Fifteen
Mary closed her eyes tight again. Cara wasn’t a genius. In fact, if anything, Mary could be the one giving her advice, if that was how things were measured. But she had more experience with life, and more experience with drugs, and more experience not being on them. Right?
So there was something to talk about, at least. But just go sleep with him seemed like it was particularly bad, even from her. But the more that Mary thought about it, the more that the advice seemed to work. At least a little bit. At least in her head. It wasn’t exactly brilliant by any stretch, but it was something. She closed her eyes and let out a breath.
Then there was the call with Roman. Short and less than perfectly sweet. He sounded angry. But he was careful to make sure that he told her that he wasn’t angry with her. Which was good enough.
If it were anyone else, she’d have gone over in a heartbeat if she thought that they were upset enough to do something stupid. He sounded like he was exactly that far gone, and so if he wanted her to come by, then he would get it.
Screwing him was an option to keep in her back pocket. It wasn’t the best one, but it was one, and she wasn’t going to just tell Cara to screw off to her face. And if she could just treat him like any other person, then she could probably make that work just as well. Maybe even better.
She knocked on the hotel room door. Roman opened it, shirtless and looking like he’d just taken a dip. His pants were a little damp, too.
“Sorry, I jumped in the shower.”
“Oh.”
“I just thought it would be preferable. I’ve been up all day, hanging out in a studio, where they can pump in plenty of heat. Stewing, if you will.”
“No, I get it.”
“But you were a little quicker than I expected, so…”
“What? Not done?”
He smiled. “You’re not upset, are you?”
“No. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
“Good to hear it.”
Roman stepped back into the bathroom, and closed the door. But not all the way. In fact, she realized as she stood outside it, looking through the gap, he’d only made the most half-hearted possible attempt to close it. She could get a view of whatever she wanted to see if she just leaned at the right angle.
His body was a lattice of tight-packed muscle that didn’t begin to make him look big. But most people who trim down to the point where you can practically use them in an anatomy textbook look small, and Roman was nothing like a small man.
Her eyes drifted south for an instant, and she realized it exactly one moment after she’d seen his manhood. She stepped away from the door and set herself down on the couch, stripped off her coat and left it folded on the edge of the bed.
“Sorry about this, I just have to finish up my hair.”
“No problem,” Mary called back. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Her back-pocket ideas about sleeping with Roman were starting to look dangerously tempting. And just like everything with Roman, they were a bad idea. A delicious bad idea. The sort of bad idea that she could get behind. The sort of bad idea she needed to avoid at all costs. The sort that she’d never managed to avoid in the past, even as cheap as free.
The water in the bathroom cut off, and his footsteps weren’t heavy, but they seemed to be sounding right next to her head, like they were speaking specifically to her. Whispering something that she couldn’t make out.
“Have a nice shower?”
“Sure. Good water pressure here.”
“I bet.” The place had to be costing a pretty penny. If they didn’t have good water pressure here, she could always invite him by the house…
No, she corrected herself. Don’t be absurd.
“Just a minute,” he called out.
She stood up and walked over. Bad idea, her rational brain told her. Her less-rational brain told it to shut its stupid mouth. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach that she hadn’t really felt since she was eighteen years old. She pushed the door to the bathroom open and leaned in the doorway.
He hadn’t dressed. He held a towel, moving from rubbing one arm to the other, and its drape barely managed to cover him. He raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
She looked down at his groin, hidden as it was by the tip of the towel. She made a point of it, lingering long enough that he couldn’t miss it. Then she looked back up.
“One.”
“Oh?” His hands lowered, and then split up and went their separate ways, and she saw everything she wanted to see. “What’s that?”
“The problem is that I can’t get a read on you, Roman Townsend. But don’t worry. I’ve got a solution.”
“What’s that?”
“I think you’ll be a little easier to read when you’re singing my praises.”
“Oh?”
Sarah pulled her shirt off. Her breasts weren’t quite as perky as they had been when she was eighteen. The cost of having a child, and the cost of living ten years, she supposed.
“That’s what I think,” she said. And she bit her lip, as if she weren’t being straightforward enough. Maybe that would hit him over the head with it hard enough that he’d do something.