The Temporary Roomie: A Romantic Comedy (It Happened in Nashville Book 2)

by Sarah Adams

I look down at my stripes and eight-months-preggo belly. Our contrast right now is laughable and serves as a slap in my face. A bucket of cold water. A much needed dose of reality. I’m in no position in life to be contemplating a new relationship. I shouldn’t even be thinking sexy thoughts about him. I should be locking him in this room and running far, far away.

  Instead, he’s currently stepping over the handy sign and pallet I made for him and heading straight for me and this itty-bitty-teeny-tiny-miniscule queen-sized bed. If he sits down, I’ll topple over like Humpty Dumpty and roll into him.

  “HEY! WHOA THERE. I think you’re missing your stop!” I say, shooting my hand out and waving a finger at the spiffy pallet I made for him. “Did you not see the sign?”

  He lifts an adorable brow, and his mouth hitches up on one side. “I saw it.”

  He pulls back the covers on his side—correction, MY side, because all the sides are mine because he’s not sleeping in here with me—of the bed. I lean over and snatch the blanket, pasting it back down on the mattress. You shall not enter.

  “I thought doctors knew how to read. It says that is your spot right down there. On the floor. Wayyyy over there. By yourself.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  He shakes his head. “Jessie, that is hardwood floor. I’ll fracture a bone sleeping on it.”

  “Well, it’s a handy thing you’re a doctor then and can fix yourself right up!”

  “Move over.”

  “NO!” I lie flat on the bed and starfish myself out so he can’t lie down. When I don’t hear any movement, I cut my gaze to him out of the corner of my eye.

  He’s trying not to bust up laughing. Apparently, I’m succeeding in being a great threat to him. “What are you worried is going to happen if I get in there with you? It shouldn’t be a problem, because you’re not attracted to me in that way, remember?” His voice is oh so mocking. He’s completely called my bluff.

  I narrow my eyes at him (checking him out one last time) and then scoot over dramatically. “Fine. But stick to your own side, or else!”

  The mattress sags when Drew gets in, and suddenly, the air is filled with his scent. It’s like heaven and an alpine forest mixed together, and I stay completely still. I swallow, feeling his gaze on my face without even looking. This is torture. If I move even a centimeter, the sides of our bodies will touch, and then I’ll burst into flames and die. What a way to go.

  I roll my eyes slowly in his direction until they collide with his. “Stop staring at me.”

  “It’s only eight o’clock. I’m not going to be able to sleep.”

  “Perfect, then you should get out and go do something!” My voice is shrill.

  He grins and reaches over to push some of my hair out of my face. I slap his hand away. “I don’t have anything to go do. Let’s get your phone out and do some shopping.”

  My brows crunch together. Did he just say shopping? Because it sounded a lot like shopping, but his eyes say, Let me kiss you from head to toe. “Actually, shopping sounds great!”

  I roll away from him to grab my phone from the bedside table, taking the opportunity to blow out a full breath of air. When I roll back, he’s still looking at me with an expression that makes me want to lean forward and kiss him. I know he’d let me too, which makes it all the more torturous. Instead, I hoist myself up on my elbows then scoot so my back rests on the headboard. Drew does the same, and now our shoulders and arms are smushed together. His skin is still hot from the shower, and it’s transferring to me. I want to fan myself, but that might be a tad bit too obvious.

  “Why are your hands shaking?” he says, leaning even closer to pull my phone out of my trembling fingers.

  “No reason.” That sounded guilty. “I mean they’re cold. What are we shopping for?”

  “Baby stuff,” he says casually, eyes focusing on the phone screen.

  My heart stops.

  “Baby stuff? Why?”

  He grins lightly, and my stomach barrel-rolls. “Because you need baby stuff,” Drew says with a relaxed laugh that doesn’t match how I feel inside. I want to squirm away. Hide from reality. Build a fort around my mind that separates me from what’s coming in life—but I’ve done that long enough. I can’t keep locking myself away from scary things.

  Drew takes my hand and squeezes it. “Where do you want to start?”

  “Umm, car seats?” I ask, my tone making it evident that I have no idea where to begin. Not a single clue.

  Luckily, Drew is one of those people who knows everything about everything, and he starts adding items to a registry so I can buy it later. He angles the phone toward me occasionally and asks my favorite color. At some point, my head lolls to the side and lands on his bare shoulder. “How do you know so much about baby gear? Do they teach about all this in medical school?”

  He chuckles. “No. I learned it all through experience with Lucy. She lived with me while she was pregnant and after she had Levi. She needed me a lot during those years, so I got pretty familiar with bottles, car seats, and all the baby stuff.”

  I quietly process his words for a minute. “Drew?” I say in a soft tone that makes him look down at me. “Do you ever get tired of having it together all the time? Being the guy who takes care of everyone?”

  He lowers the phone to his lap and contemplates my question. “Sometimes. It gets to feel pretty heavy when I stop and think about how many lives I’m responsible for, how many people count on me in my professional and personal life. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized I even needed a break from it.”

  “What happened recently?”

  He smirks down at me. “You.”

  “Me?”

  He nods. “You steamrolled your way into my life and reminded me how good it feels to let go a little…to fight, to play, to laugh. I don’t think I’d really done any of that since I started med school. My life became very objective-based, and then I met you and…”

  “And I taught you the meaning of life?”

  “You snuck your underwear into my laundry just to make me mad. And you eat a million milligrams of sodium every day. And you wanted the Frosty mug just as much as I did.”

  A laugh spills from my mouth. “None of that sounds like a lesson you’ve learned.”

  “Exactly. You don’t teach me lessons—you help me rest.”

  I am speechless, because I’ve never been anyone’s rest before. A burden, yes. Expendable, yes. And even though I know without a doubt that my grandaddy loves me and always has, I still can’t say I’ve ever been restful to him. He didn’t choose me; he was given me. He certainly made the most of it and I’ve never felt anything but adored by him, but still, there’s something about hearing Drew say I help him rest that stirs my heart. I feel warm and bubbly and like he just wrapped a big comforter around my heart.

  Drew’s eyes skate down the front of my body to land on my belly.

  “What?” I ask through a sudden lump in my throat. “Is something wrong?” Does he have some sort of OB-GYN sixth sense and can feel in his bones that something is wrong with the baby?!

  His jaw clenches before he looks back up at me with an uncertain smile. “No—I just…can I feel the baby?”

  Oh sweet heavens, how does he do this to me? Drew makes me feel like I just swallowed sunshine. Like I’m hot and glowing and rays are going to burst through my skin.

  I can’t help but smile as I take his hand and lay it across my stomach. It’s not lost on me that a man completely skilled in all things pregnancy-related looks tentative and uncertain as his palm rests against me. I study his deep blue eyes as he studies my stomach. The sides of his mouth slowly rise as he gains confidence and presses in lightly, using the skills he’s trained for. Drew kneads his fingers slowly across the top of my belly through my PJ top. I know what he’s doing because it’s what my doctor did at my last exam when she was determining the baby’s position. I could go ahead and tell him, but I know he’ll
have more fun figuring it out for himself.

  He smiles. “She’s flipped, head down and back facing out. That’s great,” he tells me, and then we both laugh when the baby kicks him in the hand. He spreads his fingers out completely, and his eyes are full of warmth and emotions I can’t name—and am almost afraid to.

  “You said she. Do you think I’m having a girl? Lucy always says he.”

  “I don’t know. That’s just the pronoun that slipped out. What are you hoping to have?”

  “A squishy baby.”

  He chuckles, and slowly, Drew’s hand slides behind my shoulders before he angles me back against his bare chest. I can feel the warmth of his skin through my shirt, and my eyes go wide with shock. Before I have any chance to freak out that he’s trying to get frisky, he does something even better. Drew’s thumbs press into the tops of my shoulders—firm and yet gentle—and he spends the next ten minutes massaging my shoulders, back, and even hips, somehow knowing every single place that has given me horrible pain over the last few months.

  Eventually, he guides me to lie back, and I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation. Normally, a man would be laying me down for a whole other reason. Drew, however, does it so he can pick up my feet and massage my arches and calves. His strong fingers move over me with expert care and tenderness, never crossing any lines that would make me feel uncomfortable. He basically gives me a complete prenatal massage without ever trying to take anything for himself, not expecting anything in return—and THAT is what makes me completely fall for Drew.

  My eyes are closed, and I’m halfway to sleep when he kisses my temple then pulls the covers over me, cutting off the light. He doesn’t make a move to snuggle me, which I appreciate, because I’m not ready for that—but he does lay his hand over mine and rub his thumb over my knuckles. Before I fall asleep, I hear myself whispering a question I’ve been wondering.

  “Drew, what does Oscar stand for?”

  He chuckles lightly and squeezes my hand. “Oscar the Grouch.”

  I smile into the night, not offended by the nickname, but rather oddly happy.

  “Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

  I contemplate it, knowing that would mean asking him to stop playing with me. Stop teasing. Stop flirting. “No way.”

  Jessie’s head is in the crook of my shoulder, palm heavy against my chest, leg slung over mine. I’m not sure when this happened and I’m 100% sure it is unintentional on her part, but I’m soaking it up. I woke up about ten minutes ago to her in this position, and I have barely breathed since. I’m afraid I’ll wake her up if I do, and then she’ll shoot out of bed and curse me for tricking her somehow. No tricks, Jessie. You just like me.

  Last week was torture. She thought I was angry and moody because of the fundraiser prank. And yeah, I was pissed about that for all of one night. Then I went on a date (unashamedly to gauge her reaction) and Jessie showed up outside the window in her pajamas. That’s when I knew she was full of it.

  She does like me. She’s just scared to death of me.

  So the rest of the week, I kept my distance while trying to figure out what my next step should be. Deciding to go after Jessie is like deciding to go into war—you can’t take it lightly, and you must formulate a plan. Turns out, I’m moody while drawing up battle plans. Do you know what it’s like to live with a woman you’re crazy about but have to hide every thought, every desire, every hope from her on a daily basis? She’d come out of her room in her little athletic shorts and I’d growl. Don’t come out here in those. She’d sit down next to me on the couch and I’d grumble. Scoot over unless you want me to kiss your neck.

  But now it’s time Jessie knows I’m here for the taking if she wants me, and I’ve got loads of time, so I’ll wait as long as she needs. Well, until it starts to get pathetic, or she gets a restraining order. I do have some dignity. But in the end, if she decides I’m not the one for her…okay, that would suck, and I’m not actually ready to prepare for that yet. It might be stupid, but I’m choosing to remain eternally optimistic until she tells me to get lost.

  I’m staring down at Jessie’s soft face when I feel a swift kick to my ribs. It wasn’t Jessie; it was the baby. I’m smiling from ear to ear realizing how incredible it is that Jessie is pressed up against me enough that her baby is able to kick me. I know Jessie is concerned to start a relationship with a newborn. I know she’s scared we’ll get close while she’s pregnant and then I’ll take a hike after the baby arrives. What she doesn’t know is that part of me feels made for this—prepared. I love babies. I even loved helping my sister raise Levi. I know I can do this if she’ll give me a chance.

  Again, I feel a little foot nudge me. This time it wakes Jessie up, and she stirs with a sharp inhale. I know better than to be awake when she realizes she ditched her pillow to snuggle me all night, so I swiftly clamp my eyelids shut and wipe the smile off my face. Jessie’s head tilts slowly up to me, and it’s so freaking hard not to smile. Somehow, I manage it, and she believes I’m the heaviest sleeper in the world. Ever so gently, she extracts herself from my body and rolls over to her side. It jostles me a bit, and eventually the mattress springs let me know she got out of bed. I’m cold now. I miss her already. I’m pitiful, and greedy, and I want to pull her back down beside me. Stay.

  I peek an eye open ever so slightly to see Jessie walking on tiptoes to the bathroom. She hisses when she bumps a shoe and it clunks loudly across the floor. My ability to maintain a straight face is beyond impressive. Jessie shuts the door to the bathroom, and I hear the water turn on. She’s taking a shower. Yeah, that’s fine. I’m fine out here not thinking about her in there. Tohhhh-tally fine.

  Nope. I get out of bed and quickly throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hat. I need to brush my teeth and put on more deodorant, but that’ll have to wait, because right now, I need to do everything I can to distract me from the woman softly humming a song in the shower.

  I grab my laptop and catch up on patient emails. I have forty-five new messages from worried women afraid their periods are too heavy, their period is too late, they might be in labor, is it normal to throw up so much in early pregnancy, is it okay to take headache medicine while pregnant? I work my way through the inbox, reassuring where needed, instructing when I think she should make an appointment, and answering frantic questions, all while listening to Jessie hum. I could get used to this.

  Once I’m done, I can’t distract myself any longer. I need to get out of here, because I’ve never been more attracted to anyone than I am to the woman in that shower. I grab my boots and try to hop into them on my way to the door. My hand is on the knob when Jessie’s scream rips through the air. I’m already halfway to the bathroom when she starts yelling, “DREW, DREW!!!!!”

  My mind is everywhere. It’s gone to horrible worst-case scenarios, and my body is propelling itself toward her. I’m prepared to find Jessie dropped down and giving birth. I’m NOT prepared to fling open the bathroom door and find a long snake stretched out across the ledge of the shower. Jessie is definitely naked (although I’m not looking at her…more than once) and backed into the far corner.

  “DREW, A SNAKE! Get the snake! AH—DON’T LOOK AT ME THOUGH!”

  I should not be laughing at a time like this, but I am. Jessie is screeching at the top of her lungs, but she can’t decide if she’s more upset that a snake has invaded her shower or that she’s standing naked in front of me.

  “Oh my gosh, you butthead! I’m about to die of a snake bite in here and you’re doubled over laughing!! I SAID DON’T LOOK!!!”

  “Chill out. I’m not looking!”

  “I know you can see me naked right now.”

  “Only in my peripherals. I won’t look at you, okay? I have to get closer, though, to get to the snake. Want me to throw you a towel?”

  “NO!!! You might startle it, and it will lunge at me! Oh my gosh, he’s going to bite me while I’m exposed and naked. This is going to traumatize me, and I
’ll never be able to be naked again!” That would be a tragedy. I can’t let that happen.

  “Everything okay in there?” Richard calls from outside the open bathroom door.

  “We heard screaming,” says Henry in a worried tone.

  “Oh, super. The gang’s all here,” Jessie says, sounding like she’s close to hysterics. “Does the rest of the neighborhood want to come in and see me naked too?”

  “No one but me is going to see you naked.” Ever again. “I’ll make sure they don’t come in.” I hold a hand out toward Jessie. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “WHERE WOULD I GO?!”

  I turn around and peek my head out at Richard. “Uh—so, we’ve got a snake problem in here.”

  “AHHHHH HE’S GETTING CLOSER. DREEWWWW.”

  “Oh heavens!” Henry says, sounding like a 1950s housewife who’s never heard a swear word. His hands are balled up under his chin and his face is contorted into full panic.

  I give him a reassuring head shake, because I’m slightly worried for his blood pressure. “It’s just a garden snake, but I’m going to need a pillowcase, please.”

  Henry runs to the bed and tears one off before throwing it at me. I nod my thanks and go back into the bathroom. Richard asks if I need his help, but then Jessie screeches again that no one but me is allowed to come in there, so he just smiles and nods like I’m going into war. Luckily, when I was a kid, I loved catching garden snakes, so this will not be a first for me.

  Back inside the bathroom, I keep my eyes on the snake—but let’s be real, I can tell Jessie is still in the corner using her hands to cover everything she deems unseeable. It’s adorable, and I’m crazy about her.

  “Don’t look—I mean it!” she warns for the hundredth time.

  “Are you talking to me or the snake?”

  “Ha-ha, you’re so funny!” She does not think I’m funny. “Please just hurry! That creepy tongue of his keeps sticking out like I’m lunch.”

  I cup my hand over the side of my face, cutting Jessie out of my peripheral vision, and go toward the shower.