Roomie Wars Box Set

Fucking traitor! It’s always about food with Zoey. Never mind my needs. I have to admit it smells delicious, but Michelle wearing my favorite T-shirt near the butter and oil is giving me a coronary.

“You have to try Michelle’s French toast. It’s to die for,” Zoey exaggerates, as usual, while the maple syrup drips down the side of her mouth. She slides her tongue to the side and carefully licks it up, flashing me a mischievous smile. Grub.

“Ah… I promised the guys we would be at the beach before lunch, and it’s a two-hour drive.”

“Zoey, call me Mickey. That’s what my friends call me,” Michelle tells her.

In another annoying move, Zoey sings the lyrics to Hey Mickey much to Michelle’s amusement. Definitely not mine.

“Every time,” Michelle laughs. “It never gets old.”

Are these two fucking kidding me? What the hell did I walk into? My head turns to the door retracing my steps. Didn’t I just ask Zoey to help me get rid of Michelle?

Michelle serves the French toast on a plate, placing it on the table. I politely thank her and scarf it down hoping to get out of here without any drama. Zoey’s tuned out, fiddling with her cell and taking a photo of the French toast which, no doubt, will make it online somewhere. So much for helping a roomie out. I kick her under the table, catching her attention. With a slight yelp, she shoots me an annoyed look.

“Oh, look at the time. You’re right, Drew. You know how I stop a million times to use the restroom,” she lies convincingly. “That time of the month. Can’t stop Aunt Flow when she’s painting the town red.”

Jesus, did she have to add that last bit?

Michelle takes the final bite of her toast, then walks over to sink to wash her plate. She walks back around and puts her arms around me. “I’ll just have a shower, then I’m out of here.”

Phew.

She disappears to the bathroom, and once again, I use the opportunity to kick Zoey under the table.

“What the hell was that for?”

“Don’t start making friends with her. I don’t want her back here. And really, Zo, did you have to play your menstrual-cycle card?”

“God, for someone with a small peewee, you sure have a strong kick.”

The closest thing to me is a banana peel. I take it and aim straight for her face, smacking her in the forehead with the soggy peel.

“Gross! Grow up, Drew. The last time we had a food fight I won, and you cleaned up the mess. I’m going to get ready. Better go pack my super heavy-duty tampons,” she adds, walking past me to leave the room.

I shake my head, bothered that she’s brought it up again. I don’t need to know these things. “I’ll be downstairs packing the car. Make sure she leaves.”

Inside the garage, I load the car with the essentials we need for the beach—towels, cooler with water and snacks, sunscreen, and of course, my surfboard. With my surfboard strapped securely to the roof of the car, the sound of Zoey’s voice travels down the communal stairwell.

“Ready?” I turn to Zoey, cringing as I see Michelle standing beside her.

She nods but not before Michelle hugs her goodbye. When they let go, my eyes narrow. I’m infuriated as I stare Zoey down as she walks to the passenger side to enter the car.

“Don’t forget to add me on Facebook,” Zoey yells back to Michelle.

Oh no, she didn’t just say that.

Michelle moves to me placing her body in flush with mine. My arms stiffen as I try not to encourage any further intimacy on my behalf.

“When can I see you again?”

I kiss her on the cheek, a friendly gesture keeping it placid between us. “I’ll call you.”

“You’d better, Drew Baldwin.” She blows me a kiss before disappearing from my sight.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, arching my head to the left to relieve the built-up tension in my neck. The moment we reverse out of that garage, I will have no problem unleashing my thoughts on how she asked Michelle to add her as a friend on Facebook.

For the past thirty minutes, Zoey has been jabbering away about some book she started reading last night but not before changing the radio to some oldies station that’s having an eighties marathon. Again, her taste in music is awful. It’s like some time machine landed on Earth and transported her back to the eighties, freezing her in that era.