Page 42 of The Cuddle Clause
“It’s… immersive. Helps simulate the wild. Makes it feel like we’re off the grid.”
From behind me, a new sound emerged.
Meowing. Human meowing.
My head swiveled. Roman, thankfully no longer a wolf, was crouched—naked—behind the kitchen counter, meowing like a dying alley cat. Apparently, that was how he chose to assist in proving my claim.
Jesus Christ.
I cleared my throat. “We’ve also been experimenting with… cat ASMR.”
“You’ve been what?”
I was sweating now. “You know. The soothing stuff? Crinkling, tapping, soft feline meows. For stress reduction. It’s a whole thing. Millennials love it.”
“I don’t speak Millennial,” Doris snapped. “What is ASMR?”
“It’s…” I waved a hand, flustered. “Relaxing noises. For… our nerves.”
Doris narrowed her eyes. “Well, if the noise level doesn’t go down immediately, I’ll have no choice but to add you to myTenant Suspicion Log.”
She said it like it was capitalized. Like it came with its own seal and wax stamp. I briefly considered asking what thatmeant, but then I pictured her bulldozing past me and finding a gloriously naked Roman crouched behind the kitchen counter.
I quickly shook my head. “No need. We’ll turn it down. Way down. Whisper-level. Practically nonexistent.”
Doris stared at me for a beat. With the reluctant grace of a grumpy monarch, she turned and walked away without another word. I locked the door and let my forehead fall against it with athunk.
“You handled that really well,” Roman said sheepishly.
I turned, still half-horrified, and immediately turnedbackbecause he was still completely and utterly naked.
“For the love of—can youpleaseput on pants before you speak to me?” I said, covering my eyes with one hand and gesturing blindly toward the hallway with the other.
I heard the shuffle of movement and the soft rustle of fabric. When I dared to peek again, he’d wrapped himself in one of the throw blankets from the couch. It was leopard print and made him look like a werewolf-themed Greek statue.
“Better?” he asked.
“Not really, but go on.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “You asked me once why I live here. With Doris. The inspections. The surprise knocks. The rules.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Feels like you’re trying to get caught.”
He leaned against the wall, blanket slung low on his hips. “Living at the pack grounds was… hard. The mansion, the expectations, Lucien watching everything. It’s a lot.”
I nodded. That much I could imagine.
“I toured a dozen apartments before I found this one. Before I knew shifters weren’t allowed here, I walked in, and it just felt right. The layout made sense in my head. The ceilings weren’t too low. The colors didn’t make me nauseous. It was quiet. Safe. I could breathe.”
I let that settle. Roman didn’t speak about what made him feelsafeoften. And suddenly, Doris and her damn suspicion log didn’t seem so funny anymore. It felt like a threat to something fragile and rare. Something Roman had found and clung to.
I nodded again, slower this time. “That makes sense.”
We stood in the silence, the absurdity of the evening lingering between us.
“But if Doris keeps barging in like she’s got a badge and a warrant, we may need to think about Plan B, Roman.”
He chuckled softly. “Define Plan B.”
