Page 29 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

“Jessie?” Drew’s alarmed voice suddenly calls out from the kitchen.

Oh, this couldn’t get any worse.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry. Don’t mind me, I’m leaving!” I say loudly while moving out the door.

“Wait.” His voice is getting closer. “Where are you going?”

He’s right behind me now, and I throw my hand over my eyes to turn around and face him. “Leaving! I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

There’s a small, confused pause. “What the hell are you talking about. Jessie, look at me.”

I hesitantly drop my hand away and find Drew standing there in his black sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

“You’re clothed,” I say, like it’s the most startling revelation in all of humanity.

“Yeah . . . what did you expect?”

“Your penis.” My face flames at my own admission.

Drew’s eyes are saucers as he chokes on a surprised laugh. “Wh—why would you expect my penis?” He takes an awkward step away from me suddenly, like I might reach out and peek down his pants anyway.

“I came in and heard your . . .” I really struggle over this next word. “Moan.”

“My . . . m—” he cuts off, eyebrows pinched together, then a wry grin twists his mouth. His whole demeanor suddenly relaxes. “Wait. What exactly did you think I was doing in that kitchen?”

“I hardly think I need to spell it out for you.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

I narrow my eyes. “I thought you were . . .”

“Having sex?”

“That’s the one.”

He crosses his arms with a grin. “I’m surprised you’d give me that much credit with how often you remind me of myhorrible personality.”

I shrug. “Maybe she asked you to not talk. I’m not one to judge the particulars of intimacy or how someone musters through it with you.”

He rolls his eyes, and this is the first time I notice how dark the circles are under them. There is so much tension living in his features today. “I haven’t heard any complaints so far. But no—I wasn’t having sex in the kitchen. The sound you heard was one of pain.”

His hand dashes up through his hair, and I tell myself that I really don’t care what is wrong with him or why he was in pain. It doesn’t matter. I’m exhausted and it’s been a long day and I’m just relieved I didn’t have to walk in on my roommate doing things I’d rather not see him doing with anyone.

Except, something about him really looks off.

“Come back in the house, Jessie. You’re safe from the affronting sight of my penis.”

I ease back into the house and close the door behind me, eyeing closely my roommate that I hate more than pumpernickel bread. Normally his muscled frame is ramrod straight, ready for anything. But right now, it’s drooping.Odd.

He goes into the kitchen and begins unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher, and even though I tell myself I really don’t care about whatever is happening to him, I can’t make myself stop watching him. I hover on the threshold of the kitchen, assessing him. Tracking every single one of his movements and replaying them against how he was moving this morning.

I decide to perform an experiment.

I step fully into the kitchen and wait until he puts a bowl away in the cabinet. I deliberately scoot that same bowl over two inches like he did it wrong the first time. He doesn’t even notice. Not a sigh. Not a grunt. Not an eye roll. In fact, he’s not commenting on my presence in here at all, and that might be the most startling aspect of this encounter yet.

With arms folded, I lean back against the counter and throw a large piece of bait into the water, knowing the real Andrew won’t be able to resist. “If you make love like you put dishes away, I’m willing to bet that your predicament of never getting a second date has nothing to do with your profession.”

I’m not proud of that comment—and if I’m being honest, I know it wasn’t even my sharpest poke. But listen, I’m exhausted and it’s all I can muster right now.

---