Page 16 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

Chapter

Nine

MAKENA

I wake with my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest and bolt upright with a gasp.

Not my favorite way to start a morning, but sadly, not that unusual since the near-death experience of it all.

Being nearly swallowed alive by a storm surge does things to a girl…

But there are no flood-flavored dreams lingering in my brain cobwebs this morning as I sag back onto the pillow. Something else woke me in a panic.

Something I can’t quite remember now that I’m awake…

Maybe it’s the fact that you broke the no-touch rule with your roomie and, if Fate hadn’t intervened, would have ridden Parker’s monster dick all night…

Excellent point, Inner Voice, but that’s not it, either.

Parker’s monster dick—and his good heart and the fact that we almost did it in a bathroom under the watchful eyes of several taxidermy squirrels, will have to be dealt with—but there’s something more pressing on my sleepy brain.

Something that woke me with a racing heart and a sinking sense of dread dragging at my stomach…

“Luis,” I whisper as it all comes rushing back to me.

Specifically, what Luis said last night about his insurance only covering the structure of his family’s home, not the contents.

Surely, that can’t be the case for me. That isn’t even my building.

I’m a renter. The contents of my restaurant are the only thing it makes sense for my policy to cover.

So, it’s probably fine. I mean, I haven’t heard from my claim representative since the day after the flood, when her secretary sent confirmation that my email had been received and Rachael would get back to me as soon as possible, but…

Well, in light of the sheer volume of calls and emails she must have received, I haven’t been worried.

Still, it’s been almost a week, and their website says the office is open on Saturdays.

Thanks to burning the midnight oil last night, it’s already 9:03. I should just call them and put my mind at ease. There’s no point in stressing about something that is likely a non-issue.

Rolling over, I grab my cell from beside the bed, then snuggle back under the covers as I place the call.

“Pelican State Insurance, Mitzy speaking, how can I help you?” a chipper voice answers after the second ring.

“Hey, Mitzy, this is Makena DeWitt,” I say, matching her chipper.

You always win more bees with honey. “Thanks for taking my call. I just had a quick question about my coverage. I’m happy to wait as long as it takes for my flood claim to be processed—I know how busy y’all are right now—I just…

” I exhale an only slightly nervous-sounding laugh.

“Well, a little reassurance from Rachael would go a long way right now. Is she in this morning? And if so, could you connect me, please?”

“Sure, thing, Ms. DeWitt, just a moment,” Mitzy says. “Have a fantastic day!”

“Thanks,” I say, crossing my fingers as jazzy hold music begins to play. “You’re freaking out over nothing,” I murmur as I watch the ceiling fan swirl and will my heart to remain calm. “It’s going to be fine.”

Rachael’s probably going to tell me that I have nothing to worry about, and she’ll be getting to my case soon. Then, I’ll go make a frittata with a side of roasted potatoes and start prepping for my next intense conversation of the day.

The one where I tell Parker that I think I’m ready to date him, but also scared to death, and make him promise not to turn evil somewhere down the line upon penalty of something awful.

Something I’ll be able to think up as soon as my insurance agent puts my mind at ease…

“Hello, Ms. DeWitt? Are you still there?” Rachael asks, sending another jolt of electricity through my chest.

“Yes, I am,” I hurry to assure her. “Thanks for taking my call. I just had a quick question about my policy. And the claim for Hot Plate and Cheese?”

“Of course, I have your case pulled up here,” she continues briskly. Polite, but clearly wanting to get down to business and get off the line. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, well, I was just… I was talking to this really sweet man last night. He and his family lost their home in the flood, and well, I—” I break off with a shake of my head, cursing myself for not figuring out what I was going to say before I called.

I should know better than to start adulting before coffee.

“Anyway, long story short, he said something about his policy that worried me a little. I probably shouldn’t be worried.

I mean, my claim is about a business ; his was a private home—yada, yada. ”

I let out a strained laugh, my anxiety building as I realize nothing about this “short” story is short.

“But you know, it’s all been such a stressful time, and I really don’t need more stress right now.

So anyway, basically, I just wanted to get confirmation from you that all the contents of my restaurant will be covered—you know, the industrial stove I installed, the grill, all my pots and pans and cutlery, etcetera.

I’m sure it is, but I just… Yeah, I wanted to check. ”

Rachael makes a low, humming noise that isn’t comforting. Not at all. It’s so non-comforting, in fact, that a part of me knows what’s coming, even before she says, “I’m sorry, Ms. DeWitt, but no. It looks like you have the Silver Plan.”

I shoot upright so fast, black spots dance at the edges of my vision as I squeak, “What? What does that mean?”

“It means, once you’ve paid your deductible, the policy will cover all structural elements added to your business by the business owner. That includes walls, electrical, plumbing, and any seating that was bolted in place.”

“Bolted in place?” I echo, squeak sliding higher. “Why bolted in place?”

“That makes them part of the structure, not the contents.”

Pushing past the ridiculousness of that explanation, I appeal to her sense of reason, “But I don’t own the building, Rachael—I’m a renter.

All the structures were already in place when I signed the lease.

The only reason I even needed flood insurance was to protect what was inside—my appliances, my equipment, my…

” I suck in a breath, willing myself not to start crying as I add, “My everything. Please, there has to be some kind of mistake. Someone I can talk to about this. Because if that’s how this shakes out, I won’t get anything at all from my insurance.

Nothing. Zero. And that’s just… That doesn’t seem right. Does that seem right to you?”

Rachael sighs, not unkindly, but she doesn’t sound particularly hopeful as she says, “You’re welcome to come speak to my supervisor, Ms. DeWitt, and see if there’s anything he can do for you. He’s in the office Tuesday through Saturday, ten to six.”

“So, he’s there today?” I ask, clinging to the tiny hope thread. “Could I come by this morning? Just for a few minutes? Around ten-thirty, maybe?”

“Of course,” Rachael says. “I’ll let him know to expect you. Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you,” I say, swinging out from under the covers. “I’ll see you soon.”

I end the call with a jab of my shaking thumb and dash for the door.

First, coffee. Then, clothes. Then, a car service to the Pelican State Insurance office.

Which is probably going to cost a gazillion dollars, considering it’s on the other side of the greater New Orleans metro area, but I can’t wait until Monday, when Parker’s truck will be free for me to borrow.

I have to save my restaurant.

Now.

Right now.

As I dash for the kitchen, I’m moving so fast that I nearly crash into Parker as he steps out into the hall from the kitchen.

I dig my heels into the carpet, grinding to a stop just seconds before I collide with his sexy bare chest.

“Whoa, hey there. Good morning, sunshine,” he says, holding up a cautious hand between us, instantly sensing that something’s up. “You okay?”

“Shirt. You promised to wear one in the common areas,” I snap, forcing my eyes away from his stupid muscles.

I have more important things to worry about than how delicious he looks half naked.

“And, no, I’m not okay. I just got off the phone with my insurance company.

After what Luis said last night about his policy, I wanted to check mine, and—” I break off, a sour taste flooding my mouth as I add, “Anyway, they just said they won’t cover my stuff.

Any of it. Just the building, and I don’t even own the stupid building! ”

“What the fuck?” Parker growls, clearly outraged on my behalf.

“I know,” I agree. “It’s insane. But my claims person said I could come down and talk to her supervisor this morning, and maybe he could do something for?—”

“I’ll drive you,” he says, already shifting around me on his crutches, heading for his bedroom.

“But you have PT. Don’t you?” I call after him.

“I’ll reschedule, this is more important,” he says. “Just give me ten minutes to get dressed. Coffee’s in the French press if you need a cup.”

I should argue. I should insist on his getting to his trainer, while I handle my own disaster, like an independent woman.

Instead, I call, “Thank you. So much. I really appreciate it, Parker.”

He pauses at his door, glancing back at me with that warm, patient smile that’s both comforting and terrifying. “Of course, weirdo. I’ve got your back. No worries. Get coffee, and let’s get on the road.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the highway, zooming toward our hometown on the other side of Metairie.

Good old Saint Magnus, the place where the upper middle class go to send their offspring to excellent schools and pretend everyone in New Orleans has access to the same.

Where the food is abundant but bland, the “historic” downtown is faux Mid-Century garbage built in the 1980s, and everyone gets very upset when you don’t stick to the assignment.

Fine, not everyone gets upset.

My father gets upset.