Saved by the bell. My pager goes off with an emergency at the hospital. Although I’m exhausted, I take it willingly, wanting to escape the mess that’s unfolded before my eyes. I quickly finish dinner, then explain that work had paged.
Zoey doesn’t appear surprised, and instead, disappears to her room without saying goodbye.
***
It has been the shift from hell. A pile-up on the interstate with multiple injuries. Ten hours later, I am released from duty and finally able to head back home to get some much-needed sleep.
Seeing our apartment has never felt so good until I walk into the kitchen, oblivious that there would be an unknown male inside making coffee. His back is facing me, and just when I’m about to fucking hit him, he turns around, and I see that it’s Noah.
“Oh, hey. Drew, right?” Noah extends his hand as a courteous gesture.
I don’t know why I shake it. Maybe the lack of sleep or my blurred vision from the numerous cups of coffee I’ve attempted to hold down last night.
“It’s me, Noah.”
Code Red guy.
My grip tightens on his, but like a handshake of death, I pull away, clenching my fist to curb the rage building inside of me. The fucking nerve of her to bring him back here after last night. Did my being fake sick mean nothing to her? Or the conversation we had afterward? And what about the rubbers? She better not have fucked him bareback.
The temperature in the room rises at a rapid rate, my lungs barely able to hold the air I need to breathe. I could kill him here, now, with my fucking bare hands. Nobody would know.
“Oh, good morning, roomie. You remember Noah, right?” Zoey strolls casually into the kitchen without a worry in the world. She’s awfully cheery and has that glow. Yeah, the kind of glow the ladies get after multiple orgasms.
“Uh, yeah…” I manage.
The two of them gather at the coffee machine, laughing quietly. My eyes move to her torso covered in his shirt. When she stretches on her tiptoes to grab a mug from the top cupboard, her sheer black panties are slightly exposed.
Fuck.
My teeth clench, straining the words, “Can I speak to you for a second?”
She kisses Noah on the cheek, then follows me down the hall, overly pleased with the situation.
“You brought him back here?” I fume, clutching for coherence as my brain seethes in pure and utter rage.
“Yeah. Is that a problem? I told you. Code Red.”
“No. You didn’t get my permission.”
Fuck, wrong choice of words.
“Permission?” She laughs. “I’m sorry. You’re my roomie. Not my boyfriend. And I don’t recall you seeking my permission when you brought Kristy back or even Michelle.”
“I didn’t sleep with Kristy. I hope you’re being safe,” I scold her.
“Um, okay, Dad. Thanks for the lecture. I think I know not to sleep with a guy without being protected, and you know what?” She points her finger at me, her tone bitter and laced with resentment. “I’m sick of your double standards. Lately, it’s been all about you. Drew can do this, sleep with whoever he pleases, whenever he pleases. But Zoey… no. God forbid I have a life outside of this apartment. It’s almost like… like…” she trails off without finishing her sentence.
“Like what?”
“You’re contro
lling and jealous,” she admits. “There. I’ve said it.”
Quick to defend my actions, I growl, “I am no such thing. Why… why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, Drew. Something is changing between us. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not sure I like it.” She faces the floor then looks back at me with her deep green eyes warning me of what’s about to come. “Last night, Noah gave me exactly what I wanted, what I needed. I don’t feel ashamed for that, and you shouldn’t make me feel that way either.”
I’ve said it before. I’m not a violent person, but the thought of my fist against his face is so tempting I have to mentally restrain myself from harming him. As for Zoey, I have no fucking words right now. I mumble something and escape to my room, throwing myself onto the bed. The tiredness is overwhelming but not as much as the anger toward Zoey for bringing that douche home. What the fuck is she thinking? Oh, that’s right… she’s not thinking. A thousand names run through my head, but nothing I should be saying or voicing an opinion on. Don’t be that guy that calls her a name you know you’ll regret.