Page 11 of The Knotheads Next Door
Chapter 4
Wells
Iappreciate order, organization, and directness. There's a certain satisfaction in organizing chaos into neat, comprehensible patterns. Numbers follow rules. Schedules eliminate uncertainty. But people? Well, people can be messier, but even they usually follow predictable paths when given the right incentives.
Which is why our new roommate is already setting off warning bells in my head.
I stand in the doorway of the spare room—Rowan's room now—watching as she unpacks a small collection of books onto the shelf. Her movements are precise, almost defensive, like she's creating a barrier between herself and the rest of the house one paperback at a time.
"Do you need anything for the closet?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral, professional. "Extra hangers or storage bins?"
She startles slightly, turning with a book still in hand. "Oh. No, thanks. I travel light."
That much is true. Her possessions barely filled the trunk of her car—clothes, books, a laptop, and an alarming number ofcoffee mugs, for some reason. Almost like she left in a hurry. Or like she's not planning to stay long, despite what she told us.
“Ehem,” I clear my throat, internally cringing at the question I know I have to ask her.
“I apologize for bringing it up again, but downstairs you said that your designation situation was complicated. What did you mean by that?”
She stiffens, her gaze darting away from mine. But she doesn't answer my question. In fact, she says nothing at all.
“I’m afraid I must insist on an answer. For your welfare and ours. Are you a beta or an omega?”
A pretty pink flushes across her tan cheeks, her eyes narrowing at me as she grits out, “I’m technically an omega.”
Well, fuck.
"We have a lockable cabinet in the bathroom for personal items," I blurt out, leaning against the doorframe. "For medications, suppressants, that sort of thing."
Something flickers across her face—wariness, maybe irritation.
"Will you be... in need of a nest?" I ask directly. "Or do you prefer heat clinics? We'd just need advance notice for scheduling purposes."
Her spine straightens like I've jabbed her with a cattle prod. "Excuse me?"
"For your heats," I clarify, though I know perfectly well what she's objecting to. "The listing mentioned the house is alpha-friendly, but we can accommodate omega needs as well. We just need to plan accordingly."
Her cheeks flush a deeper color, not with embarrassment but with anger. "That's an incredibly inappropriate question to ask someone you just met."
"It's a practical household consideration," I counter smoothly. "Just like knowing if someone has food allergies or works night shifts."
She sets the book down with deliberate care. "I'm latent," she says stiffly. "So neither the nest nor clinics will be necessary."
Interesting. That explains the unusual scent that had Theo looking like a confused bloodhound earlier. Latent cases are rare after twenty-five, almost unheard of after twenty-seven, which means...
"How old are you?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Twenty-eight," she answers, her tone making it clear she's reached her limit with personal questions. "And fully capable of managing my own medical situation, thanks."
I nod, making a mental note. Latent at twenty-eight. That's not just unusual—it's a potential complication. If she presents while living here... I push the thought aside. It's unlikely. And even if it happens, it's not our problem as long as she pays rent on time.
"Dinner's at seven," I say, changing the subject. "We rotate cooking duties. Tonight's Theo's turn, which means pizza because he burns water."
A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. " He mentioned that. I think I can handle pizza."
"Good. I'll let you finish settling in."
I head downstairs, mentally cataloging what I know about our new roommate:
