Page 37 of The Knotheads Next Door
"Hold still," he says, ignoring my objection. He positions his end of the board, then pulls a pencil from behind his ear to mark where he'll cut. The motion stretches his shirt up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
I swallow hard and look away. This is ridiculous. I've seen a man's stomach before. I've dated. I've had sex. Mediocre, forgettable sex, but still. There's no reason I should be reacting like this to just a glimpse of Jasper's abs.
Except that there is a reason, and we both know it.
"Your scent is changing again," Jasper says, his voice low and matter-of-fact as he measures the board. "Getting stronger."
I tense. "I'm using the blockers."
"They're not working." He looks up, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter. "Or not working well enough."
"I'm sorry my biology is so inconvenient for you," I snap, embarrassment making me defensive.
He sets the pencil down with deliberate care. "I didn't say it was inconvenient. I said it was changing."
Something in his tone makes me pause. He doesn't sound angry, like he usually does when discussing my potential omega status. He sounds... resigned. Maybe even a little intrigued.
"Why do you hate omegas so much anyway?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
His jaw tightens. "I don't hate omegas."
"Could have fooled me."
"I don't trust them," he clarifies, picking up his saw. "There's a difference."
"That's not better," I point out. "That's like saying you don't hate puppies, you just don't trust them not to pee on your carpet."
A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Terrible analogy."
"But accurate," I insist. "What did an omega ever do to you that was so horrible?"
The smile vanishes. "Hold the board steady," he says, returning to work with renewed focus.
But I'm not letting him off that easily. "Let me guess. Bad breakup? Omega ex who broke your heart? Or maybe—"
"Yes. Once… But really my mother was an omega," he interrupts, his voice hard. "She left when I was eight. Just... disappeared one day. No warning, no goodbye. Turned out she'd found a 'more compatible' alpha and decided to start fresh. Without the kid."
Oh.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "That's awful."
He shrugs, but the tension in his shoulders tells me it's far from the casual dismissal he's aiming for. "It was a long time ago."
"Still." I hesitate, then add, "For what it's worth, that's not an omega thing. That's a shitty person thing. Plenty of alphas and betas abandon their kids too."
"I know that," he says, sawing through the board with quick, efficient strokes. "Logically, I know that. But logic has nothing to do with it."
No, it doesn't. I understand that better than most—how the wounds from childhood can shape us in ways that defy rational thought. How they can make us build walls, create rules, push people away before they can hurt us.
"Anyway," he continues, setting down the saw, "that's why I wanted an alpha roommate. Less... complicated."
I can't help but smile at that. "And instead you got me. Complications incarnate."
"Exactly," he agrees, but there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before. "Hold this in place while I nail it."
I position the freshly cut board, watching as Jasper retrieves his hammer and nails. There's something mesmerizing about the way he works—confident, precise, every movement controlled and intentional. I try not to think about how those strong, capable hands would feel on my skin.
Fail spectacularly.
