The Temporary Roomie

A Novel

About the Book

From the New York Times bestselling author of Practice Makes Perfect comes an expanded edition of The Temporary Roomie—a witty and relatable romantic comedy about finding joy in the unexpected, with a never-before-seen chapter.

No one said fair trade needed to be “fair.”

As the owner of Honeysuckle Salon, Jessie Barnes usually has everything managed and on track, but now in her third trimester of an unexpected pregnancy, she feels a bit lost and increasingly desperate after faulty plumbing floods her apartment. Unfortunately, her knight in shining armor is actually Dr. Drew Marshall, her best friend’s brother, and he’s also the man she chewed out not too long ago for being a chauvinistic dirtbag.

Every moment Drew’s had to prove her wrong since then has failed, so Jessie’s opinion of him hasn’t improved. That remains the case when he agrees to let her stay with him during renovations, under one condition: She pretends to be his girlfriend for upcoming work festivities. For the sake of her brother, Jessie is willing to make the tough situation work, and giving Drew a taste of his own medicine sounds . . . intriguing.

But when their rivalry sparks a deeper connection, Jessie’s future becomes even more unclear—and with a baby on the way, she’ll have to make a decision soon.
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Excerpt

The Temporary Roomie

Chapter 1

Jessie

The line rings three times before Lucy answers. “Hey, Jes—”

“HE DIDN’T SHOW!” I immediately yell at my best friend.

Lucy chuckles. She’s lucky she’s not anywhere near me right now, or I’d pinch her in the tender spot under her arm for taking this so lightly. “Who didn’t show? Your grandaddy or my brother?”

“Drew. Your obnoxious brother!”

“Quit yelling!” Lucy yells back.

“I can’t!”

“Why not?!”

“Because I’m fired up! This is Drew’s way of getting back at me for hating him so much. He agreed to help me today, planning to stand me up and make me look like a fool in front of my grandaddy. I bet he’s walking into the sunset with a devious smile, wearing a white linen suit right now.”

“M’kay, first, it’s still morning. And second, you really don’t know him at all.”

I frown. “You don’t think he’d wear a white linen suit? I’m positive he—”

“No. What I mean is I’m sure he has a good excuse, because last night when I called and asked him to help you, he didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. Have you tried calling him this morning?”

“Ha! Have I tried calling him?! Only fifteen times. It went to voicemail all of those times. I’m sorry to inform you, Lucy, but your brother is a class-A jerk, and I was right not to trust him.”

What I don’t admit to Lucy is that this is my own fault for ever letting myself rely on a man who would love nothing more than to ruin my life. I can’t really blame him, though, because the feeling is mutual. Believe me, if there was literally anyone else in the world I could ask to pose as my fake fiancé, I would. I even asked a random guy in the grocery store last night, but oddly enough, he said no. Actually, it wasn’t so much no as it was him speed walking away from me clutching his bottle of mustard. I was forced to rely on Drew because I was out of time and options, and that’s a terrifying place to be in life.

Last night, my grandaddy (the man who raised me) called to let me know he was surprising me and coming for a weekend visit in the morning (which is now). I would normally be ecstatic about a chance to see my favorite human in the world, but that is not the case when I’m about to be found out as a big fat pregnant liar. Liar, liar, maternity pants on fire!

I didn’t even have a good reason to lie to my grandaddy—he’s never made me feel like I needed to be someone I’m not in order to have his love. But for some reason, when I had to call and tell him I was pregnant, I panicked and said I was also getting married.

Now, in all fairness, I also thought I would be getting married. I was naïvely convinced my boyfriend at the time had gone on the road with his band because he needed some time to process this big development in his life, and then he’d be back. I thought he needed to throw a little (read: huge, mega, horribly mean) tantrum over this sudden change in his life plan and then he would boomerang right back to me. Breaking news: he didn’t. Some boomerangs don’t circle back, apparently.

My ex-boyfriend, Jonathan, bolted just like my dad did, and now, after several long months, I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that he’s not coming back. ( Jonathan, not my dad. I lost any hope of that man returning when I was still drinking out of a sippy cup.)

So, when I called my grandaddy and told him he’d soon be getting a great-grandchild, I also might have mentioned that I was getting married. Since the word delusional is not very pretty, we’ll say it was hope that drove me to tell that lie—hope that my life wouldn’t be following the same path as my mom’s, since that one clearly didn’t turn out well.

Surprisingly, I’ve maintained this lie pretty well up until now. I’ve gone home to Kentucky to visit my grandaddy several times since announcing my impending nuptials . . . but unfortunately, my dear, dear wonderful fiancé was always too busy with work to be able to come along. The work of a prestigious lawyer waits for no man! (And yeah, I have no idea why I also turned Jonathan into a lawyer. I think at that point, some part of me must have known he was never coming back.) Anyway, it was all fine and dandy until the surprise trip my grandaddy sprung on me last night.

Then Lucy talked me into faking a relationship with her brother, to whom I dream of feeding laxatives via a surprise coffee delivery to his office. Drew, the physical embodiment of how a person feels when they are assigned jury duty. But wait, there’s more!

Drew is:

• The human version of a popcorn kernel stuck in your teeth.

• The man so boring he eats celery for dessert.

• The only person in the world with whom it would be more pleasing to run barefoot over a trail of pointy Legos than have a thirty-second conversation.

In case anyone is still confused, I absolutely can’t stand Dr. Stuck-up Marshall.

I pull back the curtains again and stare out at my driveway like a peeping Tom. If Drew pulls in right now, he’ll see my face pressed up against the glass, with a squished piggy nose and death-glare eyes, and he’ll keel over at the sight of it. I’m forced to let the curtain fall again when a mom pushing her toddler in a stroller sees me and looks like she might call the cops.

“Jessie, I’m sure Drew has a good explanation. I know you’re determined to hate him, but I promise he’s one of the good ones.”

“No. My grandaddy is the only good single man left in the world—and if those old grannies at bingo were smart, they’d snatch him up. So, no . . . I do not believe Drew is one of the good ones, and I’m certain he did this on purpose. He’s mad at me for throwing the bag of diapers in his face, and this is his retaliation.”

“What diapers? No—you know what? I don’t want to know. At least tell me what happened when your grandaddy showed up and Drew wasn’t there.”

Crickets. I don’t say a word, and I’m hoping Lucy will think the line went dead and give up and go about her day.

“Jessieeee.” She drags out my name like she just found out I ate all the cookies from the cookie jar. “What happened when he showed up?”

I sigh dramatically. “He didn’t, okay? He called me this morning saying he woke up to a flat tire and had to have it towed to a mechanic. He said he’d have to take a rain check on the visit.”

“Oh my gosh! Then why in the world are you so upset with Drew? You didn’t even need him!”

I blink. “Because he didn’t know that! I never told him because I wanted to see if he’d show or not. And he didn’t, so HA!”

“You are unbelievable.” I know Lucy is shaking her head right now. “This hate needs to stop. You both act like babies, and I can’t handle it anymore. Also, you need to tell your grandaddy the truth.”

“I already did,” I murmur under my breath.

“What was that?” She’s being so pious now.

“I said I already told him I don’t have a fiancé. Well, actually, he guessed it. He asked to reschedule for next weekend, and when I told him I thought Jonathan would be out of town that weekend, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that, he told me he already knew and had pretty much guessed since the beginning that there was no fiancé. I guess it was suspicious that Jonathan hasn’t been around at the same time as my grandaddy even one time in seven months.” Duly noted: I need to fabricate better lies in the future.

Actually, I feel a tad bit silly now for ever making it such a big deal in the first place. I thought he was so proud of me because I was getting married, starting a family, following the path of the typical American dream. But get this—he’s just proud of me for being me. He doesn’t care a bit that I don’t have a husband; he’s just happy he gets to see me become a mom. At that statement, my heart swelled to the size of Texas. Once again, my grandaddy has proven that no one will be able to top his goodness.

“That’s amazing, Jessie! So now all that’s left is forgiving Drew.”

Forgiving Drew? Over my dead body. “Oh, honey, this animosity has only just begun.”

“Very mature.” I can hear the eye roll in her tone. “Tell you what . . . why don’t you go eat some pickles like you love, and I’ll try to get ahold of Drew to find out what’s going on? And then maybe we can circle back around to the forgiving each other thing.”

“Bleh—no to both. My cravings have moved on to Flamin’ Hot Cheetos now.”

“You know, it really makes me mad that you eat whatever you want all the time and barely look pregnant. I was an elephant at your stage of pregnancy.”

About the Author

Sarah Adams
Sarah Adams is the New York Times bestselling author of The Cheat Sheet and Practice Makes Perfect. Born and raised in Nashville, Tennessee, she loves her family and warm days. Sarah has dreamed of being a writer since she was a girl, but finally wrote her first novel when her daughters were napping and she no longer had any excuses to put it off. Sarah is a coffee addict, a British history nerd, a mom of two daughters, married to her best friend, and an indecisive introvert. Her hope is to write stories that make readers laugh, maybe even cry—but always leave them happier than when they started reading. More by Sarah Adams
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