Read Rooter (Double H Romance) Online
Authors: Teiran Smith
Later than night, while lying in bed, I see the light come on in Rooter’s bedroom. I pick up my phone from my nightstand and contemplate texting him. I stare at the screen, ready to type, but can’t think of what to say. I’ve already said thank you, so I simply write:
Good night, Rooter
. My index finger hovers over the send button for a few seconds before pressing it. I peek out my window to his, waiting to see if he’ll reply. A few seconds later he does:
Good night, Sophie.
I stare at the screen and then clutch the phone to my chest.
This is just the beginning.
The next morning while sitting at the dining room table, I get a text from Rooter.
Rooter:
I saw Miranda left. Will she be gone long?
Me:
She went to work. She’ll be home after 5:00.
Rooter:
U gonna be okay while she’s gone?
Me:
I think so.
Rooter:
Do u have everything u need?
Me:
For now.
Rooter:
If u need anything, text me.
Me:
Okay. Thank you.
That he thought about me and checked on me makes me giddy. His concern for me gives me butterflies and I smile.
I wait to see if he’ll text back. After a couple minutes I assume the conversation is over, but continue to hold my phone, looking at the screen. My suspicion is confirmed when I hear his bike roar to life and he pulls out of his driveway. Another couple of minutes pass when my phone pings with another text. I know it’s Rooter by the sound because I’ve set his ringtone to a revving motorcycle engine.
Wait… He just left his house. How can he be texting me?
Rooter:
Will u be alone with Mike all day?
Me:
I’m not sure.
Rooter:
If u have any trouble with him text me. I can be there in fifteen minutes.
My heart skips a beat and a goofy smile spreads across my face.
Me:
And you call me a walking contradiction…
The guy told me he’s been stalking me for years and that he’s a bad guy I’m better off not knowing. Yet, he goes out of his way to protect me and take care of me? He’s giving me a severe case of whiplash.
A couple minutes pass and he doesn’t text again. I regret my choice of text, worrying it might make him over-think things. Not wanting the conversation to end on that note, I text him again.
Me:
Thank you for everything, Rooter.
The morning passes and I don’t hear from Rooter again. Mike leaves around noon, and surprises me when he asks if I’ll be okay alone. I say yes, although to be honest, I’m not sure. My ankle hurts like hell. The only movements I’ve made are to the couch and the bathroom.
Starving, I painfully hobble to the kitchen to figure out something for lunch. There isn’t a morsel of food in the house. I lean against the counter and contemplate my options. I could order Chinese or pizza for delivery, but both would require a minimum purchase of twenty dollars. Since I won’t be able to go back to work for at least a week, I can’t afford it.
I consider texting Rooter to ask him to bring me lunch, but he already paid for my prescription, which I’m sure was expensive. Just thinking about it makes me cringe. He probably wouldn’t let me pay for my lunch either.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that Ryan doesn’t work today.
Ryan works with me at the Grand as a bartender. The first time I met him, I thought it was love at first sight. He’s tall and lean and covered with random tattoos. He’s British and when he speaks with that deep voice… But then I found out he was gay in the most mortifying way.
I’d had a tad too much to drink and confessed how hot I thought he was. He gave me a sincere smile and said, “Thank you, love, but I have a boyfriend.” Sensing my humiliation he covered with, “But if I ever decide to bat for your team, you’re the first girl I’m calling.” We’ve been buds ever since.
We don’t hang out as much as I’d like to. Mostly just at work. He spends the majority of his time with his boyfriend, Seth. That Mike is a serious homophobe doesn’t help matters. The one and only time Ryan was here, Mike made his distaste perfectly clear. He even ordered Ryan not to look at him because he didn’t want “a flaming fag having fantasies” about him.
Since Mike isn’t home I text Ryan and ask if he’ll bring me a bite. Thirty minutes after placing my order, he shows up with bags in hand. Even though I told him Mike is gone, he looks around for him the second he walks into the house.
“He isn’t here,” I assure him.
He smiles. “Good, because I have zero patience right now and I’d totally massacre that homophobic, woman hitting tosser.”
I laugh hard and accidentally bump my foot on the coffee table. It hurts badly enough that tears form in the corners of my eyes. Ryan rushes over and drops the bags on the table.
“Shit, babe, you okay?”
I lean over, clutch my ankle. The pain has rendered me speechless so I nod. We sit in silence for a minute until I regain the ability to function. I glance at the clock and realize I missed my dose of Vicodin.
“Do me a favor?” I ask. “My Vicodin are in my purse.” I motion to my bag on the dining room table.
While I swallow the pill, Ryan lays out the food out on the coffee table. It’s not what I ordered. I shoot him a questioning glare.
He shrugs. “I know you prefer the real chicken club.”
“Yeah, but I can’t afford it,” I explain.
“That’s why it’s my treat.” He flashes his megawatt smile.
Anyone who doesn’t know Ryan would never guess he’s gay. He’s not the least bit effeminate. He has masculine style and mannerisms. Even the way he sits. He looks like a guys, guy. No pun intended.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to do it.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.”
Ryan takes an obnoxiously large bite and chews with his mouth open because he knows I hate loud eaters. “Yeah, I know,” he says after he swallows. “Randy said to take as much time as you need, but he knows your money is tight. He mentioned having you work in the office if you can’t work on the floor straight away.”
My eyes go wide. I know I don’t have anything to worry about as far as my job is concerned. When I spoke with Randy, he told me not to worry. However, he didn’t mention working in the office. I make a mental note to call him tomorrow.
“Really? That would be great, but it’ll still be at least a week. I can barely get around the house.”
I take my first bite of the chicken club and am at once thankful for my friend’s generosity. I do prefer the real sandwich. I hate eating the cheap sandwich because I know it’s processed and ground up chicken parts soaked in food coloring to make it appear appetizing.
“So I have news,” he says and sticks out his bottom lip.
“Yeah?”
“Seth is moving out.”
“What?” I ask, but I’m not shocked. “What happened?”
“
Mark
happened.”
“Mark?”
“Yeah, some wanker he works with. They’ve been working closely and,” he puts his fingers up in quotes, “they just couldn’t deny their feelings any longer.”
I can’t hide my lack of surprise so I simply tell him I’m sorry rather than I told you so.
“Thanks.” He gives me a sad smile.
“You don’t sound very surprised.”
With a mouth full, he shakes his head, indicating he isn’t. “He’s packing right now, so I was super thankful when you texted.”
“It’s a stupid question, but is there anything I can do?” I take a sip of my drink.
He shakes his head and dries one of his eyes with his middle finger. “So, anything new with your biker?”
“He texted this morning to make sure I’d be okay and told me to text him if I need anything.”
Ryan scrunches his eyebrows together. “But yet, he thinks you should stay away from him.”
“Exactly.”
“Makes sense,” he says sarcastically.
“Right?” I chuckle.
He motions to the food in front of us. “So, why didn’t you have him bring you lunch?”
“I thought about it, but I don’t want him helping me all the time.”
“It may be the only way he’ll come around.”
That thought has crossed my mind. I don’t expect Rooter to come knocking on my door asking to hang out although I desperately wish he would.
“I guess I’ll have to be the one who does the coming around.”
“And if he won’t allow it?”
That, too, has crossed my mind. “Then I’ll be persistent,” I giggle.
After Ryan has cleaned up our mess, he and I sit on the couch watching salacious daytime television. Mike walks in, takes one look at Ryan and opens his mouth to say something. Likely something rude to my friend. He must think twice about it because he shuts his mouth and goes upstairs to his room without a word. Still rude, but much better than it could’ve been.
“I wish he would’ve said something,” Ryan says. “Would’ve given me an excuse to punch something.”
I rub his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him.
“Speaking of punching someone,” he continues, “do you mind if I spend the rest of day here? If I go back to the house, I’m sure to beat the living hell out of that knob head. That or get completely pissed which could very well lead to me beating the bloody hell out of the both of them.”
“Of course you can,” I say with a sympathetic smile and pat him on the leg. But then Mike comes downstairs and saunters into the kitchen. “But maybe we should hang out in my room.”
Ryan and I spend the rest of the day reading and watching movies in my room. We lay side by side on my bed until I fall asleep with my head rested against his shoulder. When I open my eyes, he too, is asleep. It’s dark outside and the only light in the room comes from the television. I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp. Ryan is adorable in his sleep. I run my fingers through his silky hair.
“Wake up sleepy head.”
He snuggles against me. “Would you mind if I stayed here tonight? I don’t want to go home.”
“Sure you can.” I kiss his temple.
I take a pair of pajamas to the bathroom to change. On my way back to my room I run into Mike in the hall.
“Have you converted the fairy?”
Only one sentence from him and my blood is boiling. “Shut up.”
“Hey, I’m all good with it. Anything’s better than that dickwad next door.”
“Perhaps I should tell that dickwad you called him a dickwad.”
Mike turns gray. “Good night, Sophie.”
I have to stop myself from slamming my door. I don’t want to have to explain myself to Ryan. The last thing I need is a confrontation between those two. The television is off, but the bedside lamp is still on. Ryan lies on his stomach under the covers. He lifts the blankets for me to get in beside him. As I crawl into the bed, I see Rooter, staring out his window before he closes the blinds. I can’t make out his expression. Surprise? Jealousy? Relief?
“Shit.” I whisper, although Rooter can’t hear me.
“What?” Ryan asks.
“Rooter just saw us.”
Ryan perks up a little. “Oh.”
I grab my phone and start to text Rooter, but I don’t know what to say. I want to explain this isn’t what it looks like, but that’s much too presumptuous. After debating for a few minutes I place the phone back on the table and lie next to Ryan. The bed is small and Ryan is huge, so we’re forced to snuggle.
“Maybe this will make him jealous enough to make a move.” Ryan suggests.
“I doubt it,” I admit, but secretly hope he could be right.
“A guy doesn’t stalk a girl for three years unless he’s interested. Trust me, he’s jealous. And look at me,” he gestures the length of his body, “I’m like an Adonis.”
We both burst out laughing. Once the laughter subsides neither of us speaks again. I lay and stare at the ceiling in silence. After a few minutes Ryan’s breathing evens out, indicating he’s asleep.
He has a point. Rooter wouldn’t go to all that trouble to find things out about me if he wasn’t interested. Surely seeing another guy in my bed has piqued his curiosity.
It’s after two o’clock and Rooter hasn’t texted to ask if I need anything. I try not to read too much into it. He already told me to let him know if I need anything and likely doesn’t see a need to repeat himself. At least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.
I’m not convinced.
He saw me get into bed with another guy. Since he doesn’t know Ryan’s gay, he likely assumes I’m seeing him.
Damn it! I should’ve just texted Rooter and had him bring me lunch.
If it wasn’t for the throbbing in my ankle, I’d be pacing the room.
On his way out this morning, Ryan gave me a pep talk. He said a little jealousy is a good thing. It could very well be the thing that changes Rooter’s mind about being in my life. I just need to find a way to use the situation to my advantage.
I decide to text Rooter.
Me:
Hey. You busy?
More time than I’m comfortable with passes. Six minutes seem like eons.
Rooter:
Yeah. What’s up?
Shit. I don’t want to bother him if he’s busy.
Me:
Nothing that can’t wait. Call me when you’re free?
I purposely use the word call because I want to hear his voice.
I wait close to ten minutes for a response, but never get one. I may not know Rooter all that well, but I get the impression something is off. If yesterday was any indication, he would’ve checked in on me this morning and would’ve responded to my last text to confirm he’ll call me back.
Four hours have passed and I still haven’t heard from Rooter. It’s about the time he gets home from work so I’m sitting on my porch so I can catch him. My pulse quickens when I hear the rumble of his motorcycle coming down the street.
When he pulls into his driveway I wave to get his attention. He nods once and rides his bike to the back of his house. So far, this plan isn’t working out the way I’d expected. I’d thought he’d stop and at least say hi. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to talk to him, I pick up my crutches and hobble to the side of the yard as fast as I can. Rooter has let Dopey out to go to the bathroom. His back is to me.
“Hey,” I call out.
He turns around and opens his mouth to speak when Dopey charges toward me at full speed.
“Shit,” Rooter hollers and takes off after the dog. “Dopey, stop!”
But the dog doesn’t listen. He bounds toward me as fast as his four legs will carry him and as he reaches me, he jumps and knocks me over. If it wasn’t for the stabbing pain in my ankle, I’d laugh from being covered in drool by this adorable pit bull. Rooter yanks Dopey off me, scolds him, and orders him to sit.
“You all right?” His voice is cloaked with agitation.
I can’t tell if he’s irritated with me or the dog. Perhaps both?
“Yeah.” I wince and sit up.
Rooter wraps his arms around me to help me stand and then hands me my crutches. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.”
He appears unsure, looks at my ankle.
“Really.” I try to assure him.
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you. It was a busy day.”
I shrug, acting like it’s no big deal. But it is a big deal. It’s a
huge
deal. I’ve been tweaking all day from lack of a response by him. “No worries,” I say, trying to hide my frustration.
Rooter smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So, what did you need earlier?”
I didn’t really need anything, and I can’t remember the lie I was going to tell him earlier. I could go with the truth and tell him I wanted to hear his voice, or I called to say hi, but I don’t have the guts. We’re not anywhere near that level in our new friendship. Hell, I’m not sure this even is a friendship. He has made it perfectly clear I should stay away from him. And the way his deep brown eyes bore into mine right now has rendered me completely incoherent. I decide to tell a version of the truth.
“I don’t remember now.”
“Oh, okay.” He pauses, seemingly unsure of what to say or do next, as am I.
This is completely new territory for the both of us. I can’t think up anything to say so I’m grateful when he speaks again.
“How’s the ankle?”
“Hurts like hell,” I admit. “I can’t do much of anything for myself.”
“Miranda helping you?” He asks.
“When she can, but she has her job and school. She hasn’t had time to even get to the grocery.” I get an idea. I think it resembles the lie I was going to tell him earlier. “Which reminds me why I texted you earlier.”
“Yeah?” He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth.
I love it when he does that. I try to hide my smile. “Would you mind running me to the grocery store?”
Rooter eyes Miranda’s SUV in the driveway. “Miranda isn’t able to go?”
I shake my head. A lie. Of course she can. In fact, she’s planning on leaving in about an hour. However, this is the only thing I can come up with to talk with Rooter and hopefully finagle a way to spend time with him. “She’s completing an exam online and midnight is the deadline.” Where is this coming from? I despise lying, and yet I seem to be quite good at it.
Rooter’s expression deepens as he contemplates my request. After a few seconds, which take much too long to pass, he lets out a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m kind of busy, Sophie. Is there anyone else who can help you?”
I get that he’s alluding to Ryan, but am not quite sure how to address it. “Not really, but if you aren’t able to, I understand. No worries,” I repeat. I never said that until I heard him say it.
He takes another breath and several seconds pass. “Okay,” he says and my heart falls. “I’ll take you.”
Unable to contain my excitement I smile wide. “Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me.”
He chuckles. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just taking you to the grocery.”
I try to cover. “There’s literally
no
food in my house, so yes, this is a
very
big deal.”
Concern and discernible irritation washes over his features. “No food? Are you serious?”
“Completely.” I’m starving right now.
“Why didn’t your,” he pauses and clears his throat, “friend, take you shopping last night?” His jaw clenches and my stomach flips.
He’s so damn sexy. I fantasize about running my fingers over and kissing the stubbly skin of his cheek. Again, I’m rendered incoherent and have a difficult time coming up with a plausible explanation. “He brought me dinner.”
“Well, at least he did that much.”
His disapproval makes me giddy inside, but I don’t respond.
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll come get you.”
I wait at the front door like a teenage girl waiting for her date to arrive. True to his word, Rooter appears before me in exactly ten minutes. He escorts me to his truck and takes care when he lifts me into the cab. After tossing my crutches into the back he slides in next to me and asks which store we’re going to.
“Aaronson’s?” I answer with a question because I realize it’s much farther away than any other store. The distance is precisely why I chose it. I want to extend my time with Rooter as much as possible. Only thing is, Aaronson’s isn’t cheap, which is probably why he’s giving me a questioning look. “They have the best produce,” I explain and he nods and starts the engine. At least it isn’t a lie. Even if it costs three times as much, I do prefer their produce to anyone else’s.
Inside the truck, I’m overwhelmed by Rooter’s scent, a mixture of leather, aftershave, and peppermint. I inhale deeply and a warm, calm sensation falls over me.
“Why couldn’t Mike go to the store?” Rooter asks. “He lives there, too.”
“Mike, go to the store? No thanks.” I chuckle. “Only if I wanted a cupboard full of junk food and canned soup.”
Rooter chuckles at my response. “There’s this thing called a shopping list.”
I roll my eyes. “Not even that would work, and besides, I don’t trust him with my debit card.”
He shakes his head and grips the steering wheel. “I still don’t understand why you both allow him to stay there.”
“I don’t allow it.” I sigh and pick at my cuticles.
“You should have a say in who lives in the same house with you.”
Yes, I should. “My name isn’t on the deed.”
“But you pay rent to live there.” He presses his lips into a thin line.
“Miranda has faith he’ll change and go back to the Mike of old.”
Rooter’s head snaps in my direction. “You mean he wasn’t always a woman beating pussy?”
I laugh at his choice of words. “No. He used to be a nice guy.”
“What changed?”
“His parents died and apparently, I broke his heart.”
Rooter’s posture stiffens, and he looks at me with a raised brow. I can tell he’s replaying the chronology of the things he’s learned about me. “Broke his heart? When were you two together?”
“Never! Oh, God, no,” I quickly answer. “A while back, he told me he was in love with me and I didn’t reciprocate.”
Rooter visibly relaxes. His death grip on the steering wheel loosens. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t make it right, though.”
I shake my head in agreement. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Do you have the same faith as Miranda that he’ll go back to being a decent guy?”
I shake my head. “I wish he would, but I lost hope for him a long time ago.”
Now would be a good time to tell Rooter that Ryan is just my gay friend, but I’m not sure how to approach it. I don’t want to appear presumptuous. Maybe he didn’t think anything of it. And if he did, and he was jealous, I need to find a way to use it to my advantage. So for now I’ll keep that tidbit to myself.
Once in the store Rooter grabs a cart and follows me as I fill it with items from my list. We’re only a third of the way down the list when I grimace in pain and come to an abrupt halt. He rushes to my side wearing a worried expression.
“You okay?” He asks.
“I’m fine.”
He cocks his head, not buying it. “I should’ve just taken the damn list and come for you.”
“I’m okay,” I insist, touched by his concern. “I prefer to do my own shopping. I’m picky about brands.”
Rooter reaches into the cart and holds up store brand cereal and generic Hamburger Helper. “Really? Because everything in this cart is generic.”
“Not everything.” I blush and point to the Velveeta cheese and Stewarts Root Beer in the cart. The only reason they’re in the cart is because Miranda wanted them and paid for them, but he doesn’t know that.
“Pardon me,” he chuckles. “Let’s make sure to get brand name processed cheese.”
We both laugh. A fellow shopper is annoyed that we’re taking up the entire aisle. He tries to squeeze past us and bumps my ankle. I cry out in pain. Rooter grabs the guy by the shoulder and forces him to turn around and face him.
“What the fuck, man?” Rooter snipes. “You hit her.”
“I—I’m sorry,” the guy stammers. He’s a big guy, and looks like he could hold his own, so the fear in his eyes as he gapes at Rooter takes me by surprise. “I didn’t mean to hurt your girlfriend, I was just trying to get by.”
“The words excuse me exist for a reason shithead.” Rooter’s grip on the guy’s shoulder gets tighter causing him to wince.
“I’m sorry. Really,” the guy says.
“You’re sorry? Did you not see her crutches or didn’t that matter to you when you rammed your cart into her?” Rooter’s entire body trembles as he struggles to keep his anger in check.
While I appreciate Rooter’s concern for me, I don’t want him beating the hell out of this guy. We were taking up the entire aisle after all. It’s not worth getting into a fight over and I’d hate to see what kind of shape he’d leave this guy in.
I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay, Rooter.”
“No, you’re not!”
“I really am sorry,” the guy says. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead.
“Why are you apologizing to me?” Rooter growls. “She’s the one you rammed with your cart!”
The guy turns to face me. “I really am sorry, miss.”
“It was our fault,” I say. “We were taking up the aisle.”
“Do not make excuses for him, Sophie!” Rooter orders. His face is a deep shade of red.
“I could’ve said excuse me,” the guy admits.
“Yes, you could have,” Rooter agrees with a menacing tone.
“It’s done now,” I say to Rooter. “Let him go.”
“Watch where you’re going from now on.” Rooter lets go of the guy.
I watch the guy scurry out of the aisle, unable to believe that just happened. I find myself torn between feeling irritated and being turned on. Rooter didn’t need to take it to that level, but damn, it was hot.
“You act like he took my leg off. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”