Page 54 of The Temporary Roomie: Extended Edition

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You are,” he says, reaching over to slide my hairband down—wrecking my perfect ponytail!

I reach over to pinch under his arm, but he grabs my hand and locks it in his. I try to tear it away, but he just intertwines our fingers, his grip tight and possessive, and rests our hands on the armrest between us. “You can have this back when you learn to behave.”

I huff and puff and put on a big show of hating his hand against mine, but inwardly I’m dying. Have two hands ever fit together so perfectly? Has the feel of another’s skin against mine ever set me on fire before?

Drew keeps my hand captive—aka we hold hands—the whole drive, neither of us letting go of our pride. We’ve got shields in front of our faces in the form of glares and scowls, and we use our words like swords. I know his pressure points, and he knows mine. When Drew’s thumb tenderly runs up and down mine, we both throw extra insults at each other just to disguise the intimacy neither of us is willing to admit lives between us. Never have two more prideful, stubborn people existed.

It’s a tightrope we walk, and I’m feeling less and less confident in my ability to make it safely across.

My phone rings as we pull up to the lake house, and Drew finally releases my hand so I can answer it. It’s my contractor on the line, and he has bad news. Drew puts the Jeep in park and watches with an expression of concern as I receive the update.

“It’s worse than we thought. Most of your subflooring is rotted too. We’ve been trying to replace boards on a need-to-fix basis only, but the more we tear out, the more problems we find.”

“So what does this mean?” I’m afraid he’s going to say they had to bulldoze the house and start over, that I’m suddenly out four hundred thousand dollars and they are taking me to prison because I can’t pay it.

“It means an increase in your bottom line and also a few more weeks added to the completion date.”

Tears are stinging my eyes, and I will not let myself let them out. I don’t think I’m doing a great job of hiding them, though, because Drew’s hand finds mine again and he squeezes. I spend the next five minutes trying to talk my contractor into putting all of his manpower into finishing this project on time, because I have a baby coming and I would really like to have a home to bring said baby home to. He tells meNo can doin a thick northern accent that feels abrasive to me in my fragile state. So now my house is due to be finished around the same time as my due date. Wonderful. Perfect.Splendid!

I hang up and stare blankly out the front windshield, letting my thoughts fall into their final slots like the Plinko game.

“Talk to me,” Drew urges, leaning forward and trying to catch my eye.

“Everything is fine,” I say in a high-pitched screechy tone. “It’s only that my life is over, and my baby is going to be homeless, but it’s fine.”

“What are you talking about? What did the contractor say?”

I take a deep breath, gathering all my strength so I don’t release a sob all over Drew. “They ran into complications—more things to be fixed—and they don’t think the house will be done until the same week as my due date.”

“Oh.” Drew’s shoulders relax like I didn’t just tell him my whole world is falling apart. His nonchalant attitude pisses me off.

“What do you meanOh? This is bad, Drew. Do you understand what this means for me? I might not have myhometo bring my babyhomefrom the hospital to. I won’t have a place to set up its crib, or the rocking chair—not that I even have any of those things because when Lucy offered to throw me a baby shower I turned her down like a lunatic, because I was too scared of becoming a mom.” My voice is hysterical now and I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed about this later, but for now it’s all gushing out like I just hit an emotional artery. “I added a few things to a baby registry online but haven’t even bought a single thing off of it yet because I didn’t want to have to pile more boxes at your house and make you mad. But no, that’s a lie—I’m blaming it on you when it’s really my fault. I didn’t order anything for the same reason I haven’t found out the sex of the baby. If I order things, if I have things, it makes it real, and I haven’t been ready to face that yet.”

I finally take a shuddering breath. Once the words are out, I don’t even want to look at Drew. I just spewed my emotions all over him, and if there’s anything I’ve learned about men, it’s that they don’t like dealing with women’s drama. Except for Grandaddy. He’ll listen to my blabbering all day, and I wish I could go to him right now. He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to trust to make things better for me.

Drew doesn’t rush out of the car and leave me behind. He squeezes my hand. “Jessie, look at me.” His words are not tender. Not sweet. They are rough and they sayI mean it.I square my shoulders and look in his navy eyes. “Neither you nor your baby will be homeless. You live with me, and my house is your house as long as you need it. Order your stuff. Ship it to my place. It’s time to stop avoiding, to face what’s coming—you’re about to become a mother, and you can do it. You’re strong enough.”

I want to be angry at Drew as he lets go of my hand and hops out of the Jeep, but I can’t. He’s right. And he’s probably the only person in the world who can actually give me the kick in thepants I need. My baby is coming soon. It’s time to pull up my big girl panties and get ready. I’m going to be a mom—I can do this.And thanks to Drew, I don’t have to be homeless.

CHAPTER 28

Jessie

Drew is infuriating. I already knew this, but now he’s doubly infuriating. Ever since we walked through the doors of this lake house, he’s been touchy-feely. He uses every opportunity to touch my hand, my hip, my neck, the side of my thigh. I get we’re in a fake relationship, butgoodness.I thought he hated PDA! Something is different with Drew. Something changed after our drive. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s making me want to become a turtle and pull my head back into my shell.

Right now we’re all standing on the porch admiring the view of the expansive lake and listening to Henry explain all the renovations they’ve done since buying the property after Richard retired, but I can’t even focus because Drew is pressed up behind me, arms wrapping me up in what some people might call a hug. It’s not, though. Drew and I are sworn enemies. I’ve angered him, humiliated him, and poked his ego more times than I’m proud of, so this absolutely cannot be a real hug. Except, I can feel his heart beating against my shoulders. He feels like a solid brick wall with a pulse, and it’s making the world around me feel fuzzy. Henry might as well be a parent inCharlie Brownright now because all I hear iswah wah wah wah.

My eyes drop from the lake view to the Drew view, aka his tan forearms draping heavily over my chest. I can smell his deodorant and natural skin scent. The two mix and swirl through my senses like a tornado of masculinity wrecking everything in its path. Drew destroys me. I want to drop my chin and brush my lips across the warm skin and let the light hair on his forearms tickle my nose.

“Does that sound good to you, Jessie?” Henry asks, wrongly thinking I’ve been paying attention to anything he’s been going on about.

I must stiffen, alerting Drew to my distress, because the evil man drops his mouth beside the shell of my ear and whispers, “What do you think? Does that sound good to you?”

The hairs on my arms stand at attention, ready to intercept every sensation Drew wants to toss their way. In my fantasy, I lay my head back against Drew’s chest and close my eyes. No . . . I spin around, hook my arms around his neck, and try to re-create the kiss from the fundraiser. Also in my fantasy, I’m not pregnant, and Drew and I don’t have such a complicated relationship. And maybe he’s naked.

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