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

Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Jessie

Drew is infuriating. I already knew this, but now he’s doubly infuriating. Ever since we walked through the doors of this lake house, he’s been touchy-feely. He uses every opportunity to touch my hand, my hip, my neck, the side of my thigh. I get we’re in a fake relationship, but goodness. I thought he hated PDA! Something is different with Drew. Something changed after our drive. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s making me want to become a turtle and pull my head back into my shell.

Right now we’re all standing on the porch admiring the view of the expansive lake and listening to Henry explain all the renovations they’ve done since buying the property after Richard retired, but I can’t even focus because Drew is pressed up behind me, arms wrapping me up in what some people might call a hug. It’s not, though. Drew and I are sworn enemies. I’ve angered him, humiliated him, and poked his ego more times than I’m proud of, so this absolutely cannot be a real hug. Except, I can feel his heart beating against my shoulders. He feels like a solid brick wall with a pulse, and it’s making the world around me feel fuzzy. Henry might as well be a parent in Charlie Brown right now because all I hear is wah wah wah wah.

My eyes drop from the lake view to the Drew view, aka his tan forearms draping heavily over my chest. I can smell his deodorant and natural skin scent. The two mix and swirl through my senses like a tornado of masculinity wrecking everything in its path. Drew destroys me. I want to drop my chin and brush my lips across the warm skin and let the light hair on his forearms tickle my nose.

“Does that sound good to you, Jessie?” Henry asks, wrongly thinking I’ve been paying attention to anything he’s been going on about.

I must stiffen, alerting Drew to my distress, because the evil man drops his mouth beside the shell of my ear and whispers, “What do you think? Does that sound good to you?”

The hairs on my arms stand at attention, ready to intercept every sensation Drew wants to toss their way. In my fantasy, I lay my head back against Drew’s chest and close my eyes. No . . . I spin around, hook my arms around his neck, and try to re-create the kiss from the fundraiser. Also in my fantasy, I’m not pregnant, and Drew and I don’t have such a complicated relationship. And maybe he’s naked.

Instead, I put the heel of my tennis shoe on top of his toes and push down. Drew’s hold on me tightens like he’s bracing himself through the pain, but he doesn’t release me.

“Sure, sounds perfect!” I pretend I know what they are talking about, because lying is the polite thing to do.

“Oh good!” Henry claps his hands together once and then pats Richard on the arm. “You can go get the lobster out of the freezer so it’ll be thawed by the time we need to throw it on the grill.”

Wait, what! Lobster?! That’s what I agreed to? Bleh. I despise all things seafood, and while pregnant I can barely even stand the smell of it. Drew knows this, because one night when I first moved in he brought home lobster takeout, and I immediately threw up in the kitchen trash can.

Richard scurries off to do his husband’s bidding as Henry stands there staring at us like we are a priceless French painting he wants to hang above his fireplace. Little does he know this is all a sham. We’re not a priceless French painting; we’re a replica, laser-printed and sold for $9.99 at a bargain-hunting store.

“You two are just adorable together. I’m so happy you could come this weekend,” says Henry, making me feel terrible for lying to him.

Drew takes a giant liberty and leans down close to kiss my cheek. His scruff feels like sandpaper, and I begrudgingly love it. “We are too.”

I beam at Henry, trying out my best impression of a blushing bride, and raise my hand to squeeze Drew’s forearm affectionately. At least, it looks affectionate. He’ll sense the warning in it when my nails sink into flesh. “So happy.”

Henry remembers another item he needs to pull from the freezer (probably something equally disgusting, like pig toes or frog legs) and darts into the house after Richard. I waste no time flinging Drew’s arm off me and using my shoulder to wipe the imaginary leftover kiss from my cheek. My expression says, Bleh, you’re gross. I hate kisses.

“Knock it off, will you? Why are you touching me so much today?”

He smiles curiously. “Because I like touching you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“That’s not the way it works. Unfortunately for you, you don’t get to decide if I like touching you or not.”

I cross my arms defiantly—protectively. “Stop saying touching you. ”

He tilts his head, a smile on his mouth. “Why?”

“Because it’s weird.”

“For me to touch you?”

I let my head fall back and groan. He’s the only person in the world who can talk circles around me. “Drew. I don’t know what game you’re playing right now, but I’m telling you to quit it. ”

“I’m not playing a game.”

“It feels like one. All week you’ve been pissed at me, barely saying two words, and this morning you looked like you wanted to fight me in the kitchen. And rightfully so! I humiliated you, remember? Tangled you in a lie you’ll never be able to get out of? And I’m so mean to you all the time! You have more than enough reasons to not like me.” Please, don’t like me! Go back to hating me!

“You misread me all week. Fighting is not what I want to do with you, Jessie.”

My eyebrows fly up and my heart rate is a rapid-fire machine gun. Drew looks different today. His eyes are smoldering. He’s definitive. He’s made up his mind, and now he’s going to be the controlling Drew I used to despise until he gets his way.

I swallow and take a step away from him. He looks amused, and he closes the gap between us again. He backs me up against the porch railing and pins me in with his hands on either side. My mouth is the Sahara Desert. All my words are dried up—not an ounce of verbiage in sight.

In the most tender touch I’ve ever received, Drew brushes my hair from my temple to behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever really apologized to you for what happened that morning when I overslept. I’m sorry, Jessie. I truly didn’t mean to, and I was actually looking forward to helping you that day. I was hoping it would mend the strife between us. And then . . . I made it worse by forgetting.”

I shake my head. I almost want to pin my hand across his mouth so he can’t continue apologizing. He’s ruining everything. He can’t do this to me now.

“I’m sorry. I wish so badly that I could go back in time and bring my cellphone with me into my room, set fifteen alarms. I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I don’t. Everything happened exactly as it should have. And you don’t need to say any of this—I’m not interested in you, remember? It doesn’t matter if I forgive you or not.”

He should be deterred. I made my words extra saucy and defiant, and he’s not even the least bit shaken.

His lips are grinning. “I believed that after the fundraiser. But then you spied on me on my date,” he whispers like a villain, his lips teasingly close. “And if you’re not interested in me, why do you get so flustered when I’m close to you?” Those blue eyes drop to my neck, where he then takes his knuckle and runs it up the side. “Your skin flushes every single time I touch you. Like right now.” His hand has brushed all the way up the length of my neck to just below my ear. His movement stops, and he extends his fingers over my pulse point. Crap.

His head tilts, and his eyes stare at that one point of contact. After several seconds, he finds the answer he was looking for. His smile slants, his eyes lock with mine, and his eyebrows rise. Want to know the answer, Jessica?

I’m nothing if not stubborn, though, so I hold his gaze. “Don’t flatter yourself so much, Andrew. My body is reacting to the coffee I had on the way here—not you.”

“You didn’t have any coffee.”

“I didn’t?” I’m staring at his lips.

He shakes his head slowly, smiling.

Where is this sudden self-assured persistence coming from? Have I not made myself perfectly clear to him? Have I not kicked him enough to spook him into running off? Go on, man! Get out of here. Be gone! I’ve been trying to get Drew to leave me alone since the day I met him. It was working . . . and now . . . it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

“Want to know what I think?”

“Literally never.”

He grins deeper and uses his index finger to trace the outline of my lips. “I think you like me too, but you’re too scared to admit it.”

“Careful,” I warn, but it sounds weak. If this were a movie, I’d be holding a gun to him, but my hand would be trembling so bad he’d know I was too in love with him to ever pull the trigger. “I can march inside right now and end this whole charade, humiliating you again if I want to.”

“But you don’t want to. You don’t want this to end just as much as I don’t. You like the excuse to flirt and touch and . . . kiss just as much as I do.”

My eyes widen to their maximum diameter. “We are not going to kiss on this trip.”

His eyes say, Oh? He steps forward and my stomach presses into his. Our hips would meet if I wasn’t eight months pregnant, and I’ve never wanted to be rid of this belly as much as I do right now.

Without hesitation, his hand loops behind my neck and he drops his lips to mine. It’s a gentle kiss, sort of like the kiss at the fundraiser—but even more patient and aching. It’s calculated in a way that says, I know exactly who you are, and I still absolutely want you. I feel like melting onto the floor. His lips are hot as he gently presses into mine, pulls away, tilts his head a different way, and then presses in again. He lavishes sweet kisses over my mouth again and again, gloating that I’m not trying to stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

I don’t know what to think or do. All I know is I’m not moving. I’m accepting every single one of these kisses while still trying to hold up a mental guard against this man. It’s the most difficult game I’ve ever played. With one hand braced on the back of my neck and the other firmly anchored on my lower hip, he kisses the corner of my mouth. A tease. Another hint of what could be. Slowly those dangerous lips move to the center of my mouth and hover, barely touching. I feel his smile rather than see it before he lightly tastes my bottom lip. I can’t breathe—if I do, it will come out like a moan. Drew brushes his lips to the opposite corner and lavishes it with attention too. He’s so thorough. There’s not a single centimeter of my mouth that gets left out, but all I do is stand here receiving. And then, when my lips are fully attended to, he leaves them to drag his way down the side of my jaw. He lands with a warm, open-mouthed kiss on that same pulse point he gloated over earlier.

I want to scrape my hands down his abs, feel the taut muscles of his back, pull his hips flush with mine. But my bones are pudding. My eyes are shut. A thousand different sensations are swirling through my body, making me feel like a frayed and sparking live wire. Drew moves his way around my neck, and jaw, and mouth, taking as many kisses as he wants from exactly where he wants, because I’m not doing a single thing to stop him. I’m not participating, but he doesn’t seem to mind. No, in fact, he’s treating me like I’m the most delicious dessert he’s ever had, and he will savor every taste.

Finally, after two and a half years, he pulls away with a soft smile, takes my shoulders gently in his hands, and peels me away from the railing I practically draped myself over when I lost all feeling in my legs.

“See. I felt nothing.” I sound like a zombie.

He cups my face, looking like he could laugh at any moment. Why does nothing make him angry at me? His thumb sweeps over my lips like he needed to touch them one last time, and he shakes his head. “This morning, I decided I’m done avoiding my feelings for you. And whether you like it or not, you have feelings for me too. I know it. So let me know when you’re done fighting it. I’ll be here waiting.”

Ugh! The arrogance of this man! He may be able to get his way with everyone else in life, but not me! Not me. Nope . . . not . . . me.

He turns and walks into the house. Like a ding-dong, I wait until he’s almost disappeared into the house to yell, “Yeah, right! Don’t hold your breath, Andrew! You’ll be waiting forever!”

Forever gets cut off when he shuts the door behind him. I clasp my arms tightly around my middle and spin to look out over the water, suddenly feeling dizzy and sick and uncertain. What am I going to do? It’s like Drew has X-ray glasses and can see right through me at all times. And by him telling the truth, he’s completely stripped away all my power. I can’t deflect. I can’t sabotage. Dammit, Drew, I’m supposed to be rubber and you’re the glue! Whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you! Turns out I’m working with a whole other substance. I’m a magnet and so are you. Whatever I say doesn’t matter because all I want to do is jump you and never ever come up for air. Not quite as poetic, but oh well.

He’s right. I’m just scared he’s going to hurt me—and this isn’t some big revelation. I’ve known it since the beginning. It’s why I decided to hate him right away. He’s not mediocre. He’s not easily replaceable. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let myself love recklessly again.

Drew makes me want to try, though.

I take a deep breath and look down, running my hands over the swell of my stomach. I need more time.