Roomie Wars Box Set

Drew picks up a daisy from the small shrubbery beside the rocks and tears the pretty white petals apart. “I’m sorry I cut you out.”

“I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” I admit truthfully.

“You did what you had to do. And now look at you, you’re all grown up.”

“Am I?” With a playful smirk, I pull my sleeve up and show him my wrist.

Pulling my arm closer to him, he examines the tattoo, blinking repeatedly. He’s wearing his contacts, and I know how much they irritate him outdoors when the wind is strong.

“You got yourself a Rainbow Brite tattoo?”

I nod, grinning back at him. “I needed a reminder that wherever I go, whatever I do, it’s okay to be me. Flaws and all.” I look down at my wrist remembering the moment I got it. There was this small tattoo parlor in the heart of London. It had been a stressful day at work, and I was extremely homesick. After speaking to my brother for a solid hour, I stumbled upon this place. I remember looking at the window and seeing my reflection. It dawned on me that the person staring back was someone new. I had no clue who she was. She wore fancy clothes, ate salads for lunch, and went to art shows with colleagues because that was the latest trend.

I was thoroughly enjoying my new role, but every so often, I missed the old me—carefree, sweats-wearing Zoey who lounged on the

couch for endless hours watching reruns of Different Strokes while eating a bag of Cheetos.

And so, I walked in and asked the cute guy to ink me.

“There’s no doubt that you’re unique. Quirky, I’ll admit, and a tad neurotic when it comes to your music.”

I punch his arm softly easing the tension between us. “I went to a Foreigner concert in London. It was so good. I even managed to get my T-shirt signed,” I tell him excitedly.

“Did you tell him that you want to know what love is?”

I chuckle softly, then turn my head curiously. “Wait, how do you know that Foreigner sings that song?”

“Mmm… would you believe I’ve been listening to music released before the year 1990?” He shuffles awkwardly kicking his foot against the rock. “Joanna, my girlfriend, likes that type of music.”

Oh. There it is. The giant elephant in the room. Not so much an elephant, rather a skinny giraffe. It was bound to happen. I’m not allowed to be angry or jealous. I chose to leave. I ran off. Embrace his happiness, move on, then cry about it later after a few shots of tequila and some bad karaoke of My Heart Will Go On.

“Joanna. She seems nice.”

“Yeah, she is,” he says plainly.

“Been together long?”

“Four months.”

“That’s nice. She’s really pretty.”

“She is.”

I’m grasping at straws. “Okay, you gotta give me something here.”

He’s awfully fidgety probably from the scotch wearing off. “I met her in the ER. She had a pencil stuck in her hand.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“Ouch! How did that end up being a relationship?”

“When we were removing the pencil, I asked her out to distract her.”

We laugh in unison, our shoulders colliding. “So, a sympathy date?”

“It was. She’s nice. A middle-school teacher.”