Roomie Wars Box Set

Mia is still buzzing after abandoning me several times to hit the bar. By the way she swaggers and her incredulous laugh, this chick is hammered.

“Oh my God, so this guy, right, comes up to me at the bar, and we get to chatting. He’s like a lawyer or something legal. Check him out.” She points to this man standing near the exit. Very tall, copper-colored hair, and quite good looking from what I can see in the poor lighting. “So, he tells me I’m hot and gives me his number.”

I pull Mia back. “You told him you’re married, right? And a Mom?”

“Well, I don’t have to say it. I wear a ring.”

“But you did show him your ring, right?”

Mia laughs, brushing my concern off. “Harmless flirting. Who cares. Lord knows Troy does it all the time. You think his boys’ nights out are just a few beers at the local pub. Try strip joint.”

“Mia,” I soothe, trying to diffuse her over-imaginative thoughts. “Troy’s not like that. And even if he is, which I’m not saying he is, what good is it for you to get guys’ numbers? Are you going to hook up with this guy, I mean, c’mon.”

“Not everyone can have a perfect marriage like you, Zoey,” she hisses.

Ouch.

I remain silent, processing the hurtful comment from my best friend. It’s very out of character for Mia, and if I look deep enough, the problem is not my so-called perfect marriage but rather my best friend going through something, and this is a cry for help. The copious amount of jaeger bombs doesn’t help either.

Mia falls asleep on the car ride home. When we reach her apartment I call Troy for help, and he comes down and carries his wife upstairs. I follow behind him, hoping to get in a quick word.

“I’m sorry. I should have watched her, you know, monitored her drinks. She’ll be out like a light until morning.”

He places her on the couch, removing her shoes and throwing a blanket over her.

“It’s not your fault, Zoey. Mia is… she’s unhappy. With me, our marriage, our life… just everything.” He lowers his head. “Listen, you should go. It’s late, and you’re pregnant. Maybe I should drive you home?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, I’m fine. I’ll return her car tomorrow,” I reassure him. “We’re here, Troy, both Drew and I if you need us, okay?”

He nods offering a smile before I close the door behind me.

It’s only a twenty-minute drive home, but boy, did that twenty minutes feel long. As soon as the keys jiggle and I’m through the door, my apartment is in full view, I breathe this long sigh of relief.

I find Drew sitting in our bed with his reading glasses on and some medical textbook. His beautiful, muscular chest is bare, half-covered in our fresh white sheets—some weird thread count which he claims helps him sleep better. I call bullshit on that but let him have it anyway.

I seriously wonder how I got so lucky to land a husband so sexy, intelligent, and perfect in every way. Just the sight of him in our bed makes my stomach do backflips.

“You’re home.” He closes his book, meeting my eyes with a sexy grin. “How was it?”

“Great, fantastic.” I yawn, unable to hold it in. “Babe, is our marriage too perfect?”

Drew puts his book down, gazing at me curiously. “Where did this come from?”

I sit beside him removing my shoes and pulling the hair tie out of my hair while explaining to him what happened tonight. “And here’s the thing, I know she doesn’t mean it, but is that how she sees us? Am I rubbing this pregnancy in her face?”

Drew wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him as we spoon in our bed. “We’re not perfect, okay? You still leave clothes on the bathroom floor. It drives me fucking insane. Same as when you half close jars. Like how hard is it screw the cap back on?”

“I just have no patience,” I say sleepily. “And you’re annoying with your medical jargon and perfect diet. Plus, I hate how when you make the bed you have to tuck in the sides like they do in hotels. I feel so trapped.”

He kisses the back of my neck, easing my worries in just one simple moment. The sensation travels across my entire body causing my skin to shiver in delight. He still does it. After all these years, he still makes me weak in the knees.

“See…” he whispers, “… we’re not perfect but pretty damn close.”

“I love you.” I yawn again, my

eyes feeling heavy.

“Love you, too, wife.”