by Sarah Adams
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Temporary Roomie © 2021 by Sarah Adams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First edition April 2021
Cover design by Sarah Adams
Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading: Alison Maxwell - Red Leaf Proofing
WWW.AuthorSarahAdams.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Also by Sarah Adams
About the Author
To my readers who have been with me since the beginning. You know who you are, and this one is for you! Thank you for your never-ending support.
I love you.
The line rings three times before Lucy answers. “Hey, Jes—”
“HE DIDN’T SHOW!” I immediately yell at my best friend.
Lucy chuckles. She’s lucky she’s not anywhere near me right now, or I’d pinch her in the tender spot under her arm for taking this so lightly. “Who didn’t show? Your grandaddy or my brother?”
“Drew. Your obnoxious brother!”
“Quit yelling!” Lucy yells back.
“I can’t!”
“Why not?!”
“Because I’m fired up! This is Drew’s way of getting back at me for hating him so much. He agreed to help me today, planning to stand me up and make me look like a fool in front of my grandaddy. I bet he’s walking into the sunset with a devious smile, wearing a white linen suit right now.”
“M’kay, first, it’s still morning. And second, you really don’t know him at all.”
I frown. “You don’t think he’d wear a white linen suit? I’m positive he—”
“No. What I mean is I’m sure he has a good excuse, because last night when I called and asked him to help you, he didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. Have you tried calling him this morning?”
“Ha! Have I tried calling him?! Only fifteen times. It went to voicemail all of those times. Face it, Lucy—your brother is a class-A jerk, and I was right to not trust him.”
What I don’t admit to Lucy is that this is my own fault for ever letting myself rely on a man who would love nothing more than to ruin my life. I can’t really blame him, though, because the feeling is mutual. Believe me, if there was literally anyone else in the world I could ask to pose as my fake fiancé, I would. I even asked a random guy in the grocery store last night, but oddly enough, he said no. Actually, it wasn’t so much no as it was him speed walking away from me clutching his bottle of mustard. I was forced to rely on Drew because I was out of time and options, and that’s a terrifying place to be in life.
Last night, my grandaddy (the man who raised me) called to let me know he was surprising me and coming for a weekend visit in the morning (which is now). I would normally be ecstatic about a chance to see my favorite human in the world, but that is NOT the case when I’m about to be found out as a big fat pregnant liar. Liar, liar, maternity pants on fire!
I didn’t even have a good reason to lie to my grandaddy—he’s never made me feel like I needed to be someone I’m not in order to have his love. But for some reason, when I had to call and tell him I was pregnant, I panicked and said I was also getting married.
Now, in all fairness, I also thought I would be getting married. I was naively convinced my boyfriend at the time had gone on the road with his band because he needed some time to process this big development in his life, and then he’d be back. I thought he needed to throw a little (read: huge, mega, horribly mean) tantrum over this sudden change in his life plan, and then he would boomerang right back to me. BREAKING NEWS: He didn’t. Some boomerangs don’t circle back, apparently.
My ex-boyfriend, Jonathan, bolted just like my dad did, and now, after several long months, I’ve finally come to terms with the realization that he’s not coming back. (Jonathan, not my dad. I lost any hope of that man returning when I was still drinking out of a sippy cup.)
So, when I called my grandaddy and told him he’d soon be getting a great-grandchild, I also might have mentioned that I was getting married. Since the word delusional is not very pretty, we’ll say it was hope that drove me to tell that lie—hope that my life wouldn’t be following the same path as my mom’s.
Surprisingly, I’ve maintained this lie pretty well up until now. I’ve gone home to Kentucky to visit my grandaddy several times since announcing my impending nuptials…but unfortunately, my dear, dear wonderful fiancé was always too busy with work to be able to come along. The work of a prestigious lawyer waits for no man! (And yeah, I have no idea why I also turned Jonathan into a lawyer. I think at that point, some part of me must have known he was never coming back.) Anyway, it was all fine and dandy until the surprise trip my grandaddy sprung on me last night.
Then, Lucy talked me into faking a relationship with her brother, to whom I dream of feeding laxatives via a surprise coffee delivery to his office. Drew, the physical embodiment of how a person feels when they are assigned jury duty. But wait, there’s more!
Drew is:
•The human version of a popcorn kernel stuck in your teeth.
•The man so boring he eats celery for dessert.
•The only person in the world with whom it would be more pleasing to run barefoot over a trail of pointy Legos than have a thirty-second conversation.
In case anyone is still confused, I absolutely can’t stand Dr. Stuck-up Marshall.
I pull back the curtains again and stare out at my driveway like a peeping Tom. If Drew pulls in right now, he’ll see my face pressed up against the glass, making me have a piggy nose and death-glare eyes, and he’ll keel over at the sight of it. I’m forced to let the curtain fall again when a mom pushing her toddler in a stroller sees me and looks like she might call the cops.
“Jessie, I’m sure Drew had a good explanation. I know you’re determined to hate him, but I promise he’s one of the good ones.”
“No. My grandaddy is the only good single man left in the world—and if those old grannies at bingo were smart, they’d snatch him up. So no…I do not believe Drew is one of the good ones, and I’m certain he did this on purpose. He’s mad at me for throwing the bag of diapers in his face, and this is retaliation.”
“What diapers? No—you know what? I don’t want to know. At least tell me what happened when your grandaddy showed up and Drew wasn’t there.”
“Jessieeee.” She drags out my name like she just found out I ate all the cookies from the cookie jar. “What happened when he showed up?”
I sigh dramatically. “He didn’t, okay? He called me this morning saying he woke up to a flat tire and had to have it towed to a mechanic. He said he’d have to take a rain check on the visit.”
“Oh my gosh! Then why in the world are you so upset with Drew? You didn’t even need him!”
I blink. “Because he didn’t know that! I never told him because I wanted to see if he’d show or not. And he didn’t, so HA!”
“You are unbelievable.” I know Lucy is shaking her head right now. “This hate needs to stop. You both act like babies, and I can’t handle it anymore. Also, you need to tell your grandaddy the truth.”
“I already did,” I murmur under my breath.
“What was that?” She’s being so pious now.
“I said I already told him I don’t have a fiancé. Well, actually, he guessed it. He asked to reschedule for next weekend, and when I told him I thought Jonathan would be out of town that weekend, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, he told me he already knew and had pretty much guessed since the beginning that there was no fiancé. I guess it was suspicious that Jonathan hasn’t been around at the same time as my grandaddy one time in seven months.” Duly noted: I need to fabricate better lies in the future.
Actually, I feel a tad bit silly now for ever making it such a big deal in the first place. I thought he was so proud of me because I was getting married, starting a family, following the path of the typical American Dream. But get this—he’s just proud of me for being me. He doesn’t care a bit that I don’t have a husband; he’s just happy he gets to see me become a mom. At that statement, my heart swelled to the size of Texas. Once again, my grandaddy has proven that no one will be able to top his goodness.
“That’s amazing, Jessie! So now all that’s left is forgiving Drew.”
Forgiving Drew? HA! “Oh honey, that animosity has only begun.”
“Very mature.” I can hear the eye roll in her tone. “Tell you what…why don’t you go eat some pickles like you love, and I’ll try to get ahold of Drew to find out what’s going on? And then maybe we can circle back around to the forgiving each other thing.”
“Bleh—no to both. My cravings have moved on to Flaming Hot Cheetos now.”
“You know, it really makes me mad that you eat whatever you want all the time and barely look pregnant. I was an elephant at your stage of pregnancy.”
I KNOW, PEOPLE! I’m small for a woman in her third trimester. I get it. Everyone mentions it all the time, and it makes me feel terrible. They all look at me like I’m starving myself and my poor child will never be healthy or go to the Olympics because of me! I’m just petite, okay?! My doctor even offered to write me a note to keep in my purse that states my child is measuring perfectly and my size is more than acceptable for a healthy pregnancy. Fine, maybe I had to beg and plead (and sob) for her to write it, but it doesn’t matter—that slip of paper is laminated in my purse, so every humiliating tear I shed was worth it. That old lady at the grocery store had to totally eat her words when I whipped it out and flashed it in front of her smug, know-it-all face.
When I don’t respond, Lucy asks, “Jessie? Are you okay?”
I’m trying to hide it, but I can’t. I let out a sharp sniffle and swipe the tear from my cheek because I’m extra sensitive about my size. And basically anything and everything all the time.
“Oh no, are you crying?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” I say through very obvious tears. “I never cry.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Crying is for suckers.” My voice is cracking and wobbling—stupid pregnancy.
“Oh, hun,” Lucy says, with nothing but fondness in her tone.
“What?” I ask, going to the bathroom to rip off a piece of toilet paper and blot my eyes before my mascara has a chance to run.
I don’t know what comes over me these days. One minute I’m completely fine, and the next, I’m watching an erectile disfunction commercial and weeping because it’s so freaking sweet that those couples hold hands while soaking in their side-by-side bathtubs! And don’t even get me started on the dog food commercials full of puppies.
“Only two more months,” she says, knowing how completely over pregnancy I am. She knows it because I text it to her first thing every single morning. Combine that with my hatred for her brother, and it’s really a miracle she hasn’t blocked me from her life yet. A terrible thought hits me: maybe she’s only my friend because I’m her boss? I’m the owner of Honeysuckle Salon where Lucy works, but surely she’s not just friends with me for that reason…GAH, now I’m crying more. This is ridiculous. Drew! I need to keep thinking about Drew so I can channel all my emotions toward hatred instead of weeping.
“It still feels so far away,” I say, unsuccessfully pushing away my emotions. “Two months might as well be an eternity as long as I have insomnia and this baby continues to kick me in the ribs.”
“He’ll be out soon enough.”
“He?” I ask, like maybe Lucy performed a secret ultrasound I don’t know about and determined the sex of my baby before I did.
“Or she.”
“But you said he first. Do you think it’s a boy?” I could end this guessing game by just asking my doctor, but I’m not ready to know yet.
Lucy doesn’t get a chance to answer that question. “Oh, it’s him! Drew is beeping in on the other line. I’ll call you back with what he says.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Do you at least want me to have him call you?”
“Nope,” I say, closing the toilet seat lid and sitting down. “He wouldn’t get through because I already blocked his number. Well, I blocked it after sending him a lovely little message I’m sure he enjoyed.” It was cathartic, and I don’t regret it no matter how disappointed in me Lucy will be.
She sighs deeply. Poor thing is weary to her bones of all this fighting. “Okay, well I’ll call you back in a few minutes and not tell you what he says.” She’ll tell me. Lucy can’t keep things to herself. It’s physically impossible for her.
“Okay. Hey, Luce? You’re beautiful and I love you!”
“Mmhmm,” she murmurs before saying she loves me back, because Lucy is so sweet, she’s incapable of not returning affection, and then she hangs up.
I let my shoulders slump and stare at the plain blue wall in front of me, anxious to not allow the feeling of loneliness to creep up on me too close. Then a loud boom followed by a hissing noise under the sink makes me jump out of my skin. I rush to the vanity and drop down to my knees, and before really thinking about it, I fling open the cabinets. Water. So much water sprays like an open fire hydrant, soaking my face, body, and bathroom in a harsh, stinging deluge.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
3 HOURS EARLIER
I’m dead.
I am a walking zombie after the night from hell. I’m not sure if there was a full moon or what, but three of my patients all went into labor around the same time yesterday. One ended in an emergency C-section around 2 AM, and the other two (God bless them) labored naturally for close to twenty hours total. I have practically been living at either my clinic or the hospital for the past thirty-something hours because I didn’t want to be too far away from my patient that was experiencing complications, but now that the storm is over, all I want to do is go home, shower, and pass out for maybe the rest of my life.
Even just trying to get down the main hallway of the hospital feels like I’m walking through a warped room in Willy Wonka’s factory. Everything is tunneling and the lights feel strange, like I’m floating but also dragging. I’ve worked a lot of long hours over the last few years, but this stretch feels lik
e the hardest yet. Normally, I can rest for at least an hour or two in one of the on-call rooms even when I’m needed at the hospital for extended stretches. But not this time. It was one freak situation after another, and I was a human bouncy ball, pinging all over the place.
When I pass a vending machine, I realize I haven’t eaten in…well, I have no idea how long. I barely know what day it is now. My stomach grabs me by the collar of my scrubs and screams at me to feed it. I’m tempted to flatten myself against the glass and nap for one tiny minute before the protein bar drops. I don’t get the chance, though.
“Hi, Dr. Marshall!” A nurse named Shannon pops up beside the vending machine, ponytail perky, fresh-faced for her shift. Since I feel like death warmed over, her exuberance for the morning makes me want to grimace. “I heard about that emergency C-section you did earlier for the twins—uh-mazing! I wish I could have been here to see it.”
I lean down and shove my hand into the slot, the flap thing scraping against my hand as I pull the protein bar out, and I wonder why they haven’t discovered a better way of making these things yet.
“Yeah. It went well. Thanks.” I try to smile, but it doesn’t work. My brain is no longer sending signals to my face apparently. Must. Get. Home.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and start unwrapping the protein bar while walking toward the doors. Shannon falls in step beside me, and I find it odd. We’ve never talked outside of dealing with a patient or exchanging pleasantries.
“Cool! So…have any fun plans this weekend?”
