There’s something unique about his accent. Not quite American, a hint of British or Australian if I’m not mistaken. I want to ask him, but he seems to be nervous and intimidated by this process. It isn’t like a job interview. It’s odd that a grown man would be nervous around me.
“Studying to be a doctor? Impressive,” I tell him. “And your surname is Baldwin. Are you related to Alec, Stephen, Daniel, and what’s the other one that starred in that movie as a stalker?”
He appears to relax a little, then releases a soft chuckle. “Can’t say we’re related, but I think you’re referring to Billy.”
Of course, he knows that. Sharon Stone is the epitome of a sex goddess and every jerk-off fantasy. If you’re a guy and haven’t seen Sliver, you might as well be gay.
“Well, Andrew. Your application looks good, and so far, you’re the best applicant.”
Just get this over and done with. Get Liam and his perfect everything out of your head. You didn’t work your ass off so you could throw it away because of some guy who would make such beautiful babies. Andrew ticks all the boxes—he looks intelligent in a geeky kind of way, not a womanizer who will attract ladies to the apartment, and most of all, I’m not attracted to him one bit.
I give him my best welcoming smile. “When can you move in?”
Adjusting his glasses above the bridge of his nose, he manages a small smile, extending his hand as we shake on our new agreement.
It will be the first time I’ve lived with a man besides my dad and brothers, and the first time Andrew’s ever lived with a woman. After much deliberation, we agree we need to establish rules. And so, Zoey Richards and Andrew Baldwin vow never to break the five cardinal rules of the roommate agreement.
Rule Number One: Neither of us has ‘maid’ listed on our resume. It’s every man/woman to clean up after themselves.
Rule Number Two: The toilet seat should always be left down.
Rule Number Three: No partners or lovers are to stay more than one night in a row. Otherwise, rent is payable.
Rule Number Four: All disputes are to be settled old-school—rock, paper, scissors.
Rule Number Five: Nudity is not acceptable. In the event of any mishaps, it must never, ever, be spoken of again.
Just five simple rules we need to stick to, and yes, I added the last one since I have a bad habit of getting drunk and sleeping naked on the couch.
A week later, Andrew Baldwin moves in, and I officially have a roomie.
Chapter One
Zoey
Oh crap.
I look down at my tattered Rainbow Brite shirt. The guacamole sits right in the middle of my collarbone, producing a nice stain next to the ketchup spill from last week. Pulling my shirt toward my mouth, I run my tongue along the edge and carefully try to clean myself up.
Yeah, I’m a slob.
A slob that is lying across the couch on a Friday night watching reruns of Friends. The episode airing is hilarious and one of my all-time classic favorites. It’s when the girls lose the apartment forgetting Chandler’s ever-so-elusive job title. I’m in stitches, accidentally spitting a corn chip that goes flying across the room. I should probably go pick it up, but continue to lie here ignoring the mess surrounding me.
It’s the best way to unwind after a horrendous week in the office. It’s surprising that I made it through the week without strangling my boss. Another reminder that my job sucks, and I’m the moron putting up with his shit. Cue the violins. I only have myself to blame, and sitting beside a bag of jumbo corn chips I found at Costco is living proof.
Sadly, the jumbo bag of corn chips is the highlight of my week. I jumped with excitement when I came across them stacked up on the shelf. I also resorted to taking a selfie with the chips and went on to post it online, hash-tagging the pic like an attention-craving social media whore.
Pathetic in all forms.
And that says everything about how uneventful my life has become.
Since Friday night is supposed to be the time to let loose and party, I thought why not skip dinner and head straight to the corn chips and guacamole—and it’s not a party without some beers. I’m even wearing my fluorescent-pink hoop earrings with my hair crimped just for fun.
Party of one. Just little old me.
Throughout the ads, I begin to channel surf when I hear the rattle of the door followed by the sound of keys. The door opens wide, and my roommate, Drew, walks in carrying a grocery bag. With his spare hand, he shuts the door behind him and throws the keys onto the small side table near the entrance.
I’m not surprised Drew is still dressed in his scrubs since he practically lives at the hospital. On top, he wears a gray hoody with matching gray Nikes. My eyes move back to his grocery bag, praying he picked up some shampoo since I used the last of his bottle this morning. All I see is carrots and a bunch of green stuff. Ugh.