Page 32 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

Andrew Marshall, as it turns out, is a horrible liar.

Inexplicably, I smile the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 15

Jessie

“Shhhh, I think I hear the garage door opening!” I tell Lucy, my not-so-willing partner in crime. You would think a friend would help another friend prank Drew out of the goodness of her heart, but no. I had to barter with a night of babysitting. Joke’s on her though, because I would have watched Levi regardless.

We both stop talking, registering the sound of a car pulling in, and we jump into position.

“This is not a drill! I repeat—not a drill!”

“Who are you yelling at like that? It’s only me!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just nervous. I really want to pull this off.”

Today, I’m trading my babysitting services for Lucy to play along and pretend to be my midwife. Here’s the trick: she’s not going to be a regular midwife. Oh no. She’s going to be my “birth guru.” Aka something we completely made up and intend to freak Drew out with.

Drew and I haven’t spoken much to each other since his migraine. We have seen each other, though, and it’s been super unnerving. Unnerving in that we haven’t fought once.

Two days ago, one of Drew’s patients went into labor, so he didn’t get home until one in the morning. I wasn’t waiting up for him or anything, I just couldn’t sleep because of this annoying pregnancy insomnia. But when he got home, he took one look atme on the couch, his eyes swept to the empty cushion beside me, and his eyebrows rose in question. I nodded, and he sat down. We never touched, never spoke, only watched TV side by side until we both fell asleep watchingSeinfeldreruns.

In the morning, he wasn’t there when I woke up, but there was a steaming cup of hot coffee on the coffee table and a note that said,It’s half-caf, go crazy.We had one more brief silent stare-down last night after work while we both did laundry. I carried my hamper into the laundry room, but Drew was already in there and had just thrown his clothes in. He saw me, then he hitched his head toward the washer, telling me to put mine in with his. It was honestly the most erotic experience of my life doing laundry together. Geez, the close quarters! The mixing of colors when I know it gets under his skin! That moment when he leaned behind me to shut the lid on the washer and his chest brushed against my back—come on!! I’m dying over here.

And did I mention Drew unpacked all my stuff again? The BFF salt-and-pepper shakers are back on the kitchen countertop. My fuzzy throw blankets are draped across his charcoal couch. My stuff kisses Drew’s stuff everywhere I look, and it’s his doing. This is a metaphor for something bigger—I can feel it in my bones.

So now, it’s two weeks until the fundraiser I have to attend with him, and I’m determined to yank the rug out from under whatever this delicious tension is between us. I can’t let any friendly feelings toward Drew get in the way of the revenge I have planned for the night of the event. I must stay focused. Drew is not going to be a permanent part of my life, so it’s time to put our relationship back in the zone I’m most comfortable with: the war zone.

Lucy gets in position behind me on the floor, and I lean back against her. She hovers her hands above my head, wiggling her fingers in a musical fashion. She immediately starts giggling.

“Don’t! You can’t laugh, Lucy. You’ll give us away!”

“This is why I didn’t want to do this with you. I can’t lie. I’m going to burst out laughing immediately.”

I look up at her. “Okay, I read an article about improv the other day, and it said if you feel like laughing on stage, think of a solid color and nothing else. Apparently, it helps.”

Lucy nods once. “Got it. Wait, this isn’t working. Yellow is making me want to laugh more.”

“Okay, think of red.”

A weird laugh gurgles in her throat. “So much worse! Gosh, red is a hilarious color.”

She’s right. Red is so freaking funny. Probably because we are draped in the color in the most hilarious fashion possible. We’re going to blow it. I can feel it. I’ve never been good at keeping a straight face, and everyone knows Lucy isn’t good at it either, so we’re doomed. Drew is going to walk in, and I’m going to blurt,This is all a joke! Ha—gotcha!

Except we hear the rattle of the door in the kitchen, and suddenly I don’t feel like laughing. I want to throw up. To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m trying to accomplish with this prank. All the others were to get under his skin, to annoy him. This one feels different. It feels . . . no, never mind. Not letting myself go there. I’m pranking Drew so when he overreacts and loses it, I will be reminded of why I don’t like him. Yeah, that’s it. I’m doing this to put him back in theobnoxiouscategory of my brain.

We hear the door open. Drew steps inside the kitchen and tosses his keys down. Every sound feels sharp and jarring. I know he hasn’t seen us yet because we are facing the opening that leads from the living room to the kitchen and we haven’t seen Drew’s face. Lucy nudges me in the side and begins making a loudommmmmeditating sound.Showtime.

As expected, Drew’s head pops around the corner, eyebrows quirked up and an incredulous look on his face as he takes in Lucy and me. “What the hell did I just walk in on?” he asks, the sound of his voice startling me after three days of near silence. He fully steps into the room, looking much too sexy in his black scrubs and dark two-day-old stubble lining his jaw. Forget about Zac Efron—Drew is the one who looks delicious.

Miraculously, I don’t bust up laughing when I imagine what Lucy and I look like from his point of view. Her fingers are still hovering over my head, looking like she’s sprinkling me with pixie dust, and she and I are both dressed in these super creepy, all red cotton gown-drape things I found on Amazon. They completely swallow us whole and make us look like we belong in an even scarier version ofThe Handmaid’s Tale.

Lucy continues toommmmlike we rehearsed as I deliver my line. “Not that I owe you any explanations, but Lucy got certified earlier this week to be my birth guru. We are centering ourselves in preparation for the birth.”

“Exactly,” Lucy says, using a snooty voice I’ve never heard from her before. “Now scram, Drew. I need Jessie to concentrate. According to my training, it’s important that the spiritual waves we are producing between Jessie and the baby not get interrupted by outside forces.”

Green. Black. Orange. Burgundy—oh gosh, it’s not working. I’m thinking of all the colors and it’s taking everything in me not to look in Drew’s horrified eyes and lose it laughing.

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