Page 51 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

She’s exasperated. “The real reason, please.”

I sigh and shift on my burritos. I can’t tell her the truth—she’ll tell Drew. Not because she means to divulge my feelings to him, but because she’s Lucy and can’t lie or keep a secret to save her life. Letting my eyes speak louder than my words is the only hint I’m willing to give her. So I hold her gaze and shrug in a look of resigned defeat, the pathetic look of a person not wanting to admit the truth but who is also helpless to hold it inside much longer. I’m a prisoner to my own fear, and that’s how it has to be right now.

“I just need to, okay? It’s important to me.”

Lucy’s eyebrows crunch together, and her lips pull to the side. She assesses my face, thinking it over for a few seconds. Finally, she groans . . . loudly and with an open mouth. “Okay. Let’s do this. But please, for the love, don’t let him see us. I’m too old to be spying on my brother.”

I scoff, offended that she would even feel the need to say that. I’m wearing a taco robe and plush burritos on my feet—believe me, if there were an option where I didn’t have to be here tonight spying on Drew, I’d take it. I tried to sit at home like an uninvested bystander, and it didn’t work. TV couldn’t distract me. I matched each of my socks in a flash. I ordered a luggage set off the Home Shopping Network that I’ll never use. In the end, I had to come and see Drew on this date for myself, because apparently I love torture.

Lucy and I sneak around the building, opting to hover on the opposite side from the judgy valet and peek through the glass.The restaurant has nearly floor-to-ceiling windows except for a three-foot-tall brick edging, so we have a mostly unobstructed view of the warmly lit, expansive dining area. There’s a shiny black concrete floor and so many Edison bulb light fixtures I’ll have a filament spot burned into my eyes for the rest of the week. The tables are made of a dark oak wood, and the chairs are black tufted leather. It’s trendy, and moody, and exactly the sort of place I’d love to go on a date. Instead, I’m standing outside with my nose pressed to the glass, dressed like a taco shop mascot escaped from duty.

Lucy bounces beside me. “Do you see him? Can we go yet?”

No . . . I don’t.I don’t!My eyes scan around the restaurant with jubilant glee as I take note of every single patron and not a single sign of Drew in sight. “I knew it!” I fist-pump the air. My heart is exploding. This was all a ploy to make me jealous! He said he wouldn’t sit around and pine after me, but he can’t help it. He’s definitely on a bench somewhere, Sufjan Stevens playing in his ears. And now I get to gloat, dropping cryptic little comments over our bowls of cereal in the morning, making a big show of wanting to know every detail of his date. Am I mean and horrible? Yup, but fighting with Drew is the only outlet I have for the desire that builds inside me every time he’s around. It’s the only way I can let it out.

It’s going to be—wait.No.

Lucy gasps. “There he is! Walking toward that table across the room! He must have been in the bathroom . . .”

My heart sinks all the way down to the lettuce in my burritos as I watch him smile at the woman now sitting in front of him. She’s beautiful. A down-to-earth, curvy, I-rolled-right-out-of-bed-this-pretty-and-radiant sort of woman. She lookssweet.Sort of like the way Lucy looks with those wide, innocent doe eyes. I would never have pegged this woman to have scribbledher number on Drew’s coffee cup. I bet it was the only daring thing she’s ever done. Good for her.Good. For. Her.

Lucy puts her hand on my arm. “Looks like he really is on a date.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious!I’m glad I didn’t say that out loud. Lucy doesn’t deserve my wrath. It’s my own fault for not telling Drew the truth. I made my bed, and it’s time to lie in it. Alone. And cold. And manless.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Fine? Your jaw is clenching so hard I’m worried for your teeth.”

I relax my face and give her a pacifying smile. “Better?”

“No. Now you look like a serial killer.”

“You’re full of compliments tonight. Let’s go, I need some Twizzlers now.”

Before we turn away, I see the woman put her hand on top of Drew’s, and I’m filled with the urge to go rip that arm from its socket. Just as the woman’s hand touches his skin, it looks like Drew gets hit with a bolt of awareness and his eyes shift like magnets to where Lucy and I are standing. We both gasp. Lucy does what she does best and drops to the ground, out of sight. I do a spin roll until my back meets the brick siding. I wish I could drop to the ground too, but I’m eight months pregnant now, so the only thing that’s dropping these days is this baby.

“Do you think he saw us?!” Lucy asks.

“Nah—we’re good.” He totally saw us. “C’mon, we better get out of here. NO, DON’T STAND UP! Army crawl, woman!”

“Oh my gosh, if I get knee scrapes from this, I’m never forgiving you.”

We hightail it out of there, and when we pull up outside her house, I give Lucy the whole bag of Twizzlers to take inside as an apology for the one-and-a-half-centimeter scrape she complained about all the way home.

When I’m alone on the couch again, I rub my hand over my belly and tell the baby what an idiot he or she has for a mother. I can’t decide what’s worse, letting myself develop feelings for an incredible man like Drew when I’m eight months pregnant or pushing him away when he showed the slightest bit of interest.

My lengthy inner monologue gets interrupted when the front door opens and Drew steps inside. I hunker down into the couch cushions and pull my blanket up to my chin like I’ve been here all night.Niiice and cozy.Would it be over the top if I snored? I’m just about to try it when I accidentally make eye contact with Drew. Ugh. I want to groan at how fantastic he looks tonight in his dark jeans and heather-gray Henley shirt pulling against his chest.

His blue eyes flare and his mouth forms a mocking smile. “Comfy?”

I make a show of snuggling in, knowing full well he saw me at the restaurant. I’ll die before I admit it though. “Sooooo comfy. Date go well?”

He toes out of his shoes. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? Looked like you had a nice front-row seat.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Drew crosses the room to where I’m lying on the couch. He plants one hand on the armrest above my head and the other on the back of the couch—trapping me. His blue eyes almost look black right now. “I saw you.”

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