Roomie Wars Box Set

The bastard does. This time louder and louder until his back arches, sweat forming on his forehead with his veins bulging out of his biceps leading up to the grand finale where he blows all over his hand.

My mouth is flooding with moisture, my body temperature high from my heart beating like a deranged lunatic desperate to crawl out of a straightjacket.

“Ahh,” he soothes. “That was great.”

Silence.

What the fuck just happened?

“A great way to release tension. Especially before the big night,” he says, void of any emotion.

“The bachelor’s night? I forgot that was on.”

“Really?” Grabbing a tissue, he wipes himself clean and climbs out of bed walking toward the bathroom completely naked. It gives me a few moments to clear my head, cool down, and release the groan building up inside.

Minutes later, he returns with another blinding hard-on. “How convenient you forgot it was on?”

I’m a shitty liar. Of course, I remember. It doesn’t help that Mia goes on and on about Troy’s bachelor night. That was supposed to be a tame night considering her and Troy’s dad were with the group, but low and behold, they all wound up in Vegas shoving dollar bills in a hooker’s panties.

I want to trust Drew—I should trust Drew. But things between us are rocky. We don’t see eye to eye on many things involving the wedding, and he won’t budge on the honeymoon. Instead, I’m forced to book Maui much to my displeasure. Because of that, I’m a cranky bitch around him. Add my non-existent pizza diet, and my mood swings are giving everyone whiplash.

“Sounds like it’ll be a great night.” It’s the only thing I can say to avoid arguing. And with that, he says goodnight and turns his back to me and falls fast asleep.

***

At work, I try to distract myself. Despite Drew’s petty spit, I continue to hang out with Slater enjoying his laid-back personality. He is easy going and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. We often spend our lunches talking about the most random things from how the Coreys were the coolest kids in Hollywood to why Elvis is still alive and wandering the streets of America. He makes me laugh and relieves the built-up tension that’s brewing inside of me due to the constant battles with Drew.

Today is no exception, and I purposely annoy him in his office trying to get some much-needed information.

“So, strippers… are you allowed to touch them or not?”

He laughs, placing his cell aside. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why? What if I wanted to visit a strip club and needed to know?”

“Then, you make every man’s dream come true,” he chuckles lightly.

“Ha, ha,” I comment briefly. “I’m serious.”

“It depends where you go. For the most part, no. But some places will allow it if you slip them a little something extra.”

“What kind of touch? Graze of the skin or more?”

“You want me to be specific?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and watching me intently.

I think about what he says. This is borderline awkward. I should stop now and end the conversation before I can’t backtrack and am knee-deep in sexual banter.

“Never mind,” I say disappointed, turning to leave his office.

“Zoey,” Slater calls my name. I turn back bringing my eyes to meet his. Something about the way he’s staring triggers an uncomfortable feeling. The same feeling I read about in my books. The feeling of attraction. “What’s got you so on edge?”

“N

othing.”

“Nothing wouldn’t be stressing out over her fiancé seeing a bunch of naked ladies.”

I let out a sigh, sitting down in his chair, ignoring the way he’s gazing at me waiting for an answer. The hem of my navy skirt pulls up slightly exposing my thigh. Quick to pull it down to a respectable length, I adjust my white blouse at the same time making sure I’m presentable.