The Temporary Roomie (It Happened in Nashville 2)
Doesn’t he see it? Mia has everything to do with it. My mood has never been more sour than after witnessing Drew on a date with another woman. My insides started aching that day, and they haven’t stopped.
“Just thought she’d like to know her man has bad gas before she decides to crawl into bed with him.”
Drew glances sideways at me—no smile anymore—and then looks back at the road. “Mia won’t be getting in my bed, so don’t waste your breath on trying to blackmail me regarding her. It was just a date.”
I have to bite my cheeks to keep from smiling. That doesn’t work, so I suck them in, making me look like a fish. I turn my face toward the window, because Drew absolutely cannot see how much of an effect that news is having on me. I feel like a balloon, freshly filled with helium and ready to drift off into outer space. “That’s a shame.”
He grunts a laugh. “Yeah, clearly you look heartbroken for me. I can see your reflection in the window.”
I wipe my smile off and paste on an over-the-top frown. Paint my face and I’d be a sad clown. “Better?”
Drew quickly glances at me and rolls his eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile in the corner of his fine mouth…his fine mouth that I’ve had the privilege of kissing and would really like to kiss again.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“YOU ARE,” he says, reaching over to slide my hairband down—wrecking my perfect ponytail!
I reach over to pinch under his arm, but he grabs my hand and locks it in his. I try to tear it away, but he just intertwines our fingers, his grip tight and possessive, and rests our hands on the armrest between us. “You can have this back when you learn to behave.”
I huff and puff and put on a big show of hating his hand against mine, but inwardly, I’m dying. Have two hands ever fit together so perfectly? Has the feel of another’s skin against mine ever set me on fire before?
Drew keeps my hand captive—aka we hold hands—the whole drive, neither of us letting go of our pride. We’ve got shields in front of our faces in the form of glares and scowls, and we use our words like swords. I know his pressure points, and he knows mine. When Drew’s thumb tenderly runs up and down mine, we both throw extra insults at each other just to disguise the intimacy neither of us is willing to admit lives between us. Never have two more prideful, stubborn people existed.
It’s a tight rope we walk, and I’m feeling less and less confident in my ability to make it safely across.
My phone rings as we pull up to the lake house, and Drew finally releases my hand so I can answer it. It’s my contractor on the line, and he has bad news. Drew puts the Jeep in park and watches with concerned brows as I receive the update.
“It’s worse than we thought. Most of your sub flooring is rotted too. We’ve been trying to replace boards on a need-to-fix basis only, but the more we tear out, the more problems we find.”
“So what does this mean?” I’m afraid he’s going to say they had to bulldoze the house and start over, that I’m suddenly out four hundred thousand dollars and they are taking me to prison because I can’t pay it.
“It means an increase in your bottom line and also a few more weeks added to the completion date.”
Tears are stinging my eyes, and I will not let myself let them out. I don’t think I’m doing a great job of hiding them, though, because Drew’s hand finds mine again and he squeezes. I spend the next five minutes trying to talk my contractor into putting all of his manpower into finishing this project on time, because I have a baby coming and I would really like to hav
e a home to bring said baby home to. He tells me No can do in a thick northern accent that feels abrasive to me in my fragile state. So now, my house is due to be finished around the same time as my due date. Wonderful. Perfect. SPLENDID!
I hang up and stare blankly out the front windshield, letting my thoughts fall into their final slots like the Plinko game.
“Talk to me,” Drew urges, leaning forward and trying to catch my eye.
“Everything is fine,” I say in a high-pitched screechy tone. “It’s only that my life is over, and my baby is going to be homeless, but it’s fine.”
“What are you talking about? What did the contractor say?”
I take a deep breath, gathering all my strength so I don’t release a sob all over Drew. “They ran into complications—more things to be fixed—and they don’t think the house will be done until the same week as my due date.”
“Oh.” Drew’s shoulders relax like I didn’t just tell him my whole world is falling apart. His nonchalant attitude pisses me off.
“What do you mean Oh? This is bad, Drew. Do you understand what this means for me? I might not have my home to bring my baby home from the hospital to. I won’t have a place to set up its crib, or the rocking chair—not that I even have any of those things because when Lucy offered to throw me a baby shower, I turned her down like a lunatic, because I was too scared of becoming a mom.” My voice is hysterical now and I’m sure I’ll be embarrassed about this later, but for now, it’s all gushing out like I just hit an emotional artery. “I added a few things to a baby registry online but haven’t even bought a single thing off of it yet because I didn’t want to have to pile more boxes at your house and make you mad. But no, that’s a lie—I’m blaming it on you when it’s really my fault. I didn’t order anything for the same reason I haven’t found out the sex of the baby. If I order things, if I have things, it makes it real, and I haven’t been ready to face that yet.”
I finally take a shuddering breath. Once the words are out, I don’t even want to look at Drew. I just spewed my emotions all over him, and if there’s anything I’ve learned about men, it’s that they don’t like dealing with women’s drama. Except for Grandaddy. He’ll listen to my blabbering all day, and I wish I could go to him right now. He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to trust to make things better for me.
Drew doesn’t rush out of the car and leave me behind. He squeezes my hand. “Jessie, look at me.” His words are not tender. Not sweet. They are rough and they say I mean it. I square my shoulders and look in his navy eyes. “Neither you nor your baby will be homeless. You live with me, and my house is your house as long as you need it. Order your stuff. Ship it to my place. It’s time to stop avoiding, to face what’s coming—you’re about to become a mother, and you can do it. You’re strong enough.”
I want to be angry at Drew as he lets go of my hand and hops out of the Jeep, but I can’t. He’s right. And he’s probably the only person in the world that can actually give me the kick in the pants I need. My baby is coming soon. It’s time to pull up my big girl panties and get ready. I’m going to be a mom—I can do this. And thanks to Drew, I don’t have to be homeless.