Rooter (Double H Romance) by Teiran Smith Page A

doesn’t like it when he jumps up on her and gets grossed out by his drool covered ball when he brings it over for her to throw. I cackle at the face she makes when she wipes her hands on her leggings. I hope this means she isn’t Rooter’s girlfriend and that she’s as unfamiliar with him as she is with the dog, though I seriously doubt it. Rooter doesn’t strike me as the kind who would allow someone he doesn’t know well into his home.
     
    By nightfall, the blonde is still there and Rooter hasn’t come home. I’ve called him four times today and each time it went straight to voicemail. I’m beginning to suspect he blocked my number.
    I’m in bed trying, and failing miserably, at paying attention to the sitcom playing on my television. All I can think about—all I’ve been thinking about—is the girl at Rooter’s house and why I can’t get through to him.
    The light comes on in his bedroom, but the closed blinds obstruct my view. Why is that skank in his bedroom? She needs to get out of there now. I keep my eyes on his window until the light goes out a few minutes later. I can only assume she’s sleeping in his bed. Bitch.
    Knowing the slutty blonde is sleeping in Rooter’s bed keeps me up most of the night. I can’t take my eyes off his window. This is the worst kind of torture.
     
    At six I give up and get out of the bed, but not before flipping the bird at his house.
    It’s somewhat of a warm morning, so I take my coffee out to the back porch. Not an easy task in my condition. I stumble on my way out, and my cup shatters on concrete.
    “Fuck!” I holler and throw my crutch into the lawn.
    The grass is overgrown, again. I’m not surprised. It’s not like Miranda or Mike can possibly find the time in their busy schedules to help with shit around here.
    “You okay?” A strange, female voice asks.
    I turn to my left and find miss perky boobs staring at me. I hate that she looks perfect this early in the morning. Without a word I turn around and hobble into the house.
    “Slut,” I mutter and slam the door.
    “Who?” Mike asks.
    “No one.” I try my best to shuffle to the coffeemaker without my crutches. When I grimace in pain Mike gently takes me by the elbow.
    “Just sit. I’ll make you a cup.”
    “Thanks.” I peer up at him in surprise as he helps me to the dining room table.
    Blondie is still outside when Mike hands me a new cup of coffee.
    “That the slut?” He asks.
    I nod and take a sip. Not near enough creamer, but I can’t bring myself to ask him for more.
    “She’s hot.” He ogles her through the window.
    Yeah, she is. “You would think so.”
    His head snaps in my direction. “What does that mean?”
    “Just that she would be your type.”
    “Because my type are sluts?” He scowls.
    I shrug and take another sip of my coffee. The last girl he brought home didn’t look much different from this chick. They met in a bar and spent a couple nights together. He got what he wanted and sent her on her way.
    “And what does that say about you?” He asks.
    I furrow my brown, confused. “Why would that say anything about me?”
    “I seem to remember a time when I found you attractive. If I’m attracted to sluts, wouldn’t that make you a slut?”
    I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Mike.”
    He leans down closer to me. “The only reason you’re calling her a slut is because he fucked her instead of you.”
    I shove away from the table causing pain to shoot up my leg.
    “Don’t bother. I’ll leave,” he barks and stomps out of the room.
    “What was that about?” Miranda asks with squinty eyes and her hair bunched up on her head.
    I motion to the girl sitting on the stairs of Rooter’s back porch.
    She pulls her eyebrows together. “Why are you arguing over her?”
    “Because I called her a slut and Mike said the only reason I called her that is because I’m jealous.”
    Miranda crosses her arms. “And he’s right, isn’t he?”
    “Miranda, look at her!” I wave my