Free Rooter (Double H Romance) by Teiran Smith Page B

kitchen.
    “Here,” she says with a gentle smile and takes the canned vegetables out of my hands. “I’ll finish this. Go sit down.”
    “Thanks.” I shuffle to the dining room table, relieved to be off my foot. Tears brim in my eyes, whether from the pain in my foot, or the argument with Rooter, I’m not sure.
    “I’m sorry,” she says, and comes over to me when she sees the tears in my eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
    “Me either.”
    “Can I ask you a question?”
    “Sure,” I answer, although I really wish she wouldn’t because I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t like it.
    “Why does getting to know that guy matter so much to you?”
    I roll my eyes. “Rooter,” I correct her for what feels like the hundredth time.
    She gives me a contrite smile. “Sorry, Rooter.”
    “I know it seems silly, crazy even. There’s just something about him. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt.”
    “Like what?”
    Where do I start? I exhale a long breath. “Safe.”

Chapter 8
Introducing The Slut
    Miranda’s eyes bulge from their sockets and she takes a deep breath. I can tell she’s trying to stay steady and calm so not to upset me. “Safe?”
    “Yes,” I respond defensively. “Safe.”
    She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t get it.”
    How many times must we have the same conversation? I realize she doesn’t understand my interest in Rooter. There’s no way I can explain it to her, when I don’t completely understand it myself. All I know is we don’t get to choose to whom we are attracted. I didn’t choose to be attracted to him. I just am.
    “I know, Miranda.” I won’t bother to try explaining it. All I want to do is get a hold of Rooter, so I stand and grab my crutches. “I’m going to my room.”
    The look on her face tells me she wants to continue the conversation. Whether it’s due to genuine interest or if she wants to try to rationalize the situation with me, I don’t know. Though, I’m sure it’s the latter.
    She’s always been that way. Whenever I date or like someone she doesn’t care for, she tries to get me to see her point of view and change my mind. She has my best interest at heart, but it’s annoying. While it’s her prerogative not to agree with everything I say and do, she doesn’t have the right to control me. I wish she’d just let me live my life my way.
    Sure, I make mistakes, but so does she. It’s a part of living and learning. Maybe this situation with Rooter is a mistake, but there’s only one way to find out. As my best friend, it’s her job to be there for me when I need her, not to tell me how to live my life.
     
    Once in my room, my eyes go straight to Rooter’s bedroom window. The light is off. I lean my crutches against the wall, sit at my desk and plug my phone into the charger. I’m super impatient and the forty seven seconds it takes for my phone to power on pisses me off.
    “Hurry up!” I yell at the device.
    As soon as I’m able to enter my passcode, I call Rooter. After three rings, it goes to his voice mail, indicating he rejected my call. “This is Rooter,” the smooth sound of his voice gives me goosebumps, “leave a message.” Forget that. I hang up and hit redial. It rings twice before going to voicemail.
    “Seriously?” I gripe to myself and hit redial a second time. This time, it rings, and rings, and rings before going to voicemail yet again. “Rooter, please answer the phone. I need to talk to you.”
    I hang up and hold the phone in my hand, staring at the screen hoping he’ll hear my plea and call me back. After five or six minutes, I figure he isn’t going to call me back. Rather than calling again, since I know he won’t answer, I send a text instead: Please call me .
    I wait a couple of minutes and after no response, send another text: Just so you know, that guy who woke up in my bed this morning is gay. Call me. I pray that this will convince him to call or at least text me back. After