Page 30 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

I nearly fall to the ground in shock when the only response I get from Drew is a quiet and uninterestedhm.

“Okay.” I push away from the counter. “What’s wrong?”

He looks at me. “Nothing.” But his eyes are squinted into little slits. His jaw is flexing.

“You said your moan earlier was from pain. What did you hurt?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly it’s something, Andrew, so tell me or I’ll be forced to turn all of your scrubs lavender.”

He doesn’t laugh or flip me the bird. He attempts a smile, but it never fully hits his mouth. “It’s no big deal. I have . . . a small migraine.”

I imagine I’ll look back on this moment later in life and find it startling how quickly I push away from the counter and slingshot across the kitchen to Drew’s side. I’m sure I’ll want to scold myself for the all-encompassing need to comfort him I have now. But in this moment, all I can think about is that Drew is in so much pain he can’t even bring himself to slice me with a cutting comeback for any insults.

“What the—Jessica, what the hell are you doing?” he says as I press my hand to his forehead, then his cheeks. Back and forth. I do this three times before I feel I have a good grasp on his body temperature.

“Checking for a fever.”

This makes him gently swat my hand away. “I don’t have a fever. I get these sometimes.”

“Migraines?”

“Small migraines.”

“No such thing. I’ve had a migraine before—only once, but it was brutal and I can attest that when you feel the need to use the wordmigraine,it’s no small thing.”

He turns back to the dishwasher and bends to retrieve the silverware basket. I immediately take it from his hands and place it back on the rack. This earns me a mild glare. “Jessie, I’m in no mood to . . .”

“Exactly. You’re in so much pain that you can’t even fight with me.” I wrap my hand around his wrist—firmly—and tug until he follows.

“Where are we going?”

“To your bedroom.”

Andsee. . . the man doesn’t even so much as toss a dirty remark back at me. The Drew I know (and hate) would have said something wonderfully mean about how only in my dreams would I get to hear him moan with pleasure. But no. He’s silent.

After I’ve fairly dragged his butt into his room, I turn him and push against his shoulders so he’s forced to sit on his mattress. He sighs as he relents, and I can’t tell what it’s directed at because his face is so contorted with pain it’s hard to interpret.

“Lie down.”

“I’ve got stuff to do.”

“I’ve had a long day and I don’t have the energy to fight with you more on this. Lie down, Andrew.”

He searches my eyes for a few seconds, and whatever he sees in them convinces him I’m not to be messed with right now. Slowly, and accompanied by several grimaces of pain, he gently lays his head on the pillow. I pull his blankets up over him and he frowns at me the entire time.

“You don’t need to do this,” he says, but I don’t acknowledge the comment.

After making sure he’s not going to try to dash out of bed, I go to his curtains and close them.

“Jessie . . . stop. I don’t need help.”

“Yes, you do,” I say, frowning at how light the room still is. He doesn’t have blackout curtains, and that’s not at all acceptable when your head feels like there’s a jackhammer chiseling away at your brain. So after grabbing a blanket from the living room, I toss it up over the curtain rod, darkening the room two shades.

Next I go fill up a sandwich baggie with ice and bring it to him. He is looking at me as if I’m an alien when I take the homemade icepack and put it on his head. “Have you taken headache medicine already?” I ask.

“Yes.” Those squinting dark-blue eyes continue their frantic search of my face.

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