Read Rooter (Double H Romance) Online
Authors: Teiran Smith
“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Miranda says, picking at the salad in front of her.
We’re sitting in Skyles, the local sports bar. They have the best food in town even if it’s a bit overpriced. It’s not the most glamorous of places. It’s dingy and dark with posters of sports players and scantily clad women on the walls. My kind of place.
I gander at the ginormous bacon cheeseburger in front of me. I always do this. Whenever I’m upset about something, I turn to food for comfort. I don’t care what they say about emotional eating. I refuse to deny myself the happiness this greasy burger can give me.
The morning after Rooter took Blondie to bed, I decided to take his advice and forget about him. It’s been four days and I haven’t bothered trying to reach him, nor have I been inclined to. My urge to run to the window to watch as he comes and goes on his motorcycle has greatly diminished.
Seeing him with her changed everything for me. I no longer view him the way I once did. No way could I ever be interested in a guy who’d have sex with a tramp like her. I get a cold chill merely thinking of it.
“I’m so over my infatuation with him.”
“Good, because you can do way better than him.”
“Yes, I can.” I hope. I always seem to get mixed up with bad guys. But, there’s always a first for everything.
“Speaking of doing better, you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.” She claps her hands and bounces up and down.
“Who?” I feign interest. I’m not a fan of Miranda’s matchmaking skills. The last guy she set me up with was a complete jackass. Besides, the only reason she’s doing this is because she doesn’t trust me to stay away from Rooter.
“Hayden Cross. I ran into him at the gas station. He asked about you right away.”
We’ve known Hayden since grade school, but never ran in the same crowd. He was such a geek. He graduated high school a year early, promptly went to college and now works as an investment advisor at his father’s wealth management company. I haven’t seen him in forever, but last time I ran into him, he’d grown out of his awkward phase; put on a little muscle and his face had grown into his nose.
I raise a brow, skeptical. “Just because he asked about me doesn’t mean he’s interested, Miranda. We haven’t seen each other in close to two years.”
“Trust me, he’s still interested. He was all like, “How is she? We should get together soon. Please be sure to tell her I said hi.””
“I faintly remember you telling me once that if I ever went out with him, you’d disown me.” I chuckle and it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed.
“Well, that was before he grew up. I mean, you should see the guy. He’s hot. And he comes from a great family.”
I always hated that saying. As if coming from a well to do, educated family somehow makes you a good person. Puh-lease.
“He has a great career, and he just bought his own house. He’s exactly the type of guy you should date.”
She acts like she knows him so well when she hasn’t seen him in as long as me. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and smile instead. She’s only trying to help me.
“I don’t know about going on a date, but we could all get together sometime soon.” I’d like to catch up with him and say hi. The way he used to always follow me around was annoying, but he was always kind.
“Yay! I’ll set it up.” She claps her hands together like a three year old excited over a chocolate chip cookie. If she wasn’t so cute, it would be obnoxious.
When we pull into our driveway a half hour later, I fight the urge to look at Rooter’s house and win. I smile and do an internal happy dance over my small victory. I almost make it into the house when I hear the roar of several Harley’s coming down the road. My head involuntarily turns and I watch Rooter, followed by three of his biker friends, pull into his driveway. If I’m not mistaken, I could swear Rooter’s head turns in my direction, though infinitesimally. Not that I care. I don’t want him to ever look at me again. Hopefully he’ll take his own advice and forget about me the same as he wants me to forget about him.
Several hours later I’m in my room trying to sleep, but the noise from the party at Rooter’s house is overwhelming. At least a half dozen more bikers and a few skin baring harlots have shown up there since we got home this afternoon.
Earlier, Miranda and I tried to watch a movie, but the howling and rock music was so loud we couldn’t concentrate. She threatened to call the cops, but I begged her not to. Rooter would assume it was one of us. No one else would dare call in a complaint on him.
Unable to resist, I lift a blind to get a peek of what’s going on. Rooter stands next to his fire pit. A smile dances on his face as one of the bimbos leans into him and says something. She’s even skankier than the blonde from a few days ago. She’s wearing a midriff baring tank top, booty shorts, clog high heels and her dark hair hangs down to the middle of her back. There’s a tattoo of some sort on her right leg. It makes its way from her inner thigh right above her knee to the outside of her leg, disappearing under her skirt.
I shake my head in disgust. He has seriously nasty taste in women. Not wanting to see anymore, I huff and snap the blinds shut, but not before wondering if he’ll take her to his bed later.
Two hours pass and his party is still going strong. I can’t sleep. Can’t watch television. Can’t even read. So I lay on the bed, picking my cuticles, trying—and failing—not to think about Rooter. I lift a blind and look to his backyard. I wish I hadn’t.
The slutty blonde from a few nights ago is back and sits on Rooter’s lap. He’s got one arm wrapped around her, his hand rests on her thigh. They must be in a relationship. I bet she wouldn’t appreciate the fact that he was cozying up to the brunette earlier. I know I wouldn’t. Yet another reminder that I indeed dodged a bullet.
Why do I even care? Why am I concerning myself with this shit?
Rooter isn’t a part of my life. He never really was. He can do whatever and whomever he chooses.
And so can I. I need to find something or rather someone better with whom to spend my time. I’ve heard people say the best way to get over someone is to find someone new. But why do I even need to get over him? We were never together! We were and are nothing to each other. God, I’m pathetic.
Miranda is right. I need to find someone to date. I spring from the bed and go to her room, entering without knocking.
“Miranda?”
“Yeah?” She sits up on her elbows.
“Find me a date.”
I’ve gone back to work, and not a moment too soon. I’m just about broke. Randy has me working in the office, helping with employee schedules and vendor orders. If I had it my way, I’d continue working in the office instead of on the floor as a server. But my foot is much better, so it’s only a matter of time before I’m back to taking orders and schlepping beverages.
Ryan pops his head into the office doorway. “Want to grab a movie tonight?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I can’t afford it. It’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time so I refuse to turn it down.
“Great.” He smiles sweetly. “My treat.”
“No, I’ll pay for myself.”
“I invited you, so I’ll pay.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s aware of my financial woes. “Ryan, it’s okay. Really.”
“You’re doing me the favor, Soph. I hate going to the movies alone, and I really want to catch the latest Seth Peterson flick. He’s such a hot piece of ass.”
One of the many things Ryan and I see eye to eye on is Seth Peterson’s ass.
“Fine,” I agree, knowing he won’t back down, “but you have to let me buy the popcorn.”
The movie is a Rom-Com and makes me feel even lonelier than I already am. Apparently, it does the same to Ryan.
“Stay with me tonight?” He asks as we walk to his car. “I still haven’t gotten used to sleeping alone.”
His invitation sounds lovely. I could use a little time away from my house. Away from Rooter’s house. “Sure.”
Though Ryan and I are just friends, lying next to him in his bed relieves my loneliness. The warmth of his body next to mine, though we aren’t touching, is comforting. For a moment, I allow myself to pretend he’s my boyfriend and snuggle a little closer.
I’ve never known real love. Never been held by a guy who loves me. I yearn for it. I ache for it. My insides feel hollow. When will I find the one who completes me?
When I wake, I don’t recall falling asleep, and for the first time in weeks I didn’t dream of Rooter. I smile, thankful for my dear friend, who’s still asleep next to me.
Later that morning Ryan drives me home. Just before we reach my house we pass Rooter, on his morning run. We pull up in front of my house and he jogs by as I climb out of the car. We glance in each other’s direction and our eyes meet, but only for a second. He doesn’t say hi. He doesn’t even nod the way he used to. He simply looks away and continues jogging to his house.
“Thanks for last night,” Ryan says. “I needed that.”
“Me, too.” I smile. Ryan has quickly become one of my best friends. In fact, history excluded, he’s giving Miranda a run for her money.
“See you later babe.” He winks.
“See ya, babe,” I say with a chuckle and close the door. Babe is our new mutual name for one another.
I turn around to find Rooter standing in his driveway stretching. He watches Ryan’s car as he drives away. Without bothering to acknowledge him, I stride to my door.
“Hey, Sophie,” he says nonchalantly as if we talk all the time.
His greeting takes me by surprise, but I don’t let it show. “Hey,” I state simply, open my door, and go inside.
The gall of him! How dare he say hi to me! Technically, he didn’t say hi. He said hey, which is more than hi in my opinion. Hey is what you say to a friend. Hi is a kind greeting you say to anyone including a stranger. I’d prefer that he said hi. In fact, I’d prefer that he said nothing at all. He warned me I was better off not knowing him, and now I believe he was right. He needs to leave me alone.
Yet the mere sound of Rooter’s voice saying my name is enough to make my entire system go haywire. My pulse races and a warm sensation washes over my entire body. My breathing has picked up and my knees are weak. I lean against the door and try to regain my composure.
As the hours tick by I try not to think about the sound of Rooter’s voice as he said my name. Instead, I focus on tonight’s double date with Hayden, Miranda and Ian. The closer it gets the more eager I become. I look forward to a fun night out, and after talking to Hayden on the phone for two hours yesterday, I’m excited about seeing him.
Miranda begs me to let her fix me up. My style is much more conservative than hers, so we have to compromise. After trying on at least half of the dresses in her closet, I settle on a little blue dress with an open back and bell sleeves. It’s a little shorter than I prefer, but at my height, most dresses fit me this way. We pair it with silver high heeled sandals and crystal embellished dangle earrings. My hair is up with a few loose tendrils. Miranda applies my makeup, giving me a sultry appearance with smoky eyes and red lips.
After a final appraisal in the mirror, the doorbell rings. Miranda wasn’t lying. The guy standing before me isn’t the Hayden I remember. This guy is cool and confident. His outfit is sleek; a crisp, fitted, white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black tie, dark jeans, and trendy boots. He’s definitely no longer awkward. His dark hair is perfectly shaggy. He has a very handsome face with just the right amount of stubble. I’m totally swooning.
“Sophie,” Hayden says and flashes a confident smile. His voice a little higher in pitch than I prefer in a guy. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You, too,” I answer honestly.
He pulls me in for a quick, yet warm embrace and then steps away and gives me a good once over. “You are breathtaking.”
My face heats up. No one has ever said that to me before, but the way he says it is so sincere that it doesn’t sound cheesy. “Thank you.”
Hayden guides me by the elbow to the passenger door of his car—a shiny black BMW. I hear a noise, a choking sound, and glance at Rooter’s driveway. He’s straddling his bike, eyes on mine, mouth hanging wide open. I smirk at him and get in the car. Rooter fires up his bike and speeds away, full throttle.
The date hasn’t gone well. Hayden may have grown out of his awkward, dorky phase, but he’s turned into a real prick. He’s elitist and conceited. So is his friend, Ian.
The drive home feels like it takes a decade. When we finally pull up to my house I hurry out of the car. Hayden does the same.
“I would’ve gotten that for you,” he says, referring to the car door.
I spy Rooter sitting on his front porch. We make brief eye contact.
“Sorry,” I flash a sweet smile, not for his sake, but for Rooter’s. Hayden offers me his arm and I take it as we walk to my front door.
“I really enjoyed tonight.” Hayden gazes at me with a smile.
“Me, too,” I lie as compellingly as I can, but just saying the words make me cringe.
“It was so nice to see you after all this time.” He turns to face me and takes my hand.
“Yeah it was.” I lie again.
“I’d love to take you out again, soon.” He looks to Miranda and Ian who aren’t saying anything to each other. “Just the two of us.”
“That would be nice.” And the lies keep on rolling. I smile to add to the effect.
“Next week?”
No way am I committing to anything with this jerk, but I want Rooter to think I like him.
“I’ll need to check my work schedule. Can I get back to you?”
“Please do.”
He smiles and my stomach roils with the knowledge of what’s coming next. He leans in slowly for a kiss. I debate what I should do. I don’t want to kiss him. At all. But I want Rooter to see me kiss him. When he’s about eighty percent in I try not to tense up as I lean in the rest of the way until our lips meet. There’s nothing remarkable about the kiss and I’m thankful when he doesn’t slip me the tongue.
“I’ve dreamt about doing that since sixth grade,” he admits with an excited smile. It reminds me of the guy I used to know and not the asshat I just had dinner with.
“Thank you for tonight, Hayden. It was lovely.”
Miranda unlocks the door while the guys go back to the car. Not able to resist, I turn in Rooter’s direction to find him staring at me with a blank expression.
The moment we close the door, Miranda apologizes for the evening. “Worst date ever. This one’s on me. I was entirely wrong about Hayden.”
“It was pretty awful.” I sit on the sofa and remove my heels.
Ryan made me promise to text him the second I get home to tell him how the date went. Not thirty seconds after I press send he responds:
Mind if I come over since it’s early?
It is early. It’s only ten o’clock. I respond to his text with:
Abso-bloody-lutely.
He thinks it’s hilarious whenever I say bloody or bollocks since I’m American.
“Ryan’s coming over,” I tell Miranda.
“Yay,” she says gleefully and claps her hands.
Miranda fell in love with Ryan after he gave her one of his famous back massages. The man has magical hands. He once rubbed my back for an entire hour. I thought I was in heaven. Yet another reason I wish he was straight. I’ve yet to meet a guy willing to give one, let alone one good at it.
Ryan, Miranda, and I sit in her room discussing and laughing about what a disaster our date was.
“That’s the absolute last time you set me up,” I warn her. “You suck at picking guys for me.”
“Tonight was a flop, I admit it, but it’s not my fault. There aren’t any good guys out there!”
“Hey,” Ryan says hand over heart, feigning offense, “I’m a good guy.”
“Yes, babe, you are.” I mess his long hair. “You’re the last good guy alive, and as luck would have it, you don’t like girls.”
“I love girls,” he says. “I just don’t want to shag them.”
Miranda yawns. “It’s been a long day for me. I’m going to call it a night.”
“In other words, get the fuck out, right?” Ryan says with a laugh.
The British accent is by far my favorite. I love when Ryan says any word with a ‘u’. He pronounces them with an ooh sound rather than an uh sound.
When Ryan and I enter my room I see Rooter’s light is on and his blinds are open. I turn my light on and hurry to the window to close my blinds when Rooter comes into sight. He’s shirtless, showing off all of his tattoos; the one on his arm continues onto his shoulder, down his side. I’ve never seen anything so magnificent. His sweatpants hang low on his hips revealing a perfect V on his abdomen. His eyes switch from me to Ryan and back again; his face giving nothing away. We both close our blinds at the same time.
“Bloody hell, that man is gorgeous!” Ryan says.
Sadness and emptiness sweep over me. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
I don’t sleep well. I spend the night tossing and turning, dreaming of Rooter. We kiss, we hold hands, he tells me he loves me. And then I wake up and am smacked by the reality none of those things will ever happen.
An hour later I walk Ryan to his car. We hug and give each other a quick, friendly kiss.
“See you tomorrow, babe,” he says and opens his car door.
“See ya, babe.”
When Ryan pulls away I turn around to find Rooter standing in his driveway watching me. Without a word I start walking to my house.
“I really didn’t take you as the revolving door type,” he snipes.
I come to a screeching halt and spin to face him. “What did you say?”
“Fucking one guy, going out with another a couple days later, then calling the first guy over after being dropped off by the second. That’s high traffic if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you, Rooter, so fuck off!”
He simply shrugs which pisses me off even more.
I charge toward him. “And who the hell are you to judge me? I’ve seen the skanks you run with.”
He throws his head back and laughs, a booming sound. “Apparently, you aren’t any better than them.”
“I’m not a slut!”
“Your actions would prove otherwise.” He purses his lips.
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!”
“No? You fuck,” he makes air quotations, “
babe
, go out with another guy, kiss him, agree to another date then bring
babe
over to fuck again? Pardon me, but that is a perfect definition of a slut!”
Evidently, Rooter never got my text about Ryan being gay, and seeing me with both guys has given him the wrong impression. However, I’m too pissed to care about that right now. He just accused me of being a whore like the girls he hooks up with. I’m no slut! I’ve had sex with one guy in my life, once. And it was not of my own volition, so Rooter can go screw himself.
“For your information, not that it’s any of your damn business, but,” I make air quotations, “
babe
, the guy you think I’m fucking, is
gay
you asshole!”
His eyes go wide with shock and he takes a small step forward. “What?”
“That’s right.
Babe
is one hundred percent take it up the ass
gay
! I’m not fucking anyone and I’m
not
a slut.”
I turn to walk away, but am brought to a standstill by Rooter’s firm grip on my arm. He spins me around and crashes his lips against mine.
I shove Rooter away and slap his face with all my might causing him to grimace and his body to tense. Both of us are panting.
“Don’t touch me!” I roar.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes with a pained expression. “I shouldn’t have—” I don’t allow him to finish.
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t have.”
But then the memory of his lips on mine, however brief a time it was, comes to mind. They were so soft, and warm, and their sweet taste still lingers. My mind races. I’m pissed off and confused. I hate the way he’s treated me and the things he accused me of. But I’ve wanted him for so long. Part of me still does. A really
big
part. But not this way. Not like this. I turn to walk away, and to my surprise, relief and dismay, he lets me go.
The moment I close the living room door, tears pour from my eyes. Not because I’m sad, but rather because I’m utterly overwhelmed.
“Oh my God.” Miranda rushes to my side. “What the hell just happened?”
“Rooter accused me of being a slut and we got into a fight and then he kissed me and then I hit him.” The words fly out in one rushed sentence.
Miranda takes me by the hand and leads me to the sofa. She sits next to me and rubs my arm in a comforting manner. I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.
“He accused you of what?”
“He thought I’ve been sleeping with Ryan, and then he saw me with Hayden last night, and then saw Ryan leave just now.”
“Then why did he kiss you?” She asks, confused.
“Because I told him Ryan is gay and that I’m not fucking anyone.”
Her eyes go wide and a look of amusement forms on her face. “So, he was jealous.”
I perk up. This hadn’t occurred to me due to my state of upset. “You know, I think you’re right.”
Her eyes go wide. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” My mind goes back to the kiss, my mind stuck on the idea that Rooter was jealous. There’s no other explanation.
“How does that make you feel? That he might have been jealous?”
I take a deep breath, allowing myself a moment to think before answering. I feel a lot of things, and it’s all difficult to sort through.
“Truthfully, I like it. But, after everything that’s happened, I don’t know…” I don’t finish the sentence. There’s no need because Miranda understands what I mean better than I do.
Shortly thereafter I hear Rooter’s motorcycle as he speeds away.
I sit with Miranda in her room, reading gossip magazines and smutty romance novels about highlanders and damsels in distress while she studies for her upcoming exam. Though we don’t talk much, her presence is enough to calm my nerves.
Around five thirty she takes a break from studying and we head to the kitchen to cook dinner; ramen noodles—the college girl special. Beef flavor for her, chicken for me. We sit at the dining room table and eat in silence. The great thing about Miranda is she knows when I need to be quiet; when I need to take time and sort my thoughts, but don’t want to be alone while I do it.
I take the last bite of my noodles when Rooter’s bike comes roaring into his driveway. After dismounting the motorcycle he stands, helmet in hand, staring at me as though he’s debating coming over. Again, I’m both relieved and dismayed when he opens his back door and goes into his house.
“You want to talk to him,” Miranda says. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “but not yet. I’m not ready.”
“Well, when you’re ready, I have a feeling he’ll be waiting.” She gets up, takes our bowls to the kitchen and places them in the sink while I continue to stare at Rooter’s house. “Want to watch a movie until we fall asleep?”
Mike walks into the living room and plops onto the couch and turns on ESPN. It’s the only television with cable in the house. He pays for it so he can watch Sports Zone, so we can’t very well tell him to go away. He may not be reliable on the rent every month, but he makes sure to pay the cable bill on time.
“We can watch a DVD in my room,” I propose.
After changing into our pajamas and popping in a DVD we’ve watched a thousand times, we crawl onto my bed with a bag of microwave popcorn and two sodas. Twenty minutes into the movie, the light in Rooter’s room comes on and grabs my attention.
He sits at the edge of his bed, arms on his knees, head in his hands. When he looks up his eyes meet mine. I watch as he pulls out his phone and types something. In an instant, my phone pings with his motorcycle ringtone. I pause the movie and grab my phone from the bedside table.
Rooter:
I promise to leave u alone, but I want to tell u I’m sorry. For everything.
I stare at the screen, trying to process the myriad of thoughts coursing through my mind. I glance at him. He’s looking at his phone, perhaps awaiting my response.
“Is it him?” Miranda asks and I nod. “What does it say?”
I hand her the phone. She reads the text then hands it back.
After a long minute and a half, I decide how to respond. I look to his window and he’s still sitting on his bed, but this time, looking at me with a forlorn expression.
Me:
Thank you for your apology. I haven’t decided whether or not I want you to leave me alone (and I will be the one to make that decision). I’ll let you know when I do.
I hit send and watch as he reads my text. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. He shakes his head and types again.
“What did you text him?” Miranda asks and I hand her the phone. It pings again, and she gives it back.
Rooter:
That’s fair.
Assuming our conversation is over, I lay the phone next to me and we resume the movie. Although the movie is one of my favorites, I can’t concentrate on it. All I can think about is the way Rooter’s lips felt against mine, and the somber, sincere expression he wore when he was sitting on his bed texting me.