The Temporary Roomie by Sarah Adams
We are seated at the table, waiting for dinner to be served, and Jessie is fondling my ear. Not in a sensual way—although it probably looks like it’s intended to be—but it feels more like an annoying gnat pestering my face. My hands itch to swat hers away. Everyone at the table is staring at us like they are deeply disturbed, and honestly, I don’t blame them.
I realize this is my fault though. Jessie thinks I don’t like PDA because of all the gagging I do around Lucy and Cooper, so naturally she’s going to climb all over me in public because of this unspoken tit-for-tat game we have going on between us. It’s like a human version of Battleship.
I smile tightly and twitch my shoulder, trying to push Jessie’s hand away without the whole table realizing what I’m doing. But it’s a big round table, and they are all staring. Now, I’m just shoulder-hugging her hand, which makes me look even more lovesick and disgusting. I take a more direct approach and cover her pesky little hand with mine then lower it down to her lap, holding it tightly there.
She squeezes my hand under the table. It says, LET GO. I squeeze back. NOT A CHANCE.
We both flash each other a soft, smitten smile so the table believes our once-in-a-lifetime romance, but under the table, our hands are warring. Goodness, she makes me want to laugh. And kiss her.
When I first spotted Jessie across the room tonight, my stomach dove into a free fall. She looked so classic and feminine and curvy and my heart was beating out of my chest for her. It hasn’t stopped since. I would have kissed her in the bathroom if that knock on the door hadn’t interrupted us. I wanted to more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Even now, I look over into Jessie’s forest eyes as they sparkle from the warm lighting, and I feel like groaning. I can hardly take it. I want to scoop her and her mischievous smile up and take her home.
The table continues to buzz with medical talk like it has been ever since we sat down, and I’m hoping once our dinner arrives, everyone will give the constant jargon a rest. That’s the major flaw of doctors all grouped together for social events: we can’t talk about anything besides medicine. It’s how we’re hardwired. So many years devoted to nothing but studying and learning and memorizing as much as possible will do that to a person. Back in school, when everyone else was partying and socializing, our noses were deep in a textbook. The most social contact we had was a study group, which is basically what this is now. An ultra-elegant study group.
I know Jessie has to be bored to death. Maybe if the conversation were more interesting, she’d be less determined to pinch her way out of my hand. Her fingers are like a little crab scurrying across the sand.
“Dr. Marshall, I’ve been meaning to ask you—what happened to your eye?” Susan says from across the table. Of course Susan would notice it. It’s more of a slight greenish-shadowy bruise now than it was a week ago when Jessie gave it to me. For some reason, I’ve loved this black eye. I love that Jessie gave it to me. I love that when I look in the mirror, I remember the sheen of terror in her green eyes when she thought she’d really hurt me. It was the first time she had ever looked at me without a mask of indifference or hatred.
Jessie lights up at this question. She gives an overindulgent smile, flashes her eyes wide in excitement, and props her elbow under her chin like someone’s just told her I’m about to jump on the table and give everyone a striptease.
Too bad for Jessie, if she plans to take me down, I’m dragging her with me.
I lean forward, a conspiring grin in place, and tilt my head toward her. “I try not to kiss and tell, but truth is, this one got a little overeager in the—” My sentence is cut off when Jessie’s foot collides with my shin and she shoots me a dark look.
“Kitchen,” she finishes for me, not breaking eye contact. “I opened a cabinet right into his face by accident.” Something in her gaze promises her statement will come to fruition if I continue, but it won’t be on accident.
Everyone hums their understanding, but it’s clear they don’t believe her. My seed was planted, and her face is turning into boiling lava. I feel triumphant. Smiling, I lean toward Jessie to…to what? I don’t know exactly. All I’m conscious of is my need to get closer to her. To run my finger over her blushing cheek. To kiss her. To hold her. Her narrowed eyes soften and her lips part slightly. We’re trapped in this moment together, and everything I’m feeling, she’s feeling too. If I could just lean a little—
A hand claps against my back. Of course. “Drew? Ah—I thought that might be you!”
I’m ready to murder whoever just interrupted this moment between us when I look up into the eyes of my old mentor of sorts from med school. Despite him being a teaching physician at the time, Richard was one of my first friends in the medical world, and he’s likely the only person who can escape my murderous intentions in this circumstance. Once I had decided to focus on obstetrics and gynecology, he was the one I went to with my concerns about being a young male in the profession, afraid I’d never get any patients. He laughed and told me he would only let me soak his shoulder with tears once I tried being a gay black man in the medical field, or a woman in the same profession having to work twice as hard to prove herself just as capable as a man. I liked him immediately. Dr. Green taught me the best thing I could ever do as a male OB-GYN was shut my mouth and listen to the women around me. I’m good at applying this principle in my practice, though not always so much in my personal life.
“Dr. Green, it’s good to see you,” I say, standing to shake his and Mr. Green’s hands. “And Henry,” I say, addressing Richard’s husband. “How are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you two since Dr. Green’s retirement party.” It’s when I look down at our clasped hands that I realize how red mine is thanks to my little pincher crab. I slide my gaze over to Jessie and see her sitting demurely, hands resting in her lap like a patient angel, but I know she’s seen the pinch marks because her lips are pressed together, holding back a fierce laugh.
If Henry notices the odd red splotches, he ignores them with grace. “I don’t feel like we see anyone since Richard retired.” He tosses him a reprimanding look. “I’ve been begging him to come out of retirement just so we can go places again. He compromised by letting us come tonight.”
Richard laughs and guides Henry around the table to take the two available seats closest to me and Jessie. He pulls a chair out for Henry, making me wonder belatedly if I did that for Jessie. Richard looks at Henry with narrowed eyes after they’ve taken their seats.
“And force you to miss me again during all of those long work days? Never.”
Henry looks to Jessie and me with extra wide eyes and a mocking smile. “So considerate of him.”
We all laugh, and then, trying to be discrete, I cut my eyes to Jessie, hoping she won’t look bored. Because for some reason, I want her to enjoy being here with me—meeting my colleagues and the people who were so integral in the early years of my career. When my eyes land on her, my heart jolts. Her head is tilted softly to the side, and her green eyes are sparkling with a genuine smile. She looks happy.
I don’t realize I have fully turned my face to openly stare at Jessie for goodness knows how long until Henry’s voice shocks me into reality.
“Drew, who is this beautiful young woman you’re so fondly gazing at?” he asks, a note of mischief in his eye, like he was excited to call me out in front of everyone.
Without a second thought, I raise my arm to lay it over the back of Jessie’s chair and run my thumb against the side of her shoulder. I notice her look down to where I’m tracing a lazy pattern against her skin, and I could swear her skin flushes. See, I can do affection.
Jessie looks up at me quickly, and her eyes search my face like she wants to see for herself the look Henry was referring to. Except, she doesn’t look happy about it at all. Am I imagining it, or does she tuck her shoulder in so I can’t brush my fingers against it anymore?
“This is…my girlfriend, Jessica Barnes. Jessie, this is Dr. Richard Green and his husband Henry. Dr. Green was my mentor in medical school.”
Jessie’s gorgeous, full lips tip into a soft smile, and that’s that. She welcomes them into her friend group with an ease she never gave me, and I have to try very hard not to be jealous. But I am. I’m jealous and wondering what I needed to do from the beginning to get the same sweet treatment as Richard and Henry. Maybe if that day when she showed up ready to fight me on Lucy’s behalf I had just kissed her then and there, we could have avoided all this unpleasant dueling.
But even as I think of all that “unpleasant dueling”, I’m smiling, because truthfully, I needed it. I haven’t realized until this moment how weary I had become of my constant need to remain professional and put together. Even in my family, I’m the one who solves problems, the responsible one, the guy who’s always ready to help when they need me. And don’t get me wrong, I love being that guy. It suits me well, but sometimes I just need a break from it. There’s never been any other force in my life to show me there’s a different way or what I’m missing…until Jessie. After living, fighting, and playing with her, I realize just how deprived I’ve been of pointless joy. Laughter for the hell of it. Smiling just because I feel like it. It’s been good, and I don’t want it to end.
As fast friends, Richard, Henry, and Jessie all make a pact to call each other by their first names, and Henry wastes no time scooting his chair a little closer to Jessie and diving into a long series of get-to-know-you questions. Richard and I head over to the open bar to bring drinks back to the table and spend the next twenty minutes catching up. I try to stay focused on the conversation, but Henry keeps laughing at things Jessie says and I can’t help but glance over frequently. Jessie’s dimpled smile kicks me in the stomach each time I see it, and I wish I could lean over and kiss it. I realize how much more enjoyable these events would be if she always came with me. Jessie even manages to get the rest of the table to ditch their professional medical talk as she animatedly tells a story about when she accidentally cut off the tip of someone’s ear in hair school and then convinced one of the EMTs and the poor guy missing part of his body to let her come into the ambulance and help bandage it up. She walked away from the incident with BOTH of those guys’ numbers. Only Jessie could manage something like that.
When I hear Henry ask Jessie if she knows the sex of her baby yet, I find myself leaning in a little closer. I’ve never heard her mention a pronoun when referring to the baby—in fact, she never mentions the baby much at all. The whole thing feels very mysterious, but I’ve been too much of a coward to ask her about it.
“I don’t. I’m going to let it be a surprise.”
Henry awwws and says it’s the last true surprise you can have in life, and I doubt he even picks up on the tension in Jessie’s shoulders. I do, though. I’ve started picking up on Jessie’s little cues, and I can spot them from across the room now. I also know she has five different smiles. 1) Polite. 2) Go jump off a bridge. 3) Genuine. 4) Sultry. 5) Uncomfortable.
The one she gave Henry was definitely number five, and I want to know why. I want to know everything about her.
Conversation breaks up when servers begin to bring plates of food to the table. I notice something in Jessie’s demeanor change. The spark that was present earlier in the night has dissipated. Maybe she’s tired? Nauseous? I don’t know, and it’s killing me. Jessie is only my fake girlfriend tonight, but I still feel responsible for her. I want to take care of her.
I use the opportunity to lean a little closer to Jessie. My thigh brushes against hers, and she peeks up at me. “Everything okay?” I ask quietly.
“Mmhmm,” she says, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
She picks up her water, her hand trembling slightly, and she takes a deep swallow. Something is definitely off. And then like a switch was flipped, Jessie’s eyes pop up and she makes me add a new smile to my list: wicked. I watch curiously as she digs somewhat mindlessly in her clutch, looks at me over her shoulder, raises a taunting brow, and drops her eyes to my mouth. Her soft pink lips dare me to lean forward and take them.
My pulse quickens, and I’m so distracted by her lips and whatever it is she’s silently trying to tell me that I barely notice something tumble out of her purse. “Oops. Can you grab that for me, Andrew?” Something in my mind tries to alert me that she used my full name—the one we only use for each other during battle—but the more powerful part of my brain is too busy fantasizing about Jessie to pay attention to it.
Is she giving me some serious bedroom eyes or what? She looks like she wants me right now. It’s the same look she was giving me in the bathroom, but a more intense version. I can’t take my eyes off of her. I’m hypnotized, and she looks like a bronzed goddess in her black velvet dress, green eyes blazing, soft skin begging for me to glide my hands all over it.
Before I even realize it, I’m sliding off my chair a little to grab whatever it is she dropped, eyes never leaving her. My eyes should never, ever leave her again. If they do, it will break the spell, and I’m ready to admit this is not a spell I want to break.
I aimlessly feel along the ground for the item, and I have to stretch so far, my knee practically touches the ground, but I finally grab hold of the little box and hold it up for Jessie to take. It’s then that she bites down on her bottom smiling lip and gasps so loudly I nearly jolt. Her hand flies to her chest and pushes against her cleavage like a dramatic heroine in an old black and white film. The word “YES” tumbles loudly from her lips.
I blink, spell broken, and realize the trap instantly. I don’t need to look down to see what’s in my hand, but I do anyway. Yep. It’s a ring box.
“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you! I thought you’d never ask!” She’s bubbling over with all the excitement of a woman deep in the throes of love.
I’m shocked—and then mortified as the entire ballroom suddenly erupts in applause.
“Show us the ring!” Henry calls above the clapping that’s ringing in my ears like a fire alarm.
I’m still resting on my knee, box poised in front of me, stunned into stone-cold silence. Jessie reacts for me, leaning forward slightly to open the box and reveal a tiny (fake, I’m sure) diamond ring. It’s so small it should come with a magnifying glass. Great. A brilliant addition to the prank, Jessica. Well done. I’ll be a laughingstock.
A fresh round of gasps is released around the table, and I finally look up into Jessie’s eyes. Hers are locked on mine, and she looks as if she’s trying not to die of laughter. I consider telling her to go right ahead, and I’ll get to work on her grave.
“You are a dead woman,” I mumble through my fake smile.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip again and slips the ring from the box right onto her finger. She throws the icing on the cake when she pronounces, “You outdid yourself, Drew! You remembered I love grand gestures. You never forget anything, do you?” Her eyes slide from the pathetic excuse for a ring down to me, and I see nothing but bitter revenge boiling in her irises. It’s then I realize she’s been planning this since the beginning. She bends over slightly to whisper in my ear, “What’s worse, Dr. Stuck-up? Being stood up? Forgotten? Or getting tangled in a lie in front of five hundred colleagues with an itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny ring?”
Anger, mortification, and betrayal all war and sizzle beneath my skin. I thought…I thought we were friends now. Apparently I was wrong.
“Bless him, he’s blushing!” someone at the table whispers, and I want to die. No one will forget this, and I’ll either have to keep up a fake engagement for the rest of my life, tell the truth and humiliate myself, or tell everyone I broke things off with the mother of what they believe is my child and look like a complete jerk. Either way, I’m not coming out of this in a favorable light.
I manage to peel myself off the ground and retake my seat, suddenly feeling the need to loosen the tie around my neck. The room is swirling and everywhere I look, smiles are beaming at me and offering congratulations.
“Drew, give her a kiss—don’t leave the poor girl hanging,” says Richard from somewhere within the hazy rush of anxiety I’m feeling.
I slowly turn to Jessie and can see her chest and shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. This only ignites my fury more. I’m angry—no, I’m pissed at Jessie, but I’m also not so far gone that I’m going to waste this moment.
She angles her self-satisfied smirk toward me and presents her cheek, still enjoying her moment of control.
If she’s going to ruin me tonight, I’m going to ruin kissing for her from now on. I’ll make sure that in comparison, any first kiss after this one tastes as dry as burnt toast.
I curve my hand firmly around the back of Jessie’s neck and lean forward. She gasps at the pressure of my fingers against her skin, and everything around us melts away. My eyes drink up the features of her face, her pink mouth, the curve of her long dark lashes, her delicate collarbones extending out under taut, golden skin. I can’t wait any longer. I need her kiss like I need air.
My mouth covers hers in a sweet, fragile press that she wasn’t expecting. No doubt my eyes look hungry, and the pressure of my hand prepared her for a firm collision—but I’m not some anxious frat boy cornering her at a party. I’ve got nothing but time and patience as I tilt her face so our lips can meet over and over again in luxurious coaxing presses. My heart pounds, and the rhythm of her mouth’s movement accelerates. She smells like coconut and tastes like heaven, and the sudden gentle grip of Jesse’s hand on my knee spurs me to lightly brush my tongue against her lips, coaxing them to part so we can deepen the kiss. Jessie nearly falls off her chair trying to slide closer to me. I can’t help but smile against her needy search of my mouth, but then sensing my amusement, Jessie pulls her lips away and her eyes flutter open. She looks shocked and startled and drugged. I want to gloat, but instead, I can’t resist dragging my thumb across her lower lip one more time.
We stare at each other, both frowning in disapproval as the room erupts in applause, catcalls, and whistles. Suddenly, I’m angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. Not because of the prank—although I’m going to have a hell of time unraveling it—but because of her obvious hatred behind it. I feel like an idiot for seeing the last few weeks as anything other than what they were: a setup. She let me think we were becoming friends so when she squashed me in the big reveal, it would make her victory twice as sweet. Just like the bucket of water above my door.
But I don’t know…somehow those thoughts don’t feel right either. There’s more to this, more lurking under the surface, but I don’t see it yet.
Finally, I grin (read: sneer) and take her hand in mine, holding it up in the air like I’m the one who actually won this match.
