered on the coffee table are placed on top of each other with a small wicker basket beside them and something floral sitting inside.

  The cushions are positioned perfectly, Zoey’s favorite Friends Central Perk pillow in front. Upon examining the television unit, the shelves and surfaces are dust-free. There’s even a candle burning on the side table expelling an apple-cinnamon scent.

  “You cleaned,” I mouth, stunned.

  “I didn’t just clean. I cleaned, cleaned,” she sings, proudly. “Did you know that over one hundred thousand dust mites can live in a single square yard of carpet?”

  “Um, yes… but, babe… this is very unlike you to clean.”

  She nods in agreement motioning for me to sit when all I want to do is shower. I decide to sit, listen, and remember Dorothy’s wise words.

  Zoey sits beside me resting on her knees while hugging a cushion. “So last night, I was forming a pity party and watching Baby Boom. Have you ever seen that movie?”

  Great—another old movie. I shake my head continuing to listen while praying I don’t fall asleep during her story. I have done this countless times. The woman can talk forever about the most mundane things like why was Rose so selfish in the Titanic movie. The piece of wood could have fit both of them. That conversation I actually fell asleep through which caused a big argument regarding my lack of communication.

  “Right, so Diane Keaton is this thriving career w
oman and inherits this toddler, and her life just becomes a big shamble. You know, she struggles to balance her career and the kid. Anyway, she then moves to the country and becomes successful producing this apple baby food. So, I got to thinking—”

  “You’re going to quit your job as an architect and sell baby food?” I interrupt.

  “No,” she puffs, obviously annoyed at my confusion. “I need to branch out.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “See, being an architect means long and quiet hours concentrating on drawings, blueprints, you know, all that,” she informs me. “But realistically, I can’t do that with twins, so I think I’ll have to cut those hours down but still invest my spare time into something that will grow my business.”

  I let out a long-winded yawn. “So, what is it?”

  She scratches the top of her head. “That part I don’t know yet. I just came up with the plan. I haven’t figured out the smaller details.”

  “Then why the cleaning spree?” I ask, confused.

  “I’m not sure. I just thought if I cleaned up, the idea would come to me, but it didn’t.”

  “Um… and the dust mites?”

  “An ad on Insta after I Googled ‘which way should you hold the duster.’

  I place my hand on her knee, squeezing it gently. The exhaustion hits me in waves, and this candle does nothing but make it worse. I’m torn between wanting to sleep and eat.

  “Drew, I’m sorry I’ve been this bitch. I promise to get my shit together.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you,” I ease her concerns, keeping my voice low. “You’re pregnant.”

  “I know. Still…”

  We both sit in silence. Our thoughts we keep to ourselves follow the same path. Soon, our world will change for the better but not without chaos. Everything we do, everything we feel will be dictated by the two humans consuming us.

  These rare, precious moments of just the two of us are moments to cherish. I love my wife, and a part of me, somewhat selfish, doesn’t want to share her with anyone.