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

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

Jessie

Well, I’m here. At Drew’s fancy-schmancy fundraiser thing without him. One of his patients went into labor this morning, so he’s been bouncing back and forth between his practice and the hospital all day. I thought maybe we were going to have to bail on the event (and my epic revenge plan), but he texted me about two hours ago saying he would meet me here and to grab my ticket off the kitchen counter.

Needless to say, I was not too thrilled about the idea of showing up by myself.

So that’s why I’m hiding in the uncomfortably cold bathroom like a loser. I texted Drew incessantly as I was getting ready to ensure this very thing didn’t happen. Are you going to be on time? I texted at least five different times as the hour to leave the house grew closer. Yep! he’d say. Still on time? I asked before I ever stepped foot in my car. Yep! I’ll see you there, he said.

And then, as I was walking into the glowing ballroom of the fanciest event I’ve ever been to outside of prom a hundred thousand years ago, Drew texted me: Traffic. Gonna be late. So sorry. I wanted to hit the ground and army-crawl my way out of there, but it was too late. I’d been spotted by too many of the high-profile doctors and power couples.

I rushed to the bathroom, and that’s where I’m still lingering, pretending to obsess about my hair, wash my hands, and reapply lipstick every time someone new walks in here. My hands are going to be shriveled-up prunes by the time Drew finally arrives.

A woman comes into the bathroom for the second time and eyes me warily, and I realize it’s time to leave my post as bathroom attendant. I swallow and look at myself in the mirror one more time, really wishing I had bought the more modest dress the online store tried to sell me instead of this one. It’s like it knew. Snooty sales attendants could somehow see me through my computer and were silently sticking up their noses, trying to thrust their gray, lifeless maternity dress into my cart. But nooooooo. I had been watching Dancing with the Stars and was feeling frisky. So I bought the slinky jet-black number with the high knee slit that appeared right next to the one a woman at my stage of gestation should purchase.

I hiss when I spin to look at myself over my shoulder. When did my butt get so big? Seriously. It’s so bubbly. Like the peach emoji got implants and some dimples. The woman comes out of the stall and follows my gaze to my rear end as she washes her hands.

“Tell me straight—is my butt too big in this?”

If you’re imagining we have a moment of sisterhood, you’re dreaming. This woman looks as if I have wholly offended her genteel sensibilities and is planning an epic snub. She rips off a length of paper towels and blots her hands before saying, “It’s definitely not a dress I would have chosen for you.”

Oh great. I’m going to cry now as Miss Demure leaves the bathroom in her ravishing gold dress, hip bones protruding from beneath the fabric, tiny firm booty twitching up and down with every step. She wasn’t offended that my dress was too provocative; she was offended that I stuffed my maternal body inside this provocative dress.

The moment I’m alone again, I pull my phone out of my clutch and FaceTime Lucy. “Come on, come on, come on,” I whisper impatiently as it continues to ring. I know I don’t have long until someone else walks in.

Finally, Lucy answers, and I say, “Thank God. Luce, do I look like a wanton strumpet?”

She’s sitting on her couch, snacking on popcorn and wearing her glasses. I’m so jealous. “Have you been watching a lot of BBC period dramas again?”

“Beside the point. Do I?” I spin around and give her a nice butt shot.

She whistles. “Look at that booty! You look killer! If you’re a strumpet, I want to be one too!”

“You’re lying. If I look so incredible, why do I feel like crying and hiding all my overly accentuated parts?”

“Because you have hormones raging through your body at all times. But I swear to you, Jessie, you look lovely. Has Drew seen you yet?” There’s a mischievous glint in her eye.

“No. He’s running late, which isn’t helping my nerves at all. I may look tough, but I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if he tells me I look hideous and he’s too embarrassed to be seen with me.”

A slow grin spreads on Lucy’s face. “I have a feeling he’s going to make you feel nothing but beautiful when he gets there.”

I squint at the screen. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a canary feather should be hanging out of your mouth?”

I take one last look in the mirror and try to stuff my overflowing cleavage back down inside my dress, but that somehow makes it worse.

“No, stop, you’re making them angry. They’re trying to revolt by swelling up more.” Super. “Just relax, Jessie. You’re gorgeous.”

At least I look classy from the neck up. My blond hair is curled into soft 1920s-style finger waves that frame my face with one side pinned back. My eye makeup is dark and smoky, and even I can admit I look runway ready. Then my eyes drop to my black velvet dress and swollen stomach.

“Nope. I’m coming over to your place. Pop some extra popcorn.”

“Wait! Jess—”

I end the call before Lucy has any time to protest and toss my phone into my little clutch. I swing my peach booty all the way out of the bathroom, ready to leave a trail of smoking tracks in my wake. Drew can kick me out of his house for all I care, and this prank I have planned tonight isn’t even worth it anymore. To be honest, I’ve been rethinking it all week. It’s settled—I’d rather be woken up every single morning by Levi than let Drew see me in this dress.

I open the bathroom door and leave the sterile fluorescent lighting to step into the warm opulence of wealth. Oh my gosh, I’m the pregnant version of Pretty Woman right now. I feel my mortification rising as eyes land on me when I attempt to gracefully glide my way to the front doors. I feel exposed and embarrassed as I try to avoid eye contact with everyone I pass. Why are they staring? Seriously, it feels like everyone is staring. I want to cry. No, I am going to cry.

And then, I see him.

Across the room, an entire ballroom length away, I spot Drew standing just inside the entrance. Holy handsome, Batman. Do they have stylists on call at the hospital, just waiting to turn doctors into red carpet celebrities at the drop of a hat? Of course the first thing I notice is Drew’s hair. It’s styled with a satin sheen pomade and waving away from his face in a wonderfully tousled look that somehow perfectly matches my own retro vibe. At first, I think he’s Cary Grant to my Doris Day. But then my eyes trail the length of his muscular body encapsulated in a tight, well-cut navy—almost black—suit that looks so fabulously out of place among all these other stuffy suits, and I realize we are the rebels at this event. He’s the James Dean to my Marilyn Monroe.

Drew looks tall, lean, and powerful while casually talking with someone who stopped him near the door. I don’t think this man even knows the meaning of insecurity, because he’s never needed to feel it. He’s everything everyone wants—everything I want.

It’s official. I’m out of here.

I look around, frantically trying to find a menu or something I can hold in front of my face, but there’s nothing. Nada. What’s a girl got to do to find a tall fern or ficus to stand behind? How about a heavy drape? Damn those BBC shows filling my head with improbable nonsense. They always have a plethora of ferns to conceal themselves with.

When I look up again, Drew is already staring at me. Caught. Even from all the way over here, I can tell he is completely ignoring the man jabbering his ear off. Drew’s gaze zeroes in on me and runs from my hair to my toes—so intense I feel his eyes as if they were his hands.

Goosebumps trickle down my bare arms when his eyes meet mine again, and a slow smile spreads across his mouth. His head tics side to side as if to say, You would. He breaks eye contact with me long enough to disengage himself from the man beside him, and then his gaze is back, locked on me as he walks across the ballroom.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m thankful I’m in a room full of doctors so they can resuscitate me when Drew Marshall’s sexy stare makes me pass out.

As he gets closer, I feel myself teetering forward, wanting to run over, wrap my arms around his neck, and trail kisses down his clean-shaven jaw. Easy, Jessie. You’re on a mission tonight. Poor Drew, he’s completely oblivious to the trap he’s unknowingly walking right into, the trap I set the moment he presented this idea of me posing as his girlfriend. Tonight is my chance to even the score after he left me high and dry in front of my grandaddy (yes, I know said grandaddy didn’t show—details, details), and I’ll squash my growing feelings. Just because he’s sexy as sin tonight and I may or may not be developing feelings for him doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my plans. It means I need to double down on them.

Drew stops right in front of me, and I try not to let my knees buckle. I have never been more nervous in my life.

“You’re late,” I say, in a voice I hope doesn’t betray the way I’m trembling.

Drew shocks every nerve ending in my body when his mouth forms a half smile and his hand rises to lightly slide the tips of his fingers along the waves of my hair, brushing my temple and cheek and then falling all the way down the length of my arm. His hand stops to lock with mine, and instinctively my fingers close around his in a possessive, primal grip that I’m not proud of. They say the first rule in retail is to convince a customer to hold the object they are interested in, because their brain will subconsciously claim it as theirs. Apparently, the principle also applies to humans. Drew feels like mine now.

He leans forward, his smooth jaw brushing against my face as he whispers, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

His raspy, quiet, meant-only-for-me voice tears its way through my fragile emotions and wrecks me in the process. Drew pulls back but hovers closer to my face than we’ve ever been. I could bump his nose with mine. I smell his masculine cologne, see the black flecks in his navy eyes, feel a string pulling tight between our mouths. I could tip forward just the slightest bit and our lips would touch. They need to touch.

I thank my lucky stars when a voice calls out from beside us and slices our moment in half. “Dr. Marshall!”

Drew and I pull apart, but he doesn’t let me remove my hand from his. He introduces me to his female colleague who interrupted us. Dr. Susan Landry is her name, and I think I’m supposed to know who she is, but my mind just says, Blah, blah, blah, Drew’s hand feels so good in my hand. What a manly hand he has. I want to hold it up to my face and stare at it. It’s a big hand, which every woman knows only adds to the allure of a man.

Wow, how long have I been thinking about Drew’s hands? A while, I suspect, because now both Drew and Dr. Landry are looking at me and I’m not sure what to say. I blink at the woman. “So sorry. Pregnancy brain. I missed what you said.”

She laughs, and her kind smile is disarming. I relax a little. “I was just saying I’m so happy to meet Drew’s girlfriend! He’s talked so much about you this past week.”

Yeah, that’s jarring to hear. Surprisingly, it’s not unpleasant, but definitely jarring. I look up at Drew and see the slightest widening of his eyes. Apparently, I speak Drew’s eye language now, because I understand that this is the one we are meant to be in a fake relationship for.

Keeping my hand locked with Drew’s, I take the other and wrap it around his biceps, leaning into him and hugging his arm. And Geez, Drew. He has a ridiculous muscle under here. I’m definitely distracted by how my body is reacting to Drew’s body right now, but I press on with a polite smile and begin to set my trap.

“Only this past week, baby? Well, I guess you would have more to talk about since we finally moved in together.”

Dr. Landry’s eyebrows rise. “Oh wow. That’s serious. Congratulations, you two. But I guess you have even more to be congratulated on besides a housewarming.” Her eyes fall to my stomach, and for some reason Drew and I never discussed how to handle this part of the ruse. My instinct says he would want me to make sure everyone knows it’s not his child, but guess what, bud? You stood me up, and it’s time to pay.

I rub my belly and stare up at him like my entire universe dangles off his pinky. “Thank you. I hope the baby has Drew’s eyes. I’ve never seen a blue so deep.”

Drew’s face goes a little pale and his arm stiffens beneath my touch. Oops! Did your lie just get a little more complicated, Drewsky-Woosky?

He smiles tensely. “Not sure how that will be possible,” he says with a slight chuckle, clearly trying to let our dear Susan know he’s not about to become a biological father.

I also know from the time I’ve spent around Drew since Lucy and Cooper have become an item that he despises PDA. Every time they kiss or snuggle, Drew grimaces.

Which is why I sidle up even closer and nuzzle his earlobe with the tip of my nose (and for the record, I have zero problems with PDA, but this is even making me nauseated). “Stop trying to keep your hopes down. Babies end up with their daddy’s eyes all the time.”

“Aw—well, you guys are just too . . .” I can see Dr. Landry struggle with the word. “Sweet. Congrats to you both, and I’ll see you at the table for dinner.”

“See you over there,” Drew says in a calm, polite voice. When she’s far enough away, he looks sharply down at me, his voice nothing even close to calm or polite. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” I blink up at him innocently. I’m just a little lamb out to pasture.

Drew looks around and must realize there are too many people still within earshot, so he extracts his arm from my grip and puts his hand on my lower back, steering us toward the bathrooms, though not the ones where I was previously hiding. No, he somehow manages to find us a private single stall bathroom.

Once we’re in, he locks the door behind us, and now I’m stuck in this tiny cell with the most attractive man alive. But I won’t kiss him. I won’t. The name of the game tonight is to put Drew Marshall back in his rightful place, somewhere far, far away from my mind and heart.

“What was all that back there?” His voice is low and rumbly, and his dress shoes click against the floor as he advances closer to me.

I take a retreating step, and my back hits the wall. “Nothing. I thought you wanted me to be your girlfriend.”

“You almost sucked on my earlobe. That’s taking it a little far, don’t you think?”

I shrug, not wanting to tip him off too early. “Okay, so you don’t like your dates to be affectionate—got it. I won’t give you a hickey at the table.”

His eyes narrow. “I like affection, for the record. Just not quite so much in the middle of a conversation with a colleague.”

“It’s okay to not like affection. Some people aren’t good at it, and that’s fine.” Why am I goading him like this?

His eyes flare and he steps so close the tips of his shoes touch the tips of mine. Also, my belly is grazing the front of his suit jacket, and somehow that feels incredibly intimate. “I’m perfectly good at showing affection. No—actually I’m great at it. If I wanted to”—his eyes drop to my mouth—“I could show you the best damn affection of your life.”

Show me!

No . . . don’t show me.

SHOW ME.

“I don’t know. You seem awfully defensive to me.”

He looks down at me and smiles—a wolf dressed in a designer suit. “You’re taunting me right now. Why is that, Jessica?” His hand rises to land on the wall behind me, pinning me in place. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and tell myself, Do not give in, woman. “Almost seems like you’re playing a game with me right now. What’s the outcome you’re hoping for?”

I angle my chin up like a dagger even though all I want is to melt against him. “I don’t know . . . what do you think it should be?”

He’s quiet for three breaths, and because he’s so close, I can feel all three of them against my lips. The tension between us is tangible and humming through every inch of me. I want to grab the front of Drew’s shirt and pull his face down that last inch, but instead I keep my hands splayed out against the bathroom wall, willing them to stay put.

“Why did you let Susan think this is my child?”

The question shakes me momentarily, and I hope he doesn’t see it on my face. “I—I thought that was what you wanted. Really sells the devoted girlfriend story.”

“Is that the real reason?”

No. The real reason is because I want to tangle him in a lie so tight that when he finally has to get out of it, he will be humiliated. That’s the real reason. It’s step one.

. . . isn’t it?

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, still not fully able to keep myself from glancing up at his mouth, unwilling to stop myself from imagining what a kiss from him would be like. Firm? Sweet? Tender? Harsh?

No. Bad, Jessie.

Drew’s lips curve upward because I’ve been staring and he knows why. One of his hands lowers to my hip, and I feel his fingers press into my side. I can’t let this happen. It would ruin everything I’m trying to achieve, and yet . . .

Maybe one kiss won’t hurt anything.

Unfortunately, a knock on the bathroom door startles both of us. Drew bites his lips against a smile as he holds my eyes for one more second before shaking his head and shrugging back down the cuffs of his suit jacket. Good. Perfect. No kisses tonight. Staying right on track.

But as he raises a single eyebrow and holds out his arm for me to take, I waver in my plan of retaliation. I planned it before I came to really know Drew, before we became friends . . . now, I wonder if it’s worth it. I wonder if maybe I could let myself enjoy this night as his pretend girlfriend . . . if I could let myself fall for Drew.

No.

I don’t want to.

Drew Marshall is about to be pranked harder than he’s ever been pranked in his life.