Wedding Wars (Roomie Wars #1.5) - Kat T. Masen

Copyright © 2016 Kat T. Masen All rights reserved. Edited by Michelle Josette: Mjbookeditor.com Cover design by Soxsational Cover Art www.facebook.com/soxsationalcoverart Formatted by Integrity Formatting: www.facebook.com/IntegrityFormatting/



The Dark Angel Series: Into the Darkness Into the Light Adriana Julian

#Jerk

Mr Rebound

Roomie Wars Wedding Wars



Other Books by Kat T. Masen Wedding Wars Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Wedding Wars: To Husband & Wife Preview: #Jerk Preview: Mr Rebound About the Author



Take My Breath Away—Berlin Rush—Paula Abdul Crazy For You—Madonna Out Of Touch—Daryl Hall & John Oates Tell It To My Heart—Taylor Dane All At Once—Whitney Houston I Want You Back—Bananarama All Outta Love—Air Supply Keep On Lovin’ You—Reo Speedwagon Nothings Gonna Stop Us Now—Starship Never Ending Story—Limahl



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 the lamp on to see what I ran into: a thigh master. 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 thigh master is bordering 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 had a work dinner that would end in an hour and this is the only night I could schedule off that coincided with her staying out late. Why? I had a plan. See, Zoey and I had 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: the insanely hot sex that happened whenever we were in 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. I love her. No more wasting time on boyfriend/girlfriend bullshit. I had to make it official. Seal the deal. Though I know she’ll argue about taking on my name. Yeah, she’s one of those women. Fights for her own rights but it’s just a charade. She does it to appear ‘cool’ and is quick to complain about how draining it all is and would rather be on the couch watching The Love Boat with a bag of popcorn. And that’s if she says yes.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. What if she tells me she needs more time, which, in turn will bruise my ego, making me doubt our relationship and cause another fight between us? Then again, she’s not one to disguise her desperation to get married. Especially after she made me watch three movies last week that all revolved around weddings. I stopped counting after the tenth time she began a sentence with “When I get married . . .” Impatient. Obnoxious. Pain in my ass. That’s Zoey Richards. I’d been sitting on this idea for a while. A long while. It was never a question of whether or not I would do it. I just needed the right time, place, and way of asking her to be my wife. After all, this is supposed to be one of the biggest moments in a couple’s relationship. Fuck. Talk about pressure. I continue to carry the eight pizza boxes to the kitchen. Despite my healthy eating habits, I’m not immune to the glorious smell of melted cheese. I just have more self-control than Zoey. Placing the boxes down on the kitchen table—careful not to tip the stack—I glance at my watch to check how many minutes I have left. There isn’t much time to execute this plan before she comes home. In a mad rush, I reach for the top kitchen cupboard where I keep a box of candles. Pulling the box down, I quickly take them outside to the balcony and scatter them somewhat evenly on the ground. There is a strong breeze from the ocean, which I knew would hinder my plan to get all romantic hence using battery-operated candles that look like the real deal. Seriously, whoever invented this is genius. Rushing to the spare bedroom, I remove the brown box from the closet. Zoey never checked in here so it became the perfect spot to hide my treasure—eight gold pineapples. Eight is considered a lucky number, and pineapples, because Zoey was obsessed with them. She kept that gold pineapple on the bedside table. Another one of her quirky traits that I had grown accustomed too. Carrying the box with the utmost of care, I take them outside and place them exactly where I imagined them to be, positioned with the correct lighting so they can easily be seen. With the sun almost setting and the breeze calming down, it’s a perfect night to propose to the woman I love. I scurry back into the kitchen grabbing the seven empty pizza boxes and moving through the apartment, creating a trail to the balcony. I know it sounds like a crazy idea, but if anyone would follow a trail of empty pizza boxes, it’s Zoey. I’m almost done. All I need to do is take a quick shower and get dressed. I really wanted this moment to be perfect, torn as to what to wear. I finally decided on wearing my navy suit—her favorite. With my hair styled, I spray the bottle of aftershave against my neck. It leaves a sting; the cut skin from yesterday’s rushed shaving job is still slightly open. Walking back to the balcony with a portable speaker in my hand, the song is ready to go at the touch of the play button, the moment she walks through that door. Annoying as it usually seems, Zoey had the tendency to over-text me after work. Usually she’s complaining about traffic, and sometimes she’ll go on and on about the growls her stomach makes believing it sounds like the tune of a song. Once, she actually put the speaker to her belly and claimed that it sounded like “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Funnily enough, it did. Just goes to show how my brain has been warped by her. On cue, and just like I said she would, a text comes thru.

Do you think there is some radio god that purposely plays a good song just as you’re about to exit the car? I’m seriously sitting outside our apartment because Heart came on.



I shake my head, holding my laugh and easily breaking into a smile. I had no clue who Heart was, but no doubt, it was some eighties group. C’mon, it’s Zoey after all. I should respond, but can’t think of anything witty as the nerves begin to consume me. She thinks I’m at work. So perhaps a little white lie wouldn’t hurt for the greater good. At least, to calm me down. I think you’re right. When someone dies on the operating table, I swear Knockin’ on Heaven’s door is blaring through the speakers.



I wait for her response, and knowing Zo, she’ll have an opinion on my morbid text. Way to ruin my Heart buzz.



Deeps breaths—she’s here. Amid the excitement and bundled nerves, I forget the most important thing: the ring. Running back into the kitchen, I find the last pizza box sitting on the table where I had left it. It contained a freshly cooked pepperoni pizza in the shape of a pineapple. The lengths I had to go through to get this pizza made. Pepe—our local pizza guy—was not the most creative and easiest person to work with. Firstly, his strong Italian accent made it difficult to understand in the easiest of circumstances. Try explaining to him that I needed a pineapple-shaped pizza. The look on his face was priceless. Then he proceeded to give me a history lesson on the origin of pizza. I Googled some pictures of different-shaped pizzas, which piqued his interest. I wasn’t sure what intrigued him more, the endless number of pictures or the fact he had never heard of Google. In the end, he made it work. And it looked damn good. All I had to do was grab the ring from the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator. A place Zoey never ever ventured to. My idea had been to set the navy box in the center of the pizza. A gesture that seemed very personal. Very Zoey. I’ve got a minute at the most to spare, rushing back to the balcony and waiting for her to enter the apartment. My anxiety is really clouding this moment. I’m sure this is normal. I’m doing the right thing. It’s just jitters . . . cold feet. This moment could be the biggest moment of our lives, and I have to deliver my speech with the utmost care. Fuck me dead. I rarely drink, but a bottle of hard liquor would be fantastic right now. Closing my eyes while taking a deep breath, I drown out all the fear and envision her face. I never expected her to be my soulmate. We were polar opposites. She hated to eat healthy, and I only ate organic. I love modern music, she’s happy to remain in her nineteen-eighties bubble. She loves to be on top, and I love to fuck her from behind. Maybe that last one wasn’t such a big deal. The sound of the door banging shut echoes through our small apartment.

A sea of anxiety swirls in the pit of my stomach as I swallow the giant lump in my throat, wringing my hands nervously. You can do this. Why the fuck is this tripping me out so much? Her pumps—the camel-colored ones with the strap around the ankle—click against the beaten old floorboards. Then, all I hear is silence. I straighten my posture and wait for her to find me, remembering mid-thought to press play on the speaker. With sweaty palms, I almost knock the speaker off the table. Calm the fuck down, will you? When it comes to operating on an almost-dying patient, you’ve got no problem whatsoever. The instrumental intro of “Take My Breath Away” plays, soothing my panicked state. She loved this song, and I had to admit that I somewhat did too. My eyes are fixated on the doorway, heart thumping loud mirroring the beats of the song. The shadow of her body moves closer, and her head is carefully following the trail of pizza boxes creating a path to where I stand. It only takes a split second for her to be in full view, and when her beautiful green eyes meet mine, my heart stops the mad rush and slows down, calming itself. It’s time. Eyes wide and with a confused expression, I can almost see the wheels turning inside her head. Then, as the wind slowly brushes past us, her gaze meets mine. “Drew, what is all this?” Her voice is shaking. It’s cute. Shouldn’t I be the nervous one here? Yet suddenly, I am the calmest I have been in my entire life. Zoey enjoyed rambling most of the time, but now, she’s completely speechless, leaving me even more in love with her. Her eyes scan the balcony, her mouth quietly counting the gold pineapples. With her soft, delicate hand within reach, I extend my hand forward, motioning for her to come closer while still balancing the pizza box with my other hand. Our skin touches and instantly I see her eyes close with her chest rising and falling. I love watching her like this—dead silent. Taking in the moment with every expression easily readable on her beautiful face. “Zoey.” I smile, grazing her cheek with the tip of my finger. “Six years ago I had pictured a very different life. A life you weren’t part of yet.” Her big green eyes are boring into me; etched with anticipation and curiosity. She doesn’t realize that when lost in thought, she parts her lips slightly with her tongue resting comfortably between her teeth. My gaze moves away from her mouth and focuses back on her eyes. I tell her slowly, “While that life would have taken me on a different road, it would have been lonely without you by my side.” “You are the most frustrating person I have ever met,” I continue, “and we couldn’t be more opposite. I mean, seriously, why would you enjoy listening to songs sung by a daggy redhead that looks like a goddamn geek?” “Rick Astley,” she interrupts, finding her voice, “had women falling at his feet. He was never going to give you up, or break your heart. And, he was never going to run around or desert you. Hello, why wouldn’t you want a man like that?” I place my finger on her lips, quieting her rambling. “I love you,” I state, bending down on one knee. I open the pizza box, raising my eyes to meet hers. “Zoey Richards, will you marry me?” A small breath escapes her mouth, her eyes dancing in delight with clouded vision. I can only assume

they are happy tears, but each second that passes in silence tightens my chest. For someone who was born with the verbal diarrhea gene, I begged silently for her to say something. Anything. The corners of her lips curve in a delicious smile, and she follows with on-the-spot jumping. It could be a reaction to the pizza itself, but then she follows with a “YES!” I allow the tight breath to release, steadily removing the ring from the box. Placing the pizza aside, her eyes follow, and then I do what I’ve been wanting to do for such a long time—I slide the ring along her petite finger. Her cute squeals and excited jumps make it hard for me to get it on. But when I do, it looks perfect. “It’s so beautiful!” she exclaims, staring at it with awe. “Canary diamond. Just like a pineapple. I can’t believe you did this. Oh my gosh, we’re getting married!” For a split second, it almost seems like she’s having a panic attack. Her breathing is out of control, her body shaking unpleasantly. And just as I am about to ask her if she is okay, she continues. “That proposal was more intense than when Emmy was thrown onto the conveyer belt thingy to be shredded into nothing. I mean, yeah okay, I kinda knew that Jonathan would save the day but still. I was on edge the entire time.” I stand in confusion like I’m being quizzed. Then the light bulb goes off in my brain. “Are you talking about that movie you made me watch with the mannequin coming to life?” She slaps her hand against my chest, distracted by her ring, then follows with a sarcastic laugh. “How quickly you remember the blonde with the lean legs.” “The most ridiculous concept for a movie. Mannequins coming to life, give me a break.” She shakes her head left to right, grinning like crazy. Staring back at me is this beautiful woman who just agreed to be my wife. Wrapping her arms around my neck, I settle my hands on her hips and bring her in for a long-awaited kiss. She said yes. Zoey Richards is going to be my wife.



I’m having that dream again. I am late for work and the only item of clothing I can find is my Guns N’ Roses tank. It’s very roomy and shows some major side boob. Not even side boob—just all boob. For some reason, I cannot locate a bra, choosing to let the girls hang loose. And down below, I am completely naked. I run for the bus only to miss it, watching it drive down the street and around the corner. It doesn’t occur to me to hail a cab, so I wait for the next bus to come along. My watch says its 10 AM and work started an hour ago. The bus finally arrives and it is crammed. Commuters squished together like sardines. The bus takes off with a jerk, flinging my body against others as I hang on for dear life, almost naked. I’m well aware that people are staring at me. A mixture of amusement, disgust, and sheer concern etched all over their pathetic faces. No one offers me a coat, happy to continue watching me as I carry on like this is normal. My legs cross purposely, covering my lady bits as best as I can while the bus stops completely and doesn’t move for an hour. Yes—one hour. And no one says a goddamn thing, continuing to stand in silence. Oddly, it never occurs to me to call my boss and tell him I’m late. And by the time I reach the office, it’s after lunch and I am still naked. I wake up with my skin crawling in sweat. My heart is beating a million miles a minute, forcing me to sit up while rubbing my eyes to allow me to take in my surroundings. It was just a dream. A stupid reoccurring dream. I’m in bed—with my fiancé. That never gets old. Drew crawled into bed at some ridiculous hour. These late shifts were killing him. Okay, not him.

He was used to a changing body clock. They killed me. I hated him doing nights. One, I didn’t like being alone since that creepy dude with the ferrets moved in downstairs. Ferrets—plural. The most annoying and useless pet anyone could have thought of. And two: I missed him. I had somewhat gotten used to it. Plus, I guess it had its perks sometimes. Telling people your then-‘boyfriend’ is a doctor generated excitement. In women, mainly. Men couldn’t care less. On second thought, I’ll take that back. Gay men cared. They cared a lot. And when he worked nights, it allowed me to get my secret girl business done. The kinda stuff I did behind closed doors when we were roomies. Things like plucking hairs in odd and random places. Placing my feet in moisturizing booties while I lie in bed and watch re-runs of Charles in Charge. Then, with a bag of Cheetos, I would secretly gush over how cute Scott Baio was, my fingers orange after eating the whole bag. A guilty pleasure that Drew would never understand. Cheetos are the devil’s food, according to him. Drew is lying on his stomach. The sheets are pulled down exposing his back muscles and sitting just enough to cover his cute toned little man-ass. I lie back down and turn to face him, staring back and wondering how I got so lucky. Things hadn’t always been like this between us. That whole ‘roomie’ thing turned out to be four years of pent-up sexual frustration on both our parts. Finally, being in a relationship meant that we got the best of both worlds. We already knew each other and were best friends, so the anxiety of being with someone and having your secrets spill over one drunken night, was happily not needed. He knew everything about me, witnessed my not-so-proud moments, and vice versa. And the best part: we still experienced that whole butterfly thing. Flying back into the country and admitting my feelings for him started a chain reaction. A sexual chain reaction. It’s like we needed to make up for four years’ worth. There were days where I could barely walk because my vagina was on the verge of broken. Seriously, I needed a closed-for-repair sign hanging so I could recover. Drew—being the witty doctor—had an answer for that. Any hole’s a goal. And that it was. That first day when I returned, he took the whole week off and we never left the bedroom. Okay, so I’m exaggerating just a little. We left the bedroom for the shower, kitchen, and the sofa all of which had one thing in common: sex. Drew is like no other man I had been with. He is a mixture of raw yet attentive. He knew me in and out. Pleasured me in ways I had never imagined. Everything between us was so perfect and him proposing was the icing on the already-delicious cake. Everything he did that night outdid my expectations of what that moment would feel like. From the trail of empty pizza boxes that led to the balcony, to the eight gold pineapples scattered amongst the tea lights. And then, standing there so handsome in my favorite navy suit professing his love to me followed by handing me the most beautifully crafted canary yellow diamond ring. Could this man be any more perfect? And let’s pull out the doctor card again. Drew oozed sex appeal like no other man. The amount of times he came home dressed in his scrubs looking like death ran him over, made me want to jump on top of him and make sweet passionate dirty love. And to think of all the times he slept in the room beside mine and I never touched him. Worse yet,

the number of times other women touched him and I’m all like “Hey, let’s have a chat while you make me the best breakfast of my life. We can be besties just to annoy manwhore Drew.” Don’t go there. Every time you mistakenly get lost on the trail to jealously, you emerge as a wicked witch destroying everyone in your path. You knew he had a past of manwhoring. It’s actually your fault he was one since you pushed him to climb out of his shell. “Are you going to continue staring at me or take your shirt off?” His voice startles me, eyes closed with a wide grin spread across his face. He has one of those masculine jawlines, like he belongs in an aftershave commercial. All I want to do is run my tongue along it and feel his slight stubble graze against my skin. I wiggle my body across, throwing my leg over his. Something he often complained about because my body was always warm. “Are you going to open your eyes to watch me take it off?” He moves his hands towards my mouth, placing his index finger against my lips. “Too much talking, more naked please.” I sit up again, my back towards him, and slowly remove my tank while his hands slide around my ribcage, moving effortlessly as he cups my breasts. A moan escapes my mouth, enjoying the sensation of his touch while he plays with my nipples. I lose myself in his gentle caresses until my body jerks back without warning. He forcefully pulls me towards him until I’m flat on the bed, allowing him to hover over me. “I think I need to fuck you right now,” he bellows, wild-eyed like a hungry beast. “That’s what you said five hours ago.” “Well, I needed to fuck you then and I need to fuck you again.” “Aren’t we supposed to be holding off, you know, till the wedding?” I ask with amusement, giggling underneath him. Resting on his hands—still hovering over me—he is quick to shut down the idea. “Let’s see, the last time I checked, you weren’t a virgin,” he points out. “And trust me baby, I wish you were. Nothing like the thought of another man with his hands all over you.” I let out a cough on purpose, along with the word manwhore. “Did you just call me what I think you called me?” he asks, shocked yet putting on an act. “If the shoe fits . . .” “I’ll answer your question one more time.” He lowers his head into the crook of my neck, kissing that one spot just above my collarbone that drives me insane. He’s playing dirty. “Since no date has been set, the answer is no. It’s like depriving the world of pizza. Why would you do that if you could just click on that app and order in less than thirty seconds?” “Are you comparing having sex with me to ordering pizza?” “For it to click in your crazy brain, yes I am.” “So what you’re saying is, if I give up pizza until the wedding, you’ll give up sex?” I confirm, riling him on because I knew he would have zero restraint when it came to not touching me. “I never said that!” he argues back, applying more body weight on mine. “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. No.”

I begin to open my mouth to only be distracted again. His body is firmly against mine, groin rubbing along my sensitive area as feverish kisses grace my exposed chest. The familiar groan—a sound so beautiful to my ears—escapes his throat. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d become somewhat lazy in the bedroom. Happy to lie back and take it all. Drew never complained and why would he? He devoured my body like it was a shrine. With his tongue running across my skin and flicking the sensitive tips of my nipples, my back arches on cue waiting for him to enter me whole. “Fuck me, now, please,” I beg with desperation. He remains silent, caressing the curves of my breast as his teeth gently bite down on my nipple. Enough to make me moan even louder. “Impatient, aren’t you?” he asks, cocky and sure of himself. I smile, unwillingly, bringing his head up towards mine until our eyes meet. “Yes I am. Still want to marry me?” His eyes dance in delight, flickering back with hope and love. With a wide grin, he moves his face inwards as our lips touch. A simple kiss that travels to every point in my body and makes me melt underneath him. “Try stopping me,” he says with a grunt, inserting his cock inside me as I begin to come undone. “Oh my gosh, Zoey!” Mia throws her arms around me, squeezing me tight as I struggle to breathe. Mia, my close friend, just returned from Greece. Her husband Troy had traveled with her on their last trip before their baby would be born. I waited for her to return so I could finally share the good news. It is early Monday morning and the both of us were preparing for a new person to start today. Looking extremely uncomfortable, Mia shifts her body on the chair and attempts to cross her legs to no avail. She didn’t make pregnancy look appealing. From day one she complained about nausea, gas, indigestion, and every other bodily ailment you could name. Despite her pregnancy complaints, I enjoy working with her and we have become such close friends. When I returned from London, I set up my own small business using the knowledge and experience I had gained overseas. However, a month later, Mr. Becker—my former boss—offered me a position I couldn’t refuse. I would run the office here in San Diego while he moved to Colorado to set up a new office. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. The money that came with a new title was a nice perk. Drew told me to negotiate some terms—throwing in a car plus allowing me to still build my business on the side. Here’s the thing: I hated negotiating. I was always afraid of rejection and would mentally climb into a hole of sheer embarrassment. But thanks to Drew, I stood my ground. I asked Mr. Becker and he said yes without any hesitation. Perhaps my positive experience got to my head a little. Given my newly found confidence, I found myself bartering the strangest of things, including pizza from the joint down the block. Pepe was quick to shut me down, but eventually he caved and added the extra pepperoni at no expense. “Describe everything. All details except for when he screwed you afterwards because I know Drew’s a horn bag so just leave that out.” Mia wraps her hands around the cup of tea, pursing her lips against the steam as she waits in anticipation for me to talk.

I walk her through the whole proposal, down to the way he had scattered the tealight candles. And of course, I left out the grand finale when I asked him to take me then and there in his dashing navy suit. Suits did this thing to my libido. There is nothing hotter than a man in a suit. Especially when he is my man. The poor neighbors must have heard us; I’m not exactly the quietest person when it comes to being pleasured by her fiancé. “So, do you have any ideas yet? Dates, dresses, venue?” My coffee—extra strong—sits in my Pac-Man mug, teasing me with its delicious aroma. A gag gift from one of my co-workers. The joke was on her; the mug is awesome and I used it several times a day. Taking a sip, the caffeine easily makes its way down, giving me an instant boost of energy. Or so, my body thinks. Drew drank coffee to stay awake on the job but often complained that I drank only the cheap stuff and should switch to something more exotic. Coming from someone who’s all about being organic, I found it highly amusing. “A couple of ideas but to be honest I’m trying to let it process. It’s surreal.” I look at the ring that sits on my finger, smiling at the piece of perfection that Drew chose. “What does Drew think? What does he want?” “I don’t think he cares,” I tell her. “He is so busy at the hospital that I’m not sure what time he’ll have off. Planning a wedding seems like a big deal. I probably should start thinking about something.” I hated lying to Mia. And I wasn’t sure why I was in the first place. The wedding was all I could think about. Secretly, when Drew fell asleep, I Googled wedding dresses online. I also downloaded a complete wedding checklist after I saw how much a wedding planner would cost. “I’ll come around tonight and drop off some wedding magazines so you can get started.” “Sounds great.” I smile, reaching out for the last cookie in the jar in front of us until Mia snatches it from my hands like the Cookie Monster. Okay, give her a break. The baby needs it. Plus, I should think about going on some kind of pre-wedding diet. God forbid I don’t fit in any dresses. Mr. Becker walks into the kitchen with a gentleman beside him. The man—easily in his thirties—is quite an attractive guy. I’d say six-foot-two with a very muscular build underneath his charcoal-grey suit. He isn’t wearing a tie; his two top buttons are undone exposing very tanned skin. My instinct tells me he is not from around here. And I really wish I would stop staring at his hair. It’s almost like a silver color mixed with dark blond. Styled perfectly like he just stepped out of GQ. “Zoey, Mia—please meet Slater Richards,” Mr Becker introduces him, and funnily enough, he carries the same surname as me. Now that’s going to be confusing in the office. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Richards.” I extend my hand, shaking his while finding it odd to call him by that name. “Ah, the other Richards.” He smirks, still holding onto my hand firmly. “I’d hate to think we’re related. Just call me Slater.” The British accent stuns me, and in the corner of my eye, I am certain that Mia has completely melted into a pile of mush. She has a thing for accents. Mr. Becker—who rarely showed any emotion—laughs hysterically like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Perhaps I’m missing the punchline. I turn towards Mia as she shrugs, a blank look on her face. “Trust me, I’d know if we were related. My mom has spent years searching our family tree hoping to be related to a royal.”

“Slater will be working alongside Zoey. He’ll be running the new project downtown—” Mr Becker stops mid-sentence, distracted by his cell ringing. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” We stand in silence awkwardly as he talks on his cell. I really wish Mia could read my mind right now so I could tell her to mop her drool off the ground. She’s married. Troy—her husband—works in our IT department and would no doubt have something to say about this. The call finally ends and Mr. Becker continues the conversation about the project downtown. It’s very exciting and something I’d been dying to sink my teeth into. Slater talked about his experience back in England, and the more he talked, the more I stood there quietly listening. I’m known to be a chatterbox but his accent is hypnotizing. He could have explained how dinosaurs became extinct and I still would have listened without saying a word. Mr. Becker finishes the conversation. He leaves the room with Slater following. The moment they are out the door, Mia lets out a huge gasp. “Holy moly! Zoey, did you hear his accent? I swear, if I weren’t pregnant, I would have dry-humped his mouth.” “Calm down, will you? It’s just your pregnancy hormones running wild. And have you forgotten about your husband?” “Of course not. We have this understanding. His eyes can wander just nothing else,” she admits with a cheap smile. I laugh loudly. “So, are your eyes allowed to wander? You just said you wanted to dry-hump his mouth.” “Yes. Troy doesn’t care. He knows I love him. It’s all for fun anyway.” “I think it’s cute the two of you have that relationship, you know. Where you can joke without hurting each other’s feelings.” “But you and Drew are like that, at least, you used to be?” She raises her left eyebrow, tilting her head slightly while waiting for me to answer. I keep quiet, thinking about the way we were. Of course, as roomies, I would mouth off about men in general. It never bothered him because we weren’t together. Nowadays, I never really comment on other men and why would I? I have my hunk. “Uh oh,” Mia comments, covering her mouth. “What?” I ask, paranoid. “Your relationship has fallen into that jealously trap.” “Jealously trap? Seriously, what’s in that tea of yours?” I laugh it off. “Drew has female friends at work and it doesn’t bother me.” “Does it bother him if you talk to other males?” “I don’t talk to other males, aside from my dad and brothers.” She eyes me dubiously. “So, it doesn’t bother you at all that he spends every day at work with young women keen on furthering their career?” “Alright, that’s it,” I tell her. “You’ve been watching too much General Hospital. Drew is not like that. He loves me and I trust him. He and his colleagues are busy saving lives. Not standing around like us gasbagging about co-workers and their accents.”

I could see the sheepish grin on her face—the one of a troublemaker. Harmless fun from someone bored out of her mind while waiting for this baby to arrive. During her attempt to rise from the chair, I offer her support as she latches on with a deep breath. “I guess we should get back to work and stop ‘gasbagging’ about accents.” She laughs, letting out a loud fart accidently. Quick to apologize, her face turns beet-red as I hold on to the chair in a fit of hysterics, struggling for air. Mia was armed with a ton of magazines, dumping them on the coffee table as she fell onto the couch exhausted. I didn’t blame her; we were on the third floor and those flights of stairs were a bitch. Drew was in the kitchen, cooking something that made my mouth water and stomach growl like crazy. Much to his amusement, he joined us briefly as Mia talked relentlessly about dates. “C’mon Drew, you must have some date in mind,” Mia asks, half listening while flipping through a magazine. “Um, I don’t know. Spring is good, isn’t it?” “That’s so far away,” she complains. “Summer?” he follows, looking at me to save him from Mia. “Wouldn’t that be too hot though?” “I can see it now.” She stares above, waving her hand as the both of us look at each other confused. “A summer wedding. A floral theme. A beach wedding!” “How about fall? I’m not really a beach type person,” I say honestly. “But you live next to the beach.” “Yeah, it’s pretty. I just don’t like sand and sun on me.” Drew places his arms around my shoulders, massaging them while leaning in to kiss the top of my hair. “Aww you guys. It never gets old seeing you together. Let’s hope you can get through the wedding planning to actually make it down the aisle,” Mia jokes, laughing loudly. “We’ll be fine. I’m not as anal as you.” Drew coughs, and the dirty bastard almost chokes on his own saliva. I elbow him in the chest, warning him that I know what he’s thinking. Mind in the gutter, along with my ass in which he thoroughly enjoyed pleasuring. “Don’t worry. Once you make it down the aisle everything you fought about will be a distant memory.” “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Drew responds calmly. “Zo isn’t exactly a Bridezilla. I have every faith in you to make it down the aisle.” I touch his hand that rests on my shoulder, pulling it close to kiss the top of his knuckles. “You guys are so cute.” Mia smiles. “Enough with the cute talk,” I complain, rolling my eyes. “Cute is something you call something small and furry that hops with tiny paws.” She giggles. “Or Slater from work.” The smile on Drew’s face disappears, his hands resting still. “Who’s Slater?”

“This new guy at work. Total silver fox. Oh, and that accent.” She throws her head back, resting it comfortably on the cushion, overdramatizing the situation. “And get this. His last name is Richards. I almost died when he pulled out that comment ‘hope we’re not related.’” She chuckles quietly, the only one in the room as I keep quiet. I’m not sure why; it was pretty funny. “I guess you had to be there. I should go,” she says, oblivious to the tension mounting in the room. Drew remains unusually quiet, even when Mia slips into the kitchen and disappears from our apartment with a tray of food. “Is it just me or does that woman have an obsession with weddings?” he asks. I nod, agreeing. “Yes she does.” I scroll through my phone and show him the text from her. She pretty much texted me non-stop since lunchtime. Names and numbers of people and places that catered weddings. Mia was forgetting one important piece of information: I am not part of the royal family. I mean, swans. Really? Birds—plural—freaked me out. Even those baby birds that look all cute chirping till it flies around your head ready to attack. “Did you see this?” I point towards the contact number for The Birdman. “Birds?” He laughs. “I can imagine you now, breaking out in hives as you’re walking down the aisle.” Letting out a groan, I throw myself onto the sofa and cover my chest with the soft cushion. “Mia is . . .” “Overwhelming?” “Yes. There’s so much to do. Things I haven’t even thought about.” “I’m sure we can plan this without much trouble. There is no ‘I’ in team,” he adds sarcastically. I smile. “You’re so lame.” “That’s why you love me. For my ability to point out the lameness in a situation.” With tight lips, I nod my head accordingly. “Sure, and the fact that you can’t hear the word anal without a boner.” Drew grabs my hand, strategically placing it on the crotch of his pants. He never disappoints. And somewhere, down south, my body sang a chorus line as my fiancé stripped me naked and took me right there in our living room.



“Teal or mint green?” My eyes flutter open. Was Zoey talking to me or am I dreaming? I rub my eyes vigorously and manage to pull myself up. The clock beside me shows it’s just after seven in the morning. And then, I try to shuffle my body close to hers to be obstructed with a foreign object. Magazines, books, samples, albums surround her, strewn across our bed. “What are you going on about?” I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes open. “Teal or mint green? The theme color of the wedding.” “Neither?” “Really? Because I was thinking mint green.” “Zoey, why do you ask if you already know?” She rests her hand on my arm, calming her anxious tone. “Because we should plan the wedding together.” My body slides back into sleeping position, rolling over and ignoring the conversation she started. It was sometime after five AM that I had gotten home. It should have been an easy shift; paperwork and routine check-ups until a fire broke out at some apartment building and then the ER became busy treating patients for smoke inhalation and burns. My eyelids droop heavily as her instant rambling seems distant. I’m imagining us getting married, something short and sweet, takes one minute to say ‘I do’ with no planning or circus involved, then slipping away to some exotic location for two weeks of nothing but sex and the beach. My idea of heaven. “Funny thing happened at work yesterday. Slater caught me browsing a wedding magazine at lunch and guess what? His cousin owns a bridal boutique in Los Angeles. He said he would take me there and introduce me to her.” My eyes open wide, alarmed by the sudden need of a man—who I had never met— taking my fiancée on a road trip to LA. I try to tame my wild imagination, keeping my back towards her while hiding the growing emotion of annoyance every time she mentioned his name.

“I’m sure there’s other boutiques. Besides, every time someone offers a family member’s service, you almost feel obliged to go ahead. I thought you found a dress online?” “Yeah, I did,” she sulks. “It costs ten thousand dollars. We can’t afford that.” I cringe at the amount, wishing I could just tell her to buy whatever the hell she wanted to avoid hanging out with “Slater” at his cousin’s shop. But we had invested our money, keen on Zoey building our dream home next year. We both knew it would be a costly project; a reason why the both of us worked our ass off and tried to save every penny. “We could afford it if we moved to your dad’s place instead of buying something new.” She’s sly to bring this up again. Dad’s property is beautiful. But it’s Dad’s. I didn’t want to make new memories there—I wanted to keep the old ones alive. I just wish she would understand that, instead of constantly trying to make us move there. “With some changes, the place would really be great for us, Drew.” “I said no, Zoey.” Firm and quick to change the subject, she knows me well enough to understand it’s time to back off from that subject. I don’t want to talk anymore—prompting her to venture back onto the wedding. “Okay, so the date is set. Five months from today we will be man and wife. I know it’s short but the place is reasonable and within our budget. And as an added bonus, there’s a beautiful garden view for photos.” “Sounds great,” I say, followed with a snore. “And the photographer. So, my Uncle Leo has been doing it for years. He offered his service for free and we can just pay for the printing.” “Awesome,” I yawn. “Alright, this conversation is on hiatus.” I feel the cold air grace the inside of the covers, prompting me to turn around and open my eyes. Why isn’t her warm body beside me, naked and ready for me to pleasure? “Where are you going?” “For a run.” I laugh, loudly, the sounds bouncing off the walls. “A run? You?” “You’re not the one who has to walk down the aisle like a show pony. I’ve got five months to get my body into top shape. Everyone, and I mean everyone, will have their eyes on me. Do you know the amount of pressure that puts on my pizza-craving body?” I cover my body with the blanket while she changes into her never-worn running gear. She looks cute in her tight yoga pants. Her ass nice and round ready to be fucked. Completely dressed, she moves towards me and kisses my forehead, quick to foil my attempt to grab her and pound the fuck out of her hot ass. “Come back, please,” I beg. She’s standing at the door with a grin on her face, enough for me to know she contemplating skipping the run and coming back to bed. “You’d have to have something really good under those sheets for me to skip my run,” she teases, biting her lip on purpose. Unable to hide the smirk on my face, I quickly respond, “Come back, and I’ll show you. It’s hard,

enjoys being stroked, and depending on your mood, deep-throated too.” Shaking her head with a smile, she blows me a kiss. “You’re evil. I’m going. See you tonight, maybe.” She dashes out of the room leaving me with a raging hard-on. Night shifts—they sucked big time. “So, you insert the tube here and you’re done.” I finish explaining the procedure to Raine—one of the newer interns. I thoroughly enjoyed teaching the younger kids that came through here. Something about my thirst for wanting to spread knowledge to better the world we live in. “You explained it very well. Dr. Morris kinda gets side-tracked.” I laugh. “He has the tendency to do that.” “And how he always says ‘Back in my day’? It drives me insane. We know he hung out with the apes but geez, get with the program already,” Raine grumbles, rolling her eyes at the same time. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such deep green eyes. Perhaps they just appear green against her tanned skin. She had mentioned briefly that her parents were from Barbados but they had moved here when she was a kid. The reason for her unruly long black curly hair that had a life of its own. We walk towards the main desk, chatting about Dr. Morris and his ‘accidental’ brush with the commission when he almost left his pen inside someone while performing surgery. Raine yawns, apologising immediately. “I’m so sorry. These shifts are killing me.” “It takes a while to get used to,” I tell her. “I should be used to it already. My son is two and just started to sleep through the night.” That piece of information is new. I didn’t know how old she was but she looked young. Maybe in her very early twenties. “I didn’t know you had a son.” “Yeah, two sons. The older one is seven so he is fine. I guess the younger one is a pretty good kid now that he sleeps,” she jokes. “Your husband must enjoy the sleep too.” I smile, not thinking twice about my comment. “Oh, no husband. No dad. Well, they have a dad but the jerk ran off and I wouldn’t know where he is. As far as I’m concerned, he can stay far away.” I felt terrible that I had jumped to the conclusion she was married. It’s very unlike me to talk so much to a co-worker, but lately, I welcomed any discussion that didn’t involve seating charts or flower arrangements. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were married.” “No, it’s okay. I get it all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to have a man in my life but my boys are my first priority. Now, with studying and working here, I’m afraid that my social life is non-existent. I’d pretty much have to hook up with someone in here during working hours.” She laughs. “You wouldn’t be the first,” I admit. “I see it happen all the time.” Raine asks me if I’d like to grab a coffee from the little cart out front. Given that I still had six hours left of this shift, I welcomed the caffeine.

She enjoyed talking about her sons and how busy they kept her. Between studying, work, and taking the older one to play sports, I don’t know how she does it. And that young as well. When I was her age, my biggest dilemma was what DVD to rent on the weekends. That, and how not to annoy my new roommate. We stand and wait for the barista to complete our order, distracted by the sound of a someone running. “There you are!” Zoey runs straight towards me, her heels clicking loudly against the floors. If her face weren’t beaming, I would have fallen into a panic. “Are you okay?” “I’m more than okay! Remember that wedding venue I told you about that has five years’ waiting list down by the bay?” Vaguely. More than often, I had been zoning-out when it came to wedding talk. It’s not that I didn’t want to get married but because Zoey just went on and on about it. “Yeah, sure.” I lean in to kiss her hello. She kisses back briefly before pulling away excitedly. “They emailed me this morning. They have an opening six weeks from now. So, before you say anything, I know it’s expensive and short notice but it’s the perfect location. You can’t top that place in San Diego. It’s like the dream wedding place,” she exaggerates. “Six weeks?” I state, in shock. “Can we even pull off a wedding in that time?” “Of course we can. I have Mia and even Gigi offered to help. Plus, Mom said she’d fly over next weekend. You won’t need to do a single thing besides get fitted for a suit.” She takes a deep breath, then finally notices Raine standing beside me. “Sorry, how rude of me. Zoey, this is Raine, she’s an intern that just started.” Zoey keeps quiet, eyeing her up and down until she breaks out in a smile, extending her hand. “I’m his fiancée.” “Nice to meet you,” Raine replies. “I didn’t know Drew was engaged.” Zoey wraps her arm around my waist, squeezing tighter than usual. “Yep, and hopefully we’re getting married in six weeks.” In an effort to have a proper conversation, I try to pull her arm off me. She gazes back, almost bitter. Have I done something wrong? I was just trying to get my head around the six-week thing and the cost. “Zo, it seems impossible to pull a wedding off in six weeks.” Her tone changes, eyes watching Raine while talking back to me. “I’m certain we can pull it off. When Slater and I had lunch yesterday—” “Excuse me,” I interrupt, the same time mine and Raine’s pager goes off. Raine quickly says goodbye, telling me she’ll see me in the ward soon. I turn my focus back onto Zoey, staring at her with discontent. “You didn’t tell me you had lunch with Slater.” “You didn’t ask. I have lunch with people all the time. It’s part of my job. And besides, it was a super quick lunch down at that café with those foot-long rolls. Oh, my god.” Zoey laughs to herself, an inside ‘joke’ that no doubt had something to do with the man I was slowly resenting every minute that passed. “Slater told the funniest joke. I can’t remember how it went but I swear I laughed so hard I literally choked on my roll.”

“Sounds great,” I say, with zero enthusiasm. Her laughs slow down, the smile quickly disappearing from her face. “So, the wedding?” “Let’s do it.” I surprise myself with the answer. I need her off the market now. None of this bullshit sexy-accent co-workers trying to take her out to lunch hoping to score because she wasn’t ‘technically’ married yet. I knew how a man’s mind worked, and fuck if he ever tried to touch her! “Wait, are you serious?” She jumps up and hugs me tight, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You won’t regret it!” Despite my reluctance to leave her, my pager goes off again. Our schedules were not in sync at all but I promised to have an early breakfast with her tomorrow morning. If it meant that I would have no sleep, then so be it. At least, it would drown out the nagging feeling that something was brewing on the horizon. Something so big it could possibly tear us apart.



It’s been happening a lot lately. Moments when you don’t know whether you’re on your head or your ass. When life seems overwhelming and you wish there were ten of you or more than twenty-four hours in one day. Then, you start to think about all the times when you would lie on the couch—bored out of your mind—watching some soap opera in Spanish that you had no hope of understanding but continue to watch because the evillooking brother is somewhat cute. Life—as a bored soap-opera-watching addict—had officially taken a turn the day I got that email. I was sitting in traffic on the I-5, listening to Flashdance while getting my groove on amongst other commuters stuck in the same jam. With my body swaying left to right, and my hands waving in motion, I belted out the song until it was interrupted by the chime of an incoming email. With traffic at a complete standstill, I tapped into my inbox with one eye on the road, to find an email from The Montague—a posh and in-demand venue with a five-year waitlist. My heart skipped a million beats, nervous energy flooding my veins as I quickly read the email. They had an opening—six weeks from today. If we wanted it, all we had to do was respond and put down a deposit. The brake lights in front of me flashed red, and somewhere amongst my scattered thoughts, I managed to stop just in time, narrowly avoiding rear-ending the car in front. Focus, Zoey. The last thing you need is an accident in your new car. The Montague wasn’t your average wedding venue. Celebrities got married there. It had everything you could think of, and to top it off, the view of the Pacific Ocean from the ballroom is absolutely breathtaking. I thought about the possibility of pulling a wedding off in such short time. Also, breaking the news to Drew. Although the venue was smaller than the one I was going to book, it cost double the amount. But you only get married once, right?

Drew and I had barely seen each other due to his gruelling schedule. It didn’t bother me too much; my plate was extremely full and let’s face it—Drew was extremely needy whenever we were alone. When I could manage to grab his attention for a few minutes without being stripped naked, I would use the opportunity to bring up the wedding. I could see it was starting to irritate him. That, combined with exhaustion from his shifts. Taking a leap of faith, I responded to the email, then drove off the exit ramp and towards the hospital to tell him the good news and pray he would be on board #TeamExpensiveWedding. Visiting the hospital was something I tried to avoid. The smell of sick people everywhere freaked me out. When I would wander the halls, my mind would think about dead bodies just lying around. Thankfully, Drew was in the reception area hanging out by the coffee cart. I spotted him immediately. With a girl. Girl. Emphasis. Young. I didn’t anticipate the icky jealousness I felt when I saw him with her—Raine. Who names their kid that? Some old hipsters living out of a van smoking weed and chasing rainbows. That’s who. And her tits, they were so perky. Practically poked my eye out, like Madonna during her Erotica phase. I really wished she were ugly. That would make the whole situation easier. But she wasn’t. Perhaps that’s why I just stood on the sideline feeling old. I tried to brush off the feeling until she said that Drew hadn’t mentioned he had a fiancée. I don’t know what irritated me more: her tits or the fact he hadn’t bothered to mention me. Even in her presence, I blurted out the good news, surprised that Drew said yes. I’m counting my lucky stars, we didn’t even go into battle over it. I left the hospital with more drive to plan this wedding. With a band on his finger, no one would ever question his relationship status even if he didn’t say a word. The possessive fiancée was coming out of me. Like many things, I couldn’t shake this one off. Having a discussion with him would have been the adult thing to do, but instead I buried my unnatural thoughts and moved on to planning the honeymoon. Drew always wanted to go to Maui but I wasn’t keen on the beach. I’m hoping to sway him to visit Australia. Costly, I know, but a lifetime experience and a fantastic honeymoon location. Beaches if he wanted it, and cute koalas for me to cuddle. I woke up early and waited for him to come home. With the wedding six weeks away, I needed to haul ass and lose weight. The wedding dress fitting is this weekend and god forbid the dress I wanted didn’t fit. Despite it being just before five in the morning, I turn on my music and shuffle with my workout mix. Nothing like Paula Abdul to get your blood pumping in the wee hours of the morning. Somewhere in the middle of my sit-up and rapping to Opposites Attract, the door opens and Drew walks in. He looks tired—dark circles under his eyes while wearing his glasses. He wore them when his contacts irritated him. Placing his bag down on the floor, he walks towards me with a weak smile. “Do you know what time it is?” he asks, turning the music down slightly. “Workout time,” I reply out of breath, my stomach on the verge of combusting. He drops down to the ground, placing his hands on my knees to spread my legs wide open. Leaning forward, he moves his mouth onto mine and kisses my lips, sucking gently before retracting back.

“How long do I have before you crash?” “That depends.” He leans back in, kissing the side of my neck and distracting my train of thought. Keeping his tone low and seductive, he murmurs, “What do you want me for?” “To pick your brain.” I close my eyes, enjoying his lips against my skin. “Honeymoon stuff.” “Does it involve me fucking you?” “Yes. How would you like to fuck me down under?” He pulls himself straight, gazing back with a smirk plastered on his sexy face. “I always want to fuck you down under. I also want to fuck you from behind. Is this a trick question?” “No, silly. I mean Australia.” His smirk disappears, almost to annoyance as he pulls himself up, away from me. “You want to go to Australia on our honeymoon?” “Yes. It’s where you grew up plus I’ve always wanted to visit.” “Zoey,” he says in a sharper tone. “How can we afford to have your expensive venue plus a trip to Australia? I though we agreed we would save for our house?” I sit up straight, extending my arm to touch his. “If you’ll just hear me out—” “No.” He raises his palm, quick to shut down my idea. “If this is about Dad’s place, I don’t want to hear it.” “But you haven’t even heard me out.” “What’s there to hear?” His voice is escalating, body withdrawing and creating a hostile distance between us. “I don’t want to live there.” Drew jumps to his feet, leaving me alone in the living room. I give him a few moments, following him into the bathroom where he is stripping off to jump into the shower. My eyes wander down his perfectly built body, deliciously eyeing how each muscle is sculpted. Like he just stepped out of some fitness magazine. Raising my voice above the noise of the shower running, I try to reconcile what just happened. “I’m sorry, Drew. I just want to enjoy our honeymoon.” “I’m tired, Zoey. I just want to have a shower in peace.” I’m trying my best to be sympathetic, but the growing number of tasks that I needed to complete this week for the wedding, placed an enormous amount of pressure on me. Even with Mia, Gigi, and Mom’s help, I wanted Drew’s help. It’s supposed to be our wedding. “Well, we need to talk. I need to confirm things. You can’t keep brushing it off,” I vent in frustration, sitting on the toilet with the lid down waiting for him to respond. “Are you listening to me?” The water stops. “I’m listening, Zoey. I’m always fucking listening to you. Now, listen to me. I’m tired. I want to sleep. We’ll talk about this when I have the energy to talk about it.” I storm out of the bathroom in a hissy fit, grabbing my phone and the keys to the apartment. A run would clear my mind and stop me from arguing with Drew. With my headphones on and the footpath along the beach clear of any cyclists, I run fast, pushing myself beyond my means to the tunes of Beat It. I circled the neighborhood and am barely able to walk up the flight of stairs to our apartment, hoping Drew has calmed down enough to talk. Removing my headphones and placing them on the hall table, the

apartment is dead quiet with the sun rising and rays peeking through the kitchen window. In an effort to walk quietly towards our bedroom, the door is slightly ajar, enough for me to peek my head in. The room is dark, curtains shut, and all I can see in our bed is Drew’s back towards me followed by the sound of his gentle snores. Disappointed with how we left things, I head towards the shower and get dressed, ready to leave for work. Mia decided today was the day to bring in some fancy muffins she baked. Red Velvet to be exact. The devil’s food. Resisting the delicious servings of heaven was extremely difficult but time was not on my side. I didn’t almost kill myself this morning for nothing. I got into work early so we could get some wedding stuff out of the way. Things I desperately needed help with. Our job is to reduce headcount. The venue is costly and would only seat one hundred people. This was extremely difficult. I had a lot of family back home although Drew did not. Mia was very cutthroat. “Last time you saw this Uncle Desmond?” she questions, squinting as she reads my handwriting. “He’s my dad’s brother. If I don’t invite him then I can’t invite my favorite uncle Sal.” “And both of them are married? With kids?” “Uncle Sal remarried so technically he has six kids.” “Zoey, you need to cut this list. The room only allows one hundred people. Not one hundred and fifty. When Troy and I got married, we had to cut eighty people off our list. Trust me, they probably won’t care anyway. Remove all the kids.” “Don’t you think that’s unfair though? What if they can’t get a babysitter?” “Too bad so sad,” she says without emotion. I laugh. “Remember that when you’re invited to a wedding and you’ve got no babysitter.” “Oh yeah.” She smiles. “I forgot I was having a baby.” “How do you forget you are having a baby?” “Baby brain. The other day I forgot how to sign my name. Just went stone blank. The clerk at the store thought I was some con-artist with a stolen credit card.” Mia crams another muffin into her mouth, the cream frosting lingering on her lips. God, she’s such an evil woman. “So listen,” I say carefully. “The wedding is in six weeks and you aren’t due for ten. Would you like to be my Matron of Honour?” There is a loud scream, so high pitch it almost bursts my eardrums. She stands up with a struggle, throwing her arms over me the exact moment Slater walks into the kitchen. “Who won the lotto?” he asks, rinsing his mug in the sink and setting it under the coffee machine. Placing a pod inside, he presses the button then turns to face us, leaning against the counter with his hands reversed and pressed against the edge of the cupboard for support. Mia is still holding on; her heavy breath against my cheek is really annoying me. She smelled like muffins. Muffins I so desperately wanted to taste right now. “I’m going to be Zoey’s Matron of Honour!” she squeals with delight.

“Ahh,” he voices. “Congratulations. So when do I get to meet the elusive fiancé?” I’m quick to defend my relationship, unsure why. Maybe because of our fight this morning. “Drew isn’t elusive. He’s just super busy at the hospital.” “Maybe you guys should double date,” Mia suggests. “Double dating would require me actually having a girlfriend.” “Huh.” Mia exhales. “So, you’re not in a relationship?” I snicker at her pathetic attempt. “Way to be subtle, Mia. Watch out Slater, Mia has this obsessive need to play perfect match with eligible contenders.” Her elbow connects with my ribcage, causing me to wince in pain. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he tells us. “Besides, I have my eye on someone.” His gaze lingers long enough for me to feel slightly uncomfortable. Shifting my head sideways with a smile, I ignore the heat burning my skin. What the hell was that? Something for you to walk away from because you’re getting married. Insert witty comment right now. “Lucky eye,” I joke. “Getting all the action but not you.” Mia bursts out laughing. I’m completely mortified I had just said that. I don’t work well under pressure and stupid comments like that is a strong indication that I should carry duct tape and learn to keep my thoughts to myself. Slater turns around, removing his mug from the machine. When he turns back to face us, it’s not without a smirk. His playful stare purposely pierces through me, adding to my already uncomfortable state. “If I get my way—which I always do—it won’t be just my eye getting all the action, Zoey.” Blame the British accent. Always blame the accent. With every strength in my weak body, I lock my jaw refusing to let it fall. Mia is equally quiet, and when Slater leaves the room casually walking away, we both continue to stand still staring at the wall. “I’m not sure what to say.” Mia gulps. “We say nothing. We’re committed women. Every now and then a man will come along and say something like that to test our commitment levels. This is a test.” “You’re right. This is test. Like our finals.” “Like our finals,” I repeat. “I almost failed my finals.” “I aced mine. Sorry.” “Bitch,” she sulks. We leave the kitchen and head back to our desks, abandoning the wedding planning. Despite the unsettling feeling that Slater left behind, we have a meeting in an hour and I will be forced to face him. It’ll be fine. I need to relax and be myself. Then every uncomfortable feeling will soon be a distant memory. Before leaving my desk, I grab my cell and send a text to Drew, apologizing for this morning and

seeing if we could have dinner tonight even if it’s a quick bite to eat at the café next to the hospital. Given that it was only after ten, I didn’t expect him to respond till much later, leaving my cell behind at my desk. The meeting was to discuss a building being torn down with excellent potential for a small set of condos facing the ocean. It’s prime real estate and would attract investors from overseas. Unlike some of the other condos along the seaboard, this would be very upmarket. I walk to the boardroom, entering quietly and switching the lights on. It’s not very big, enough to fit about twenty people seated comfortably. There’s a large mahogany desk sitting center with a whiteboard on the front wall. Aside from that, there is nothing else besides washed-out grey walls. Slater walks in with his Mac in hand, setting it on the table with his two cells beside it. He glances up, smiling, then focuses back on the screen and types in his password. “So, I’m thinking about tracking down Bros to play at my wedding,” I blurt out, completely out of nowhere in attempt to curb the uncomfortable silence. He laughs. “When will I be famous? Odd song choice.” “Why not have fun? It doesn’t have to be all corny love music.” “I would try to hunt down A-Ha. Better vibe.” “They’re a one-hit wonder. What else would they sing besides Take On Me?” “And Bros would sing what else? Their other songs barely made the top one hundred.” Unable to hide my smile, I ask, “Didn’t know you were an eighties buff.” “It was my childhood,” he says, eyes on me and distancing himself from his Mac. “You look a bit young though to be caught up in that era.” “Don’t be fooled by the magic that is Loreal face cream,” I joke. “Okay, Ducky. Hate him or love him?” “Loved him. He was the ultimate best friend. Screw the cool guys.” “That’s what I thought.” I wonder out loud, “Favorite cartoon?” “Voltron.” “Uh, such a guy thing to say.” “And yours?” he questions with a spirited smile. “Mmm, let’s see. Strawberry Shortcake, Rainbow Brite, Masters of the Universe, Garbage Pail Kids. Oh and Fat Albert.” He nods in agreeance. “Fat Albert was the best show.” “Right? It’s funny how his weight was never an issue back then but god forbid you had a show that dealt with weight these days. My brother had a baby and his wife will only let their son watch educational shows like the Jiggles or something like that.” “Do you mean Wiggles?” Slater asks, amused by our change of topic. “Perhaps. Should I be questioning now or later as to how you know that?” He laughs. “Later.” We dialed the number of the client, placing the call on speaker while we conferenced. The meeting went on for two hours, straight into lunchtime. By the time we hung up, I was famished. And to make

matters worse, I had one of those supplement shakes for lunch instead of real food. I’ll admit it was a late-night infomercial that sucked me in. Along with the thigh master. Back at the kitchen, I shake the canister that held the concoction that would secretly make me lose weight. My cell is sitting on the counter; no messages or calls from Drew. Slater walks in, straight for the microwave, unwrapping his food from the package and placing it in for not even a minute. When he opens the door, the familiar aroma of melted cheese and sliced pepperoni lingers in the room. “You have pizza for lunch?” I ask, licking the side of my lips to contain the drool. My shake looks like grass clippings blended with muddy water. Very unappetizing. “Yesterday’s pizza,” he corrects me. “The best kind. Extra greasy from the excess oil.” “Okay, you are now my favorite person ever. No one understands how great leftover pizza is. Drew is always throwing it in the thrash on a mission to getting me to eat healthier.” He pauses mid-bite, then lowers his head watching me carefully. “You don’t talk about him much.” “Who? Drew?” “Uh huh. Your fiancé.” “Really? I thought I talk about him all the time.” He shakes his head. “So how long have you been together?” “A year, technically. But we were roomies for like four years.” “Friends to lovers.” “Yes.” I laugh. “Roomies to lovers more like it. And what about you? Why aren’t you married yet? I heard what you said earlier but you’re one of those rare catches. A lover of all things retro.” “I guess I haven’t found someone worth marrying. I’ve dated women and had relationships but none worth continuing.” “At least you aren’t averse to commitment.” “I think commitment is beautiful. One person to share your life with. Given, it’s with the right person. Till then, happy to be single.” He winks, bringing the pizza towards his mouth as I watch hopelessly. “I don’t miss being single. It’s not for me.” I take a sip, trying to relax my gag reflex as the liquid hits the back of my throat. It’s terrible—the women in the infomercial were totally faking it! This did not taste yummy like they said it would. “I like the solitude. And sometimes just the freedom of doing what I please,” Slater continues, then falls into silence. I thought about what he said. I get plenty of solitude, and for the most part, I do whatever I please. Drew never held me back from living my life. In fact, he encouraged me to get out more. See more things. One of the reasons why I didn’t understand his adversity to honeymooning in Australia. My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I see on the screen it’s Drew. “Hey,” he says in a defeated voice. “What’s wrong?” “A cruise ship overturned out in the sea and they’re flying patients in here.”

“That’s awful.” I almost cry. “Are you going to be okay?” “Yeah, it’s just going to be a long night. Double shifts. I won’t be home until who-knows-when. I have a couple of moments now if you wanted to ask me anything and I’m sorry I can’t do dinner.” My mind goes blank. “I can handle everything, I guess.” “I just want you to be my wife, Zoey. I don’t care how or where it happens. I’m sorry about this morning. I was tired.” I smile, happy to reconcile. “I want that too. So I know work is crazy but Troy wants to organize a bachelor weekend for you.” He barely laughs, his tone quieter than usual. “I expected that. Just tell him to text me and I’ll respond when I can.” “Okay, but is this the bit where I should protest to topless girls dancing around you while fanning you with banana leaves?” “Naked, Zo. No clothes.” “What? Do they seriously go all nude?” I’m distracted by Slater’s chuckling. His head is down, buried in his cell until he raises his eyes to meet mine. I’m sensing he is laughing at how gullible I am. “Stop laughing,” I tell him, unable to hide my annoyance. “Excuse me?” Drew’s voice startles me. “Sorry babe, not you. Slater is being a pain in my ass today showing off with his pizza and he overheard what I just said and thinks I’m a loser.” The line is quiet, not even any background noise filtering through. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I check the screen which shows the call is still connected. “Hello? Drew? Are you still there?” “I’m here,” he responds flatly. “Phew, for a second there I thought the line dropped and—” “How often do you have lunch with him?” “Who?” My eyes dart to Slater. He is still standing a few feet away. I cover the speaker on my phone and mouth that I’m heading outside. My feet move on their own accord, towards one of the meeting rooms. “Are you talking about Slater?” “Why did it take you so long to answer that?” “Because I left the kitchen. It’s uncomfortable to talk on the phone when someone else is in the room. Especially when you ask me how often I have lunch with him.” “You just said who. As in you didn’t know who I was talking about,” Drew’s voice is thin, gritting his words as if they’re laced with acid. “You damn well knew who I was talking about.” How did this conversation turn into an argument? And over Slater? “What the hell is your problem?” I argue back. “We share the same lunchroom. I can’t help it if we are both preparing lunch at the same time. People need to eat. It’s a communal area.” “So this happens every day?” He raises his voice, flustered and angry for no goddamn reason.

“I don’t know, Drew, I don’t keep count,” I say with the intent of being sarcastic. “I’m really done with this conversation.” “Of course you are,” he laughs maliciously. “Bye.” I end the call and let out a frustrated huff, tapping my foot to vent my anger. What the fuck just happened? Drew isn’t a jealous person. At least, the past year he wasn’t. I’ve done nothing wrong but spend every moment planning our wedding. Why does he have a problem with Slater? I’ve given him no reason to not trust me. And anyway, it’s not like Slater is interested in a woman like me. He looks like the type of man that likes his women refined, wearing pearl necklaces and carry Birkin bags. That’s so beside the point. It doesn’t matter who Slater is attracted to. What matters is finding out what bug crawled underneath Drew’s skin and planted the seed of jealousy.



I would gladly write this week off. Things just kept getting worse; the pressure mounted every which way I turned. I studied medicine knowing it would be a difficult career choice. It was a given that I would need to put in more hours than an average job. This week kicked my ass to the gutter and buried me along with it. Disaster after disaster and a full ER ’round the clock. I rarely stopped to eat, let alone grab a drink of water. When I finally got home each morning, I couldn’t even function, struggling to stay awake and spend time with Zoey. I was snappy, at my worst, and she didn’t seem to understand the pressure I was under. Yesterday, I almost lost a patient on the table because I was so exhausted and wasn’t thinking clearly. Thank God Raine was beside me, pointing out where I had almost made a mistake. Something that could have cost me my career. It wasn’t just the long shifts that weighed on my mind, it was also the upcoming wedding and Zoey’s newfound friendship with a man I had never met. A man that Mia has referenced on more than one occasion to be ‘English sex on legs.’ While Zoey never commented, her smile that followed had me seeing red. The fucker irked me. Even though I had never laid eyes on him, the fact that he spent more time with my fiancée than I did, left me bad-tempered. And I took it out on one person—Zoey. Not seeing her as often as I would like had become a strain on our relationship. And every moment she had spare, she was out meeting caterers, dressmakers, stationary people, you name it. Her head was totally wrapped around this wedding. I just wish I could be more involved. Despite my earlier reluctance, I actually did give a shit about some things. Like where we would spend our honeymoon because I planned to devour her body for the entire trip. “What a night.” Raine collapses on the staff lounger beside me, removing her hair from the tight bun only to re-do it again. Why do women do that? “Did I thank you in the past twenty hours for saving me?” “I think a dozen times. But let’s hear it one more time, just to boost my ego.”

“Thank you.” I smile, touching her hand to show her how grateful I am. How easily fatigue caught up with me and could have damaged everything I worked hard for. Her eyes wander to where my hand rests, and immediately, I remove it. Shit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Fuck, I need sleep. “You’re welcome.” She bumps my shoulder with hers, and continues to smile as if it didn’t mean anything. Thank God. “You know what the best part is? I get to go home now and put my mom hat on.” “I don’t know how you do it. You’re just . . .” I trail off, unsure of how to voice my admiration without coming across like a dick. “I’m nothing, Drew. I made mistakes, twice actually. I should have been careful but I was too caught up. These two mistakes are the best thing to happen to me. But it’s hard work and something I have to do. My boys deserve a good life. I can sleep when I’m dead.” She had her head screwed on, knew where her priorities lie. My cell inside my front pocket vibrates, and I remove it, reading the text from Zoey. Invitations sent but they used the wrong sticker to seal the envelope. I’m so upset they screwed it up!



And just like that, I’m brought down to reality. I didn’t even know how to respond, and instead, didn’t. After our argument last week over Zoey having lunch with Slater, there was constantly a giant elephant in the room. We never discussed it, avoiding each other or just making civil conversation. I fucking missed the old Zoey, the one who would watch TV and ridicule Bridezillas because all she ever wanted was a wedding in a small chapel with Elvis and some old lady witnessing the nuptials, armed with a bottle of tequila on the side to get the party started. “I should head home. More wedding stuff that’ll probably get dumped on my shoulders,” I say without thinking, venting my frustrations. “I can’t believe you’re getting married, it’s a big deal you know.” “As big as having two kids?” I crack, grabbing my bag from my locker, and pulling out my hoody. “Depends how you view marriage.” “A lifelong commitment to someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” Raine grins, standing up and removing her shirt. She’s wearing a tank underneath that says Vegan. I divert my eyes back onto my locker, pretending I didn’t notice that she appeared bra-less. You’re tired, and you miss your fiancée. Ignore everything. “Wow, can I clone you? Why aren’t there more guys like you around?” she says with a slight chuckle. Grabbing her jacket from her bag, she rummages around and finally produces a nut bar from the healthy café a block over. It was my favorite one too. Ripping into the packaging, she takes a bite closing her eyes. “How good are these bars? I’m so glad they have that place around the corner.” “The best,” I respond, enjoying that we had common eating habits. “Have you tried the fig one?” “Yes,” she answers, chewing. “I bought like ten of them. My kids love them. Plus the kale chips? Heaven, I tell you.” “I can’t get over the rubbish people put in their mouths. Zoey is a bottomless pit when it comes to

candy bars and pizza.” “She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” she says in a decidedly odd tone, lowering her eyes towards the ground. “Or how lucky she is to have you.” I keep still, wanting to thank her again for helping me out, but she’s quick to wave goodbye without saying a word, leaving me alone in the room. The curtains are open, sun filtering through the apartment with the smell of coffee lingering in the air. The living room is covered in magazines, paperwork, boxes, and samples of things. It was one giant mess. My OCD kicked in, but I had things that required urgent attention. Throwing my bag and keys on top of the kitchen table, my feet move towards the bathroom where I can hear the water running. She’s singing loudly and off-key to some random song. “Tell it to my heart, tell me I’m the only one . . .” “Zoey,” I call. She stops singing, peeping her head out of the shower curtains. “Oh, hey. You’re home.” “Yes.” I didn’t know what else to say, and with a moment of awkward silence, she moves her head back around and continues to shower quietly. There’s two things I could do here: walk away and get the sleep I needed or strip off and join her in the shower. Letting out a sigh, I knew I had to fix whatever this weird vibe between us was. Stripping off would mean I would get laid. Winning. I remove my clothes, tossing them into the dirty clothes hamper that sits near the door, and pull the curtain aside, watching her stand in the wet completely naked. Fuck—I got hard just looking at her naked. It seemed like forever since we’ve been sexual. I’m also quick to notice that her body looks more toned from the copious amounts of exercise she’s been doing. Without saying a word, I climb in and stand underneath the water, ignoring her just to goad some sort of reaction. She’s watching me intently, mouth screwed with her evenly sculpted brows furrowing with anger. “You’re breaking the rules.” “Rules? What rules?” “We were supposed to hold off till the wedding.” I laugh it off, grabbing the soap and lathering my body. “I briefly recall you mentioning that but chose not to listen. The answer is no.” “No?” “No,” I state, turning to face her. I know her well enough to know she had her sex eyes on. The ones that pretended to be uninterested but down below, her pussy is soaking wet ready for me to enter and fuck her like crazy. “I’m serious, Drew.” I rest my hand against the wall, pinning her against it. “I’m serious, Zoey. I’m going to fuck you now. You’re going to cum. I’m going to cum. I fucking miss you and you have no say.”

Her mouth opens to speak, and I’m quick to place my hand over it, kissing her wet neck while I press my body against hers. With a weak attempt, she tells me again to stop, but her body is begging for it. Nipples hard and skin crawling with goose bumps as she waits for me to enter her. I fucking missed her so much, unable to control myself any longer. My hips buckle forward, and with my over-sensitive cock throbbing in the palm of my hand, I circle her entrance ready to fuck her senselessly. Against the white wet tiles, her body slides when I thrust myself in and out, keeping in rhythm with her loud moans. She’s almost there, her pussy dripping wet, making that noise that drives me to the brink of insanity. I bring her wrists together and lift them above her head, exposing her body—a beautiful canvas that belonged to me and in only four more weeks, would be mine till death do us part. I wish she knew what she did to me, how she made me feel, and gave up these stupid games of trying to fit in with what society says. Yeah, society may tell you to hold off until the wedding night but I don’t give a goddamn fuck. The fire rises within me, the pounding in my chest mirroring the aching throb building as every second passes. My skin is hot, steam rising above the warm water that settles against my body. I’m fading, slowly, sinking deeper into her until the fireball barrels throughout my entire body, reaching every peak, every inch as a loud groan escapes my mouth the same time I bury my face into her neck. I see only red light, peeking through my closed eyes as the rush overcomes me, causing my mind to blissfully ignore her pushing my chest away. Opening my eyes, blinking away the water from my lashes, I see her staring back at me with a gratified expression—her flushed cheeks a dead giveaway that she peaked at the same time. When she comes down from the high, her face changes, a look of discontent. “I told you I wanted to wait.” I’m unable to hide the satisfied smile on my face. “C’mon, that was never going to happen. Plus I didn’t hear you complaining after what looked like a very intense orgasm.” Pulling myself out, my cock springs free, still hard and ready for round two. I should give myself a few minutes, grabbing the shampoo bottle and squeezing a drop into my hand, lathering the foam all over my head as I massage it in. “You’ve just ruined something that should have been special on our wedding night,” she says blankly, still standing in the same position. I laugh; what a ridiculous notion. “I don’t understand what’s going on but I’m sorry I just fucked you. Is that what you’re after?” “I’m after you taking this wedding stuff serious!” she shouts. “God, would you listen to yourself?” I almost yell back. “We already live together, Zoey, practically like a married couple. The only thing missing is a stupid certificate. I’m trying to take it seriously but it’s becoming a joke. The next thing you’ll want is an orchestra playing and doves bringing our wedding rings to us.” There’s silence; her faced racked with guilt. “Don’t fucking tell me there’s an orchestra and doves bringing us wedding rings?” “They don’t bring them. They kinda just drop them in your hands.” I shoot her an annoyed look, stepping out of the shower while I grab a towel to quickly dry myself. Roughly rubbing the towel against my skin, I use it as a way to vent my frustration. “And I’m guessing those doves don’t work for free?”

“Not exactly.” Wrapping the towel around my waist, I turn to face her standing still in the shower—naked. I wish her body didn’t distract me, but I was beyond furious at this stupid dove thing. We weren’t fucking royalty the last time I checked. “I still want to build a house next year. And I would hate to think you are spending all our money just to show off to a bunch of people I don’t care about.” “How dare you say that about me?” she follows, stepping out and grabbing her pink towel. Without drying herself off, she wraps it around her body and tucks it in, just above her left breast. “We don’t get a do-over, Drew. This will be our only wedding day. I want it to be special.” “Special doesn’t have to deplete our savings,” I warn her. “It’s Mia’s fault. She’s getting in your head.” “It’s not Mia’s fault and she isn’t getting in my head.” “Yeah, whatever,” I mumble. “I bet she likes to tell you how perfect of a man Slater is.” Zoey laughs, grabbing her brush and running it through her hair. “Yeah, she does. Doesn’t mean I listen.” Her comment throws me off, and that pang of jealously hits me once again. I grab her wrist and pull her towards me; her towel loosens its hold and drops to the floor. Turning her, I wrap my arms around her waist as our reflection greets us in the mirror. “I don’t want you near him, do you understand?” I wait for her reaction, staring directly at the foggy glass. “C’mon Drew, we work together. I can’t not be near him.” “You work together. That’s it.” “Yeah, I could say the same for Raine.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means the exact same thing, Drew.” I didn’t like where she was going with this, and to claim what belongs to me, I spread her legs, tilting my head as I cup her ass in my hand. “Drew,” she begs, with a slight warning. “Please, I really want us to make our wedding night special.” I don’t listen to her, at least, I make her think I’m not listening. My fingers move across, grazing her perfect asshole and sliding down to feel her slick pussy waiting for me—again. She begs me once more not to continue, but her body betrays her mind. I tease her slowly, and just when her begging stops, I pull back, her breathing uneven as she stares at my reflection in the mirror. “Have it your way. I won’t touch you,” I tell her. “Just remember, you’re sending me on my bachelor party and I’m pretty certain it’ll involve naked women.” “Troy promised me there wouldn’t be.” I kiss the top of her shoulder, and walk out of the room without saying another word.

It wasn’t unusual to be paged on my rostered day off. Three people called in sick and they were

short-staffed. Raine had also been called in, and thankfully, she kept me company today. “I went on a blind date the other night,” she tells me as we hang out in the reception area. “And?” “I don’t want to say. It’s embarrassing.” “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. He stood you up, is that it?” “He brought a list and proceeded to ask me what fetishes I had,” she says slowly. “Oh,” I mouth. “Oh indeed,” she repeats. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if we were actually dating, just not what I was expecting on the first night.” “Straight to business.” “I get it. Trust me, straight to business isn’t such a bad thing but that’s just one step too far. I need to get laid,” she complains, leaning against the desk while crossing her arms. “Just not to a nympho.” I wasn’t sure what to say. This girl tells me she needs to get laid, and two years ago, I would have taken her to the janitor’s closet and made that happen. She’s hot—I can’t deny that. Fuck, stop allowing your brain to conjure up images of this girl. You’re getting married! With doves, apparently. “Sorry.” She covers her mouth instantly. “Forgot I was talking to you. Too much information. Me and my big mouth.” “Sorry, I can’t help you out.” I smile, then retract my words. “Shit, didn’t mean it that way. Not that I would help you out if I could. I meant, I don’t know anyone . . . Never mind.” “Perhaps we should change subjects.” “Perhaps.” I smile nervously. “Or at least, sideways. Let me ask you a question but if it’s too personal just tell me.” “Shoot.” “Is the wedding night this big deal to you, as a woman? I mean, say you live with the guy, what would make that night so special?” “I’m not following. Do you mean why is it special?” “No.” I shake my head, trying to get my words out correctly. “Zoey wants to hold off on intimate things until the wedding.” “Right . . .” she drags. “But you have already done things?” “Please, I’m thirty. Of course we’ve done things.” “Sorry, just getting the facts. So, I guess that would be nice. Build up the sexual tension, which makes the wedding night so much more meaningful.” “So, you would do that too?” “I don’t know. Depends on the guy. I mean, if he was hot like yourself probably not.” The second she said it, we both fell silent, unable to digest the uncomfortable air between us from her mentioning of my looks. “God—okay—sorry, I shouldn’t have just blurted that out. I need to go.” “Raine.” I call her name, but she walks away quickly and doesn’t turn back.

Great, I created another mess. I decided to let her go, not wanting to cause any further embarrassment. I looked at my watch; an hour to go then straight home for a quick change of clothes then back into town to celebrate my final weeks as a bachelor. Troy may have told Zoey and Mia it would be a few harmless drinks at some club in LA, but his crude texts and equally shocking pictures warned me that I would be in for a long night. A night that specifically warranted—the ‘Bro Code.’



Drew was a flat-out jerk. When he finally agreed to wait until the wedding night, I thought great—he understands where I’m coming from and wants to make the night special. Savor something traditional despite our modern living arrangement. Wrong. He wanted to be an asshole. Purposely walking around the apartment in boxers, stripping off with a raging hard-on while combing his damn hair. And worst of all, he told me to roll over because he needed his space in bed to jerk off. I still recall that moment because it was so damn hot. But I had to stick to my guns. Struggling to resist the temptation of jumping on top and riding him hard until the sun set. “Zoey, can you move to your side of the bed? I need to take care of things.” He’s wearing his glasses, and hair a wild mess from the shower. His tone is serious, paired with a piercing stare that leaves me begging the question as to why. I’m heavily distracted by his upper chest, his muscles so perfectly sculpted and toned, bare and exposed for me to see. “What things?” I move the wedding diary closer to me, balancing my laptop on top of the quilt. “I need to masturbate.” “Excuse me?” I choke, coughing on cue while trying to compose myself. The tickle in my throat lingers, irritating me like crazy. “I need a release. So, if you don’t mind, please move over so I can get started.” I had no words, sliding over to my side of the bed as his hands move into the sheets and onto his cock. The screen in front of me is flickering, yet all I see is blank while my mind tries to comprehend the absurdity of this situation. Just ignore him. He is doing this on purpose.

But Drew knew me oh so well. Gradually building up his strokes hard and fast, releasing violent moans as his body begins to peak, neck stretched wide exposing his skin—the very spot that drove him crazy when I kissed it. The ache between my legs resonates, my tight little boy-shorts becoming increasingly wet. I couldn’t cave now; the wedding is only weeks away. We didn’t have sex for four years. What’s a measly four weeks? It’s twenty-eight days. Six hundred and seventy-two hours. Stop it Zoey! You’re only torturing yourself. I open an email and try to read the content; I read the first line multiple times and still couldn’t remember what it said. Something about the flower arrangement and the invoice. “I’m sorry. Is my moaning distracting you?” Drew stops, his pupils dilated while waiting for a response. “No, carry on,” I say with a gulp. The bastard did. 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, 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 this weekend,” he says, void of any emotion. “The bachelors’ night? I forgot that was on.” “Really?” Grabbing a tissue, he wipes himself clean and climbs out of bed, walking towards 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 that you forgot it was on?” I was a shitty liar. Of course I remembered. It didn’t help that Mia went on and on about Troy’s bachelor night. It 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 wanted to trust Drew—I should be trusting Drew. But things between us were rocky. We didn’t see eye to eye on many things involving the wedding and he wouldn’t budge on the honeymoon. Instead, I was forced to book Maui much to my displeasure. Because of that, I was a cranky bitch around him. Add my non-existent pizza diet, and my mood swings were giving everyone whiplash. “Sounds like it’ll be a great night.” It’s the only thing I could say to avoid arguing. And with that, he says good night and turns his back towards me, falling fast asleep.

At work, I tried to distract myself. Despite Drew’s petty spit, I continued to hang out with Slater, enjoying his laid-back personality. He was easy going and didn’t sweat the small stuff. We often spent 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 made me laugh, and relieved the builtup tension that was brewing inside of me due to the constant battles with Drew. Today was no exception, and I purposely annoyed 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. End the conversation before you can’t backtrack and you’re 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 stared triggered an uncomfortable feeling. The same feeling I read about in my books. The feeling of attraction. “What’s got you so on edge?” “Nothing.” “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 is gazing at me waiting for 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. Slater is leaning back in his big brown leather chair, swinging back and forth with his hands clapped together near his mouth. His striking good looks are a small distraction. “Things have been difficult lately.” “I can see. You have a lot on your plate.” “I just didn’t expect this to be hard work. The whole wedding-planning thing. I thought it was supposed to be all fun but all we ever do is fight.” Slater remains quiet, allowing me to speak, keeping his stare blank. “Drew’s been short tempered and everything about us doesn’t . . . I don’t know.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Zoey, what does your gut say?” “It wants pizza.” I laugh. “Have pizza. You’re beautiful. Your body is amazing. A few slices of pizza won’t stop you fitting into a wedding dress. Let me take you out tonight. There’s a great pizza place just outside of the city. It’ll be a great way to get your mind of things.”

It would be a great way to get my mind off things, but spending time with Slater, alone, would only anger Drew. Unless . . . he didn’t know. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Besides, he would be busy staring at tits and pussy. That is so much worse than having an innocent pizza with a co-worker. The same time I’m about to say yes, Mia bursts into Slater’s office with a flushed face. She bends over, clutching onto her belly, instantly alarming the both of us. Shit! She can’t have the baby in here! “Change of plans,” she announces, out of breath. I quickly stand up, grabbing onto her arm to support her weight. “Change of plans? Is the baby coming?” “Bachelorette night has been moved to tonight. Your mom just called me. Your dad sprained his ankle tripping over something in the garden. She can’t come now and to top it off, the boat I had arranged the party on won’t take pregnant women! Something about being a liability . . . assholes.” “Okay, so why tonight?” “Because I scored last-minute reservations at that Teppanyaki restaurant you love.” “No way!” I exclaim. “Mr. Miyagi’s?” She nods with a proud smile. “Plus . . . a little something special for afterwards.” “Does it involve naked guys?” “I’m not saying a word.” Mia squints, hiding her smile while lowering her head. Her jet-black hair, grown past her shoulders, covers her face. “I should probably start drinking now,” I say with excitement, looking forward to unwinding with the girls. “Okay, I guess I’ll leave you guys to get back to whatever you need to get back to.” Mia’s eyes dart back and forth, waddling away with a curious expression. “So, raincheck on that pizza?” Slater suggests, pulling me back to his presence in the room. His attention is fixed on the screen, and the lingering glance that bothered me before Mia walked in—has disappeared. “Sure.” I follow through with a smile, walking out of his office and when out of his sight, run towards Mia’s desk to probe her about tonight. “Open your mouth!” Mia shouts over the noise as the chef throws a prawn at my mouth which somehow lands on my breast. My shimmery rose-gold dress is quite low, exposing massive cleavage. I peel the prawn off my skin, wiping myself down with a napkin, all the while struggling to hold in my laughter. The four of us, Mia, myself, Gigi my ex-neighbor, and my friend Callie, continue to laugh loudly, tears streaming down our faces as we struggle to contain ourselves. It started with some harmless vegetables being thrown at us, but by the time the seafood came out, we were in a fit of hysterics. Especially when Callie missed and the squid got mangled in her perfectly styled hair. Gigi has a turn, instantly catching the piece of tofu thrown at her. With a perfect catch, we cheer her on as she swallows the food. “That, my girls, comes with experience.”

I place my arm around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. I really missed having her around. She was my rock for so many years and that person I could always count on. Between her back-and-forth trips to the Middle East, we rarely had time to talk much anymore. She hadn’t changed much; still beautifully aged with her long grey hair tied into her usual braid. The dress she chose to wear tonight is slightly out of character, black with long sleeves, but she added a piece of her unique personality: an amethyst necklace that sat in line with the skirting of her dress, and what looked like a diamond hanging center. “Tell me about this new man,” I ask with a mouthful of sushi. “No longer new. We’ve been seeing each other for six months. Did I tell you he’s a Sheikh?” “Uh, no,” I say, eager to hear more. “That’s interesting.” “Honey, interesting is an understatement. This man makes me come alive. My horoscopes forewarned me of new beginnings.” “Does mine say that my fiancé has become a crabby eighty-year-old woman?” “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Drew can be intense when he’s passionate about something. Like when he was falling for you.” She smiles, reminding me of a time when life was so simple. Gigi has seen it all. My waste-of-time relationship with Jess; Drew and I hooking up. She’s seen me at my absolute worst, when life had kicked me to the gutter and shit all over me. “I need a drink,” I yell, to no one in particular. A waiter walks past at the same time, bringing a bottle of wine. I drink the glass quickly, demanding another and realizing I hadn’t relaxed like this for quite some time. Drew and I were stuck in some sort of work rut. We rarely went out and had fun. He just wanted to stay home and have sex. Granted, I enjoyed the sex part but I wish he wanted to get out more. “It’s going to work itself out. Small bump, but an exciting journey ahead,” Gigi tells me. Big fucking bumps and stressful journey ahead. I just wasn’t going to tell her that and be the killjoy tonight. Finishing up dessert and another bottle of wine, Mia announces it’s time to go. With an array of excitement, we grab our purses and follow her lead. A twenty-minute drive later, we parked in front of a bar in a seedier part of town. The streets were dimly lit, the sounds of dogs barking and alarms ringing heard in the distance. “Okay ladies, time to have fun!” Callie leans in and whispers in my ear, “The last time she said that, squishy sea life got into my hair.” She follows with a hiccup, grabbing my hand as we walk into the bar. I missed hanging out with Callie. It’s been a few months since we’ve gotten together. Thankfully, she’s in a much better place having suffered depression after her split from her husband. Mia hands us all a whistle, shaped like a penis. Everyone puts it around their neck with enthusiasm, and I follow because the wine is clouding my judgment and penis whistles look like they’re a lot of fun. Then, she hands me a sash that says Future Mrs. Anal. “I can’t wear this!” I hand back the sash followed by constant hiccupping. Mia throws it over my head. “Drew is a neat freak. Very anal about cleanliness.” “I know but people will think I like anal!”

“But you do like anal.” “The whole world doesn’t need to know that.” She scrunches up her face, exhaling like it’s no big deal. “Suck it up and don’t be a party pooper. Listen . . .” She pulls me towards her. “It’s our song!” Whitney Houston blares over the speaker, and with the crowd singing along, I scan the room and notice predominantly women inside. It’s a full house, majority dancing around and drunk-singing with glasses in hand. There’s a few brides to be, and seems to be a popular ladies’ joint. Interesting venue choice, but nevertheless, the music rocked. We find a table near the front, and just as we take our seats, the lights black out. There’s a hush in the room, followed by a few piercing whistles. One of them from our table. Two, now. Then, three. When the music starts, and “Like a Prayer” begins, the dim lights center on the stage and the silhouette of a man dressed in a priest’s robe becomes clearer as the lights brighten. On cue with the beat, the man rips off the robe wearing nothing but a leopard thong leaving zero to the imagination. Hung like a goddamn horse. Shit. I blow my whistle, along with the girls, singing at the top of my lungs while dancing to the music. The dancer makes eye contact, shuffling towards me as he dry humps my ass, and sadly, that hung horse was actually a prawn dick, in disguise. When the song ends, another male hops onto the stage, dancing more sexual at a slow pace to “Red Red Wine.” It gives us a moment to calm down, swaying along to the tune, and when I reach towards my purse to grab my cell, Mia is quick to slap my hand and take it off me. “No calling Drew,” she yells over the music. Before I even have time to sulk, Mia pulls some penis-shaped shot glasses out of her purse. She calls for the waiter to top us off, except hers with only soda. “Next game!” Mia shouts, her voice becoming hoarse. “This is called the ex-factor.” Great, I bet you had to perform something. Thankfully, the alcohol releases any inhibitions I would normally have. “Zoey, since it’s your bon voyage, this game is to say farewell to the last man you had sex with before Drew.” I spit out my drink. “Mia, I can’t do that.” “You can’t, but I will.” She grabs my phone out of my purse. My reflexes are weak, so I just sit and watch unable to connect the dots of what I need to do to stop her. I doubt he’d respond anyway. “Noah?” Gigi asks. “Leave him alone,” I warn her, penis shot in hand while I drink it in one go. It burns my throat, my body shaking as it passes through. “Too late.” Mia passes my phone back. Fuck, what has she done? Drew would kill me. He wasn’t exactly pleasant the last time Noah stumbled out of my bedroom. I try to read the screen but it’s blurry. It lights up a few minutes later, his response polite and flirtatious. Typical Noah Mason—always leaving you wanting more. I push my cell aside, ignoring the message sitting in my inbox and enjoy the rest of the show. An hour later, Gigi tells us she has to leave. With an early flight out of the States, she needed to catch

a few hours of sleep before heading to the airport. We say our goodbyes, promising to catch up when she returns next week. Callie is the next to bail. “I’m sorry Zo, I’m so tired and these new meds knock me out before midnight.” “I understand,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her to hug her tight. “Thank you so much for coming out tonight. I miss this, I miss you.” She nods her head with a genuine smile, kissing my forehead and leaves our table to catch a cab back home leaving only myself and Mia. “I’m ready to go,” I moan, sleepy from the tequila and wine. “It’s midnight,” she yawns. “Exactly.” I laugh. “Past your bedtime.” We make our way towards the exit, through the crowd that has gathered outside, and safely into Mia’s car. I rest my head against the window, momentarily distracted by my email pinging. I wouldn’t usually check it on a Friday night, but decide to anyway. It’s a meeting request from Slater: first thing Monday morning with a new client of ours that we just won the tender for. “Oh wow,” I gasp. “We just won the tender for The Newman Group.” “That’s fantastic! Preparing the paperwork all week paid off.” I read the rest of the email. Slater needed the contracts before Monday just to cross-check a few things. “Huh, Slater needs the contracts before Monday.” “Wait, I have them in the back of my car. I was too lazy to take my bag out this afternoon. Why don’t we drop it off now?” she suggests. “Because it’s midnight, Mia. The poor man is sleeping.” “Please,” she brushes off. “He’s single. It’s Friday night.” She presses the button on her Bluetooth, and within seconds, the car is ringing, loudly and hurting my ears. “Hello?” he answers with a raspy voice. “Hi Slater it’s Mia. Hope I didn’t wake you?” She turns my way with a smirk on her face. “No. Wide awake, Mia.” “Good. Zoey mentioned the tender went through. I have the contracts in my car and I happen to be only two blocks away from your neighborhood. Did you want me to drop them off?” “That would be handy but I really wouldn’t want you to go out of your way. It’s late.” “I’d rather do it now. Just text me your address and I’ll be there soon.” She hangs up quickly as the text comes through. Entering the address into her GPS, it tells us the location is ten minutes away. “Why didn’t you say I was with you?” “He didn’t ask.” With Mia distracted, I check my cell and find nothing from Drew. Disappointed, I respond to Noah’s

text letting him know I’m engaged. Better to put out that fire before it becomes another issue with Drew. Slater’s apartment is a studio in a poshy neighbourhood. He told me that he often travels between here, Los Angeles, and London. Owning apartments in each location. We are greeted by a friendly doorman who ushers us towards the elevator. Slater’s apartment is on the fifth floor along with another three apartments. We walk towards number four, Mia knocking gently as I stand behind her, keeping still. He opens the door, dressed in jeans and a white tee, barefoot. When his eyes meet mine, the muscles in his cheeks spread into a wide grin with his lips parting slightly. He tells us to step in, allowing Mia to pass but stopping me at the door. He reaches for the whistle draped around my neck, lifting it between his fingers followed by a sly smile. “Interesting.” “It’s easy to blow,” I blurt out. “I bet.” He laughs, then casually lifts my sash while waiting for a response. “Don’t ask—it’s not what you think.” “What do I think?” Keeping his tone low, his gaze shifts to my lips. “You know, sexual things. But I swear it’s not. . . . Mia just thought it would be fun because Drew is so anal when it comes to cleaning. That’s it. Nothing more . . . just cleaning,” I ramble on unnecessarily to cover my embarrassment. Pursing his lips, he places his hand on the small of my back, directing me into the apartment. The apartment is quite large for a studio, modern and sleek with an air of masculinity. The furniture is minimal, but enough to make an impact. Mia sits down on the sofa, looking exhausted. Poor girl, she made it to midnight, way beyond her eight PM bedtime. “Here you go Slater,” she yawns. “It’s all ready with the tabs so the client can sign. Zoey did the final touches before we left this afternoon.” “Kind of you to drop it off so late. You didn’t have to.” He places it on the coffee table, beside the remote. The TV is paused to a movie—Cocktail. “Would you like a drink or anything to eat?” “No thanks.” Her eyes are drifting off. “Just let me powernap and I’ll be good to drive home.” Her snores sound through the apartment, as Slater motions me to join him in the kitchen. “Coffee, wine?” “Coffee and wine? Just kidding. Coffee please, I’m too old for partying like this.” “You look happy.” “It’s called wine and tequila, and men in leopard thongs dancing to Madonna.” “Sounds like quite a night. Looks like it took your mind off things.” “It did. I was banned from using my phone. Except to text this guy I slept with. One of Mia’s ridiculous games. But she’s asleep. Maybe I should text Drew now?” I pull out my phone at the same time Slater places his hand over mine, stopping me. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea,” he warns, placing the coffee in front of me. “Why? It’s just a hello.”

“And if he asks you where you are, what will you say?” I didn’t think about that. Drew would be livid, although I’m not doing anything wrong and Mia is sitting in the same apartment. It’s not like I’m in bed with him. “I’m gathering that he is not fond of you and I working together.” “What makes you think that?” I stammer. “Your mood, it shifts each day. One minute you’re friendly and the next minute you’re giving me the cold shoulder. You’re not the first colleague to do that,” he admits. “I’m sorry Slater. He doesn’t know you, that’s all.” “And I’m spending more time with his fiancée than he is.” “Yes,” I sadly admit. “Well, Zoey, I enjoy spending time with you, I won’t argue that.” At a loss of what to say, I look at Mia who is fast asleep. I needed her to drive me home since I drank too much. “She’s knocked out,” he comments as we move towards the living area taking a seat on the plush leather sofa. Mia is stretched out, forcing me to sit beside him. “Yeah, I kinda need her to wake up.” “Stay a while. Let her rest and then I can drive you home.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why? We’re not doing anything wrong.” His voice says something else, and his expression is shadowed as he leans over to grab the remote off the coffee table. “Because, Slater. I don’t need another headache in my life. I’ve over-committed myself with this wedding and no one seems to understand. Mia keeps pushing me to make it a big circus and Drew couldn’t give a goddamn shit. Now my mom is stuck back at home and everything feels overwhelming.” I begin to cry, the anxiety and stress building up and finally tumbling down. “Hey.” Slater puts his arm around me, rubbing the side of my arm. I feel myself calming down, slowly, but the touch of his hand against my skin leaves another feeling that I choose to ignore. “You’ve got to learn to slow down. I get this is stressful but is it really worth it?” “Are you asking me if marrying Drew is worth it?” I pull back, waiting on his response. “I’m asking you if this is how you envisioned your life to be. You’re running around planning this wedding and forgetting about the most important thing.” “What is it?” “I’m not one to answer, only you can. To be honest you seem uncertain. Is he the right man for you?” “Yes.” I gulp, annoyed that my hesitation could be interpreted as uncertainty. “I think so. I just feel so disconnected right now.” “I think so doesn’t mean walk down the aisle,” he says the words softly, but loud enough to stick with me. “Just think long and hard about what you want. What’s right for you. Not what’s comfortable.” “Tom Cruise would make a nice husband,” I tell him, watching the screen paused at the scene where he’s at the bar shaking the canister and eye-fucking the sexy woman.

Slater chuckles, pressing play on the movie. We watch it till the end, chatting animatedly about how much we both loved Bryan Brown with his quirky Aussie personality. He reminded me a lot of Drew’s dad. A man so influential in Drew’s life that things haven’t been the same since he passed. As the credit rolls, Mia stirs, waking up. She notices us watching her, and is quick to apologize for falling asleep, suggesting we leave. A few steps ahead, she presses the button to the elevator as I linger at the door. “Thank you for tonight. For just letting me be me.” “Anytime.” His eyes dart towards Mia, then back to me. “Think about what I said, Zoey.” Slater said many things. And as I’m walking towards the elevator, his words drum into me like a dagger stabbing my heart a million times over. He was right. I was comfortable. Everything about Drew was comfortable. The question remained: am I still madly in love with Drew—a man with a completely different view of life than my own? Or was I just settling because I was comfortable? And to make it ten times worse, I hated the fact that it’s taken another man—someone so fitted to my personality—to make me doubt my relationship.



I should have known that Troy had elaborate plans to make this a memorable night. To be honest, I thought: strip joint downtown or a road trip to Vegas. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we would be spending the night in a sex club. “I had to pull a lot of favors to get us in,” Troy discloses. “Dude, I don’t care how you did it.” Isaac—a good friend of mine—rubs his hands together with a pleased smile. “What does this mean?” Robert—another friend—asks, “Do we get to fuck the women? And does everyone have to watch?” “You don’t fuck anyone. You’re not a member of the club, just a bystander. So, don’t get us kicked out, okay?” Troy warns the three of us. Troy quickly explained the rules, and the most important rule was no cell phones allowed. They were to be ‘checked in’ like a coat, restricting perverts that came to take photos and blast them all over the Internet. We also weren’t allowed to participate in any activities. It piqued my interest, a much-needed relaxation after a very stressful day at work. I was more than happy to watch other people have sex and lose myself in their inhibitions, rather than think about the man that died on the operating table or the fact our bank statement arrived and our balance took a massive hit with all the wedding costs. The club is in an upmarket part of town, down the street from expensive townhouses and neighboring restaurants. From the outside, it was a simple brick building with a few trees and a sconce against the wall. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if the clientele were local, money to be splashed around to feed their fetishes. Troy enters a passcode on the key pad which opens the door into a compact lobby. It’s the size of a cloakroom, small and tight as we pack ourselves in at the mercy of the large bodyguard standing in front of an iron door. Troy hands him his cell. We all follow, the guard handing Troy a ticket explaining to him that if he loses it, there will be no other way to retrieve our cells. With the ticket like gold in his hand, he squeezes it into his sock sliding it all the way down till it’s tucked securely into his shoe. The guard leans into Troy, whispering a few words before opening the door. I didn’t ask Troy what he said nor did I care. We follow Troy’s lead that ends just a few steps later at a bar area. It’s quaint, with

a few tables that were occupied. There’s a small dancefloor with soft music playing; a couple dancing the tango gracing the dancefloor with their moves. Taking a seat at the bar, Troy orders us a round of shots. “To Drew, get ready to lose your balls. Marriage is many things, but lots of sex is not one of them,” he roars, clinking glasses with the three of us. The smile on my face covers my growing fears. I had quite a sexual appetite and a partner that felt the same, I hoped. But last week taught me many things I had yet to learn about Zoey. Aside from the wedding planning and her so-called busy work life, she was quick to push aside our intimacy in exchange for what she called a ‘special’ wedding night. I thought it was one of her silly jokes; tease me relentlessly so I would take her hard and fast, giving her a mind-blowing orgasm. But I was wrong. To boost my dampening confidence, I tried many things to entice her. Things as simple as walking around the house naked or wearing my glasses more often because she has a thing for men with glasses. Nothing. Nada. Then, I took the matter into my own hands—jerking off beside her, hoping she would succumb to her desires and ride my cock like a wild cowgirl, while realizing her ideology of the perfect wedding night was pure rubbish. She just sat there. Unaffected, typing an email as if no one else was in the room. I managed to finish, but afterwards, I was even more frustrated than where I began. Turned over and ignored her. The next day, I avoided her like the plague, kissing her cheek and wishing her a good day, keen to go to work and keep my mind occupied. Rob interrupts my thoughts, telling us a story about his ex-girlfriend and how she almost cried after they had sex each time. It was comical and urged us to drink more, before Troy tells us we should visit the rest of the club. Behind the second iron door is where the action happens. We were forced to go through another checkpoint, and this time, the guard was a bit friendlier. Walking through the door and down the hallway, we see a sign for each door. Troy led us to the first room, and much like an operating theater, we sat on these leather benches watching through the glass window as two ladies were eating each other out. I didn’t expect it to be so forward, hell, I didn’t really believe these places existed. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the girls, gawking like a hormonal teenager. They were going at it pretty hard, the petite one leaning back with her head hanging off the table. The voluptuous woman with the nice big tits was running her tongue along the tip of her clit, teasing her slowly while sliding her finger in and out of her pussy. Fuck me. Inside the room sat an older couple, holding hands and watching intently. Trying not to appear obvious, my eyes wander sideways to catch a glimpse of them. Definitely in their fifties, dressed impeccably. On the other side sat a man—alone. He watched the girls intently, his facial expression no more than a blank stare. Back when I was single, this would have been a treat. I had been with two women before and it was a great experience. But sitting here with the boys left a different feeling. Somewhat awkward. Like watching porn in a group. Hilarious; not a turn-on. The boys mumbled something to me about visiting another room. I told them to go ahead as I stayed here watching. Despite the salacious act happening behind the glass window, my mind drifted to Zoey. I was kind of glad that Mia switched the party to tonight, I could hang out with the boys in peace knowing

she would be equally busy probably watching some gay guy play straight on a stage, dancing to Madonna. With Mia pregnant, they would hardly get up to much mischief. I missed her though, and wanted to text to her, but without my cell—combined with my stubborn attitude—I brushed it aside and enjoyed my surroundings. Surprisingly, I lose interest rather quickly and join the boys in the threesome lesbian room. It was mildly entertaining, but my head just wasn’t in the right space. I rarely drank, but felt the urge just to loosen my tense muscles. Something that could easily be fixed by Zoey blowing me off. Oh, that’s right—she’s off-limits for another few weeks. I tell the boys I’m going to the bar, heading back down the hall to a less-crowded area. The bartender is quick to serve me; a scotch that went down smoothly. I don’t remember how many I ordered, but when I struggle to focus on the glass in front of me, I slow it down and let it all sink in. Tonight is supposed to be my last night of freedom, according to the ritual of the bachelor party. But at what point was I free before? Zoey and I were in a committed relationship. Neither one of us cheated, at least, I hadn’t cheated. With that dickhead Slater around, who fucking knows? And the more I think about it, the clearer the picture becomes. She’s always busy at work and never has time to stop—he’s always at work with her. When I call her at lunch she never answers the first time, or the second. Supposedly, she has lunch with him. She’d been hitting the gym and exercising non-stop claiming she needed to fit into her expensive dress. She did that the last time she was trying to put herself back on the dating market. And then, she holds back the sex. If that isn’t a dead giveaway. It all made sense. The scotch made the incessant rambling in my head make sense. Fuck. Could she really do that to me? My chest tightens, my posture falling over as I cradle the glass of scotch in my hand. I wanted to crawl into bed and smell her beside me. Taste the Cola-Cola Chapstick on her beautiful lips. I didn’t finish the glass in front of me, pushing it away along with my morbid thoughts as I walked back to the rooms, desperate to erase my head of her, if only for tonight. The boys were still with the threesome, however, I wandered off to a deserted room where the couple on the bed behind the glass window were fucking hard and fast. The man takes his dick out, slapping it against her stomach before entering again. The woman appears to enjoy it, clutching the sides of the bed and exposing her tits for him to fondle. It made me miss Zoey more, and perhaps my stupid thoughts were unwarranted. I just wanted to go home and have her fuck me. Make her want me. Erase the miserable weeks that had passed and go back to the way it used to be between us. A couple walks in and sits at the opposite corner. I avoid making eye contact until I hear my name being called. “Drew?” I turn around and see Raine staring back at me. Although the room is dark, she looks embarrassed, narrowing her gaze and avoiding direct eye contact. “Oh, hey.” Fuck, if this isn’t the worst place to run into a colleague. She says something to the guy beside her—some dorky-looking fucker that wore a tie. Why the fuck

would you wear a tie to a sex club? He steps out of the room, leaving us alone. Raine makes her way down the rows until she’s sitting beside me. She’s dressed up, wearing a tight white dress that sat very short, exposing her thighs. I never noticed her hot body until now, mainly because it was always hidden behind scrubs. I also never noticed how her tits were so . . . full? Perky? Stop fucking looking. “It’s not what it looks like,” I say, breaking the silence. “It looks like you’re sitting in a sex club—alone.” “Yes, but I’m here with some friends. Bachelor night.” She scans the room and I’m quick to add, “They abandoned me for the lesbian trio in room five.” “Ah.” She giggles softly. “I was just at room five. Didn’t do anything for me. But probably where my date ran off too.” “Right. So that’s your date?” “Uh huh. The fetish list one.” “I didn’t peg you for someone that . . . hangs out at places like this.” I keep my words minimal, the alcohol not helping at all. “Because I’m a mom?” I nod, revealing the truth. “I like sex, Drew. It gets my mind off work and my kids. Call me a freak, but it’s the only thing that calms the tension. Take for example today, that man dying. It was just too much.” She lowers her voice, shifting her gaze to the couple in front that have now switched to doggy style. “That’s why I called Rick. I needed something wild to clear my head.” I completely understood her point. It’s why I often buried myself in Zoey. She was my ray of warmth, my safety net. She was the only one who made me forget the world outside our apartment existed. “Our job is stressful,” I mumble. “You’re telling me.” She sighs. “I thought, why not give him another go? After I made a fool out of myself with you, I really had nothing else to lose.” “You didn’t make a fool out of yourself,” I reassure her, keeping my hands firmly placed in my lap. “So, you’re into this stuff? Like you hang out beside the other side of the glass?” “Me? No. I like to watch but getting there on the table is not something I’d be comfortable with. I enjoy the intimacy with a man that would worship me in private.” She tilts her head sideways, catching my gaze while a small smile plays on her lips. “And you? Isn’t the point of marriage staying in your own bedroom?” “Maybe back in the day, when I was single.” How life had fucking changed. “I wouldn’t want any man or woman to see Zoey the way I see her. No fucking way.” Perhaps my vision is compromised, but I can see that Raine was inching closer only to notice after my comment about Zoey, she slid back to her original position and changed the tone of her voice. “Lucky girl.” “Yeah, you would think.” I let out a sigh, running my hands through my hair. Leaning my elbows on my knees, we watch the guy insert his dick into the woman’s ass. She moans loudly, pushing back into him. Fuck me. Anal—my favorite.

“Wow, she’s really going for it.” I laugh. “Can’t fake that.” “Nope.” There is this awkward silence between us, until Raine turns to face me, slumping her shoulders as if to release the tension. “This is awkward.” “You’re telling me.” “We work together.” “Yes we do.” “And we’re here watching this guy try to shove his cock and finger in her ass.” “Yes, that’s what’s happening,” I say. “So, since it can’t get any worse than this, I might as well say it.” She slides over, closing the gap between us. “I drank a couple of margaritas back at the bar to psych myself up.” “I drank the entire supply of scotch.” I place my hand on her arm, reassuring her. “Your secret is safe with me.” She shakes her head, her piercing green eyes penetrating. “No, that’s not it. I like you Drew. Really like you. You’re incredibly smart, and I’m in awe of your talent.” She takes a breath, continuing as I remain quiet, unsure of what to say. “You’re compassionate, you’re dedicated, you have the biggest heart. Plus—you’re really hot. Like hot hot. The kinda hot you get from watching Magic Mike. Maybe more hot than that. I’m sorry, that’s probably made you uncomfortable.” It’s been a while since I was in a situation like this. I don’t even recall much of my life before Zoey walked into it. So to hear this, from an extremely gorgeous and talented woman, boosted my ego. Flattery worked like a treat under the influence of alcohol. “I’m hot.” I laugh, unable to grasp anything else. Raine buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’ve just blurted that out. I’m not much of a talker when it comes to my emotions but I can’t help it, Drew. You’ve just been so good to me.” I pull her into me to calm her nervous energy. “Hey, you’re equally as talented. I see a lot of my younger self in you. And you’re a mom. You’ve just set a benchmark high for many women.” “Except Zoey.” I had to choose my words carefully, but Scotch did not help my brain compute. It made it woozy and full of fucked-up thoughts. “Zoey is . . . different.” “Good different?” “Different,” I say again. “But you’re still marrying her?” My legs tap nervously, unsettled and restless. I know I’m unable to answer the stream of questions being thrown at me, certain I will say something wrong. “It’s what’s in the cards, right?” Raine snuggles into my side, resting her head against my chest while we stare at the couple finishing up in front. “What if the cards being dealt are wrong? That you’re just settling with what’s comfortable?

You said yourself that Zoey couldn’t possibly understand how stressful your career was. Don’t you think you should be with someone who does understand?” I go to open my mouth when Troy walks in—alone. He sees me with my arm around Raine; his face tightens, filled with annoyance. Peeling myself away from her, we sit quietly as I smile back at him. “We’re heading back to the bar for a drink.” It’s a statement, rather than a question of whether I wanted to join them. “I think I’ll stay here. I drank too much.” “I can see. I really think you should come.” Troy’s eyes widen, unable to hide his displeasure in seeing me with another woman. “Oh, shit. This is Raine, a colleague of mine.” “Nice to meet you,” he says with a forced smile. “I think you should come.” “I’m fine here.” Troy continues to persuade me, then suggests we talk in private. Raine tells me she’s heading back to room five and to join her when I’m done. I nod, then wait for her to leave the room, watching her ass sway while she walks away. “What the fuck was that? You’re fucking someone else?!” he shouts. “Of course not. I would never do that to Zoey.” “Bullshit. I walk into you sitting with your arm around a hot girl at a sex club.” “It’s not what you think.” “What I think is that you’re getting cold feet and playing with fucking fire. Zoey will have your ass if she finds out—” “That nothing happened!” I yell back, fueled by the scotch. “Zoey doesn’t fucking care anymore. Her head is in this wedding. She’s not Zoey. She’s some sort of monster that morphed from the fun-loving Zoey. I’m only here so she has someone nice to walk down the aisle with. “C’mon,” he softens. “You don’t mean that.” “She’s fucking that guy at work.” “Who? Slater? Why would she be fucking someone at work and planning a wedding to you?” “Because she’s not the real Zoey. I told you—” “Man, wake up and get out of this funk. You’re fucking drunk for starters, and that girl, she just wants to suck your cock. Prove to you that you can stray.” “It would be nice to have my cock sucked,” I utter, purposely as an attack on Zoey. “Okay.” He grabs my arm, the pressure tight and unnecessary. “Time to go home.” “I don’t wanna go home.” “Then I can’t help you. Do whatever the fuck you want to do and lose the best thing that has ever happened to you.” Troy storms out of the room, leaving me alone, staring at an empty bed through the glass window. I could have followed him, gone home and tried to work things out with Zoey. But instead I found myself walking towards room five looking for a way—or person—to clear my head.

Someone to help me decide if marrying Zoey is the right thing to do.



Things had been hazy since the night I left Slater’s. I was hoping to have a clearer head when the alcohol wore off, but sadly, I didn’t. Even after I projectile-vomited into the gutter when Mia dropped me off at my apartment. Drew never came home that night, or morning. Troy sent me a quick text to say he was crashing at Isaac’s due to a massive hangover. I was kind of relieved, needing some time alone to process my thoughts. I didn’t allow my hangover to deter me, going for a morning jog and hitting the gym for an hour. By the time I got home, I was feeling energized and decided to head out and finish up some last-minute wedding plans. There was a place not too far away that specialized in wedding cars, and with lots of back-and-forth emails, I managed to secure some customized VW wedding beetles—Drew’s favorite car. Since his own car, Betty, was extremely unreliable, I decided it was best to leave her alone resting in his dad’s garage. As the day progressed, I squeezed in another meeting with the venue to finalize the menu. I could have easily ordered something ordinary for our reception, but decided to go for the fancier menu which consisted of healthy options that Drew would approve of. It ended up costing more, but I signed the dotted line anyway. Then the event planner showed me the different china they used. My eyes immediately fell in love with the white and gold plates. Elegant and classy. And what did she tell me? They were in the A group which meant the most expensive choice. After seeing those plates, the rest looked like plastic from Costco. I don’t know what came over me, but I agreed to use them on the day, ignoring the huge bill. I had ticked everything off my list by late afternoon with still no text or call from Drew. I decided to bite the bullet and call him, but it went straight to voicemail. Letting out a disappointed sigh, an early dinner by myself at a local diner seemed fitting. Luckily, I brought my laptop and worked on the final sketches for Drew’s dad’s place. Even though he resisted the move, I felt confident that when he saw the

final plans, he would fall in love with the house. I hadn’t touched his dad’s place, keeping it simple and still in its original condition, I just extended the barn out back and designed it into a fully functional home. Given that Drew owned the land, we could easily build a beautiful home and still have plenty of space as the property sat on acres. I incorporated everything Drew loved: big windows and lots of light-filled rooms, a massive kitchen with a large island bench, and eight-burner stove with a butler’s kitchen to the side. Outside, the landscaping was simple with a huge veggie patch where we could grow Drew’s favorite vegetables. And just to ease my worries, cross-checked that the address was pizza-delivery-friendly. I was hoping to show him the plans this week once we got our schedules back in sync. The countdown had begun, and to shake the nagging feeling that something was brewing on the horizon, I headed back to the apartment, tired, to find it empty with no Drew. He didn’t leave a note, or send a text, unusual that he didn’t check in at all. I laid in bed that night trying to unwind by reading a book from my ever-growing list, when I heard my work email ping. The last thing I wanted to do on a Sunday night was answer work emails but the insomnia was really getting to me. I tapped through my mailbox and see the email sent from Slater. There’s nothing in the subject line—unusual for him—so to feed my curiosity, I read the email sent. Did you have a think about what I said?

It was one line. One that had so much impact. Of course I had been thinking about it, it was the sole reason for the insomnia. My relationship with Drew was falling apart. I hated admitting that but it was true. We just had to get through this, through the wedding. I know Drew complained about how crazy it all was yet I knew that once it was over, he would look back and really appreciate the day. It’s just trying to get to the altar. And I could no longer deny that Slater’s presence was impacting that goal. He said the words that buried themselves in the back of my brain with the non-important stuff like algebra and politics. I read the email again, knowing I couldn’t respond to him without a guilty conscience, so I kept my response precise and to the point. About how the Thompson Twins weren’t actually twins?

I didn’t know how Slater would react, and would hate to think how Drew would if he knew that Slater was emailing me late at night asking me if I was still going to marry Drew because it seemed like I was settling rather than head-over-heels in love. My email pings again, and quickly with a nervous beat in my heart, I open the email and read it carefully. Don’t do that, Zoey. Don’t make me want you even more.

His words sting like venom, seeping through every crevice until the beating in my heart remains incredibly still—shocked—and then without warning, beats so fucking loud causing my skin to burn up. I wasn’t sure if it was flattery, attraction, or guilt that another man—a very handsome man—is emailing me

at ten o’clock on a Sunday night telling me he wants me while my fiancé is at work. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. Instead, I just kept re-reading the email with an awful feeling in my gut which ended in no sleep. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been beaten through the ringer. Let me guess.” Mia doesn’t allow me to speak, popping a cookie into her mouth while raising her finger to silence me. “You fucked Drew all day yesterday. He got all macho on you after finding out about our encounter with the male dancers.” I wish. I arrived early hoping to confess to Mia what happened with Slater. A way to ease my guilty conscience. But the longer we stood inside the kitchen surrounded by other employees walking in and out, the more I thought it wasn’t such a good idea. It may come across like I’m admitting that I’m confused when in reality . . . I’m confused. Nail on the fucking head. “You know what? Never mind.” I move towards the coffee machine careful not to spill anything on my new white blouse. It was an impromptu purchase last week when I decided to spruce up my work wardrobe. Subconsciously, maybe I was sending the wrong signals to Slater. I found myself paying more attention to my appearance at work; even Drew had made a snide comment, which I had brushed off. This blouse was fancy, and according to the sales assistant at the boutique, ‘sexy’ too. “Nice top. You know it’s see-through right?” “No, it’s not.” I press my lips into a thin line, thinking of a way to sidestep the fact that I knew it was see-through when I really didn’t. “And anyway, I’m wearing a white bra.” “You look really good today, very hot. Almost like you’re trying to impress someone.” I turn around swiftly, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “No, I’m not. I look the same as every other day.” “Oh,” Mia says, leaning her back against the fridge. “My mistake. So, you finalized the rest of the wedding plans yesterday and everything’s done? I was thinking of coming around tonight so we could make the place-cards for the table. There’s this great craft shop a few blocks away that have these beautiful silk cardboard cut-outs and we could buy some lace to match. What do you think?” I nod, agreeing, although my headspace was clouded and the last thing I could think about was placecards. As I make my coffee, I add another teaspoon of sugar to sweeten it up and give me the much-needed boost of energy to get me through today. Thankfully, Slater wouldn’t be in till after lunch which gave me time to think about what I needed to say to him. Sitting at my desk, my hands twitch nervously while I stare at the screen blankly. I grab my Troll doll with the wild purple hair that sits beside my screen. In an attempt to calm my irrational thoughts, I play with the Troll’s hair—sliding it between my fingers the same way I had done when I was a child. Such an ugly doll. Who the hell came up with such a thing? Probably the same person who thought spandex flattered women’s bodies. My inbox kept pinging, clients wanting to wrap up some last-minute work along with Mr. Becker sending through some new proposals, wanting me to a get a head start before I left for my honeymoon. It

was only two weeks that I would be out of the office, but he was in a panic, constantly telling me he didn’t know how he survived before I took this position. It flattered my ego, but didn’t help to ease the burden of the workload. It was just before lunch when I sensed someone standing in my doorway. Before looking up to confirm my fears, I prayed it wasn’t Slater because I still wasn’t ready to deal with the situation. What do I say? ‘You’re kinda hot and sexy, and no woman would kick you out of bed including me but I love Drew so take your feelings elsewhere because I’m a cock-tease for wearing a slutty blouse’? Yep—you’re totally screwed. I turn my head to see Drew standing in the middle of the doorway. His presence catches me off guard, yet I’m quick to supress my shock. He is dressed rather nice—wearing his chinos and a navy shortsleeve buttoned shirt. It’s the shirt with tiny flamingos over it. I remember when he first wore it, I couldn’t stop singing Pretty Flamingo which irritated him to the point that he avoided wearing the shirt whenever I was around. His sunglasses are sitting on top of his head, nestled in his perfectly styled hair. I missed him. He still made the butterflies run wild and flutter like maniacs, but his silence . . . is unnerving. Something told me now is not a good time to break out into song. “Drew?” I stand up to walk towards him, planting a kiss on his lips. His body stiffens, and I pull back, unsure why. “What are you doing here?” “Can’t a fiancé visit to take you out to lunch?” His tone is cold, void of any loving emotion. “Of course.” I smile, avoiding the angered stare on his beautiful face. “I have a meeting in an hour but if you give me a couple of minutes, I’ll just send this and we can head out.” He sits at my table—removing his cell from his pocket and placing it on my desk—watching me intently. His jaw is firm, accentuating his prominent cheekbones. I only notice now he hasn’t shaved, giving him that rugged look of a man experiencing the worst hangover ever. Drew wasn’t a big drinker; so it didn’t surprise me that he is irritable due to Saturday night’s bender. “So how was Saturday night?” I ask, typing quickly so we could get out of here before Slater walked in. The adrenalin is fueling my nerves, and half-listening to Drew, I hit send knowing Mr. Becker was waiting for me to respond. “Fun, I guess,” he says, keeping his voice low. “And your night out? Did you do anything interesting?” “Mia took us out to some male strip club but the men were questionable. They knew the lyrics to Like A Prayer down to every syllable.” I laugh, switching my attention back to him. He continues to watch me, barely a smile on his face. His eyes won’t back down; piercing me with daggered stares like I’ve done something wrong. Something for him to be angry about. “Is something wrong? You’re awfully quiet.” Drew doesn’t say anything, and to curb the nervous energy, I go on about the wedding plans hoping to change his mood. It doesn’t seem to do anything, and I send my final email before looking up and seeing Slater in the main area with two of our clients. They were early. His eyes meet mine, dancing delightfully with a playful smirk on his lips. I give him a quick smile back until Drew notices and turns his head to see what I’m looking at. Instantly, I see his pupils dilate—the rage bouncing off him as he turns back around, clenching his jaw. “I think our clients are early,” I tell him, trying to read what Slater is mouthing to me. It doesn’t make

sense. I never considered myself talented when it came to reading lip-syncing. “I’m sorry, can we rain check lunch?” Distracted by where they are walking towards, Drew’s voice—rather growl—startles me. “I think we need a break.” I shuffle my head back into position, eyes wide and mouth open as I try to comprehend what he just said. “Excuse me? A break from what? Each other?” “Where were you on Saturday night?” he demands, rather than questioning. Slater is standing at the entrance of the meeting room, beckoning me over. “I told you already. Drew, I really have to go.” “Answer me, Zoey.” “We went to dinner then the club.” I could feel the heat rising from my skin. I was a terrible liar, but knew it was best to keep this a secret from Drew. Besides, Mia would never tell him that we went there considering she knew how angry he would get. “I didn’t think you’d tell me.” His facial expression turns into hurt. He rises from the chair, the same time I catch his arm and instantly, he recoils. “I guess you better head off. Slater needs you—again.” “Drew, nothing happened. I would never cheat on you. Let me explain . . . Mia just . . .” He shakes his head, releasing a short, disturbing laugh. “There’s nothing left to explain, Zoey. You were at Slater’s apartment. End of story. I’m going to be staying at Isaac’s until I can figure what I want.” “What you want?” I almost cry. “You don’t want me?” “Zoey, I just . . . I need time apart . . . to think.” “Because you don’t trust me?” “Yes. No. Because of many things,” he answers, sadly. With his back towards me, I see his shoulders slump as he walks out of my office, leaving me to stand still, burdened by shock. I don’t understand what just happened. He wanted a break. Somehow, it leaked that I was at Slater’s apartment. But what didn’t make sense was Drew’s sudden jealousy. He was never this person. Okay, granted the time that Jess was at Mia’s wedding or when Noah slept over, but aside from that, he was generally a laid-back guy. This wedding should be bringing us closer but instead, it was tearing us apart. I lower my head, swallowing hard, as my chin begins to tremble. We were supposed to be getting married, enjoying our last moments before tying the knot. And now, we were breaking up or whatever Drew called it. I had no idea. My mind and heart were clueless as the punches came hard and fast, knocking me about. As if on auto-pilot, I grab my laptop and walk towards the meeting room where Slater stood. The second he sees my face, he quickly ushers me back out of the room, stopping just shy of the door. “Gentlemen, would you excuse us for a minute?” He latches onto my arm until we’re inside his office when he closes the door behind him. “Zoey, what’s wrong?” My eyes begin to water yet I refuse to break down at work and in front of Slater. I already cried in

front of him but you could blame the tequila for that one. “Okay, so you won’t talk and I’m guessing the man in your office was Drew and he delivered some not-so-good news.” “He wants a break.” I choke back the sobs trapped inside my chest. “From us, from the wedding. It doesn’t matter. A break is a break. It’s a hop-skip-jump away from a break-up.” “Zoey.” Slater touches my arm, attempting to calm me down. It doesn’t do anything but stream guilt. “I’m sorry we need to commence this meeting—we have a lot riding on it. Will you be okay in there?” I nod my head with a forced smile. He returns the gesture, his face lighting up instantly. “How about I take you out afterwards? A few drinks won’t hurt and you can do that thing women love to do when they’ve had a few drinks.” “Talk non-stop about why life is unfair and how the Dallas remake will never be the same as the original?” Slater laughs, placing his arm around me as he leads me back into the meeting room. “Patrick Duffy looks ripe for his age.” “A silver fox.” I laugh, happy to get my mind off things if only for a moment. We close the door to his office and walk back to the meeting room when I see Drew standing just outside my door. His expression is mixed with anger and resentment. Holding up his cell, he grits through the words, “I left my cell.” Torn between my obligation to my job and the man who was supposed to be my husband, I call his name hoping he would tell me this is stupid and we’d talk things over at home. But he didn’t. Keeping his gaze tight, and his jaw locked firmly, he glares from me to Slater and shakes his head, bowing his eyes. “I guess I was right all along. That’s what happens when you fall in love with a woman who never thinks you’re enough.” His word’s stab me every which way possible; the emotionally delivered speech straight from the heart that confirmed my worst fears. We were over.



It had been the worst twenty-four hours of my life since Dad passed away. After Troy left me to fend for myself at the club, I had wandered off to find Raine, sitting down beside her as we watched a young couple fucking this old madam. It did nothing for me besides clear my head from the whirlwind of emotions wrecking through me with such force. Raine and I kept our conversation flowing, but she didn’t mention anything more about her feelings towards me. I was glad, because a girl practically throwing herself at you at a sex club is difficult to ignore, and my irrational behavior of late always landed me in some hot mess. I just didn’t want that mess to be inside Raine’s pussy. I am many things—a cheating scumbag is not one of them. As the night wore on, Isaac stayed back engrossed with the show still happening in room five. Robert disappeared without a trace, and without our cells in hand, we had no clue where he wandered off to. Troy left as he stated, so we hung around and decided to leave in the very early hours of the morning. The sun was almost up, and the fact I had to work tonight did nothing to brighten my mood. The streets were quiet; sounds of birds chirping and a street sweeper in the distance were the only thing we could hear. Isaac sat on the curb—lighting a cigarette—while I waited with Raine a few steps away. “I’m heading home now. It’s been a long night,” I tell her, yawning on cue. Despite being trapped indoors all night, she still looked sexy with her makeup perfectly applied. Unlike some of the women I used to date. Mascara running and smudged lipstick made for a very unattractive bed partner. Raine rests her hand on my shoulder, her eyes tracing my lips as she murmurs with a hoarse voice, “Home as in your apartment?” “Nah, I’ll probably crash at Isaac’s.” The second it left my lips, I instantly regretted it. “Oh,” she mouths. “I don’t have to be anywhere. My mom has the boys.”

I wasn’t sure where she was going with this. Okay, I fucking knew where she was going but I had to squash this before it became a bigger deal. That hot water—is standing in front of me wearing a sexy dress that could easily be slid up around her thighs while she’s being fucked against a wall. And this is why you’re going to hell. “Raine.” I speak carefully, keeping my tone low. “I can’t, okay? I’m not that guy.” Immediately, she takes a step back, her face sullen and lips quivering. It takes a few moments for her to smile—albeit forced—and find the courage to speak. “Of course, you can’t.” Raine doesn’t say any more words. Moving forward she leans up to kiss my cheek before walking down the street with her head bowed. I just realized she was by herself and her date disappeared somewhere through the night. I felt terrible for making her think I would easily cheat on Zoey, and needed to revaluate my actions when I was sober. Isaac and I caught a cab home, crashing instantly until Troy turned up after lunch with our cells. “Looking for these, boys?” He’s holding up our cells, and I gladly take mine from his hand to find absolutely nothing on the screen. No messages or calls from Zoey. Not one single thing from the woman that had a severe case of verbal diarrhea. Like a possessed demon, I tap through my social media posts to see if she updated her status or had responded to anything in the last day. There were a number of videos she shared—all had something to do with bacon—and an eighties pop quiz she completed with a score of one hundred percent. My hand clenches the cell before tossing it onto the table. Opening the refrigerator, I look for something decent to eat or drink to nurse the massive hangover. Nothing but beer, Coke, and something mouldy with extra lifeform growing on it. “Do you want to know what the girls did last night?” Troy asks, making himself comfortable at the table. I shrug. I didn’t really care anymore and my head was hurting so much, my eyes squinting to alleviate the pain. “They went to some strip club but the guys didn’t strip they just danced in thongs.” How cliché. No wonder Magic Mike made a killing. “Wow,” I say flatly. “Sounds exciting.” “That’s what I said. No wonder Mia fell asleep on Slater’s couch for an hour.” The persistent throb stops, and the dead silence filling the room echoes the sound of my brain ticking over, working a million miles a minute trying to compute what he just said. “Why was Mia asleep on Slater’s couch?” “She dropped off some contract that Slater had asked Zoey for.” I clench my teeth, not wanting to ask the question that began burning the moment he said his name. “What time was this?” “I think after midnight,” Troy answers loosely. “After the club.” Troy stands up, removing a Coke from the fridge and opening the can. The fizzy bubbles over; Troy

is quick to place his mouth on the rim to catch the excess soda. “Why are you looking at me that way?” “Where was Zoey?” I grit. He scratches his thick beard, staring back with confusion. “She was with Mia. She’d been drinking so Mia had to drive.” I couldn’t take it anymore, grabbing my phone and telling them I may be back. I raced home—on foot —arriving to an empty apartment. I rummaged through Zoey’s stuff from last night, looking for anything, some sort of indication to tell me she had fucked him. I had no idea what I was looking for and of course I didn’t find it. Instead, I found a stack of invoices on the bedside table for the wedding. Quickly reading through it, I couldn’t believe the dollar amount I saw. The rage blinded me, my inability to think straight—tarnished. My heart was pumping so fucking loud and the heat crawling along my skin had me out of breath. First, she wants to spend the night with Slater after I blatantly told her to stop spending time with him. And then, she goes and spends all my hard-earned money on a fucking wedding that ain’t gonna happen. I was beyond livid. Grabbing my uniform, and a basic bag of stuff, I head back to Isaac’s to kill time until work beckoned. I needed time to revaluate things. Time to figure out what the hell I wanted. And a lying fiancée wasn’t one of them. I knew one thing: I needed to see and hear it for myself. That meant going to see her at work. It was straight after last night’s shift. With no sleep and a wired brain, I made my way down to her office block to finally confront her. She was shocked to see me, and equally shocked when I told her I knew about her spending the night with him. There was panic on her face, but she was quick to deny that anything happened. Perhaps my guilty conscience got the better of me; she had no idea what I did on Saturday night and if she knew, would she treat me the exact same and question my fidelity? I told her I wanted a break because I needed it. I hated being an insecure person. This boat fucking sailed years ago. That introvert shell with overweight and insecure Drew attached to it—was a thing of the past. Or was it? I may be fitter and more intelligent, but my emotions were that of a twenty-four-year-old man, lost in a world that seemed big and scary. Dad would roll over in his grave if he saw how I’ve been acting. As I walked away, the tears threatened to fall down her beautiful face. Eyes glassing over and her posture stooped, rubbing her wrist as she had often done when she was anxious. It pained me to see her hurting yet I was hurting just as much. And then, as I step outside, I realize I left my cell on her desk. What I didn’t expect was to walk back in and find him touching her. The smile gracing her lips fucking broke me. And I was too upset to do anything about it. I knew Zoey wasn’t a vindictive person or would purposely hurt me, but everything pointed to that. My chest aches, heavy like lead. Turning inward, I find myself withdrawing mentally while walking outside. The cool breeze graces my numb skin, and seconds later, everything switches to anger.

Heart not hurting but hating. Blood not draining but pumping with rage. I went home and grabbed more things, throwing my bag onto the bed which missed—hitting the bedside table and knocking her lucky gold pineapple to the ground, smashing it into pieces. FUCK! The sound echoes in the room and my reflex is weak, unable to save it. I knew I was hurting but I wasn’t a fucking idiot. Despite my heart wanting to hate her, I knew what this pineapple meant. I finishing packing my things and then found a Post-It note and pen, writing on it I’m sorry—picking up the pieces and leaving it on the bedside table. I leave it all behind— the memories of us—heading back to Isaac’s. I threw myself into work that night, the only thing I could do, until the texts rolled in, all from her: I don’t understand this break.

Nothing happened with Slater.

Please Drew, I love you.

I’m heading home now. Please come home tonight so we can talk properly.

YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FOR SMASHING MY PINEAPPLE!!!!!!



I should have responded then and there, that I am many things but an asshole wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t thinking clearly and my head had to be completely and one hundred percent on my job. I couldn’t afford another almost mistake. This was my passion—what I was born to do, so for tonight, I had to ignore that we were on a break and she probably ran to him because I supposedly smashed a pineapple. And that was night one. By night two, I was driving myself insane, taking a sleeping pill just so I could rest during the day and be able to work at night. I had turned back into jealous Drew; my thoughts spawned from the devil as I imagined him touching her. It took every ounce of self-control to not go down to her office and beat the shit out of him. Again—I wasn’t that guy. I had done it once before with Jess when he tried to win Zoey back and learned my lesson rather quickly. It didn’t help that Raine switched shifts to the same as mine. I avoided her as much as possible, afraid that I would cave and tell her what happened. Thankfully, she got dumped with admin work and I busied myself in the ER. Night three: calm rational Drew creeped out slowly. I thought long and hard about our relationship. I needed to trust her; my life depended on trusting her. So, she was with him. And although it hurt me that she lied, if there was nothing more to it, then why should I give up the best thing that’s happened to me? Night four: the night I opened my email and found an invoice from the wedding venue. I almost fell off my chair when I saw the thirty-thousand-dollar bill. The anger overtook and I wanted to call her, tell her no fucking way, but knew I had to calm down. The pressure was on, and the wedding was less than three weeks away. We weren’t even together!

Night five: I was no closer to resolving my mixed emotions. One minute I was desperate to tell her I should have trusted her, and the next, I had that image of him touching her back so comfortably that it made me think of what they did in his apartment. What else he might have fucking touched that belonged to me. But things took a turn for the worse tonight. It started off with a pile-up on the bridge which resulted in a family of five being rushed to emergency. The mother was in critical condition which we were able to stabilize, but had to fly the youngest child to another hospital. Thankfully, she had minor injuries. It was somewhere just after midnight when Troy came bustling through the doors with a very panicked Mia, breathing in and out. She was only thirty-four weeks pregnant but was showing signs of early labor. Troy was of no help, the helpless fucker equally as panicked. I grabbed one of the wheelchairs and called the nurse to take them up to delivery. I specialized more in ER and cardiology rather than maternity, but told them I would check on them soon knowing first labors were usually long. I attended to a guy that had accidently drank mouthwash during his sleep walk—thinking it was water —which ended with stomach cramps. It was shortly after, I found out that Mia gave birth. It turned out their baby girl just wanted to get out fast. She was a precious little thing; I spent some time with them before I had to get back and finish my shift. It was sometime after eight AM when I ran into Raine at the main desk. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she says, bluntly. “I’ve been busy.” “At avoiding me. It’s okay. I’m a big girl. I get it—you’re marrying the love of your life.” I pause, briefly, lifting my gaze only slightly, before continuing the paperwork in front of me. “I don’t know if that’s happening. We’re on break.” “A break as in to cool down? Or a break as in break-up?” she asks with inquiring eyebrows. “I don’t know anymore,” I admit, reluctantly. “Okay . . .” she trails off. “Do you want to talk about it? Feelings aside, I consider myself a good listener but you have to excuse my growling stomach, I accidently dropped my nut bar in the toilet.” I laugh, welcoming the distraction. “Should I ask how? “My pager was beeping and my bladder was screaming. You’re a smart guy, work it out,” she responds with a grin. “Here.” I pull one out of my top pocket and hand it to her. “Eat it.” “I can’t take that.” “You will because it’s doctor’s orders,” I tell her with a stern voice. “Wow, you make that sound so hot,” she teases, bumping her side against mine. I laugh loudly as she leans her head on my arm the same time I glance up and see Zoey staring right back at me. Her wounded expression soon follows with anger and resentment, the same expression she had when she busted her ex, Jess, cheating with her best friend. The sound of her footsteps echoes against the floor as she stomps towards me wearing those wedged heels that made her legs look irresistible. You just miss her, now is not the time to be thinking about her legs. “Zoey,” I begin, then stall as Raine peels herself off my arm.

The green orbs that have taunted me since the moment she became my roommate, stare back at me cold. It’s not the same Zoey. Miss Eats-Cheetos-on-top-of-ice-cream because it’s much easier than eating it in separate servings. Wears my trunks to bed claiming they’re more comfortable than her sleepwear. I tried buying her a pair but she said it didn’t feel the same as my worn ones—go figure. The same woman that lined up—or should I say camped—for two days outside the Staples Center waiting for KISS concert tickets. “I don’t have anything to say.” She turns her back as I quickly move past the desk to follow her. She’s making a quick getaway towards the exit, and with long strides, I make it to her side latching onto her arm to stop her. “You know? I do have something to say,” she raises her voice, removing her arm from my grip. “You’re a bigger asshole than I thought. Here I was feeling guilty for stopping by Slater’s place which, I might add, was a work errand.” She takes a breath before unleashing again. “And then the whole pineapple thing, don’t get me started on that. But do you know what was the final straw?” Waiting for my response, I keep my expression fixed knowing this wasn’t the moment to answer. “Finding out that you were quick to point all blame on me when you had spent the night with Sky, Leaf, or whatever the fuck her name is . . . at a sex club!” she shouts, startling an old man smoking near the entrance. “Zoey, I can explain.” “Funny that I can explain what happened on Saturday too but sadly I was never given the chance.” She pulls the ring off her finger, extending it forward for me to take. “Here.” I push it back, determined to fix this fucking mess. “Don’t fucking do this Zoey. It’s just all this wedding bullshit that fucked everything up.” “Wedding bullshit? I’m sorry that I have exhausted myself in planning the perfect wedding for us.” “For you Zoey, not us, you.” “No Drew, that’s where you’re wrong. Everything I did was for you—” She stops mid-sentence, collecting her thoughts. “Except the doves, that was for Mia.” “If you took a moment to listen to me rather than push me away, you would have seen that. I chose VW Beetle wedding cars for you. The venue? It’s the only one in the city that served organic meals, which, I paid extra, for you. The band I chose, the instrumental orchestra, they play the same kind of music that you and your dad listened to while fixing cars. In fact, they were the only ones that could play almost identical. “Everything I did was with you in mind. You may think I was going overboard and called me a bridezilla on more than one occasion, but all I wanted was to please you and be your wife. Make it a day neither one of us would forget.” Crossing her arms, the corners of her lips remain flat as we stand in silence. I could see she was in defense mode, protecting herself from the big bad wolf—me. “Zoey, I—” “Nothing, Drew. There’s nothing left to say.” There was plenty more to say yet she walked away, head held high as if her life hadn’t fallen into pieces.

I knew right at that moment, she is the one. So, I’m comfortable, and, I’m settling for what I know. But I was head over fucking heels in love with this stubborn woman. The air around me didn’t exist if she wasn’t part of my life. Our foundation, the friendship that began many moons ago, was built on solid ground. We were roomies, best friends, lovers. And nothing in the world was going to stop me from making her my wife.



I was seven years old when I first had my heart broken. His name was Michael Jackson. Not the actual Michael Jackson but this little red-haired, freckle-faced Michael Jackson that lived in the yellow house on the corner of our block. Almost everyone called him Jackie—a name that suited his boisterous personality. He loved to play in the dirt, throw rocks at random objects, and ride his bike along the footpath with his cap backwards. The bad boy you knew you should to stay away from but just couldn’t help dreaming about. One afternoon, on our walk home from school, he rode past and yelled, “Zoey, Zoey, smells like baloney.” My first reaction was to smell my armpits. Could a person smell like baloney? Mom often made baloney sandwiches, and what would I know at seven? I thought I smelled like grape; I had an addiction to grape-flavored Fun Dips since I snuck them into my bag and ate them on the way home each day. But his cruel words stuck with me like a broken record, until my older brother Scott blatantly told me, “Boys like to tease girls if they like them.” Who would have thought? Little old me. This was the most ludicrous thing I had heard in my life. You tease someone because you like them? The more I thought about it, the more I started to supposedly fall in love with him. Jackie—the uncontrollable ten-year-old that wore his blue Hypercolor t-shirt to school every day. I decided to confront him the next day, but he never showed, or the day after that. It turned out that he was a foster child and was sent to another family a couple of towns over. It broke my heart. I cried and thought I would never love another boy again. Because that’s what I thought it was—love. Whitney Houston should have prepared me for such a broken heart; her songs became my life anthem and till this day, I often think of Jackie whenever I eat a baloney sandwich.

There were other boys, then men, that I found myself infatuated with but Jess would ultimately be the heartbreaker. It was a no-brainer that he would destroy me. A phase in my life that I would rather forget until recently when I looked back and thought how much it shaped my perception of relationships. I learned a lot from that train wreck of a man, and my ability to rise above it as a stronger person. While he physically didn’t abuse me, the emotional abuse scarred just as bad. The only thing that got me through that was the unconditional support of my roomie: Drew Baldwin. He saw it all and witnessed me ugly cry on way too many occasions. I look back at it now and wonder why I allowed myself to react the way I did. Destructive with a thirst for vengeance. You could say a broken heart makes you do unimaginable things, but as time passed and I became wiser, I realized any man who would have stepped into my life at that moment would have had me reacting the same. That’s what the twenties were for, to overdramatize life. To fall in and out of love. And so here I was, engaged to a man who left me questioning his faithfulness to our relationship, with just over a week to go before our wedding. Ironically, my thirties did not seem to be any better. I was trapped in a mess that seemed impossible to climb out of. Like a fly trapped in a web, a bleak future ahead unable to untangle itself from the wrath of the mighty spider.

The morning Mia had the baby, I made the effort to get to the hospital to visit her and to catch Drew. Despite him being a big asshole for smashing my pineapple, I needed to talk face to face. This is not what people do before a wedding—take breaks. We were both furious with each other but deep down I knew this was fixable. It had to be. After gushing over Mia’s baby and secretly wanting one of my own, we got to talking about my relationship status which urged Troy to leave the room. For someone who had just welcomed his firstborn into the world, he seemed withdrawn. Maybe it was me and my aura of negativity as Gigi calls it. “Okay, he’s gone. Zoey, I need to tell you something.” I scrunch my nose. “That your baby shit her pants?” “No.” She hesitates, her nostrils flaring followed by a look of absolute disgust. “Is that what that smell is? Should I call the nurse? How do I change a poo?!” I laugh, grabbing a diaper and some wipes from the bedside table. “It’s easy, here.” We lay the baby down on the bed while changing her diaper. It was one of those sticky black poos. My sister-in-law had told me the first ones were the grossest so it didn’t surprise me in the slightest that we had almost used a whole packet of wipes to clean her dirty bottom. Mia had zero experience with babies—one of her fears when she found out she was pregnant— repulsed by what she just saw. “Okay, all done.” I smile at baby Madeline, cooing as she lets out a small yawn. “You were saying?” “The boys went to a sex club on Saturday night and Drew was there with that girl he works with, Storm or something. Nothing happened, at least I don’t think so. Troy left because he was annoyed and Drew had been drinking,” she says it in one breath, staring back at me with sorrow. “Raine,” I choke, holding the baby to distract the tiny stabs stinging my already-fragile heart. “What do you mean by sex club?” “They watch people having sex. I know, Troy is a fucking idiot.” Mia instantly covers her mouth.

“Crap! I just swore in front of the baby. This is not good parenting . . .” I ignore her rambling. Unbeknown to her, there’s a loud explosion. My heart—completely shattered —has broken to pieces. The thoughts swirling around my uncooperative brain make no sense. What does this mean? He had sex with her? He watched people have sex with her? Why the fuck was she even there! Mia taps my arm. “Zoey, are you okay?” “No. Mia. I am not okay.” I stand up, handing the baby back to Mia, putting on a fake smile. “I have to go.” “Zoey, wait. Drew would never do that to you. There has to be an explanation. He just wouldn’t,” she rushes, fighting back the tears that cloud her already-tired eyes. I lean in and kiss her forehead—this wasn’t her problem. She had a loving husband—albeit a dickhead for taking Drew to a sex club—and a beautiful baby. I am many things but a selfish friend is not one of them. I take my business outside of her room, walking out to the hall to catch the tight breath I had been holding in. I could barely walk; my head dizzy, the hallway swaying as if I were sitting on an amusement ride called ‘Zoey’s fucked-up love life.’ And then, I see him—with her, and the image said everything. It might be nothing to anyone else, but to me, it was the man I loved—smiling and happy with the girl who had stolen him from me, resting her head against his arm. It’s premature for me to think she stole him when maybe all along it was his intention. You can’t steal what can’t be stolen. I confronted him, but could barely think straight and therefore said nothing. My eyes were desperate to look at her, berate her for being such a whore. And it was déjà vu all over again. Callie blowing Jess in his workshop. A moment that scarred me in so many ways and tarnished my ability to trust the ones I loved. Raine was everything I am not. Young, smart, and beautiful. Yet it didn’t matter, my ego would have been bruised if she was old, dumb, and fat. Someone else made him smile—it was no longer me. Drew followed me outside swearing nothing happened. Ironic—since I had said the same words to him only days ago when he refused to listen to me. He made his mind up without hearing my side of the story, so why would I treat him any different? The more he talked, the more we argued. It was clear that communicating is something we had trouble with. He rambled on about the wedding, blaming me for letting it drive a wedge between us. I could tolerate many things but accusing me of doing something wrong when all along my intention was to make him happy, angered me beyond words. I gave it to him, all my thoughts wrapped up in one clusterfuck of a mess. He stood there, staring back at me like the old Drew. The one who didn’t love Zoey Richards. The Drew with his head so far up his ass along with the string of women that would follow him. Manwhore Drew that was a selfish prick and never wanted to settle down with one woman. And the joke’s on me. I tried to make him something he wasn’t and failed miserably. Removing the ring from my finger was like pulling dead weight—a move so painful but necessary at this moment. Of course, his stubborn ass refused to accept it back, pushing my hand away in a frenzied

panic. It was just like a scene in a movie; me walking away as the man I loved stood amongst the crowd, head bowed attempting to control his emotions. As I walked away, I kept my head high as a sign of respect to myself. Why? Because the pain was rapidly eating away at me and I was terrified beyond words that I would collapse right here. In front of the world to be judged and ridiculed. “Zoey, the stupid idiot for trusting her heart.” “She should have known that a leopard cannot change its spots.” Twenty-seven-year-old Zoey would have throat punched him and kicked him straight in the nuts. But despite the anger rising, I had responsibilities, like work and my business that had taken a back seat as of late. I don’t know how I got through that day—barely staying afloat so no one could see that every part of me had fallen apart. And I made sure that inside the office, and throughout the meetings, I held myself together in front of Slater. I saw him watching, concerned about my well-being. Several times he tried to approach me, but I was quick to brush him off knowing that confiding in him, like I had done in the past, would end up in him saying things that my fragile heart desperately needed to hear. And, I could mistakenly follow those words and end up somewhere I shouldn’t be . . . like his bed. Slater would be a Band-Aid—temporarily fixing a problem. I didn’t need that, or a rebound, exactly what Noah had been. I was void of tears, often finding myself blankly staring at things and people. It’s almost as if my mind couldn’t process emotions or actions—frozen in a state of shock. I packed my bags and left that night, heading straight to Gigi’s. It was surreal to be back here, and maybe not the best idea in my fragile state. When Gigi opened the door to her apartment, it opened the door to my emotions that came crashing down in one volatile moment. Ugly sobs and a stream of tears falling down my face. My chest began to hurt; breathing became difficult and was closely followed with dry heaves. Gigi wraps her arms around me, and with my head buried into her shoulder, she allows me to release the pain that had been tormenting me since the moment Mia told me what happened that night. Her scent, lavender mixed with vanilla, calms me enough to pull away. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you some tea I picked up from Sri Lanka.” I would have preferred vodka from Russia. While walking inside the apartment, she forewarned me that Drew had called her to tell her his side of the story, anticipating that this is where I would go. He also passed the message on that he wanted to explain, but understood I needed space before we spoke. How caring of him! Inserting a shitload of sarcasm right here. I set my suitcase aside and settled on the sofa while Gigi disappeared to the kitchen, emerging shortly with a tray that had a teapot and two small cups with this beautiful gold and maroon pattern. Placing the tray on the coffee table, she pours my cup, filling it to just underneath the rim, and hands it to me. The warmth of the hot water comforts me, and upon taking a sip, my mouth tries to acclimate to the taste of flowers. Not that I knew what flowers tasted like, but vodka it wasn’t. With my legs curled up on the sofa, I rest my head against the back ignoring the persistent stare from one of Gigi’s newer cats—Mariah.

“Your pussy is looking at me funny.” Gigi turns her to head to where Mariah is positioned, comfortable on the spare armchair in the corner of the room “Oh don’t mind Mariah, she’s a little diva.” “More than Patty and Diana?” I ask, with a small laugh, the first I had laughed in what seemed like forever. “Mariah thinks she owns the place.” Gigi calls her over, but Mariah, the diva, watches with a steady yet evil gaze, not moving an inch. “Thank you for letting me stay, Gigi.” “C’mon doll, you know you’re welcome here whenever you want. I just hate seeing the both of you like this.” “I hate this too,” I admit. “But Gigi, I don’t even know how to process it all. We fell apart so quickly. That can’t be a good sign of things to come in the future.” “Usually, I would say that signs give us a sense of direction. The both of you have the biggest hearts of anyone I know. The problem is: the bigger the heart, the more chance of being hurt.” I choke back my tears, trying to open up and get some clarity from a woman I respected and admired. “He went to a sex club, with Raine. He cheated on me.” “Honey.” Gigi softens her tone, placing her hand on mine. “I know this looks awful but his words— don’t take that with a grain of salt. Listen to him first before you make your mind up.” “But why?” I raise mine, thinking about our fight in my office over Slater. “He was quick to believe I was at Slater’s apartment fucking him. He refused to listen to my explanation. He saw what he wanted to see and all I see is his hands all over her now!” “But have you stopped to think of why he would only see that?” “No,” I say honestly, controlling my pitch. “I guess the wedding was putting added pressure.” “Weddings do that. Sometimes, rather than being a joyous occasion, it’s a true testament to a couple’s ability to communicate and see eye to eye.” “He changed. Ever since I told him I wanted to wait till the wedding night. I know we live together and nothing else will change but I wanted something special. He didn’t understand that and fought me on everything.” Slowly, it began to click. The lack of sex. Did he take that as me not being interested and therefore assuming I was sleeping with Slater? Drew is smart. Surely he wouldn’t think that? “Perhaps I went overboard. You know with the doves and all. But I felt even more pressured to please him given his bad mood. Did I push him into Raine’s vagina?” Gigi shakes her head. “You can’t push someone into another person’s vagina without them wanting it in the beginning.” That statement confused me in my already-tired state. “What do I do, Gigi? I love him. We are supposed to get married next week and even if he explained himself, I’m not sure any explanation will erase the hurt. Say he didn’t cheat on me, he was still in a sex club with a woman he knew I despised.”

She stands up, moving towards the antique wood bookshelf hovering her hand over the rows of books before pulling one out. Walking back over, she hands it to me placing it in my lap. The book has a picture of a lady sitting in the middle of a field surrounded by wildflowers. The title is called Lost Now Found. “Read this, please. Before you say anything, before you act on anything.” I turn the book around, scanning over the blurb. “This isn’t the type of book I would normally read.” She softly chuckles. “No book boyfriend or hot sex. Trust me, it’ll help you make your decision.” I open the first page as Gigi busied herself with a craft project. By the time I look up at the clock on the wall, three hours had passed and I was only a quarter into the book. I had to admit that I was engrossed in the story—powerful with a strong message on every page. It was following the journey of a woman that had beaten the odds: breast and ovarian cancer in her thirties followed by her husband and brother dying. A tragic accident that took them in a split second. I held back the tears, clutching onto my chest as she described how she hit rock bottom and her decision to heal rather than take her own life. It was in the wee hours of the morning that I finally finished, closing the book as I held it tight to my chest. I cried for her, the pain she endured, her suffering. Cried that she was forced to fight for her life on too many occasions. And her message—loud and clear—was that to understand your purpose in life, you needed to dig down deep and search until there is nothing left to search for. I needed to soul search. Understand what the hell went wrong and what I wanted. Nothing in my life made sense right now. I wasn’t prepared to marry Drew feeling uncertain about our future. I just needed a sign, something to tell me there was a purpose to this happening. And with the wedding a ticking time bomb, I hoped the answer would present itself soon. “Zoey, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Slater corners me in the staff kitchen while I make a double-shot coffee. My eyes were stinging, and no amount of concealer could disguise the dark circles. “I’m fine, Slater. I just need to be alone.” He continues to hover, making me uncomfortable with his proximity. From the corner of my eye, I could see he is wearing that nice charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt. He had cut his hair slightly shorter but still styled it the same way. I couldn’t deny that my hostility towards Drew and the sex club night only made Slater more attractive. He was a good guy, funny, and we had a lot in common. He just wasn’t Drew. Moving his body closer into mine, he traces my hand with the tip of his finger, keeping his voice low. “Zoey, you know how I feel about you.” He wanted to fuck me—that’s about it. Slater doesn’t want anything else. He wouldn’t guarantee me a lifetime of happiness and security. He wasn’t my best friend. I didn’t say that out loud, rather created distance so I could let him down gently. “I know how you feel Slater. And I’m angry and hurt right now,” I say, continuing with a sense of reason. “You’re a great guy but I need to find something . . . or at least I’m looking for something.”

“I don’t understand?” he questions, eyebrow raised, his jawline firm and still. “Neither do I . . .” I trail off, patting his shoulder before walking away.

I spent the day writing down my thoughts instead of answering emails. The most burning thought, the one eating away at me: Did Drew sleep with Raine? Before we started a relationship, Drew was a man I could trust with my life. He was my best friend. We had the type of relationship that people envied. I never thought twice about it; he was trustworthy and genuinely cared for me. Even when we started dating, that didn’t change. He was never a man to treat me any less than I deserved but why do this? Why spend the night with her? Questions—running around my mind with no answer in sight. I was staring at the same email for a good hour until I closed my laptop. I was getting nowhere and the frustration mixed with hurt did nothing to ease the growing anxiety. I followed the lead of Angela—the heroine from the book I read. Walking around the city looking for things: trigger warnings. Something that would lead me to the path of discovery. Conveniently, there was a great pizza place on the corner. Even though I was supposed to give it up, I ordered a large pepperoni with extra cheese and carried the box back to Gigi’s place. After climbing the three flights of stairs, I fumble for the key in my pocket when I notice the door slightly ajar to our old apartment. Curiosity beckons, and so I push the door slightly open. The smell of wood and stale air immediately greets me. The apartment is completely empty, void of any furniture or belongings. Taking slow steps, I walk through the apartment as the butterflies smack my stomach in full force. This was it, this was our home. Flashbacks of us sitting on the sofa watching movies that I forced upon Drew with bags of Cheetos that he would chastise me for but would steal one when I left the sofa to use the bathroom. As I walk through to the kitchen, the memory plays: Drew cooking me dinner, something green that looked like fungus but was rather tasty. I never told him that; I liked to push his buttons and irritate him. We kinda worked well that way. And there’s the image of him at the fridge, resting his arm along the door while he stands in his boxers rummaging around for something to eat. Even though he was only my roomie and friend, the sight of him took my breath away—I just didn’t know what it meant at the time. Moving towards the bathroom, I peek my head in and see the same thing; same old bathroom with the cracked tile near the faucet. The very faucet I used to wash my shaver when I was caught by Drew shaving my pubic hair. Yes, a memory so engrained that I still didn’t know whether to laugh or hide from sheer embarrassment. Across the hall sits my bedroom. The door is wide open, and so I step inside to nothing but the green walls. Gee, what an ugly shade of green. This used to be the best thing about my room and now I just wanted to hurl looking at it. The room is empty—lifeless. And unlike the other room, the memories didn’t flow so easy, like they were stuck in transit. Complete limbo. It bugged me that I couldn’t recall anything fond about this room, and so I move further down the hall until I push the door open into Drew’s old room. As soon as it’s in full view, my heart stops beating, my body transported to a time when this was my safe place. I would come in here, even when he wasn’t home and just lie on his bed. Something about being here comforted me. I used to think it was Egyptian thread sheets but it was more than that. It was him.

I always gravitated towards him, even when he was just my friend. And the same thing happened now. This room, everything about it takes me to a place that I had forgotten about these past few weeks. I sat against the wall—pizza box beside me—dressed in my suit pants and cream blouse, not caring that I would be covered in dust. The walls used to be a nice shade of blue, but now they looked just as blah as my room. Was it always this ugly or could my rainbow-colored glasses be so tarnished that I saw nothing but bleak? I lower my head and instead stare at the floor, closing my eyes for a moment to allow my emotions to balance out. “Thought I’d find you here.” Drew’s voice—though low—echoes loudly in the empty room. I didn’t want to stare at his eyes, or look up at him, just bowing my head as the tears fight to be held back. He sits in front of me, crossing his legs to mirror mine, and instantly reaches his hand out to touch mine. It only made the tears fall harder, and I knew that no matter what, I couldn’t stop loving him. I just didn’t know how to move forward from the pain he caused. “Zoey, I love you. I don’t want to do this anymore.” I sniff, keeping my eyes hidden. “Zoey, please look up at me,” he begs, but I didn’t want him to see me like this. Weak and so hopelessly in love with him that I would just fall back into his arms after what happened with Raine. “I admit I got scared, Zoey.” He hesitates, accelerating my racing pulse. “I didn’t want to end up like the couple in that movie—War of the Roses. That’s what I honestly believed, we were settling for comfortable and one day would fight till we’ve destroyed everything. That, and you pretend to feed me pâté made from a pet dog like Kathleen Turner did for Michael Douglas. I know I don’t have a dog, I mean we could get one, but I just don’t like that whiney puppy stage and the shitting everywhere.” “You’re rambling,” I say with a weak smile, noting the irony. “I am.” He nods, nervously twitching his leg. “Zo, I didn’t touch her. I would never do that to you. I was angry, yes, and believe me it wasn’t my intention to go to a sex club and who would have thought she was there, but I promise you I didn’t fuck her.” I purse my lips, keeping my voice to a bare minimum. “There are many things you could have done, Drew . . .” “I didn’t kiss her, touch her in any place that would be deemed as sexual.” “I don’t know what to think.” I choke again. “What to believe.” “You know what to think.” He grabs my hand and places it on my heart. “Inside here you know the truth, just like I know you didn’t touch Slater. Though,” he adds, raising his voice slightly, “I would still beat him to a pulp for wanting you.” I shake my head. “No, you wouldn’t. You tried that once before and it’s not who you are no matter how angry you get.” “You’re right.” He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the tip of my knuckles gently. “I don’t know what came over me, there’s just something about us that felt so . . .” I trail off, not sure if I knew how to explain myself correctly. “Perfectly mismatched? That we’d both been waiting a lifetime to find what we have yet it’s here and we both question if it’s right?” “Yes.” I smile. “I shouldn’t have started doubting us too. The signs were all pointing in the wrong

direction.” “I don’t care about signs anymore, or zodiacs or how the tea leaves that form in the bottom of your cup predict your future,” he tells me. “Gigi said mine said I would meet a handsome doctor.” “She said I would meet a beautiful woman that loved architecture and also giving head.” I swat his arm instantly, until he pulls me forward mid-laugh and forces his lips onto mine. My pulse begins to race again, picking up at a rapid pace. My senses ignite in unison, causing my knees to buckle though I’m sitting on the ground. Pulling back, but keeping my lips close, I whisper, “I thought I lost you. That I pushed you away.” “I thought I lost you.” “I’m sorry I went overboard with the wedding.” “I’m sorry I made you feel like you went overboard. I didn’t know you had planned all those things. You went all-out and I just assumed you got caught up in showing off. Too many reality wedding shows that brought out the Bridezilla in you.” “Okay, maybe a little with the dress but I’m proud of myself for getting fit and staying away from junk.” He pulls back, a wide smirk while clearing his voice and eyes diverting to the pizza box beside me. “It’s not what you think.” “I think it’s pizza,” he says deadpan. “Yes, it is. I just needed a piece of me back. I wanted to feel like the old Zoey again.” “A fitting excuse.” He smirks. “There is no old or new Zoey. There is Zoey. I love you for who you are. I don’t care that you like to eat junk or listen to The Proclaimers while scrubbing the toilet.” I struggle to keep my smile at bay. “The toilet looks spotless if I say so myself. Do you remember that time I accidently almost pulled the brush to my mouth to sing?” Drew breaks out into a fit of hysterics; a beautiful sound I hadn’t heard in a long while. Did he know how incredibly handsome he is? How his smile and laughter instantly brought me back to where I needed to be? “Yes, because you’ve told me this story a million times and always accentuate the word almost which makes me think you tasted toilet water.” “Would you still kiss me if I did?” He leans in, tasting my lips while caressing my face. “I would kiss you even if you were covered in dog shit with flies and maggots crawling all over you.” I scrunch my face in disgust. “That’s gross, you must really want to kiss me.” “I do.” He smiles. “For the rest of my life.” I move forward, positioning myself onto his lap. My arms wrap around his neck, head buried in his chest. When we both stopped talking, I could hear the sound of his heart beating through his shirt. His scent overpowered my senses, and just like always, I ran my nose along the part of his shirt that is unbuttoned, smelling his skin. “We have so much to talk about,” I tell him.

“I know.” He agrees. “I’m sorry about the pineapple. I threw my bag onto the bed and knocked it over. I know how much it meant to you.” “I was pissed,” I admit. “But maybe my good luck wasn’t the pineapple. I think it was you.” “You know I’ll replace it, right?” I pull him in tighter, feeling a breeze between us and scared that he drifted away for a moment. “Trivial stuff. Like the time I put your favorite shirt in the wash with my red thong.” “I forgot about that. Spongebob died the day that thong got to him. Sexy thong though,” he says with a naughty grin. “Looked great around your ankles.” I laugh softly, keeping my face buried into his neck. My special nook. “What do we do about the wedding?” I ask, letting out a sigh while waiting for him to answer. “What do you mean what do we do? You planned the perfect wedding. We get married next week, nothing is going to change that,” he says adamantly. “But the money, I know you wanted to build a house.” He smiles, kissing my cheek and burying his face into my hair. “You still haven’t shown me the plans to Dad’s place.” I pull back, in shock. Was he finally considering us moving there? “You mean you want to stay at your dad’s?” “Well, not in his house, but I know how your architectural mind works. I trust that you understand where my heart lies. You’ll do something magnificent with the land and we can really enjoy being there.” I’m in complete and utter shock. I had begged him for months to consider moving and he argued then shut down every time. I was hoping he wasn’t backing down because he thought that would sway me back into his arms. “Are you sure?” “It’s a bit far for work, so how about a compromise?” he suggests. “We fix up that place and use it for the weekends and we re-do this apartment and keep it for weekdays when we’re in the city.” “This apartment? As in what we’re sitting in right now?” I question, not following his train of thought. He nods. “Yes. It’s on the market right?” I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure. But can we afford this? Why the sudden change of heart?” “Because I forgot to trust you. You’re the only person in the world who understands my transition and what my relationship with my dad meant to me. You have this incredible ability to visualize— something I admire about you. I need to trust your vision instead of thinking that you would tarnish what seems like my only memories left of Dad.” His voice breaks slightly, and with a short silence, he continues, “As long as we don’t go overboard with costs, we can manage just fine. I have so many great memories of this place.” “Me too.” I smile happily. “It was home for so many years. But Drew, on a serious note . . . can I ask you something?” He nods, waiting for me to speak but instead, I twist my body so I’m straddling him. His cock is rock hard, poking out of his jeans which surely has to be uncomfortable.

“Do we get naked here? Or try to make it home?” A wide grin spreads across his sexy face. “I thought you’d never ask but here’s the thing. I agreed to not touch you till our wedding night.” “What lame-ass person made that rule up?” “The same person desperate to eat that pizza.” He laughs. “Sorry, rules are rules.” “They’re made to be broken,” I remind him. “Not this time.” He places a finger against my lips, tracing the bottom as his eyes follow the slow movements. “I think you were right, sometimes it’s good to be a traditionalist. Makes it even more special.” “I don’t like being right,” I tell him. “It makes me think I’m old and wise.” “You’re beautiful and mine.” I laugh out loud. “Okay, but just so you know, I’m petrified the dove will try to attack me. You were right about that.” “I can be right about many things but the only thing worth being right about is you.” And there, inside the four walls where it all began, he kissed me again. My roomie, my fiancé. My life.



Dr. Drew Baldwin and local architect Zoey Richards celebrated their lavish wedding at the The Montague on September 21st. Stylish weddings journalist Mandy Hart caught up with the two asking how the modern-day couple planned the most important day of their lives and still managed to say ‘I do.’

Mandy: Let’s tell the readers how you first met.

Zoey: I needed a roommate and Drew was the perfect fit. Every other guy wasn’t right and he wore this SpongeBob T-shirt, which, when I look back at it—was kinda cool. Drew: I was a geek. Zoey: I can’t argue that. Mandy: Roommates to friends? Makes for a great love story don’t you think?

Zoey: Not just friends, best friends. Drew: Pain in my ass. [Laughs] Mandy: When did you both know that it was more than just a friendship?

Drew: The moment she almost drowned at the beach. I wished everything back. Her careless behavior to messy habits. The way she took your mind on its own journey during one of her incessant rambles. She could name every Madonna song and tell you what color hair she had in each video clip. Zoey: I think it was two days later. I found myself at this dead end. I almost lost my life being reckless and he saved me. I guess I always ran to him and this time was hard because he was the person I was trying to run from. How could I open up to him that things were starting to feel tense between us because my feelings were changing? Mandy: And did that transition come easy? I’m guessing being roomies had you seeing a lot of that person from a different perspective. Partners, lovers, and the barriers that come from being in the friend zone.

Zoey: Drew had his fair share of women stop by the apartment. I mean, look at him. Mandy: [Laughs] I’m looking. Just not sure how you got geek from this?

Drew: I had my eye on the prize. She was blond, crazy, and had an abnormal obsession with Patrick Swayze. I wouldn’t sit through Dirty Dancing for just anyone. Mandy: Talk me through the proposal, Drew. Stakes would have been high, you’ve got this great girl that transitioned from roomie to girlfriend. Some would say that’s having a piece of cake and eating it too.

Drew: I wanted it to be special. It was never a question of if I should propose rather than how. Pineapples were her thing. I scattered them around our balcony keeping to her belief that eight was a lucky number. I knew I had to bring out the big guns, ordering a pepperoni pizza shaped like a love heart. I created a trail of pizza boxes to where I stood and waited for her to come home. Mandy: And the question everyone wants to know: the ring?

Drew: An eighteen-carat, white-gold canary yellow diamond. I had it custom made based on Zoey’s style. Mandy: Impressive and rather personal. You’ve got excellent taste. How did the wedding plans begin? Many newly engaged couples find the beginning the hardest. Agreeing on a date venue, guest list, cake, dresses, tuxes . . . the list goes on.

Zoey: A wedding planner wasn’t in our budget but I did have a good friend that had recently gotten married. She helped a lot and depends who you ask, maybe not the best influence. Drew: Zoey became a bridezilla. It came out of nowhere. One minute we were discussing dates and keeping it low-key and the next minute, doves were going to drop the wedding rings into our hands. Zoey: They didn’t exactly do that. I think the female dove was menopausal because she just hovered around my head like a crazed woman. Drew: [Laughs] Zoey breaking out into hives when she did that was quite comical. Zoey: I was scared she would lay her “droppings” on my expensive dress. Vera Wang would have dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball if she saw that happen to one of her designs. Drew: She did—on your shoulder. According to folklore, that’s supposed to be good luck. Zoey: Pineapples are good luck, not birds crapping on your shoulder. It was greenish brown and looked like it had worms in it. Mandy: [Laughs] Take it as a good sign for years to come. And so the The Montague is the biggest wedding venue in Southern California. How did you secure a place that had one of the longest waitlists?

Zoey: They had a sudden opening. I immediately said yes even though I hadn’t spoken to Drew. The Montague catered for everything and had a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean. Celebrities raved about the place. I just had to convince Drew to get married in six weeks. Mandy: You did an amazing job. Six weeks is a very short time to plan a wedding as lavish, elegant, and personal as yours. The photos looked amazing, and Starship?! How did you get them to sing at the wedding?

Drew: One of my patients managed a record label. He pulled a few strings and made it happen. Kind of a thank-you for saving his life. I wanted something special for Zoey, a surprise considering she had planned this entire wedding on her own. I wasn’t of much help. Zoey: You picked the champagne. People raved about the champagne. Drew: That’s because our circle of friends are alcoholics. [Laughs] I’m giving credit where credit is due. Zoey made it all happen and I wouldn’t change a single thing despite my earlier reluctance. Mandy: I think every newly engaged woman would love to hire Zoey right now—wedding planner extraordinaire.

Zoey: Just to set the record straight—that was a one-time thing. Drew’s stuck with me for life. It was rewarding at the end but also the biggest headache. It almost tore us apart. In fact, it did tear us apart up until the week before. I’ll stick to being an architect. Drew: It may have torn us apart but made our bond even stronger. And just for the record as well—

you’re stuck with me for life. Mandy: I can’t help but feel the love in the room and I’m sure your honeymoon in Maui cemented your wedding vowels nicely.

Drew: It surely did. Zoey: He can’t hide his thoughts to save his life hence his naughty smirk. It was what we both needed, time away from work and just to focus on each other. I’m not exactly a beach person but Maui was stunning. I’m glad we didn’t go to Australia just yet because it would have been a short trip and we want to visit and spend more time there. Mandy: So where to now for the ambitious newlyweds?

Drew: I’m really enjoying work and hope to specialize solely in cardiology soon. Zoey: I’m finishing up a few projects at work then will focus on building my business. It’s been my dream for a long time plus working on our house which we hope to have completed in the near future, just in time for the baby’s arrival. Mandy: Wow! I guess that’s a congratulations.

Zoey: Thank you. Time to get ready. Mandy: [Laughs] For what?

Drew: Baby Wars.





The dictionary defines a jerk as a contemptibly foolish person. That’s being nice. And nice wasn’t something I did. Give me something in return and maybe, I can play nice. Like the time I sucked up to get that promotion with that made-up title, or when I befriended the local stoner and got an extra stash of weed. And we can’t forget about last night with the promise of some sweet pussy, but what a disappointment that turned out to be. I got what I wanted because I didn’t give a damn. About anyone or anything. I just wanted to have fun, but even then, that game was fast becoming old.

I was bored and needed a new challenge. Something to keep me occupied. And one day, it all just fell into place (by accident of course). Our office was one giant playground. I dubbed myself the school bully and the ice queen was my target. It’s her own fault though; I’d never met a woman so fucking uptight you would need a whole army to pull the giant stick out of her ass. It was one juicy ass though. Perky, with that round bounce that you just know would make a terrific sound when you slapped it with your palm. But that was beside the point. Way beside the point. I didn’t like her stubbornness. Nor her obsessive need to have everything clean and in order. I loathed the way she would answer every question like a pompous know-it-all bitch. And that ridiculous skirt she always wore that made her look like a schoolgirl (alright, perhaps there were benefits to that skirt if you pictured her in eight-inch heels and a pair of garter belts peeking through) was not appropriate office attire. What irked me most was the way she would parade ‘round the office with her nose stuck up in the air. Miss I’m-Too-Good-for-All-You-Juveniles-so-I’m-Going-to-Act-Like-a-Fucking-Grandma. Yeah, she thought she was fucking all that. I didn’t like bitches like that, especially when they paraded that ring on their finger like some fucking accomplishment. The guy probably gave it to her ‘cause he had a small dick and couldn’t get any better. Yeah, well you’ve got a big dick and probably could teach her a lesson or two. Then it happened—the day that ring no longer taunted me. The day the office gossip went into overdrive because Presley Malone was back to being single. The ice queen didn’t even look sad. I don’t even think she shed a tear and I’m thinking Mr. Small Dick probably found some less-frigid pussy elsewhere and jumped ship. But a victory for every goddamn cock and balls in the office that went ape-shit fighting over who could get her in bed first. It was exactly the challenge I needed. And I didn’t intend to play nice. Nice was for chumps. I pulled pigtails and lifted skirts. No lie. It wasn’t payback, and it wasn’t vindictive. It was clean, harmless fun. Fuck that . . . it was dirty fun. There was only one way to get her attention, just one way for her to finally notice I existed; I had to make her life in the office a living hell. Push all the right fucking buttons. According to her, if it walks like a jerk, and talks like a jerk, then I am a jerk. But I understood the meaning of ‘jerk’ a little differently. To be a selfish, manipulative, insensitive asshole luring her in by playing Mr. Nice Guy, only to give her false hope and leave her cursing the day I was born.

Get your copy now! Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AUS





“I’ll make you a deal,” Tom, one of my best friends, says while bouncing the ball and shooting it in the hoop. “Stay for cake and the speeches, then you can go.” “I’ve got plans that night,” Benny, another friend, complains as he fights Tom for the ball. He narrowly misses as Tom, once again, scores. “Since when do you have plans?” I ask Benny, blocking Tom and pulling down a rebound. The two of them hopelessly try to catch me, to no avail. Benny stops, leaning over with his hands resting on his knees to catch his breath. “Just something on.” “Is it that chick? What’s her name . . .” I pause while thinking. “Tina. The one with those big tits that bounced every time she laughed at your lame joke about the nun and the priest?” Tom stops mid-step, laughing very loudly until he breaks out in a nasty cough. “That joke has gotten me laid more times than your mom has gone to church. And she goes every Sunday.” Benny laughs foolishly at his own joke. “Hey, hey.” Tom walks over, raising his hands, then comfortably rests his elbow on my shoulder. “Cue the mom jokes, Benny.” “Speaking of which,” I add purposely, just to annoy Tom. “This party you’re dragging us to is for your mom’s sixtieth. I’m all for a good time, Tommy, but cougars ain’t my style.”

Benny instantly curls his fist, covering his mouth while he hides his laugh, purposely goading Tom. “Nice try, momma’s boy. You’re going. Mom has plenty of divorcee friends. Isn’t that your style anyway? Preying on the broken hearted?” Tom carelessly points out. He had a point. I am known for my inability to hold down a relationship because I hate being tied down, and all the women I had spent time with carried enough baggage to fit into an A380. Cheating exhusband, gay boyfriend, and worst of all, kids. No thanks. “I’ll compromise,” I humor him. “I’ll stay till the cake is cut, give your mom one dance if she wears that low-cut purple dress with the rhinestones, and only if your hot cousin from Florida is there.” “Fuck you,” he mouths in return. “I don’t know what Mom’s wearing but it ain’t that dress. Pass me the goddamn brain bleach. And my cousin is nineteen. We’ve been down that road, dude. Stay away.” I move closer to Benny and place my arm around his shoulder. “If I’m going down, then you’re going down with me.” “Fuck the both of you. I’ll be there only till six. I’m not dancing with your mom. And you better keep your granny on the other side of the room,” Benny warns Tom. “What’s wrong with Granny?” Tom cries, pretending not to know that ‘Granny’ has wandering hands with a fetish for pinching asses. “You know, fuck you both. You better be there. That’s all. And Noah, make sure you bring your mom.” The two of them whistle, only riling me up more. See, here’s the thing about my mom. She’s young. Forty-four to be exact. Got knocked up at sixteen to her college boyfriend, who vanished into thin air when he found out. Unlike Benny’s and Tom’s moms, mine is young, and according to them, has the body of a thirty-year-old. And just because they liked to fuck with me, they also add that she has the tits of an eighteen-year-old. To them, the joke never gets old. They’ve been my best friends since junior high and yet still, to this very day, they crack jokes about my mom and her body like it doesn’t bother me. It fucking bothers me, alright. No one—and I mean no one —talks smack about my mom. “Screw you guys.” I throw the ball back at Tom, challenging him to a half-court shot. “Your shot. You get it in, I’ll attend your mom’s lame party and bring my mom.” “And your mom will wear her black slutty dress with the open back?” Son of a bitch. “Just shoot, would you?” Tom moves to the center, positioning himself in line with the ring. Raising his arm, he practices his shot before releasing the ball. We all watch, eyes wide, waiting in anticipation as the ball flies through the air, then touches the back of the ring before falling through. Fuck. “Woo!” Tom cheers, running up and down the court like a lunatic. “See you Saturday night, boys.”

The party dragged on forever. Divorcees, drunk on cheap wine, dancing the Nutbush. Benny—being the dick he is—abandoned me well before the cake and dancing. One minute he was by my side trying to avoid being groped by Tom’s granny, and the next minute, he had disappeared. I ended up pulling a Benny, slipping out and leaving a drunken Tom to fend for himself. Plus, I think

he was this close to hooking up with one of his mom’s friends. He was always the first to admit he had a fetish for older woman—specifically MILFs—so this came as no surprise. Then, I had to take care of me. I was itching to get laid. It felt like forever. Okay, that’s a lie. I have a life that most men fantasize about. A lifestyle filled with beautiful women, begging to be fucked, every which way possible. Letting go of any inhibitions. Sometimes in the act of revenge, and other times, just to fill the empty hole in their life. It’s not like I purposely find these women. They just have a way of finding me. And I happen to be very intuitive. I’ve spent years studying women’s body language. Learning what each move means, when to strike, and when to walk away because their eyes begin to flash love hearts. I have mastered the game. And this game, the thrill of the chase, it’s just become too easy. Almost, predictable. I mean, I don’t even have to try anymore. Where’s the challenge? The back and forth flirtatious gestures leading to witty banter. The two drink minimum, a promise to call, the exchange of phone numbers, goodbye. I knew I was good. But I didn’t know I was this good. I had left the party and headed to our usual hangout—a local bar on the pier. I’m sitting beside a gorgeous woman that I just fucked. Twice—if you want to count the insanely good blowjob. She walked into this very bar an hour ago. Scanning the room with those puppy dog eyes, searching for something. A man, of course. It’s the same look they all have—sad and depressed. Tired, worn-out eyes, yet still dressed up hoping for some miracle. She looked broken-hearted. Ding, ding, ding! I had it in the bag. She was sexy. Short with nice hips and long brown hair that flowed down her back. The red fitted dress did great things for her curves; The black slutty pumps looked amazing on her. They looked even better wrapped around my neck. She loved it. She begged me to finish her off, insisting that it was exactly what she needed. That’s what they all say. “Noah, I just need one night. Fuck me hard,” they all plead. “Noah, make me forget him, you are so hot with a big dick. Bigger than his dick,” they all compliment. Same ole story. But hey, who’s complaining? Definitely not my ‘big dick.’ They all want to be placed on a pedestal. Shown how the single life wouldn’t be so bad. Sex with another man gives them the satisfaction that, emotionally and physically, they have detached themselves from the one that broke their heart. The woman beside me—Rose, I think—continues to sit in silence. Fuck, you can’t remember her name even after you screamed it in the hotel room. Lost in a daze, she traces the bottom of her glass, letting out a soft sigh every couple of minutes. Normally, I don’t entertain them afterwards. We always

agree that it’s a one-time thing; they’re rebounding and I’m letting off steam from my stressful job. Okay, another lie I spun to make myself seem important. My job is breezy. But she asked me for a favor, a quick drink at the bar. And rarely do I do favors for people unless it’s my mom or my best friends. “I know you’re probably wanting to get rid of me now,” she suggests, half-jokingly. “Can I ask you something?” I try my damn hardest not to look at my watch, because in reality, I don’t have anywhere that I need to be. With a forced smile, I nod encouragingly, hoping to end this encounter within the next few minutes. Unless, of course, she’s up for round three. Dammit, I’m getting hard again thinking about it. She takes a sip from the glass, and one sip soon becomes an entire mouthful, until the glass sits empty on the coaster. She motions the bartender to replace the drink, turning to ask me the burning question, “Do you believe in karma, Noah?” An odd question, especially coming from a woman that you’ve just been inside. I am no saint. If there is such a thing as karma, it would have hunted me down by now, chopped me into fine liver, and fed me to the wolves. “I haven’t given it much thought. I guess so, maybe, why do you ask?” She swivels the stool to face me, her eyes drunk and sleepy. The mascara that accentuated her long lashes has smudged under her eyes. Jesus, was she fucking crying and I had no idea? “I’ll be honest,” she admits, keeping her voice low, “I really needed what happened between us tonight.” They always do. She picks up the toothpick that sits inside the glass, removing the olive between her fingers, and swirls the martini quickly. “But it’s just . . . I can’t help but feel guilty.” Of course she does. I have the speech memorized. It’s not the first time I have heard this. See, first comes lust, then comes fucking. Then straight after, say hello to your good ole friend guilt. “Rose, I’m not going to push you to open up to me,” I tell her. Please don’t open up to me, I beg silently. I need to ease her guilt. Give her enough confidence to walk away with her head held high, no regrets. “We all have our reasons for our actions, whatever they may be. You’re young, beautiful, and whoever hurt you, he has what’s coming to him.” Reassuring her with a smile, I place my hand on top of hers. Her lips curve upwards, smiling innocently while taking some nuts from the bowl that sits on the countertop. Oh no, not the urine nuts! The amount of hands that have touched that bowl . . . Don’t go there. Just remember your mouth will no longer touch hers. “I had a fight with the guy I’m seeing,” she tells me. “I thought he had spent the night trying to hook up with other women. We got into a fight, then he tells me he loves me. I told him to back off, and the only reason he said that was because I told him it’s over.” “Is it over?” “I don’t know. I think I love him. And now I’ve ruined everything. I came here looking for him and I walked away sleeping with you.” She painfully holds back her tears, shaking her head with guilt. “I

practically bolted out of the room when he said he loved me. I was angry, hurt, and I couldn’t get over my jealousy. Women are always texting him.” “That’s understandable. Love can do that to you,” I tell her. Can you seriously hear yourself? What the fuck would I know? I’ve never been in love nor was it on my list of things to do. From my observations, emotions run high when you throw the word ‘love’ around. Nothing good could ever come out of laying your heart on the line only for it to get broken into a million pieces. Maybe it could be compared to the time my mom washed my limited edition Lakers jersey in the wash with her red shirt. I almost cried, and I didn’t speak to her for days. Every night, I would go to bed hugging the damn thing, remembering all the good times we had. The memory is still painful. “But here’s the thing, we’ve been seeing each other on the down low and I didn’t expect us to get this far but we did. It’s been . . . fast . . . you know.” “So, aside from that, what’s the problem? If you love him then tell him,” I respond casually, brushing off her overdramatic problem at hand. “So we slept together, he doesn’t have to know.” She’s clutching at the napkin, twisting it with a restless jitter; I can see she is tormented by her decision to climb into bed with me tonight. She had foolishly assumed that she could emotionally detach herself from her ex-lover. “I’ve ruined it between us. He’s such a kind-hearted guy and I ran looking for a rebound. You’re Mr. Rebound. Karma won’t let that one slide,” she openly wails. “I’ve hurt him. When I ran, I think he took it personally. He’s um . . . unique,” she quickly adds. “But that doesn’t change how I feel about him. I love his qualities, you know. He has such a big heart.” “Big heart, huh?” That’s usually code for small dick, I laugh to myself. “Unique like three-nipples unique?” I joke, thinking about Chandler in Friends and his ‘nubbin.’ Rose manages to half smile. “He has a prosthetic leg. I don’t care, trust me, I love him for who he is inside and out.” My stomach flips, slowly churning as the gut-wrenching pain followed by the urge to vomit teeters on the edge. I clutch at the beer in front of me, drinking it in one go to calm the nervous energy building up inside. The sweat on my forehead builds, increasing my anxiety. Please . . . please, let this be a coincidence. “That’s . . . unusual.” I gulp. “He lost it in a boating accident when he was five.” Bowing her head, she whispers in pain, “It’s so sad but he never lets it get to him. He told me it’s because his best friends won’t allow it. They’re like brothers to him and without them he would have probably killed himself.” No . . . this can’t be happening. Please god, this can’t be happening. A gust of wind rushes past as the door to the bar swings open. And there, behind me, I feel his presence. The man she is running from.

The knot in my stomach tightens, on the verge of combusting. With the deepest of breaths, my body moves painfully slow until I am met with his face. Just like Rose believed, karma has a way of finding everyone. It found me. And standing beside it is my best friend Benny.

Get your copy now! Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AUS



Born and bred in Sydney, Australia, Kat T. Masen is a mother to three crazy boys and wife to one sane husband. Growing up in a generation where social media and fancy gadgets didn’t exist, she enjoyed reading from an early age and found herself immersed in these stories. After meeting friends on Twitter who loved to read as much as she did, her passion to write began and the friendships continued on despite the distance.

“I’m known to be crazy and humorous. Show me the most random picture of a dog in a wig and I’ll be laughing for days.”

Where to find me: Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorkattmasen Twitter: @authorkattmasen Instagram: @authorkattmasen Website: www.kattmasen.com

Table of Contents Other Books by Kat T. Masen Wedding Wars Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Wedding Wars: To Husband & Wife Preview: #Jerk Preview: Mr Rebound About the Author