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"YOU'RE VERY ADEPT AT LEAVING BEFORE MIDNIGHT."
Her fingers snapped the final button of her jeans over the plain black shirt she had stolen from the open drawer next to his bed before casting the green eyed teenager a glance. He was sitting against his headboard, still shirtless yet wearing his black silk boxers, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips that were redder than usual.
"Sorry, you want me to be caught by your mother or sister?" Their...relationship...for lack of a better, shorter terminology of what they were really doing, had unintentionally turned into a secret. It's not that either of then cared that other people knew they were hooking up, but it was just no one else's business but theirs.
"It'd be a real show," he smirked, swinging his long legs over the edge of the messy bed—their tryst hadn't made the state of his room any worse in all honesty. Roman played out the hypothetical chaos that would ensue if his anal, controlling mother knew he was messing around with her colleagues' dear niece and generally just another female that wasn't his mother or sister.
"Whatever." Rory watched him as he pulled his own clothes on, evidently not spending the rest of his night in his room as she had thought. "And where are you going, Roman?"
"Meeting up with Peter." He shrugged on his black leather jacket. "We have some business."
He didn't elaborate and she didn't ask. Roman and Peter had become legitimately friends in the last two weeks or so since Roman and Rory had witnessed the boy transform into a wolf under the full moon.
"Right." A teasing grin played at her lips, as she drawled, "As long as that business never includes me, I don't care."
Roman rolled his eyes. "It's to do with the dead girls, Rory," he said dryly.
They were still investigating the unknown serial killer, whose latest female victim was found in the woods by the scrappy little freshmen Christina. Peter had asked to meet around midnight to dig up the girl's grave, which left Roman enough time for a roll in the sheets. After a few rounds, both were satisfied enough for Rory to take leave.
Rory searched around the dark room for her torn up blouse—he had ripped the damn thing—and avoided his stare. She raised her brow at him pointedly. "Somehow not making it any better. And you owe me a twenty."
At his mischievous expression, she recoiled at her word choice. "For the shirt," she clarified.
Roman watched her leisurely as she picked at her appearance in the mirror next to his dresser. "Isn't your birthday coming up?" The thought had occurred to him suddenly.
She faced him with a shrug. "Next Monday." Her eyes squinted suspiciously. "Why?"
"I was wondering if you were more of a Gucci or a Fendi girl," he explained breezily, as if he were asking her if she wanted to go to Target instead of her preferences on highly expensive fashion.
