Roomie Wars Box Set

Bad Boy Jess was getting it on with Miss Jugs aka her best friend, Callie.

I had never, ever, in my life witnessed a more disastrous breakup. I’m talking endless tears, belongings thrown off the balcony, and the burning of all photos of the two of them. Ballads were blasted on repeat. The fact I knew of the artist, Tiffany, and could sing all the lyrics to Could’ve Been says a lot about how badly this all went down.

It was extreme and a huge wake-up call that I was not ready to settle down with a woman. Relationships are complicated. I had my whole life to worry about that after I finished my internship. Again, Dad’s words rung true in my head. Women were nothing but a complicated species who walked on this earth to make our lives miserable.

They were only good for one thing, and even then, some had no clue.

Zoey was hurting badly, and being a guy, I wasn’t sure how to help her. I’d spent several nights sleeping beside her in bed trying to console her. At first, she blamed herself and all the things she should have done for him, but that soon turned into hatred, and finally, she accepted that he was at fault, and no matter what she did, he was a fucking dickhead.

Thank fucking God she came to that realization because I couldn’t stand hearing any more about it being her fault. The guy was a deadbeat.

Eventually, she moved on but never really was herself. She dated a few guys after that, but nothing quite as serious. She deferred her studies and prodded along working as an assistant to her boss. She stopped partying and buying expensive clothes and shoes, and stayed at home like a hermit of some sort reading romance novels.

And she ate pizza almost every night.

One time, the delivery guy cracked a joke about moving in since he was practically at the apartment every day. I thought it was funny. Zoey, on the other hand, lashed out at the both of us, putting on some drama-filled show before slamming the door to her room.

She blamed PMS.

She always blames PMS.

Every day she would ridicule my healthy eating habits. I knew deep down inside it was killing her that she’d gained the extra weight. And something I had learned about women was Golden Rule Number One—never comment on their weight.

As time went on, Zoey accepted the fact she no longer fit into her expensive outfits. I knew firsthand what it was like to be uncomfortable in your own skin, but one day, I realized I couldn’t go on being unhappy. It wasn’t an overnight miracle. In fact, it took two years to change my eating habits and achieve an image which gave me confidence.

You see, Zoey is not only my roomie, she’s like a sister to me. And when someone that close to you is feeling down, you do everything you can to pick them up. Hence, this trip to the beach that I’ve organized.

Some of the guys are tagging along and meeting us there. She knows of them and gets along well with Rob, a guy from my gym. It’s the confidence boost she needs—a little one-on-one flirting for her to get back to her normal self again.

I see the beach ahead and nudge her slightly. She lets out a loud snore followed by a snort, then opens her eyes in a daze.

“Are we there yet?” This time, she’s less en

thused.

“Yes,” I answer, turning into the parking lot.

I park the car, lucky to arrive early before the beach becomes busy.

It’s a popular spot with nice big waves and a park area for picnics. Exiting the car, I stretch my arms and legs and take in the view. It’s gorgeous, and with the sun already piercing my skin, it’s going to be one hell of a hot day.

“It’s hot,” Zoey complains immediately after stepping out of the car. Squinting, she rummages in her purse and emerges with a pair of oversized white sunglasses.

“C’mon, vampire, put on your sunscreen and let’s unload.”

She pokes her tongue out as she begins to lather her skin with cream. Handing me the bottle, she turns to me. “Back and shoulders, please. I don’t want to leave today looking like a lobster.”

Pulling her T-shirt off, she reveals a teeny, tiny white bikini top. It has a pattern of pineapples all over it. She has this obsession with pineapples. Apparently, they’re good luck or some bullshit story like that.

Her tits look huge in them.

I’m obviously not the only one to notice—a bunch of guys walking in front of us almost trip over our stuff because they’re too busy staring. My eyes wander back to her tattoo that sits just above her bikini line. She inked herself with a My Little Pony image one night on a bender. A stupid mistake. Unlike Zoey, I’m not a fan of tatts. She’s made it clear on several occasions she only dates guys who have tattoos and drive a nice car.

I pull the bottle out of her hands and rub the cream all over her back, irritated at her choice of attire. Honestly, one wrong move and her tits will be all out for show.

“Ow!” she yelps. “Easy with the cream.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, patting her back hard when I’m done.