The Cuddle Clause

by Roxie Ray

There was fine print, but my head was foggy, and my emotional capacity had tapped out hours ago. I squinted, then shrugged. Whatever.

He looked like trouble—the hot kind. The kind you thought you could handle until you woke up wondering how the hell you got into the mess you were in.

“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.

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

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.

“When am I not performing?” Lucien went still for half a beat, then he looked at me with something too close to empathy. It knocked the air right out of my lungs. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I didn’t like being touched unexpectedly. Never had. Not even by people I used to kiss. Especially not her.

Pack business, as he called it. Whatever that meant. Mafia? Werewolf HOA? High-stakes event planning? I didn’t ask. Not my circus, not my moon-blessed wolf cult.

I tried to look away—I swear I did—but my gaze locked on him like it had a mind of its own. I swallowed. Hard. There might have been drool. He caught my eyes and—God help me—grinned. Subtle, slow, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

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.

The thing no one tells you about fake dating your human roommate is how critical throw pillow symmetry becomes.

“Operation: Fake It,” she announced. I stared at the sad, undecorated cover. “That’s it? No glitter gel pen? No heart-shaped doodles? How do you expect us to sell this with that attitude?” She gave me a withering look. “Not everyone lives in a Lisa Frank trapper keeper, Roman.”

“So… pet names?” “No.” “Hear me out,” I said, inching onto the couch. “Snuggle beast.” Her eyes narrowed. “If you call me that in public, I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

“This is going to be a disaster.” Then she disappeared into her room, the door clicking softly behind her. I stood alone in the middle of our chaotic, shared life, my heart still beating too fast, my hand still warm from hers. I was kind of looking forward to a disaster.

The closest object within arm’s reach was a small potted fern. I snatched it up and clutched it to my groin. “Stall her!” I hissed. “Distract her! I need five minutes to vacuum and find pants!”

“Let’s go be disgustingly domestic in public.”

For once, I wasn’t thinking about how I looked or whether I was being too much. I was just… there. With him. Comfortable.

“Can’t believe you let this one get away, Eric,” Roman said. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Guess she just needed a real man by her side.” And then, God help me, he kissed me.

Thought it might help. You know, next time someone ambushes you with ex vibes and unresolved trauma.”

Roman was an enigma. The man could flirt like a menace one minute and become the human embodiment of a safe harbor the next. He didn’t talk. Didn’t press. He simply existed beside me.

“You’re offering to go shopping?” “I’m offering to fund the shopping. I will carry bags. I will nod respectfully. I might even offer unsolicited opinions on accessories. I’m versatile.”

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

Focus, Maggie. It’s karaoke. Not a mating ritual.

This was supposed to be pretend. Just practice. Just something to make the lie believable. But Roman’s lips didn’t feel like fiction.

“I will not hesitate to call Doris and tell her you’re a shape-shifting schnauzer with rabies.”

“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.”

“Maggie, maybe it’s not about picking the perfect guy. Maybe it’s about picking someone who makes you feel safe. Seen. Cherished.” I didn’t say anything. “You’ve done complicated. You’ve done cold. Roman sounds like the warm kind. Maybe try that for once.”

Cool cool cool. Pretend you didn’t dry-hump him in a dream like a Victorian boy seeing an ankle for the first time. Everything’s fine.

“Do I need to bring something? Is it like… potluck meets primal intimidation?” I laughed before I could stop myself. “It’s mostly awkward small talk and subtle judging. And waffles.”

She looked the way every candle I’d ever lit felt: soft, warm, a little wild.

“Welcome to brunch with the beautiful and the borderline feral.” She snorted as she scanned the crowd. “Are you sure this is a brunch? It looks like a wedding and a perfume commercial had a baby.”

She was healing. She was human. She wasn’t mine. And if I touched her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Her presence filled the space without pressing on it. She didn’t fix me. She didn’t have to. Her being next to me was enough.

What the hell was I doing letting myself get pulled into something messy again? Roman was chaos wrapped in charm.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” she murmured. “I’m delightful.” “You’re something, all right.”

And you? You’re normal. Boring. The girl who hides under blankets during thunderstorms, who still flinches when doors slam, who second-guesses everything she says three times before letting it out. What could someone like him possibly want with someone like you?

“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.”

Seraphina stumbled. Her smug smile vanished as she staggered back and landed—hard—on her ass.

“This bed has seen things,” he said, darting toward the linen closet, “but moisture will be its downfall.”

You let him in, and this is what happens. Pull it together, Maggie. Don’t let him see you break.

“He pays rent early every month. He shovels the walkway before the sun’s even up when it snows. He fixes the leaky faucet without calling you. And he cleans up all his shedding. Like… obsessively.” Her brows lifted a little. “He sheds?” I nodded. “A lot. But you’d never know because he vacuums constantly. It’s borderline maniac.”

I didn’t know why I agreed to this. Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly why. Because Lucien asked. Which really meant Lucien demanded, cloaked in casual language and an arched brow

“She’s loud when she’s nervous. She eats dry cereal straight from the box and leaves mugs everywhere. She hums off-key in the shower. She drives me absolutely insane.” My voice cracked a little then. “And I don’t think I’ve ever felt more myself than I do when I’m with her.”

I’d chosen obedience to Lucien and the pack over her, and I hated myself for it. But if I still had a chance, any chance at all, I wasn’t going to waste it.

“I love her,” I said. “Maggie. She’s not a ‘pack-approved match’ or part of some magic-strengthening scheme. She’s chaos and color and absolutely nothing like I was told I should want. And she’s everything to me.”

“I’m not a leader. I’m the one who sees the cracks before they spread. I notice when someone hasn’t shown up for dinner three nights in a row. I recognize when someone’s pretending to shift because they’re too ashamed to admit they can’t. That’s who I am.”

“I figured you could use them,” he said. “You know. For one of two purposes.” I raised a brow, heart pounding. “Which are?” “Well, either you can use them for my ashes,” he deadpanned, “because I’ll die inside without you.” A few people gasped again. One lady went “Aww.” “Or,” he continued, lifting the smaller urn and tugging a bunch of wildflowers from inside, “you can keep these in it. Because I want you in my life, Maggie. Like I need oxygen. I’m not breathing right without you.”

I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Safe. Not because he saved me. But because he saw me. Because he stayed. And I would never let go.

“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.”