Page 19 of The Knotheads Next Door
She gives him a little mock salute, and I resist the urge to growl. Instead, I slide back under the sink, determined to finish this job and get the hell out of this kitchen before I say something I regret.
But Rowan's not done with me yet. Every time I set a tool down, it mysteriously migrates just out of my reach. The wrench that was by my right hip is suddenly six inches away. The screwdriver I put next to my elbow has somehow moved to the other side of my toolbox.
It's subtle. Irritating. And explicitly designed to get under my skin.
When I finally finish reassembling the garbage disposal and slide out from under the sink, I find Rowan innocently typing at her laptop, as if she hasn't spent the last hour engaging in psychological warfare.
"All fixed," I announce, standing up and wiping my hands on a rag. "Try not to put anything stupid down there."
"Define stupid," she says without looking up.
"Anything that's not food or water," I reply, bending to collect my tools. "No fruit stickers, no plastic, no—"
"Corpses of my enemies?" she suggests.
I straighten, narrowing my eyes at her. "Are you always this difficult?"
Now she looks up, holding my gaze. "Only when someone's being unnecessarily hostile toward me for no apparent reason."
We stare at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down. This close, I can see flecks of gold in her brown eyes, the faint freckles across her nose, and—damn it—catch another whiff of that new note in her scent. It's subtle but unmistakable, something warm and inviting beneath the blockers. Something that makes my nose twitch with the urge to get closer, to investigate.
Which is exactly why I need to get away from her.
"I have reasons," I mutter, breaking eye contact first. I hate that I'm the one who looks away, but the alternative is standing here scenting her like some hormonal teenager, and that's not happening.
"I'm sure they're fascinating," she says drily. "Next time you're feeling chatty, you'll have to share them with the class."
Wells, who's been silently observing this exchange from the doorway, finally intervenes.
"Rowan, a piece of advice? Pushing Jasper's buttons is... not always the wisest course of action."
She turns to him, eyebrow raised. "Why? Is he going to alpha rage out on me? Because I've seen scarier things at a petting zoo."
Theo-- who is still hanging around andnotstopping Rowan from torturing me-- chokes on his apple.
"No," Wells says calmly. "But he is your landlord, essentially. And while I'd personally find it entertaining to watch you twosnipe at each other for the next couple months, it might make for a tense living situation."
She considers this, then nods once. "Fair point." She turns back to me. "I'll stop moving your tools if you stop treating me like I'm about to burn the house down."
It's a reasonable offer. I should take it. Instead, I find myself saying, "I'll believe you're not a fire hazard when you prove it."
Theo groans. "And on that mature note, I'm going to work. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."
He grabs his keys and heads out, leaving me alone with Rowan and Wells. Wells gives me a look that clearly says "behave" before retreating to his home office for his video call.
I finish packing up my tools in silence, feeling Rowan's eyes on me the whole time. When I finally look up, she's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—not hostility, not exactly, but something more complex.
"What?" I ask, rougher than I intended.
"Nothing," she says, looking back at her laptop. "Just trying to figure you out."
"Don't bother," I advise, standing up with my toolbox. "I'm not that complicated."
"See, that's where you're wrong," she says, still not looking at me. "People who work that hard to be off-putting are usually the most complicated of all."
I don't have a response to that. So I do what I do best—I leave.
But as I head to the garage, I can't shake the memory of her eyes on me, or the way her scent seemed to shift and sweeten when she was challenging me.
