The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

I’m mesmerized now. I don’t know what he’s doing, but whatever it is, he’s so intense about it. I don’t think my face has ever been this close to Drew’s before. Our moment in the kitchen when we were fighting over Frosty the Snowman was the closest, but this is so much closer. I can see where each of his eyelashes connects with his lid, where his smile lines would appear, and the flecks of black floating in his deep blue irises.

I’m completely silent as Drew takes my arm, his hands tenderly moving across my skin as he adjusts my arm to lay it across the side of the chair. I’m convinced Drew could have a full beard if he wanted, because every day around this time he looks like he could use a shave. Like if I ran my hand over his jaw right now it would scratch me.

Now Drew is dipping into a bag beside the chair and pulling something out. Wait, not just something…a blood pressure cuff!

Lucy and I are so over.

I blink several times to resist the hypnotic trance he’s lulled me into. “You have got to be kidding me! I don’t need my flipping blood pressure taken.” I try to fight it by pulling my arm back, but Drew’s warm hand lies firmly over my arm. Don’t move. His jaw ticks, and he looks almost angry. What does he have to be angry about?

“Stop squirming. Lucy told me about how flushed and disoriented you were at the salon. She’s worried about you.” His eyes scan over me again, and he touches the back of his hand to my cheek. “And she’s not wrong. Your face is abnormally flushed.”

Oh good gracious. This is not happening. Every look, every touch, every scan of his dark eyes is making my problem worse. I need to get away from him. Now.

I slap his hand away. “Yeah, of course my face is flushed! My psycho roommate packed up all my stuff and piled it in my room! I can’t even lie down on my bed! Don’t you think that’s a good enough reason to get worked up?” He grimaces slightly, like maybe he’s a little embarrassed. Good. “When did you even have time to do that?! I thought you were at work all day.”

“I might have…come home during my lunch hour and packed your stuff.”

“And moved all those boxes in such a short amount of time?” I narrow my eyes. I want him to have to say it out loud.

He scrunches his nose a little. “And hired a moving company to come in and move them upstairs when I went back to work.” I stare at him, wishing on every star that when I blink, he will go POOF and disappear. I blink three times and he is, unfortunately, still there each time.

“Just where was that generosity on Saturday when you were busy complaining about the precious time you were sacrificing to help me move?”

“In hindsight, it was childish to have all your stuff moved back to your room. I’m sorry, I was just trying to get back at you. But right now, I’m a doctor, not a roommate, and I’d really like for you to let me check your blood pressure because”—this next part looks like it pains him deeply to say—“I’m genuinely concerned about you.”

I fold my arms, ripping the cord and squishy ball of the blood pressure cuff out of his hand. “Fat chance. You’re not my doctor, and I’m not concerned enough to go get it checked out, because I know the real reason I’m flushed.”

I realize my mistake as soon as Drew’s brow rises. “What is the real reason, then? Lucy said it started right before you left the salon, so I know it wasn’t the boxes.”

I squint. “Well, aren’t you just Nancy Drew. Do you get paid extra for these mystery-solving skills or is it included in your fee?”

Drew’s eyes shut tight and he tilts his head up toward heaven, pressing the heels of his hands to his brows. He can’t handle me. I’m too much. I think he’d like to yell right now, but he’s holding it in because of my possible high blood pressure. Now he’s scraping his hands back through his hair, making it all stand on end but not fixing it. It’s actually a really sexy sight, especially the way his biceps flex against the sleeves of his scrubs. All I want to do is lean forward and run my fingers through those unruly, dark locks and put them back in place.

And the flush is getting worse. Super.

“Jessie. I swear…” He trails off, and I’d really like him to finish that sentence, but he doesn’t. It’s left as a warning. “Let me check your blood pressure. It’s important.”

It’s now clear that the only way I’m going to get off the hook and avoid an assessment is to tell Drew the truth. You’re so freaking hot sometimes I can’t stand it. I’ll die before I admit that to him, so instead, I growl and extend my arm.

“Fine. Take my blood pressure. But when you see that it’s perfectly normal, you owe me a cookies n’ cream milkshake.”

He releases a sigh then gets to work squishing the little ball thing. I stare at him as the cuff on my arm tightens, but instead I feel it in my chest. It constricts with every methodical blink of his dark lashes.

“Close your eyes and take deep breaths.” His voice rumbles in a way that makes my insides tingle. But I can’t close my eyes, because I know what I’ll see: Tan. Golden. Bronze.

“Nurses never tell me to close my eyes. I think I’ll keep them open.”

His eyes shift from the cuff and peek up at me. “Because you like staring at me?”

“Because I’m afraid you’ll run off with my purse.”

He drops his eyes again, but there’s a tug in the side of his mouth. I try to regulate my breathing and find some sort of zen when the cuff is at its tightest because my blood pressure HAS to be normal or else Drew will never let me live it down. I shut my eyes only to make sure I win. A small tickle at the base of my wrist triggers my senses, and I peek one eye open. Drew’s thumb moves two centimeters back and forth against my skin like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

I frown, and the cuff releases. The harsh sound of Velcro ripping splits the silence. “Well, doctor, will I live?”

Some of the rigidity of his features softens, and his lashes rise so his gaze meets mine. He drops the blood pressure cuff into the bag then leans forward so his forearm rests on his knee. He grins lightly. “Your blood pressure is good, but I’m concerned about your ego overdose.”

The self-control I harness to keep myself from sticking my tongue out at him is beyond impressive. He knows though; he can see my thoughts. He holds that grin and shakes his head a little.