The Cuddle Clause

by Roxie Ray

“Three flights up. No elevator,” I grumbled, trying to keep it light. “You really like to weed out the weak, huh?” “If they can’t carry emotional baggage and literal baggage,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin, “they’re not roommate material.” “Good thing I have suitcases full of both,” I muttered as I unlocked the car.

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

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

Oh. God. He was hot and sparkly. A gay Thor with fashion sense and a flair for dramatics. I was not equipped for this.

She paused and glanced at me over the top of the parchment. “Roman. There’s a crest at the bottom. In glitter.” Groaning, I rubbed a hand over my face. “I knew letting Lucien download Pinterest was a mistake.”

“Go back. Crawl to whoever sent you. Tell them what you found here. Tell them this land is mine. Tell them I protect my pack with tooth, claw, and fire. If they come again, they won’t get mercy. They’ll get death.”

“Well, I just wanted to say,” she began, arms crossed over her clipboard, “that I hope you got yours.” I blinked. “What?” “You heard me. You’re glowing. I say, go get it, honey. You tell that man of yours he can stay.” My mouth fell open. “But…” She held up a finger. “If he breaks your heart, he’s evicted. On the spot. I won’t even give him thirty days. I’ll haul his furry little ass out with my own two hands.”

Maggie James, hereafter referred to as ‘Queen of Snacks and Chaos,’ shall pay rent in the form of: Actual human money, or The continued supply of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate peanut butter cups, fresh blueberries, and shoulder massages while I am gaming.

Roman Velasquez, hereafter referred to as ‘Loyal Alpha of Mild Domesticity,’ agrees to stop leaving beard trimmings in the sink like some kind of feral swamp creature.

The construction of blanket forts for purposes of emotional support, seduction, or general whimsy is not only permitted but encouraged.

All fights must be resolved via one or more of the following: Barefoot walks to the bodega for midnight snacks Truth or Dare rematches Slow dancing in the kitchen, no matter how mad we are Roman had scribbled next to this one: Unless you’re mad because I forgot to pick up your dry cleaning again. Then I deserve the silent treatment until I grovel.

Roman agrees to stop putting empty ice cream cartons back in the freezer. Maggie agrees to stop accusing Roman of crimes she later realizes she committed during sleep-eating.

This apartment isn’t just yours. It’s you. It’s me. It’s every version of us. The one where we were faking. The one where we weren’t sure. And now, the one where I wake up every morning and know I’m exactly where I belong. I love you. —R