Roomie Wars Box Set

“One more rule.” I kiss her lips again and withdraw with a devilish smile. “This apartment is environmentally friendly… so no condoms on the premises.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms tighter around my neck. “Wait, do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I ask, listening to the sound of nothing aside from the ocean.

“It’s my ovaries. They’re dancing. Some sort of celebration and they’re all jumping up and yelling, ‘Yippee…’”

“You know what?” I grin, keeping my voice to just above a whisper. “I do hear that.”

I’ve never pictured myself having a family with anyone, nor being married, and just in one heartbeat, it’s all I want with the girl wrapped up in my arms.

Lifting her higher, I steal a kiss, lingering as she moans softly against my lips.

“Wait.” She stops me again. “We need a song for this moment.”

“A song for this moment?”

“Yes. It’ll be our song… at least, one of our songs. Something to remember this moment by, and if ever we hear it on the radio, we’ll be like, ‘Oh hey, our song!”

I think about it, the perfect song coming to mind. That, and I’ve had it on repeat for the past week. “I’ve got the perfect song.”

Carrying her in my arms, I make my way to the shelf near the television and turn on my iPod. Shuffling quickly, I hit play.

“I love this song.” She beams, resting her head on my shoulder while Bryan Adams’s Heaven plays in the background.

“I’ll be honest,” I tell her. “I’m not a fan of the eighties, but we could meet halfway perhaps? The nineties?”

“The nineties,” she acknowledges, nodding. “I’m down for some Vanilla Ice, MC Hammer. Oh wait, what about Wilson Phillips?”

She breaks out laughing, and it’s so contagious, I laugh along with her as we make way to our bedroom.

Finally, my girl came home.

The End

Chapter One

Drew

Son of a bitch.

My big toe hits the metal bar. It’s followed by empty threats and loud swearing as the pain ricochets throughout my body making me see nothing but stars. Leaning over to the table, I manage to switch on the lamp to see what I ran into—a Thighmaster.

A growl escapes my throat. The urge to grab the useless piece of crap and throw it off the balcony is difficult to control. This isn’t the first time this has happened and probably not the last.

Remember why you love her.

The irony—which strikes me as I writhe in pain—is that Zoey has fantastic thighs. And trust me, I should know. I’ve spent countless hours between them. Yet, her fascination with fitness gimmicks such as the Thighmaster is bordering on obsessive.

With my hands full of pizza boxes, I hobble through the narrow hall and into the living room to be met with dead silence. Zoey has a work dinner that ends in an hour, and this is the only night I could schedule off which coincided with her staying out late.

Why?

I have a plan.

See, Zoey and I have been living together for just over a year. The moment she walked back into my life after living in London and Dubai, I knew I couldn’t let her go. Everything just fell back to normal between us almost as if no time had passed. The only thing that changed was the insanely hot sex which happened whenever we’re within arm’s reach of each other.

It blows my mind to this day how we were roomies for four years and wasted our time screwing other people rather than each other. But I guess, like everything in life, things happen for a reason.