The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

Drew’s eyebrows go up, clearly enjoying this mental numbness he’s creating in me.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You have one.”

He takes another step into the room, using his towel to dry his hair. His muscles do very interesting things in the process. “I do.”

It’s beautiful is what I don’t say. There are three large watercolor flowers surrounded by greenery, inked in soft tones on his upper right chest, curving over his shoulder to spill onto his back and bicep a little. I had no idea he even had a tattoo because of how it’s positioned. You wouldn’t be able to see it even in a short-sleeved shirt. It’s like a sexy secret. One that I now know.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen me with my shirt off before.”

I’m now deeply regretting not coming out on his boat a few weeks ago when Lucy invited me.

I’m trying to drag my eyes away, I really am, but it’s just not happening. Don’t judge me—I’m super pregnant, and Drew is basically an underwear model. “Are you going to get more?”

“Nah—or if I do, they’ll be easily concealed like this one.” He runs his hand over the tattoo, and I honest to goodness shiver a little.

“Why?” LET THE WORLD SEE IT, DREW!

“Because. It’s just best if I do.” Now that is an intriguing answer.

I finally make eye contact with him again and see a slight pinkness to his cheeks. Is he…blushing? “Why is it best?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You’re gonna make me say it? Fine. Apparently, women generally find me attractive, so…in my occupation…it’s easier if I…”

I take pity and finish his thought for him. “If you tone down your hotness?”

He gives me an uncomfortable smile and head nod. “Yeah, basically. Tattoos don’t exactly scream professionalism…and I make sure when I’m in my practice, everything is completely professional at all times.”

It’s impossible not to realize he’s letting me see him in his unprofessional state, though. He wants me to see him without his shirt on or else he would have fully dressed before coming out here.

I look down at my stripes and eight-months-preggo belly. Our contrast right now is laughable and serves as a slap in my face. A bucket of cold water. A much needed dose of reality. I’m in no position in life to be contemplating a new relationship. I shouldn’t even be thinking sexy thoughts about him. I should be locking him in this room and running far, far away.

Instead, he’s currently stepping over the handy sign and pallet I made for him and heading straight for me and this itty-bitty-teeny-tiny-miniscule queen-sized bed. If he sits down, I’ll topple over like Humpty Dumpty and roll into him.

“HEY! WHOA THERE. I think you’re missing your stop!” I say, shooting my hand out and waving a finger at the spiffy pallet I made for him. “Did you not see the sign?”

He lifts an adorable brow, and his mouth hitches up on one side. “I saw it.”

He pulls back the covers on his side—correction, MY side, because all the sides are mine because he’s not sleeping in here with me—of the bed. I lean over and snatch the blanket, pasting it back down on the mattress. You shall not enter.

“I thought doctors knew how to read. It says that is your spot right down there. On the floor. Wayyyy over there. By yourself.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.”

He shakes his head. “Jessie, that is hardwood floor. I’ll fracture a bone sleeping on it.”

“Well, it’s a handy thing you’re a doctor then and can fix yourself right up!”

“Move over.”

“NO!” I lie flat on the bed and starfish myself out so he can’t lie down. When I don’t hear any movement, I cut my gaze to him out of the corner of my eye.

He’s trying not to bust up laughing. Apparently, I’m succeeding in being a great threat to him. “What are you worried is going to happen if I get in there with you? It shouldn’t be a problem, because you’re not attracted to me in that way, remember?” His voice is oh so mocking. He’s completely called my bluff.