Page 5 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

“Although apparently the nurses in there didn’t get the memo that I look terrible. I got asked out twice in five minutes.” I rub my neck. “It was the weirdest thing. I blame it on the full moon that sent all my patients into labor.”

“Really? Because I blame it on the fact that when your sister came and had lunch with you in the cafeteria last week, she went on and on about how single you are and how you need to find yourself a girlfriend and settle down.”

I groan inwardly and curse my sister and her good intentions. “But how does anyone know about that?”

“Gossip travels fast within those hospital walls, and one of the nurses was sitting behind you guys. Apparently, the whole nurses’ lounge knew by one o’clock.”

Well, this is bad. The whole staff being alerted to my singleness is something I wanted to avoid. It’s why I’ve always been vague about my personal life. “Well, I guess it’s fine. I’ll just have to be firm about my rule.”

“What rule?” she asks while tightening her raven ponytail.

“I don’t date colleagues.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Ever?” Something about the way her voice goes up an octave alarms me.

“Yeah . . . it’s just something I do to keep everything professional at work.”

Her smile goes nervous, which is strange because I’ve never seen it do that before. “Well then, I guess I shouldn’t toss my hat in the ring like I was planning to.” She tries to cover up her embarrassment with a soft chuckle, but it doesn’t work. I can still see how vulnerable she is, and I am absolutely too tired to deal with this gracefully. My eyeballs feel like they’ve been doused with pepper spray.

“Oh—you were going to . . . ask me out?” Now I’m worried my policy won’t be enough. What if Susan is offended I won’t bend my rule for her? Will our working relationship become awkward?

She shrugs a little, her smile quirking hopefully. “Yeah, to the fundraiser gala. I was thinking since we get along so well, and we’re both single—”

“I’m not,” I blurt, before I have the chance to stop myself.

Her eyebrows crinkle together. “You’re not?”

“Nope. I actually already have a date to the gala.”I don’t.“My girlfriend.”Don’t have one of those either.

Susan looks understandably confused. “But you told your sister you were single . . .”

“Only because she doesn’t know about it yet. It’s new. I’m dating her best friend, and I know she won’t like it.”Drew, stop.“We’re serious though.” I can feel my brain shaking its metaphorical head at me.You tired, tired fool.

“Okay, but then . . . why didn’t you say that at first? Why mention your rule?”

Goodness, Susan. So many questions.

“I forgot I was in a relationship. Like I said, it’s new. And . . . I’m sleep-deprived.” There, that last part is real at least.

“Gotcha,” Susan says, like she still doesn’t fully believe me. “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting her at the fundraiser.” Why do her words feel like a taunt? A challenge? This is bad, but I can’t worry about it now.

My Uber driver finally arrives and carries me home, where I stumble inside, feeling more drunk than I’ve ever been from the effects of alcohol. I throw my phone on the couch along with my backpack, then go into my room and strip down to my underwear. I normally shower when I get home from work, but not this time. Sleep. Sleep is all I need.

It’s only when I’m falling asleep that I feel a nagging thought . . . almost like I’m forgetting something . . . something I was supposed to do today. But no matter how hard I try to wake up enough to remember it, sleep overpowers me, and I give in.

A few hours later, I wake up with a jolt. I sit up ramrod straight in bed as I suddenly recall what I was supposed to do today. “Jessie!” I hiss through my teeth like an expletive.

I hop out of bed and go straight into the living room, where I find my phone on the couch along with fifteen missed calls from the woman herself.Dammit.I’m in so much trouble. I was supposed to go over to her house at nine o’clock this morning and pretend to be her fiancé in front of her grandaddy. It was a ridiculous idea, and likely the reason my subconscious concocted the same ridiculous scheme when talking to Susan.

When my sister called late last night and asked me if I’d do it, I said yes. Probably because I was really distracted with all the humans I was in the middle of bringing into the world, and also because Jessie and I got off on the wrong foot (and every foot since). She hates me, and I saw this as a good opportunity to bury the hatchet between us and start over. I’m willing toforgive her if she’s willing to forgive me—and that’s saying a lot considering how she treated me the first time we met.

Our initial encounter was when I got home from a long shift at the hospital to find her pacing like a feral animal in my driveway, ready to pounce the moment I opened my door. I had been avoiding Lucy and Cooper after they decided to date even though I asked them not to. I didn’t handle their new relationship well at all, basically giving them the cold shoulder for three weeks. Since I had been ignoring their phone calls and holing up at the hospital, I didn’t realize my nephew had gone in for emergency surgery to have his appendix removed. Don’t worry, Jessie came over and informed me. Very loudly. Very angrily. She also tossed a pack of diapers into my arms and said if I was going to act like a baby, I might as well dress like one. The forethought she had to put into that insult was astounding.

I’d never met the woman before, and she was up in my face, pregnant belly practically pressing against me as she very thoroughly explained exactly how I should get my head out of my ass, stop acting like a chauvinistic dirtbag, and go show up for my sister. So you can see how it was pretty easy for me to dislike her from the get-go, and every other interaction between us has looked pretty much the same. The last time I saw her, she was eating an entire bowlful of pickles. Like thirty pickles! As a medical professional who happens to specialize in maternal care, I advised her to be careful of her sodium intake. She showed me her favorite finger as a response.

We are mortal enemies now, and I had a chance to end that, but instead I’ve made it worse.

For all of thirty seconds, I feel terrible. I let Jessie down in a big way, and I wish I could fix it. But then I read the last text message she sent me, and I decide maybe I don’t want to bury that damn hatchet after all.

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