The Temporary Roomie by Sarah Adams
Drew comes back into the living room, and I try (I really do) not to notice how good his hair looks damp. The swirl of masculine scents wrapping around him. How cute and down to earth he looks in a hoodie and sweatpants. And his feet are bare. What am I supposed to do with that? Now that I’ve noticed, I feel like he might as well be naked.
Geez, Drew. Must you be so scandalous while we watch TV with your oh-so-naked feet?
Oh goodness, those feet get propped up on the coffee table. Am I supposed to be attracted to the sight of bare feet? No. Absolutely not. This pregnancy and all these hormones raging through my body have turned me into an insane foot fetish person. I need to get in with a therapist ASAP because the sight of Drew’s feet is making my heart pump like a racehorse at the Kentucky Derby.
“What are we—”
“NOTHING!” I blurt quickly, nearly throwing my freshly popped bowl of popcorn across the room.
Drew blinks at me, uncertain what to do with that sudden outburst. “You okay over there?”
“Who me? Definitely. I was just afraid you caught me drooling over Zac Efron, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s good, Jessie. Put him off your scent. “Yeah, his bare abs were on just a minute ago and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. WHEW. I mean, talk about one hot male specimen. Delicious.” Delicious?
His head cocks to the side a little, and he takes in a tentative breath like he’s going to say something but changes his mind. Instead, he grins slightly and turns his eyes to the TV…the TV that’s not even on, because I was in the kitchen popping popcorn while he was in the shower. So, instead of pointing out the obvious—that I’m lying through my teeth—he just stares with a quizzical smile at the blank screen and then turns back to me.
I blink at him, daring him to call my bluff and make me admit I’m flustered because of him. I don’t think either of us want to go there, so he just chuckles and reaches for the remote.
“Got it. Zac Efron gets your engine going.”
I make a gagging face. “Never mention my engine again.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners like I’ve never seen them do before, and starts mindlessly scrolling through Netflix. “What? You don’t want to admit you have an engine? You know, it’s not something you have to be embarrassed—”
“OH MY GOSH, DR. STUCK-UP, please stop! No one likes it when you turn into a gynecologist in the living room.” I chuck a pillow at his head, feeling a new weightlessness between us. It’s making me high.
He only laughs harder, still not meeting my eyes as he continues on. “No need to be squeamish, Oscar. If you’d like, I’ve got some pamphlets at the office that shed invaluable light on this particular topic.”
I’m pelting him with popcorn one by one. They are tiny buttery canons. Drew pulls his hood up to protect his face and scrunches his body into a ball. His laugh is incredible. I’m submerged like I’ve jumped into warm lake water in the summer. I float on my back and smile up at the blue sky.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. It’s just too easy. My female friends are always so weirded out by my profession.”
I force myself to swallow a piece of popcorn and then choke out a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s sort of weird that you’re a young, h—” The word hot dies on the tip of my tongue. Drew definitely heard where that was going though because his brows rise in conceited question. “Hhhhhappenin’ kind of guy.”
He frowns and meets my gaze, the lightheartedness from a moment ago dimming. “So because I’m young and happenin’ I’m not allowed to care about women’s health? Like I went through all those years of undergrad, medical school, and residency all so I could look at women’s bodies whenever I want?”
Well, I guess when he puts it like that…
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before blowing out a breath and shaking his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to jump down your throat about that. I guess sometimes I just get sick of the stigma, the idea that I’m a creep for going into gynecology—but it’s fair. I get it that it’s uncomfortable to some people.” Why do I get the feeling there’s so much more going on under the surface of this conversation?
I shift in my seat, pulling my legs up under me just to have something to do. “So, why did you choose this career then?”
Drew’s eyes snag on mine, and his brows pull low. Not in an angry way, just skeptical. Like he can’t believe I actually care. “When I was doing my rotations early on in medical school, the labor and delivery unit was where I felt the most joy. Honestly, so much of the medical field is doom and gloom, death and dying, prescribing and fixing. But women’s health deals mostly in preventative measures, and it revolves so much around life and family. From the first birth I attended, I’ve thought it was the most incredible experience to get to be a part of, and for me, it’s the greatest honor to work alongside women to bring their babies into the world.” He pauses and shrugs. “This is the only field of medicine I’ve ever felt so much hope in.”
Hearing the conviction in his voice, the sincerity and gentleness—I completely believe him. More than that, I feel like I know him in a new way. I can see the vulnerability behind his eyes, and it tugs at me.
“Okay,” I say simply with a quiet smile. “You’ve won me over. I mean, you’ll never be my OB-GYN because that would just be a very odd boundary to cross for roommates, but you’ve made me feel more comfortable with your occupation.”
“Really?” It’s cute the way his brow crinkles.
“Yeah.” And I mean it. His reasons hit home with me, and I think it was probably unfair and ignorant of me to assume he had any other motives. “Is that why you’re single? I mean other than your severe and crippling obnoxiousness? Are women not comfortable dating you since you’re an OB?”
I give a taunting grin and he mimics it, shifting so he sinks a little further into the armchair. He looks oddly relaxed. We’ve never let our guards down this much around each other before, and I have to admit, I like seeing him like this. I like knowing he wears this black hoodie any time he can. It’s so worn out the white logo on the front is peeling and cracking.
“It’s definitely been an issue.”
“How much of an issue?”
“Like I rarely get a second date kind of issue.” His finger runs along the seam of the armchair, and his eyes track its journey. “Over my last dinner date, I finally told the woman I was a gynecologist, and she did a spit take with her water. It was dramatic, but I also sort of understand the reaction.”
“I’m sorry. That must really suck to devote your life to women’s healthcare and then not have a relationship because of it.”
He shrugs. “Eh, not a big deal. I’m busy a lot, so I don’t have much time to sit and care about it. I figure my career won’t bother the right woman. She’ll trust me.”
Something pokes me in the chest saying I’m not really bothered by his career, but I choose not to give it attention. Instead I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Wow, would you look at that? We’ve gone ten minutes without fighting. I think that’s a record.” My voice sounds too much like I belong on The Truman Show and am trying to act natural.
“And your flush has finally worn off.” He just had to go and mention that.
I touch my fingers to my cheeks, begging them to behave. “Yep. Told you—nothing to worry about.”
He’s silent a minute. Staring. His eyes softly blink, and his mouth is resting in a neutral line. He looks like he’d be comfortable to stay like this forever. I need him to look away.
“I’m sorry about overreacting earlier,” he tells me. “I—uh—had a tough day at work, so I guess worst-case scenarios were fresh on my mind.”
This moment is so tender, and quiet. I’m scared to speak too loudly. It’ll pop whatever this is, and the vulnerability I see in Drew will be gone.
“It’s okay. I imagine it’s difficult knowing you’re responsible for so many people.”
His eyes are still connected with mine, zeroed in, ignoring any sign of life around us. He nods slowly. “Oddly though, I’ve always felt that way. Even before becoming a doctor, my family, friends, Lucy…they all look to me for assistance, or guidance, or protection. It’s just been my role in life.” He says it and I hear what he’s not saying: Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. I feel for him. I’ve never been the one who seems to have it all together, so I can only imagine how hard it would be to carry the responsibility of being dependable. “Everyone except you, that is.”
“Except me?” My heart rate increases. My palms sweat. I’m afraid he can see right through me.
“From the moment we met, you’ve been adamant that you don’t need me. Not even for friendship. I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet.”
“Well…” Any sort of witty comeback shrivels up in my mind, and I’m left with nothing. A giant blank. His dark eyes pull me in, and I’m terrified I’m going to blurt out the truth I’ve kept gagged and chained in the back dark corner of my heart. Say something! Anything but the truth: I’m scared to need you.
“So you thought I had preeclampsia?”
He looks disappointed by my shift in conversation. “It’s always something to be aware of in your third trimester.” He pauses a second, and I can see the moment he shifts fully into the role of medical provider. “That condition doesn’t run in your family, does it? Like your mom never had it, did she?”
Everything freezes.
No. No, no, no.
This question triggers me every single time I’m asked it, because the truth is, I know very little about my family, let alone their health records. All I have are the small bits my grandaddy can offer me, but that’s it. And just like that, I feel all the walls in my heart begin to shoot back up. Self-preservation is an instinct I can’t shake, and it’s kicking in in the form of fight or flight right now.
“Not sure,” I say, pointing toward the TV and trying to signal Drew to pick something already. “How about that one?”
“You’ve never talked to her about it?”
“Nope. Hey, how about a Seinfeld rerun? That could be fun.”
“It’s important. You should ask her sometime.”
I clench my hands around the popcorn bowl, feeling that familiar anger snap inside me. “Hmm, well, do you have a good way of summoning the dead that I don’t know about?” I let my eyes slide to Drew and see the moment his lips part. He looks floored.
“Damn. I’m sorry, Jessie. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine.” Aka It’s not fine, now shut up please.
I nod toward the TV again, but he doesn’t choose anything yet.
“How long ago did she—”
“Okay, listen.” I whip my head in his direction. “We’re not talking about my family. Not now, not ever. Got it?”
Now Drew sits up straighter. Both of our spines are slowly growing stiff as boards. “Why are you getting so pissed off right now? I’m sorry I asked about your mom, but I truly didn’t know—”
“But see, that’s the problem with you! You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and continually try to fix people or make decisions for them when they never asked for you to. You act like this is your role in life, but it’s a self-appointed role. Some people don’t want or need to be fixed. I’m not your patient.”
He expels a heavy breath and runs his hand through his hair, and it sticks up on the right side. I want to curse him for making himself look even sexier while I’m angry at him.
“Is this how it’s always going to be? You biting my head off about everything? I mean, geez, Jessie. I was trying to have one freaking conversation with you, get to know you the smallest amount, and you can’t even handle that.”
I can feel my expression harden, because he’s right. We were almost friends. I was on the verge of letting him in, and I absolutely don’t want to let that happen. “Yeah, this whole thing was a bad idea. We’re not friends, and I don’t like you, so let’s just quit pretending.”
His midnight blue eyes pierce me, and for a moment, he looks shaken. “I wasn’t pretending. I was trying to give us a shot at being civil to each other.”
I stand up from the couch—slowly, because my belly makes power exits difficult—but I eventually manage it. “Well, you can give that dream up right now. I don’t need any more friends. I’m full up, thanks. Let’s get through your stupid fundraiser, and once my house is fixed, I’ll go back home, and we can each forget the other ever existed.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel good,” he calls over his shoulder as I storm toward the stairs. “You forgot your popcorn, Oscar.”
“Tell you what, just go ahead and shove it up your butt, Dr. Stuck-up.”
“You need a new insult. That one is worn out.”
I make it all the way upstairs before I let myself cry. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak and broken. I’ve felt that way too many times in my life, and I’m sick of it.
But when I wipe my tears away and fling open the door to my bedroom, I’m instantly reminded of my obnoxious, nosey, prying roommate. “ANDREW!” I yell and then jump when his voice sounds right behind me, hands gripping my biceps to gently move me out of the way. Unwanted chills fly over my skin. His body brushes against mine as he passes me in the door frame, and honestly, I’m a little shocked. Part of me expected him to storm out of the house for the night since I was so rude to him, but he was already on his way up here without me having to ask.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m moving them out. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
I grin mockingly up at him. “Why not, when you make it look so appealing?”
We stare for two long seconds, mimicking each other’s frightening, lunatic smiles, until Drew’s eyes lower to my mouth. My stomach drops down to my feet, and I take a retreating step back.
Haven’t I scared him off yet?
