Page 89 of The Roommate Remodel

Brax

“Call 911!” Jaz calls, the terror in her voice slicing through the chatter from the dining room. I’m on it before she can even reach Sloan’s side. Jaz kneels next to her sister, pulling her onto her lap and talking to her gently, patting her face.

“Sloan, you’ve got to wake up,” Jaz pleads. “We’re calling an ambulance, sis. Stay with me.” Jaz strokes her sister’s face gently, but her words are urgent, desperate.

Sloan’s eyelids flutter open, and we give a collective sigh of relief. But we know she’s not out of the woods yet.

Jaz is adamant that Sloan go to the ER, just to be sure nothing is wrong. When we arrive, they put her through a battery of tests while Jaz and I wait for answers that aren’t quick to come.

When the doctor arrives, he insists that Sloan’s fainting episode was likely because of her injury, and there’s nothing else they can do. The news isn’t entirely surprising, but I can see the lines of worry on Jaz’s face. She wonders what will happen if her sister doesn’t get better. And I wonder what will happen to Jaz if she’s always carrying the weight of everyone’s problems on her shoulders.

I assign more chores around the house, and even convince the guys to put in new landscaping around the front porch. Anythinglooks better than the empty patch of dirt left over after we pulled out the overgrown bushes.

I also ask the team to give up more of their free time for our volunteer initiatives, including a retirement home visit, more elementary school visits, and even a local meet-and-greet, which turns out to be a big hit and gives us lots of free publicity on social media. We advertise the upcomingFashion on Icefundraiser, and the newspaper catches wind of it and does a feature story on the event.

When the local TV stations hear about our volunteering, they schedule an interview with Jaz that later gets picked up by some national news outlets.

Even our attendance is up. Instead of barely filling a quarter of the seats, we’re now selling fifty percent of the Ice House’s capacity.

Alex has taken notice, but she doesn’t exactly seem pleased, which is odd since she’s invested in our success.

Jaz shakes her head as she scans over a dozen emails from media outlets. They’re all interested in our team’s random acts of kindness, which draws more media attention than our wins.

“Another news channel wants to interview you and Vale about your recent visit to the nursing home,” she says.

“I don’t know why.” I’m eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at her desk over lunch since this might be my only shot to see her today. Between her schedule and mine, we’ve barely had time for each other.

She picks at the salad in front of her while staring at the screen. “They heard about your impromptu waltz with that ninety-year-old woman and how your brother cut in very sweetly.”

I set my sandwich down and wipe my hands. “First,thatwas not a waltz. I just followed Betty’s moves and tried not to step on her toes. It was Vale’s idea to cut in. He’s a hopeless romantic and loves the attention.” Then I lean toward her, cupping her cheek. “Personally, I’m not interested in talking with anyone except you.Right now, you’re all mine.” I brush a kiss across her nose, then her lips.

Jaz tilts her head. “Brax MacPherson, are you flirting with me on the job?”

“I will flirt with you any chance I get,” I promise, pulling her onto my lap and nuzzling her ear.

“We need to be careful.” She lifts her eyebrows in a mock warning, but from the curve of her lips, she likes it just as much as I do.

I carefully brush my finger across her lips. “I’m beingsocareful.” Then I kick my foot out so it slams the door shut. “I have five minutes before I need to head back to practice before Coach notices I’m missing.”

“Five minutes to work on the fundraiser?” she teases.

I shake my head. “That’s not what I was thinking. I want five minutes of your undivided attention.”

She wraps her arms around my neck. “If all I get is five minutes of you today, I’m going to enjoy it.”

I cup the back of her neck and tug her closer, just as someone knocks at the door.

“Seriously?” I groan, dragging my hand through my hair.

She hops off my lap, smoothing her hair. “I should make sure it’s not Tom with my new budget for the fundraiser.”

I frown. “Pretend you’re not here.” My hands slide to her waist, keeping her from moving.

The knock rattles the door, louder this time.

Whoever it is, they’re not going away.

She gives me an apologetic look. “I’ll make it up to you later,” she whispers before kissing my forehead.

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