Rooter (Double H Romance) (4 page)

The next day, after running an errand, I find Rooter straddling his bike as I pull into the driveway. Our eyes meet, the same as they had the night before, and my pulse quickens. I step out of my car and he climbs off his bike. He saunters over with a rueful expression.

“Hey.” He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth, uneasy.

“Hey.”

“I’m so sorry about last night. I’d just walked in my room and there you were.” He waves his a hand up and down at me.

Yeah. There I was. In all my glory. I feel my face flush and have a burning desire to know what he thought when he saw me. “It was my fault. I should’ve closed my blinds. I was just so tired.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a creepy, peeping Tom.”

“I don’t.” It wouldn’t bother me if he was. “Like I said, my fault.”

“It’s just that, in a year’s time, we haven’t spoken a word to each other. In the past few days, I’ve burst into your house, assaulted your roommate, and watched you undress.”

Wait. “Watched?”

“In my defense, it was kind of hard to look away.” He rubs the back of his neck looking sheepish.

“Did you like what you saw?” I ask, taking myself, and by the way his mouth hangs open, Rooter by surprise. Where the hell did that come from? I’m never that brash.

He shakes his head and all of my excitement and brazenness disappear in an instant.

“Sophie,” he says and his phone rings. He retrieves it from his back pocket, checks the screen.

I’m relieved by the interruption. Now is a good time to make my escape. I look at my house and take a step back. Rooter holds up his index finger as if reading my mind and answers the phone.

“Yeah?” He answers curtly and listens. I hear a male voice on the other end of the line, but can’t make out the words. “I’m on my way. Be there in fifteen.” He hangs up and looks at me. “I have to go,” he says and takes a step closer, looking intently in my eyes, “but to answer your question, yes, I liked what I saw. A lot. And that isn’t a good thing for either one of us.”

“Why?” I whisper, relieved by his admission. His nearness makes my stomach do back flips.

He looks me up and down with a glint in his eye. “Because you need me to stay away from you and that was nearly impossible to do 
before 
I saw you in your panties.”

I blink and just about lose my footing. His intensity is overwhelming. “It was?”

“You have no idea.” His voice is strained. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from me.” With that, he turns and walks away. “Consider yourself warned.”

He climbs on his bike and fires it up.

What the hell does that mean?

Before I can ask he tears out of his driveway.

Chapter 4
Another Rescue

After tidying up my room and putting away my laundry, I go to the bathroom to pee. As per usual, the toilet seat is up—there’s no convincing Mike it should be down—and when I reach it, I gag immediately. Disgusting brown flecks cover not only the inside, but the seat as well.

Seriously? How the hell can you miss if you’re sitting down?

My urge to pee has suddenly taken a backseat to my disgust and irritation. I march to Miranda’s room.

The worst part about living with Miranda and Mike is the mess. I like a clean house. I don’t understand what’s so difficult about picking up your empty pop can and putting it in the garbage can. But the absolute worst part is the bathroom. Miranda has a habit of getting toothpaste all over the counter. I mean, the 
entire
 counter. Mike can’t ever seem to hit the water when peeing. Basically, I never go into the bathroom unless I’m wearing shoes. But today it has hit an all-time high on the disgusting meter. Last week was Miranda’s week to clean the bathroom. It never got done. Big surprise.

I am not happy.

Not one little bit.

“Miranda,” I holler and open her door without knocking. She’s sitting at her desk with her iPod on. I dart over and yank one of the ear buds out of her ear.

She jumps. “What?”

“Have you seen the bathroom?” I ask with my hands on my hips.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get to it over the weekend. I’m going to clean it.”

“It needs to be cleaned 
right now
.” I demand and stomp my right foot.

“I’m painting my nails.” She holds her hands up to show me her perfectly manicured pink fingernails. Not even her perky cuteness, with her hair bunched up on top of her head is enough to calm me.

“I don’t care! There’s shit all over the toilet!”

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

“Go see for yourself!” I wave toward the bathroom.

The moment she sees the mess she gags. “Mike!” She shouts.

“He’s not here,” I inform her.

“He’s going to have to clean that. I’m not going near it.” She goes back to her room and I follow.

She may have better manners than to crap on the toilet and leave it there, but her room is an absolute pigsty. Dirty clothes cover a third of the floor while her hamper remains empty. There are three empty glasses, one on her nightstand and two on the dresser. Almost all of her drawers are open with various items hanging out of them and her bed is unmade. I don’t know how she lives like this. She takes such great pride in herself and in her appearance that she sometimes showers twice a day which includes clean clothes, fresh makeup, and newly done hair. How can she care so much about personal hygiene and so little about cleanliness in her room, or the rest of the house for that matter?

“The shower, sink and floor need cleaned as well,” I remind her.

She points toward the bathroom. “I’m not going in there until he cleans that up. That’s nasty.”

“Who are you telling? Just when I’m sure it can’t possibly get any worse, I’m proven wrong.”

“Look at it this way,” she goes back to painting her nails, “it’s a good education for when you get married. All men are pigs. Chris was just as bad.”

Chris is her boyfriend. They’ve been going out for little over a year. I’m not a huge fan of his. He’s hot, and he knows it and it shows. I’m not entirely sure what, other than his looks, Miranda sees in him. He treats her like crap until he wants sex, then it’s all “Baby, I love you.” Yuck.

Then it hits me. She said “
was
just as bad.”

“Was?” I ask with an arched brow.

“I caught him with a stripper.” She doesn’t sound surprised. “And not a classy one from a gentleman’s club. We’re talking straight out of the gutter, not even hot, white trash.”

“Ew!” I push back her comforter to make room to sit on the bed. “When did this happen?”

“Last weekend. He butt dialed me in the middle of the night. I heard Brian’s voice in the background and assumed they were home,” she gets up and joins me on the bed, “so I went there, and sure as hell, there they were, the three of them.”

“The three of them?” I ask with wide eyes.
Holy shit!

“Yep. The slut was on all fours getting fucked by my boyfriend while sucking Brian’s tiny cock.”

“What did you do?”

“I stood in the doorway for a minute while Brian screamed “Brandy, Brandy” over and over again. They didn’t even notice me. So I said, “Care if I join?” You should’ve seen Chris’ face.”

“What did he do?”

“I never saw anyone move so fast in my life. He jumped off her and came after me, but I was out of there.” She motions animatedly with her hands. “I ran as fast as I could to my car while he chased me butt naked with a flopping boner. All I could hear was “Please forgive me, baby, I love you.” Yeah fucking right. Go love Brandy fuckwad.”

The visual of Chris running after Miranda with a hard-on, coupled with her boisterous explanation make me want to laugh, but I stifle it. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs. “I was tired of his crap anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask even though she doesn’t appear to be the least bit upset.

She nods. “It sucks and I’m pissed, but yeah I’m okay.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “The worst part of it was when he blamed it on me. He told me it was my fault for not giving him enough sex.”

“What?” I ask, stunned. That’s low, even for Chris.

“Apparently, five times that week wasn’t enough.”

“What an asshole.” Who the hell cheats on Miranda? She’s the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. And to cheat on her with a nasty stripper? You’d have to be a complete moron! Now I feel sorry for yelling at her about the bathroom. I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “Well, if you decide you’re not okay, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” she says and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Can I ask, why you didn’t tell me?”

She leans away and looks at me. “I don’t know. I wanted to, but things haven’t been that great between us lately. I didn’t feel like I could come to you.”

“Miranda,” I say her name gently, “you’re my best friend. You can always come to me.”

She looks away, sad. “It’s just that, I know you’re upset with me for always defending Mike, even when he hurts you.”

I turn her chin so she’s facing me. “Mike aside, you are and always will be my best friend. You have always been there for me. You’re all I have in this world, Miranda.”

She gets a little misty eyed. “You know I love you, right?”

I take her back in my arms. “Yes, I know. And I love you, too.”

We sit and hug for a moment and then I get an idea. “How about we order a pizza, pop in a chick flick, and veg out together tonight?”

She looks at me with her pretty, sad brown eyes and bounces up and down. “I’d love that.”

“I’ll order the pizza, while you pick out the movie.”

For the next two hours Miranda and I lay on the couch, legs entwined, like we used to when we were little. Occasional giggles and Miranda’s lip smacking, are the only sounds we make. For the first time in a while, I feel content.

And then Mike walks in the house.

“You need to clean the toilet before morning,” Miranda tells him, before he can run up the stairs.

“It was your turn to clean it,” he protests.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but you’re the one who crapped all over it.”

“How do you know it was me?”

She sits up with a perturbed expression. “Seriously? Only three of us live here Mike, and it wasn’t me or Soph.”

He groans, irritated. “Fine, I’ll clean it in the morning.”

“It better be clean before six!” She snipes as he darts up the stairs.

“Whatever!” He yells back and slams his door.

“I’m not kidding!” She shouts.

I stand up and yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

“Thanks for tonight.” She smiles and turns off the television.

“It was fun. I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.” 

I’m sitting at the dining room stable, staring at Rooter’s house, drinking a cup of coffee when Mike appears before me.

“The toilet’s clean,” he says and stands, staring at me, waiting for acknowledgment.

I’m not going to thank him for cleaning his mess. “All right.”

He stalks out of the house and slams the door behind him.

I sigh. I’d love to go back to the way things were before Loraine and John died. Before Mike told me he loved me. Mike and I never really hung out just the two of us, but we had a good time when we were around each other. Sure, we got on each other’s nerves from time to time, but that’s how it is with family. He was like the brother I never had, which is how I viewed him.

When the three of us were in high school, we’d crawl through the attic window onto the roof and drink Red Bull in the middle of the night. He’d tell us jokes and make us laugh until tears streamed down our faces and our stomachs hurt. He was there when I first got my period and made fun of me when I got my first training bra. There’s really very little Mike doesn’t know about me, and I about him. Why can’t we get back to that? Is it even possible? 

On my way to my car I hear the rumble of a motorcycle. Assuming it’s Rooter, I look to my right and watch him come down the street. I only have twenty minutes to get to work and it takes me fifteen to drive there. Yet I fully intend to find out what he meant by “Consider yourself warned.”

Rooter pulls into the driveway and turns his head in my direction right as I trip on an exposed tree root and fall face first, twisting my ankle in the process.

“Ow!” I wail and grab my ankle.

“Shit, are you okay?” His voice is thick with concern as he rushes to my side.

I try to stand on my own, but can’t. I hiss in pain.

“Let me see.” He lifts my left pant leg to assess the damage. He removes my shoe, feels the bone, and rotates my foot a couple times. I moan in pain. “Already swelling. If it’s not broken, it’s a hell of a sprain. You need an x-ray.”

Before I know what’s happening, he puts his right arm under my knees and his left around my back and scoops me up. He carries me with little effort to the passenger side door of my car and sets me inside as gently as possible. With each tiny movement, it’s like a knife is tearing through my ankle.

“I’ll be right back.” He disappears into his house. A minute later, he appears with a Ziploc bag of ice. “Keep this on your ankle,” he orders and jogs to the driver’s side and hops in.

I hand him my keys and watch silent awe as he pulls out of my driveway. I put the bag of ice down to retrieve my phone from my purse.

“Keep that ice on your ankle,” he orders.

“I need to call work and tell them I’m not coming,” I explain while still digging through the mess in my purse trying to find my phone.

He takes the purse from my hands. “Keep the ice on your foot.” The moment he looks inside the bag he sees the revolver. “She packs,” he mutters to himself, seemingly impressed as he continues to rummage through my purse. “How do you find anything in this trash pit?” He asks with a chuckle.

I’d laugh in return, but I’m in too much pain. And I’m scared. He should be looking at the road, not in my purse.

Finally, he gives up and retrieves his phone from his back pocket and starts typing something. “What’s your boss’s name?”

He knows where I work?
“Randy.”

“I need to talk to Randy,” he says into the phone and I continue to stare. “Hey, Randy, I’m calling for Sophie Holt.”

He knows my last name, too?

“She’s on her way to urgent care. Might’ve broken her ankle.” He listens to whatever Randy is saying. “I’ll have her call you when she’s out.” He hangs up.

I stare at him with a slack jaw.

“You have a nice boss,” he says flippantly.

“You know where I work?”

“Mm-hmm,” he admits cautiously.

“And my last name?”

He turns to me with an arched brow. “Does that scare you?”

“No. It just seems you know quite a bit about me,” I say, wondering what else he might know.

Rooter’s expression is intense, and he clenches his jaw. “You have 
no
 idea.”

I gulp and stare, astounded.

“Does 
that
 scare you?”

My already racing heart speeds up. “No.” Actually, it turns me on. A lot.

He looks away and makes a right at the stop sign. “Well, it should.”

“Why?” I ask.

He chuckles eerily. “You have heard of my club?”

“I’ve heard the rumors.”

“Rumors,” he scoffs and shakes his head, “that’s what you think they are?” He’s trying to intimidate me, but it doesn’t work.

“Life has taught me to only believe what I see firsthand.”