The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition (It Happened in Nashville #2)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Drew

Jessie is passed out asleep on the couch when I get back with her milkshake. I cross the room and quietly set the ice cream down on the coffee table in front of her, then sink into the armchair. I let my head fall back against the cushion and slide my hands down my face, finally letting myself unwind for the first time today.

Work was exhausting. It is every day, but today was particularly hard. I had to break awful news to one of my patients, and she wept in my office. I let her have as much time as she needed in there because it’s really hard not being able to console my patients. Being a male in this profession, I don’t offer physical comfort in any way. Not sure if it’s the norm or not, but it’s a protective boundary I’ve drawn for myself and my patients. I offer comforting words, maybe squeeze their hand, but then I step out and let one of my nurses do the real consoling.

And because of what happened at work today, my heart is tender and a little broken. When Lucy texted me worried about Jessie, I lost it. I floored it home. All I could think about was worst-case scenarios. She’s in her third trimester, so a sudden spike in blood pressure could mean preeclampsia, and although facial flushing is not normally a sign of high blood pressure, it can be. For some reason, I wasn’t willing to risk that uncertainty. I needed to know for sure that it wasn’t a spike, and the way I felt when I confirmed that her blood pressure was normal can only be described as immense relief.

But here’s the thing that’s tripping me up: I never lose my cool under pressure. In the office, if a nurse suspects preeclampsia or any other life-threatening disease, I never show it on my face. I follow the procedures in my head that get me from point A to point B until we figure out what’s going on. But, damn . . . The way I felt when I thought Jessie was in trouble—it was ridiculous. Absurd. Embarrassing. Definitely not professional. It was something I felt deep in my gut, or chest, or . . . I don’t know. I’m not really willing to dive into where the emotion came from yet. I’m just relieved she’s okay.

I hear Jessie take in a deep breath like she’s stirring from sleep. I sit up and find her green eyes squinting at me. She has a pillow mark slashed across her cheek that makes me smile.

“I must have fallen asleep,” she says, pushing up on her elbow, then swinging her legs around so she can sit up. I watch—a little too closely—as she removes the messy bun from the top of her head and lets her hair fall to her shoulders. It’s kind of crinkly and wavy and wild, and I really like it like this. She stretches her back before gathering her hair again to retie it up into a neater bun. I have to bite my tongue against asking her to leave it down.

Her eyes fall to the Styrofoam cup and she looks up at me with something like gratitude. “You really did get a milkshake for me?” She says it like I’m a freaking hero. Like I just lifted a house off of her trapped body.

“Yeah. I told you I was going to.”

She picks it up and takes a tentative sip. “Yes, but I didn’t think you actually would. I expected you to come back with a bag of broccoli or something.”

Man, I should have done that.

“Not tonight.”

We fall into silence for a few moments while Jessie drinks her milkshake. Finally, she looks up, giving me a quizzical smile. “This is kind of weird.”

“What is?”

“You.” She nods toward me. “You’re being nice to me, and I feel like it’s a trap.”

I chuckle, realizing how ridiculous our relationship is that she has reason to believe I’d be up to something by being kind to her. “I could say the same. For once, you’re not aiming your flaming arrows at me. What’s that all about?” Is it just my imagination or did her flush creep back up? Don’t get out your blood pressure cuff.

She clears her throat lightly. “Too tired, I think. I’ll go back to making your life miserable tomorrow. Do you want to . . . watch some TV?”

Watch TV? With Jessie? That seems awfully friend-like to me, something we have definitely never been. Could it really be this easy? Can one health scare tip us over whatever it is that’s made us constantly fight and finally have a friendship? Do I want that? Yes.

Cooper’s annoying voice echoes in my mind, telling me I’ve got it bad for Jessie, and I mentally push him down a flight of stairs.

“Uh—sure. Yeah. Let me just grab a shower real quick. You go ahead and put something on.”

“Okay. Is there anything in particular you want to watch?”

“Whatever you want is good.”

“Okay.” She gives me a soft, uncertain smile, and damn, she’s right. This is so weird.

What are we doing right now? How am I supposed to feel about a roommate who hates me, and annoys me, and is pregnant with some other dude’s baby, and is living under my roof in exchange for acting like my fake girlfriend, and whose expression when she smiles I sort of love?! It’s too messy, and I don’t like messy. I like nice clean squares, neatly stacked in a row and color-coordinated. It’s why I couldn’t handle it when Cooper started dating Lucy. Suddenly he jumped into her square and it messed everything up. It takes some time for me to get used to a new organizational system.

I text Cooper because I’m a masochist who loves pain and suffering.

M E: Jessie and I are going to watch TV together . . .

C OOPER: Naked?

M E: What? No. Why would you ask that?

C OOPER: Just trying to figure out why you’d text me you’re watching TV together if it’s not because you’re naked.

M E: Because we’re going to WATCH TV TOGETHER.

C OOPER: I don’t get it.

I should have texted Lucy. She’ll understand right away. In fact, my point is proven when another text immediately comes through.

L UCY: OMG!! Cooper just told me you’re going to watch TV with Jessie!!!!! This is BIG! What does it mean?! Are you friends now?? More than friends? Do you love her? She’s so amazing; please love her!

Okay, so maybe a text from Lucy wasn’t any better. Now I’m overthinking watching TV, wondering if maybe I should bail and just go to bed. Have I ever just watched a show with a woman before? It feels intimate for some reason. I give myself a mental shake. I’m being ridiculous.

While I’m in the shower, I think of my relationship with Jessie so far and try to give it a place in my mind. It’s been clear-cut up until this point. She’s rude to me, I’m rude to her in return. She hates me, I hate her back. She pranks me, I retaliate. She gives me the cold shoulder, fine, I couldn’t care less. Those boxes all stacked neatly—nice and tidy. But then a new round shape enters the mix, and it looks like Jessie smiling at me. It looks like me rushing home to check on her health. It looks like watching TV together on a weeknight.

Those shapes don’t stack up, so I don’t know what to do with them.

As much as I despise it, it looks like my only option is to see what happens. Going with the flow has never been my specialty, but I think where Jessie is concerned, I have no choice.