The Cuddle Clause

by Roxie Ray

“You think because you said it gently, it doesn’t make you the bad guy?”

I was swaddled in a blanket like a grief burrito,

Victorians in the Haight that I suspected smelled like old weed and regret.

I opened another listing and blinked at the photos. “This one’s probably built over the entrance to Hell.”

Of all the things I thought would happen when I moved into this apartment, fake mating with my wolf shifter roommate wasn’t even on the list.

If I had to fake-date someone, at least it was someone with excellent arms and a body that looked like it could bench-press my trauma.

I couldn’t fake that level of detachment no matter how hard I tried. I felt things. Loudly.

I see you. I’m sorry. And I never meant to make you shower in my werewolf soup.

“He’s like if a soap opera character and a therapy dog had a baby. Hot as fuck. With these stupid eyes. And this hair that falls in his face like he’s in a CW drama.”

“Promise me you’ll text,” she murmured. “You don’t get to vanish just because you’re emotionally constipated.”

if this man tries to get us to do a unity candle or a couple’s vision board, I’m out.”