Roomie Wars Box Set

Perhaps this is all a dream.

Either way, my eyelids become heavy, and sleep is imminent.

My dreams await me, and this time, I dream of him.

Drew.

My roomie.

Chapter Fourteen

Drew

There’s pounding and a drilling sound that’s striking every nerve in my head. I want to scream and climb into a dark place of silence. Then, I realize it’s morning, and the stupid sun is directly on my face, my eyelids red, the severe throbbing intensifying with every twitch. Barely able to open my eyes, the blinds appear to be wide open. Who the fuck left them open? Attempting to stand up is fruitless, the weight of my body overcoming my strength. With the little energy I have, I manage to throw my wallet at the window, watching it tumble across the room as hits the floor just shy of the curtains.

Because that was a brilliant plan not unlike Zoey’s to make her ex regret his actions.

This is how it all began—her desire to make his life hell, which in turn, has made my life hell. I remember the wedding. Remember how jealous I got and how I refused to allow him to win. It was a war, and I was standing front-row center, guns blazing. I remember smashing his face which explains why my jaw feels like a cement block was thrown at it, and my hand is bruised.

Then Zoey told me to fuck off in the cab.

Then blank.

Blank and no idea why I’m lying here half-dressed on my bed. My dress pants are uncomfortable and scratching my skin. The white, collared shirt appears to have stains, which I cannot for the life of me, explain. I lift the shirt to smell it, and the strong stench of bourbon engulfs my nasal passages.

Oh yeah—bourbon.

Friend and foe.

I continue to lie here for another hour attempting to ignore the persistent throb in my head. I need painkillers and yell for Zoey to bring me some. There’s no answer. Argh. Unsteady on my feet, I stumble to the bathroom and locate them inside the cupboard swallowing two and praying for an instant cure.

This is why I rarely drink.

A cold shower seems like a good idea, at least to wash away the nasty hangover.

The water relaxes my aching muscles, except for the one below. Even in my exhausted state, I manage to give myself a few strokes hoping for a quick release. My hand moves accordingly, growing my cock to its peak. Without any visuals and following the escalating throb, it takes only seconds for my body to jerk forward and cum to shoot out onto the shower floor.

Fuck. What was that?

My heart is beating a million miles per second, my limbs barely able to hold themselves up.

I rest my body against the cold shower tiles, slumping to the floor, catching my breath. Something inside me ignited just then. This primal need or desire to release. Usually, I’d have to go at it for a while conjuring up porn in my head. It’s like I had blue balls or something.

As I continue to sit here questioning my body, my shaft stiffens once again. Are you kidding me? It’s like someone’s slipped me Viagra. Fuck, maybe that’s what happened. I turn off the water, hopping out and thinking of something else to distract me.

Back in my room, I make my bed and tidy my nightstand opting to hit the gym instead of climbing back into bed. Everywhere dead quiet, and it’s odd that Zoey isn’t lounging around the apartment. But then again, her behavior has been unpredictable lately, and after last night’s failed attempt at being a couple, I’m assuming she’s gone into hiding.

I close the door behind me to be met by Gigi climbing the stairs with bags of groceries. With her arms full, I quickly run to her, helping her by carrying two bags. She graciously says thank you and unlocks her apartment door. Her stray cats come purring to her rescue almost blocking my way when the fat one’s tail nearly gets caught under my shoe.

“You can put them down on the kitchen counter,” she directs.

I follow her instructions carefully placing them down. As I’m about to head out, she begins to speak, “You’ve got a lot of energy for someone who drank a whole bottle of bourbon. It’s because you’re an Aries.”

Here we go. I attempt to shrug it off.

“Zoey was over here this morning.”

“She was?” I ask curiously. “That would have been early.”