Rooter (Double H Romance) by Teiran Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

silence is awkward as he pulls out of the parking lot. I start to say something, anything, when his phone rings.
    “Yeah,” he snaps into the phone. “I’m tied up right now. I can be there in an hour.”
    He hits a manhole which sends a shooting pain to my already throbbing ankle and I lean my head back and grimace. He turns to me and mouths he’s sorry.
    “I’ll call when I’m on my way,” he says to the caller and hangs up the phone.
    “I never knew sprained ankles hurt this bad. Miranda had one once, and I thought she was such a wuss.”
    He laughs. “A wuss?”
    We both laugh. I love the sound of his. It has a higher pitch than that of his speaking voice. The laughter is a pleasant departure from the awkward silence.
    Rooter pulls into the pharmacy parking lot and turns to me. “Where’s your script? I’ll go in and get it.”
    “I’m not filling it.”
    He faces me, incredulous. “What? Why?”
    “I’ll just take ibuprofen.”
    “Ibuprofen won’t touch that.” He points at my foot.
    I slouch and gaze into my hands. I know the ibuprofen won’t work, but I don’t have insurance and money is a finite resource for me.
    “Give me the script.” He snaps his fingers.
    “I can’t afford it,” I mutter, feeling helpless.
    “Sophie, you need the pills. Give me the script.”
     I shake my head. “I can’t let you buy my medicine.”
    “Give. Me. The. Script.”
    I gape at him, on the verge of tears. “You barely know me,” I say and then remember he actually does know me pretty well. “Well, I barely know you. You’re not paying for my prescription.”
    He yanks my purse away and takes out the prescription.
    “Rooter, no!”
    I watch as he jogs into the pharmacy. I’d run after him if I could. All I can do is sit, stewing and biting my nails. I appreciate his willingness to help me, but I also value my independence, greatly. His taking pity on me over my lack of money is embarrassing.
    Fifteen minutes later, he’s back in the car and hands me the bag.
    I must pay him back. “How much was it?”
    “Don’t worry about it.” He starts the car and backs out of the space.
    My jaw drops. “I want to pay you back.”
    “Sophie, I said don’t worry about it.” The stern tone of his voice tells me this conversation is over.
    “Thank you.” I hold up the bag. “Again.”
    He shrugs. “No problem.”
    I watch with veneration as Rooter drives, careful to avoid any bumps in the road. I’ve never seen him drive a car. He owns a truck, but rarely drives it. I doubt he’s this cautious when he does. He holds the steering wheel with his left hand and rests his right hand on his leg. When he turns the radio on, it comes on blaring. Rooter jumps, almost hits his head on the roof, and swears before turning it down.
    I cackle. I like my music loud and I’d forgotten to turn the radio down last time I drove. My CD of choice, a former boy bander turned solo act, is playing.
    Rooter eyes me, unimpressed. “Seriously?”
    “It’s a good song,” I protest.
    He puts the radio on and turns it to the local hard rock station and bobs his head to the music. “Now this is good music.”
    “It is.”
    “You like this?” He gapes at me.
    “I’m nondiscriminatory when it comes to music.”
    The right corner of his lip rises and he nods once as though he’s taking in another new tidbit of who I am.
    When the song finishes and the station goes to commercial, I turn the down the volume. “This makes three times you’ve helped me.”
    Rooter shrugs, acting as though it’s no big deal.
    But it is. Especially since his confession. I get an idea. “Since you know so much about me, it’s only fair you tell me a little about yourself.”
    A moment passes, and he glances at me, unsure. “You don’t want to know me, Sophie. Take my word for it.”
    “Yes, I do.”
    Another moment passes.
    “I’m waiting.” I purse my lips.
    “Give it up, Sophie,” he groans.
    “If you can find out things about me,