I probably don’t. Another thing we don’t see eye to eye on—food.
Drew is a health nut and always trying some new diet which involves food claiming to be the next best thing for your body. We’re forever arguing over the food I purchased, and Drew’s the biggest nagger when it comes to what food you put in your mouth. He drives me insane—a far cry from the guy who walked into my apartment four years ago.
Andrew Baldwin, the chubby geek I chose as a roomie over Mr. Blue Eyes.
Back then, Andrew was your typical university student living on pizza and Ramen noodles, struggling to get his medical degree. After moving in, he decided to go on a health kick given the demanding hours he’d soon have to commit to in the medical field. He admitted that he struggled with many things in his life, and his weight was one of them. At that time, I couldn’t relate, thinking I was invincible. Being twenty-five with a banging body, I thought I was one of those lucky women.
Ha! What a delusional idiot I turned out to be.
Andrew started hitting the gym every day and eating like a rabbit while I threw myself into a destructive relationship. Over time, he transformed his body, and I had to admit, he looked good. He was no longer that geek who walked into my apartment that day. Spending that much time in the gym toned his body, and it felt like overnight his abs came out of nowhere. For a while, I thought he had some compulsive gym disorder, but he was just motivated and didn’t stop until he achieved the results he was after. The cocky bastard knew he looked good and so began the shirtless parade through the apartment every day.
Watching him transform didn’t bug me the slightest bit. If anything, I was proud he made changes to better his situation. Aside from the weight loss, he cut his hair shorter and started wearing contacts. He threw out all his clothes and went on this shopping spree purchasing trendier pieces since he was hitting the club scene every spare moment he got.
Women began throwing themselves at him, and soon, he referred to himself as ‘Drew.’ Of course, I went along with it being a supportive friend. He was living the life—a rocking body, a career beginning to take off, and gorgeous women begging to be in his bed. He knew how to play the ‘Doctor’ card when it came to luring women to his room.
I’ll be the first to admit seeing him transform should have motivated me, but instead, I went in the opposite direction throwing myself into a relationship that was toxic.
Jess was your typical tattooed bad boy. A chain-smoking, Harley Davidson-driving bad boy.
He was every daddy’s worse nightmare. My dad warned me on several occasions I could do better than him. That his little girl deserved the world, and Jess was a deadbeat living paycheck to paycheck with a drinking problem. It just took me so long to figure that out.
We dated for a year and a half, breaking up a dozen times because of his jealous antics. It’s easy to look back now and realize how destructive our relationship was, but in the midst of it all, I thought I was going to marry him.
We vacationed at some beautiful resorts and had fun most of the time, but Jess’s drinking problem spiraled out of control. It was brought to my attention by Drew one day, yet I ignored him, thinking he was pissed off because Jess spent so much time at our apartment. When Jess got drunk, Drew was his target. The thought of me living with a male drove him insane.
To think I nearly moved out to live with him in his rundown shack shows how pathetic I was. I guess you could say it was a blessing I found my ex-best friend, Callie, blowing him in the back of his workshop.
Reiterate—ex-best friend.
I lost my sense of strong, independent Zoey and turned into the devil, cursing revenge on their lame asses. I was on the warpath to make their lives a living hell, and in the meantime, all that did was put me in a depressive funk that could only be cured by eating more.
My love life dwindled after that and not because I didn’t get any offers, but because I just couldn’t be bothered anymore. I’d joined the anti-men bandwagon. They were all the same. At least in my eyes, they were.
“Since you didn’t reply, I’ll take it you’re not interested?” Drew yells back from the kitchen.
“Pass,” I shout back, digging into my corn chips.
He emerges ten minutes later with a plate of green crap. Settling on the couch beside me, he devours his meal making these odd sounds. It smells good, but boy, does it look like a pile of mush.
“Geez, you sound like you’re having an orgasm.”
“Kale does that to you.” He moans on purpose, closing his eyes as he runs his tongue along his top lip.
“Honestly, where is the fun-loving Andrew who would fight for the last slice of Hawaiian pizza? Remember pizza wars? When we would battle for the last slice?”
“I believe that’s buried along with that name. C’mon, Zo, you know I hate being called Andrew.”
I’m not about to get into that argument again. Drew struggled with talking about his past every time I got all Dr. Phil on him. It’s a man thing. Something I wish I could do because I have no problem dragging up the past. A woman thing.
Fumbling with the remote and skipping past all the Friday-night rubbish on television, I stop at some wedding-dress show until Drew warns me to keep surfing.
“The last time you watched this, you cried for an hour saying you would end up a spinster collecting cats.”
?
?It was that time of the month,” I mumble with a mouthful of corn chips.
He removes the remote from my hands and settles on some travel show. Although I let out an annoyed huff, crossing my arms like a spoiled child, I end up enjoying watching the hosts trek through Asia and explore different cultures—another reminder my life has become stagnant. Yet, that push, that drive, my mojo, has no desire to experience life outside of this apartment and my office.