Page 24 of Passion in Bloom

Chapter 8

Roarke

“Then call them,” Itold the TV. Fucking refs won’t bat an eye at the Patriots being offsides but—”

“Roarke!”

I raised my brows and frowned at the interruption. I’d been waiting for Heather to talk to me, but not like this. Shouting my name outside my door as she banged her fist on it in a rude knock.

The hell?

“Roarke. I know you’re in there.”

I’ll be damned. She was looking for me, and by the tone of her angry voice, I doubted she’d come here to fuck.

I muted the TV and stood, stretching as I approached my door. The 49ers weren’t going to win with unfair refs ruling over this game. I wouldn’t be missing much if I paused it. Leaning down to grab the remote, I shut the TV off and continued toward the door.

I was curious.

And intrigued.

But more than anything, I couldn’t resist this giddy spark of excitement.

Even if she was mad, she was seeking me out.

I unlocked and opened the door. At once, as the chilly air rushed in, my abs tensed at the coolness. I’d been playing a game of waiting for reliable hot water. It seemed the crew Todd hired to fix whatever was wrong with that pipe messed with my hot water tank and the pressure from it.

Finally having a steady stream of hot water for a shower, I took a nuclear one, steaming myself to be so hot that I hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on after it. Nevaeh had disappeared again, not on the couch in the morning, so it didn’t matter what I wore or didn’t wear in the privacy of my home.

With Heather at my door, though, and her stare dropping to take in the sight of my bare chest, I wondered if this was my wisest move yet.

“Yes?” I asked, arching one brow.

“You need to back off.” She furrowed her brow, losing her fight and glancing at my chest again.

“I need to back off?” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t fucking confuse me with David. I haven’t done anything to pursue you since you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested in anything I can give you.”

“You told him,” she argued. “You told Marty about David showing up.”

“I did,” I agreed neutrally.

“Yeah, and that’s the opposite of backing off!” She lifted her hand as though she wanted to shove at me, but dropped it. “You had no business telling him anything.”

“I don’t need your permission to care,” I shot back.

“You do!” She frowned harder. “I’m not yours to care about.”

I shook my head, feeling so lost and bewildered that she’d get hung up about someone giving a shit about her. “It’s called human decency, Heather. If you’re unfamiliar with this concept, it’s when people want others to feel safe. It’s when a person witnessed someone being harassed and wants to make that stop.”

She pressed her lips together so firmly, lines bracketed her mouth.

“Then stop asking him to look into me any further,” she insisted.

“I haven’t.” I held my hands up in a truce-like manner. “I told him about David showing up and he admitted that he’s got nothing on him. His hands are tied without evidence of that fucker actually doing anything. He said he wanted to try to talk to you again, but I warned him not to.” I let my eyes narrow, hoping she’d see the frustration I tried to deal with on this topic. “I told him not to push you. Because I know damn well you won’t say shit. Not to anyone.”

“I don’t have tell anyone anything,” she protested hotly.

“Yes. That’s something you’ve made loud and clear,” I replied dryly. “And that’s why I told him to reconsider talking with you.”