5

3F: Physical comfort post-shift is encouraged. Cuddling is mandatory. Failure to participate in post-shift emotional support may result in immediate termination of the lease agreement.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“I have to cuddle you?”

“Technically, yes. Or you’re in breach of contract.”

I groaned and flopped backward on the bed, contract on my chest, water glass abandoned on the nightstand. “I need a lawyer.”

Roman didn’t deny it, but he did smirk awkwardly. I sat back up and flipped through the rest.

Nudity Contingency Protocol:

Accidental nudity is inevitable. Eye contact must be established before commentary is allowed. Compliments are strongly encouraged.

Doris Cranberry Emergency Clause:

If Doris Cranberry initiates a surprise pop-in, the human roommate must:

Pretend the apartment smells like lavender, not werewolf.

Refer to all fur as “craft materials.”

Body block all doors containing wolf paraphernalia or said wolf.

“Who the hell is Doris Cranberry? Sounds like an off-brand soda.”

Roman scratched the back of his neck. “She’s the landlord. Not someone to be messed with.”

“Noted.”

Conflict Resolution Clause:

In case of disagreement, both parties agree to:

Rock-paper-scissors duel

Mediation via passive-aggressive sticky notes

Or, if necessary, forced eye contact and a very long, awkward hug

Plate Designation Clause:

The blue ceramic plate with the uneven rim is Roman’s. It is “The Good Plate”.

Do not put it in the dishwasher.

Do not microwave it.

Do not serve fish on it. Ever.

Lighting Policy:

No overhead lights after seven p.m. Lamps only. Warm bulbs. Zero fluorescents.

Window Treatment Policy:

The curtains and blinds must be closed at all times unless proof is presented that Doris Cranberry is off the premises.

Noise-Canceling Hours:

Between two and five p.m., Roman enters “Quiet Wolf Mode.” During this time:

No blender.

No hairdryer.

No vacuuming.

Unless it’s Doris-related.

Emotional Decompression Clause:

If Roman spends a full day in a crowd, post-event recovery includes two hours of blanket-cocoon time.

I dropped the lease into my lap and stared at the ceiling.

What. The. Hell.

I heard Roman sigh and shuffle into his room, then the click of the door as he shut it behind him.

I didn’t follow him. I sat there, stunned and slightly traumatized. My new roommate was a wolf shifter with sensory issues, a holy plate, an anti-shifter obsessed landlord, and I had an actual contractual cuddling clause.

And somehow, the weirdest part?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh, cry, or hug him.

But the one thing I didn’t want to do? Run.

Chapter 3

Roman

I cracked five eggs into a bowl and watched the yolks pool together.

It had been a month since Maggie moved in. Thirty days of her voice drifting down the hall when she spoke on the phone, the clink of her coffee spoon in the mornings, and the windows being open just enough to let in the city but not the chill.

I’d gotten used to the sound of her key in the lock. To the soft pad of her feet across the kitchen tile when she thought I was still asleep. To her leaving little pieces of herself in my space—a scarf draped over the back of the couch; her handwriting on a sticky note by the fridge; the lavender scent of her shampoo in the bathroom after she showered.

She’d become a steady rhythm in my life I hadn’t realized I wanted until it was there. The light teasing over breakfast, and her rolling her eyes at my “rules,” but then sitting with me quietly when the world was too loud, had become our pattern.

I’d grown fond of her. We were still figuring each other out, but I thought of her as a true friend. I didn’t know if I had ever had a true friend. Not since Willow, who had been a grounding force in my life until she wasn’t. I pushed the thought of her from my mind.

Before I started whisking the eggs, I flipped on the speaker and started singing along with Adele. Because Adele made everything better. Who the hell didn’t like Adele?

I was halfway through “Send My Love (To Your New Lover)” when Maggie’s door flew open.

Her hair was sticking out in every direction like she’d been battling the sheets all night. There were dark circles under her eyes and a crease across one cheek from her pillowcase. She looked half-feral and furious. And still hot. Not that I noticed. Not that I should’ve noticed.

She had the kind of realness most people tried to I*******m into existence. Comfortable. Unfiltered. Like someone who knew how to belong somewhere, even when everything was a mess.

“Could you not belt Adele at full volume during the workday? I was on a call.”

I blinked. “You’re working already?”

“It’s nine a.m., Roman. Most people have started their day by now.”

I winced. “Right. Sorry.” I adjusted the flame on the burner and forced a smile. “You hungry? I made omelets.”

She hesitated, arms crossed over her chest, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

I gestured to the cabinet. “Grab a plate. I’ll serve.”