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

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Jessie

After dinner, I help Henry clear the table and load up the dishwasher. He told me I didn’t need to help him, but I insisted, because I’m a big coward and didn’t want to face Drew again. Every time I looked over at him during the meal, our eyes locked. I felt like we were having a private conversation that I didn’t mean to be having, like he could read my thoughts whether I wanted them read or not.

So I found a way to get myself a little space while he disappeared after dinner. But now the dishes have been cleared, cleaned, dried, and put away. I’ve also reorganized Henry and Richard’s silverware drawer, wiped out the microwave, and swept the floor. I’m just about to clear the cobwebs from the tops of the cabinets when Henry stops me.

“Jessie! I didn’t bring you out here to be Cinderella,” he says with a chuckle as he attempts to peel the broom from my hands. I grip the stick tighter, and his sweet smile falters a little before he gives one final yank and tugs it free. “The weather’s nice right now. Why don’t you go find Drew and take a romantic nighttime stroll by the lake?”

Under no circumstances can that happen. I will accidentally propose to Drew.

“You know, actually, I’m feeling pretty tired all of a sudden. I think I’ll turn in early!” We both look at the clock and see that it’s only eight P.M . Apparently I’m going to be turning in super early. I rub my belly bump like that’s a suitable answer for why I’m acting so odd. “If you see Drew, will you tell him I went to bed?”

This is a good decision—going to bed early. Even though I know there’s not a chance I’ll fall asleep before two A.M. , I can at least pretend I’m fast asleep when Drew comes in so I don’t have to face him. Inside the room we are (unfortunately) sharing, I busy myself with making a little pallet on the floor. I decide to write a sign to prop up beside it with an arrow that reads, This is where you sleep, just to make sure he doesn’t miss it.

I stand back, hands on my hips, and nod affirmatively at the luxury pallet. Good. This is going to work. And then I turn around, open the door to the bathroom, step inside, and scream.

“OH MY GOSH! I’m so sorry! I thought you were outside somewhere!” I say to a nearly naked Drew standing in front of the sink. He’s wearing nothing besides tight black boxer briefs and has a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His hair is damp like he just got out of the shower. The steam swirling around him confirms it.

I need to look away. Must look away. But I can’t.

My eyes have gone completely rogue and are scanning . . . as slowly as possible . . . down Drew’s tan, muscular body like I’m needy and he’s got everything I’m lacking. Strong thighs, abs on abs on abs, arm muscles and shoulder muscles and wait one freaking second, is that a tattoo ?!

“Jessie?” Drew says, making me suck in a breath and shoot my eyes up to his. He’s grinning mid-teeth-brushing, mostly naked and completely comfortable in his own skin. Speaking of his skin, I like it. I want to run my fingers across the top of those shoulder boulders he’s got. I want to trace the indentations around each of his abs. Who knew this masterpiece is what he’s been creating every morning at the gym? I mean, ever since I saw that tiny sliver of his golden abdomen, I knew his body would be magnificent. But this . . . this is more than I could have hoped for.

“Do you mind?” he says, amusement thick in his tone.

Oh, right! Drew probably doesn’t want me to stand here all night ogling him.

I’m vaguely aware of shouting something like put more clothes on! while slamming the door behind me. Now Henry and Richard probably assume we’re fighting. Drew chuckles on the other side of the bathroom door, and I want to chuck something at his head. But since that would require opening that bathroom door and seeing his glorious nakedness again, I refrain. I’m not sure my heart can handle any more excitement tonight. It might just give out completely.

While Drew is in the bathroom, I hurry to shimmy into my pink-and-white-striped maternity PJ set and scurry under the covers so quickly I probably broke a world record. Just as I’m pulling the sheets up to my chin, the bathroom door opens. My heart hammers painfully against my chest as Drew walks out in slow motion, steam billowing through the doorway like he’s so hot his body just naturally produces it.

He’s put on a pair of black sleep pants, but that’s all, and my eyes still see every single inch of his smooth, muscular chest and tapered waist and—

“Tattoo . . .” I say, forgetting how to make complete sentences.

Drew’s eyebrows go up, clearly enjoying this mental numbness he’s creating in me. “Yeah, what about it?”

“You have one.”

He takes another step into the room, using his towel to dry his hair. His muscles do very interesting things in the process. “I do.”

It’s beautiful is what I don’t say. There are three large watercolor flowers surrounded by greenery, inked in soft tones on his upper right chest, curving over his shoulder to spill onto his back and biceps a little. I had no idea he even had a tattoo because of how it’s positioned. You wouldn’t be able to see it even in a short-sleeved shirt. It’s like a sexy secret. One that I now know.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen me with my shirt off before.”

I’m now deeply regretting not coming out on his boat a few weeks ago when Lucy invited me.

I’m trying to drag my eyes away, I really am, but it’s just not happening. Don’t judge me—I’m super pregnant, and Drew is basically an underwear model. “Are you going to get more?”

“Nah—or if I do, they’ll be easily concealed like this one.” He runs his hand over the tattoo, and I honest to goodness shiver a little.

“Why?” Let the world see it, Drew!

“Because. It’s just best if I do.” Now that is an intriguing answer.

I finally make eye contact with him again and see a slight pinkness to his cheeks. Is he . . . blushing? “Why is it best?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You’re gonna make me say it? Fine. Apparently, women generally find me attractive, so . . . in my occupation . . . it’s easier if I . . .”

I take pity and finish his thought for him. “If you tone down your hotness?”

He gives me an uncomfortable smile and nod. “Yeah, basically. Tattoos don’t exactly scream professionalism . . . and I make sure when I’m in my practice, everything is completely professional at all times.”

It’s impossible not to realize he’s letting me see him in his unprofessional state, though. He wants me to see him without his shirt on or else he would have fully dressed before coming out here.

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 minuscule 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 eyebrow, 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 a 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 eyebrows 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 against 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 slightly, 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 them 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 you 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 in. 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 about.

“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.”