The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)

Except now, I’m standing in her childhood room, staring at a wall completely dedicated to NSYNC, and I’m thinking there’s a lot about Jessie I still don’t know, a lot I’m scared to know based on this shrine dedicated to the young boy band members in white tanks with spiky bleached hair in every pose possible. There’s one in front of a graffiti wall. In tuxes at an award show. A few behind-the-scenes photos scattered in of them recording in the studio with dramatic faces and headphones over only one ear. It’s a hodgepodge of images printed off the internet, pages ripped from magazines, and premium posters all pasted together to look like one elaborate sheet of wallpaper. Now I see why Jessie wouldn’t let me in here. I tried to open the door earlier today, but she just got in front of me and gave me her scary-eyes death glare—so I was forced to sneak in while she’s putting away the leftovers from dinner.

“Oh no,” Jessie says from behind me in the doorway. She races to throw her body in front of the wall, arms and legs sprawled out like that will keep me from seeing this freak show. “Don’t look at it!”

“Too late,” I say, shaking my head slowly, unable to peel my eyes from her teen fantasy creation.

“You weren’t supposed to come in here without me! I was going to prepare you! Now you’re in shock. Do you need one of those shiny thermal blankets? Should I call 911?” I don’t reply. Just keep staring. Jessie leaves the wall to come put her hands on my face. “Drew, look at me. It’s going to be okay, you just need to look away from the wall.” She starts gently turning my shoulders away, but I crane my neck, unable to escape its hypnotic spell, until finally I’m forced to snap my gaze forward.

I blink several times at Jessie. “So many pictures.” At least two hundred. I’m not kidding.

“It was a different time, Drew. The 90s were confusing. Everyone was doing it…I couldn’t resist the temptation. I’m so sorry.” The seriousness in Jessie’s eyes is what finally makes me crack. My smile spreads wide and slow, and before I know it, we’re both laughing.

“You crazy woman,” I say, taking one final look at the shrine.

She grins up at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Don’t act like you didn’t have photos of swimsuit models pasted above your bed.”

I shake my head firmly. “No ma’am. Obviously you don’t know my mom and dad. They would have whipped me if I had put up a degrading photo like that.” Jessie narrows her eyes until I wag my eyebrows. “That’s why I kept it under my mattress.” I know she’s going to try to pinch me, so I catch her hand preemptively. “Come here,” I say, pulling her up close to me. “I haven’t kissed you enough.”

It’s a rare thing to see Jessie blush, but she does now, and that’s the first place I aim my lips. She laughs as I kiss the apples of both her cheeks. “I don’t think that counts as kissing.”

“Quiet. I’m just getting warmed up.”

I lower my head, preparing to drop a soft, sweet kiss on her mouth, but Jessie meets me halfway, her lips crashing into mine. It’s a jolt straight to my nervous system that I wasn’t expecting. I’m a pretty controlled guy. I can keep my cool in high-pressure situations, and rarely do I ever feel out of my head. Right now, I’m nowhere near conscious thought, because Jessie has taken control for me and decided my fate without my opinion. Thank goodness. One of her hands hits my chest and backs me up against the NSYNC wall as the other slides up under my shirt to feel my abs. I cradle her jaw and grab her hip. The push and pull of our mouths is not soft. Not tender. It’s mad—teeth clanking, out of breath, full of desire and passion. I’ll be honest, it’s not something I thought would be in the cards until well after this baby comes, but I am HERE FOR IT.

Everything is breath, and heat, and skin, and lips, and taste. She kisses my neck, and when her tongue touches my skin, I lose my mind. I’m done for. Toast. Suddenly, Jessie has my shirt above my head and helps me whip it off. Cool air rushes across my chest and her eyes rake over

me before they snag on my tattoo. She runs her finger reverently across the ink, and heat burns through me. She kisses her way up my tattoo and then my neck. Once she finds my mouth again, I decide it’s my turn to be in charge.

I put my hands on Jessie’s hips and slowly devour her full mouth as I guide us away from the wall. I’ve never, ever needed a woman like I need Jessie. The moment gets away from me, and the next thing I know, I’ve backed Jessie up to her tiny bed. She sits on the edge, and then her head falls back against the mattress. Her smile is not nervous, but rather excited as I plant my hands on either side of her face and hover over her. I brush her hair away from her neck and then trace the line of her collarbone with my finger. Her eyes greedily take in every inch of my available skin. I can’t bring myself to care that we’re in her childhood room right now or that this dinky bed might not be able to support the weight of both of us. My mind is lost in a haze of want and all I can think about is how unfair it is that she has on more clothes than me. Time to level the playing field.

I reach for the bottom edge of her shirt then suddenly her door flies open and Harold steps inside. Jessie squeals, and I jump off of her, feeling like a dirty teenager who will be grounded for the rest of his life. I mostly blame the 90s-nostalgia scenery.

“Grandaddy! Knock first!” Jessie screeches and tosses a small pillow at the door, also looking and sounding like a guilty teen. We’re so dead. Definitely not going to junior prom without a chaperone now.

“I’m so sorry, sugar!” Harold says with a hand over his eyes as he backs out of the room. I would give anything for a black hole I could jump into right now. ANYTHING.

“Oh my goodness, you don’t have to cover your eyes like that, Grandaddy! That makes it so much more embarrassing,” she says with her hands on her cheeks to cool the flames.

I would say something right now, but nothing in particular worth saying comes to mind. I’m torn between wanting to shrink into a ball and climbing out the window to drive 100 mph until I’m home and far away from this humiliation. Instead, I laugh, because this is hilarious. Poor Harold. His cheeks are the color of raspberries, and he bumps into the wall while backing up with his eyes closed.

“I’d rather keep ’em covered, thanks.” His outstretched arm is flailing around trying to find the threshold of the door, but he’s just getting further away. I take pity and put my hands on his shoulders to guide him out. One glance at Jessie tells me she will never recover from this. I give her an apologetic smile as I run my hand through my hair, and she gives me the stink eye in return.

“Drew,” Harold says once he’s out of the room and facing the opposite wall in the hallway. “I was actually coming in here to see if I could talk with you a minute.”

That sounds ominous. My eyes fly wide open, and I look to Jessie. Our expressions facilitate a silent communication that goes like this.

Me: Do I have to?!

Jessie: Yes.

Me: Are you sure?

Jessie: Quit being a baby.

Me: You’ll pay for that insult later. *eyebrow wag*

Jessie: I hope so.

And that’s the moment I realize our relationship will be combustible—which I mean in the best sense.