The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

And it will all go down at his gala, in front of everyone.

“I think you’re right, Andrew. I think we could make a deal.”

It’s moving day. Last night Drew and I came to the agreement that I’d be his fake girlfriend in exchange for staying rent-free at his house until mine is finished. It feels sudden to be moving out the next day, but I don’t have much of a choice. All last week they worked on fixing the pipe that burst and getting the water turned back on, but starting Monday, they will begin phase two of construction, which is remediating the mold. Step three will be replacing any parts of the house where the wood has rotted away, and apparently the damage is extensive. So, this weekend was the last time I could get in this house to move my things out before the big construction begins.

I came home after dinner at Lucy’s and packed up pretty much my whole house (thankfully she still had all her boxes from moving to Cooper’s house). I told Lucy I was just going to pack a few things so she didn’t need to come too, but then I ended up staying awake all night and packing the entire thing since this insomnia is apparently going to keep me from ever sleeping again.

Lucy comes over early in the morning, thinking she will help me box up my room before the guys get here to move it out, but there is nothing left for her to do. I’ve never seen anyone so pouty about being relieved of their packing duty before—pouty and suspicious.

“You’re bringing all of this to Drew’s house?” Lucy’s eyes trail over the boxes littered around my bedroom. There’s more—lots more—in the living room, bathroom, and kitchen too. Drew is going to flip when he sees all of this, and the joy that brings to my heart will sustain me for the rest of the year.

“Yeah. Why not?” Despite my effort, my devious smile is starting to show. I wish I were wearing a cape so I could pull the hood up and let it shadow my face.

“It’s just…maybe a lot for three weeks. I thought you’d only pack a few boxes.”

I shrug casually, but inside I’m cackling like a demented criminal. Playing the long game gives me life. “It just looks like a lot because all I had were the big boxes you gave me. They’re not totally full.”

“Oh okay, sure.” She’s not convinced, because she’s not stupid. She tries to pick up one of the boxes and can’t because that sucker is loaded down. She gives it one more attempt but looks like she’s trying to lift Thor’s hammer. It’s not budging. Lucy squints at the boxes, trying to figure out my secret plan. Finally, she shakes her head slowly, a quiet grin on her lips, and then she looks at me. My scheme is discovered. She knows I’m going to torture Drew with my belongings. All of my belongings.

I raise my eyebrows, daring her to call me out and refuse to aid me in my plans to provoke the mental deterioration of her big brother. Surprisingly, she doesn’t. In fact, I think she’s a little excited to see how this all plays out. Her blue eyes—almost the same shade as Drew’s, but his are deeper, darker, and not nearly as innocent—sparkle with a conspiring glint. “You packed all of your throw blankets, right? You don’t want to get cold over there.”

I grin. “And the matching pillows.” Lucy and I both start laughing like two people who just got away with replacing all the diamonds at Tiffany’s with rock candy. The doorbell rings, and my brain translates it as the first bell of a boxing match. It’s on, Drew.

“Hello?” Cooper’s voice cracks through the air first—a warning shot. “We’re here.”

“In here!” An angry, twirling flutter whirls around in my belly at knowing Drew is in my house. He’s somewhere on the other side of that wall and has no idea the plans I have for him. I pull my cape hood down a little lower. Villainy brews in my chest.

Footsteps are in the hallway now. I hear Cooper’s laugh first and then turn just in time to see Drew’s eyes sweep over my room. He’s wearing black athletic shorts today—the color of his heart—and a light hoodie, looking like maybe he just got done at the gym. His eyes sweep up and down every box tower and suitcase in sight. They skitter across my feet and roll over my stripped-down mattress. They perform a thorough investigation, and almost as if he can sense my need for him to look at me, he avoids my eyes. It’s a miniature form of torture, though I don’t know why. I want to stomp over to him, plant my hands on either side of his scruffy jaw, and yank his gaze down. ME. Look here, you!

“No” is all he says.

So polite as always.

Now, his eyes slither like a snake across my floor, creating a path through the maze of boxes and then slowly, slowly up my body until his gaze locks with mine. A heavy breath is expelled from my lungs. You. I see you.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

Cooper walks over to Lucy and wraps his arm around her waist, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Do you think there’s going to be blood?”

Lucy lightly elbows him in the side. She never encourages this incivility. “Help me start carrying some of these out,” she says with a worried glance between me and Drew, and then she leaves the two of us alone. I want to ask if that’s wise, but I guess we’re going to be living together so we might as well get used to it sooner rather than later.

Drew’s arm rises, forearm flexing angrily as he points a menacing finger at a box. “No.” And then points to another box. “No.” And then repeats this pattern fifteen more times, like he’s shooting imaginary fire bolts at all my boxes. They go up in flames. He stomps thr

ough my house, pointing at everything he can find.

I follow along, trying not to dissolve into laughter, because this is turning out exactly like I predicted. He’s my pawn, and he doesn’t even know it. We end in the kitchen on his final, triumphant no.

“You can’t bring all this crap to my house.”

I gasp like I am deeply wounded. “It’s not crap! I need all of this around me to be comfortable.” And to torture you every day that I’m living in your house.

Everyone knows Drew is a minimalistic neat freak. Having all my little trinkets and girly items scattered around is going to wind him up like a knotted ball of yarn.

He is stone-faced as he spins around, whips out a pocketknife like a Boy Scout, and tears into one of my boxes on the counter.

“HEY!” I snap, going to stand beside him as he dips his hand in and retrieves one member of my set of snowman Christmas mugs.

Drew holds Frosty up to my face, carrot nose to human nose. “Explain to me why you need this in August.”