Page 39 of The Knotheads Next Door
But when I get to the kitchen, all my carefully prepared words evaporate. Rowan is already there, huddled over a cup of coffee,her golden curls falling in a curtain that partially shields her face. Jasper is at the table, reading something on his phone while methodically demolishing a plate of eggs. Wells is nowhere to be seen—probably already left for an early meeting with the mayor.
"Morning," I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around awkwardly cheerful.
Jasper grunts in acknowledgment. Rowan mumbles something that might be "good morning" without looking up from her coffee.
I move to the coffee pot, hyperaware of her presence just a few feet away. Her scent is different this morning—still sweet, still enticing, but layered with nervous energy and something sharper. Anxiety, maybe. Or embarrassment.
Because she hates me now. After what I did, and not saying anything about it for weeks? Could she have been awake after all?
"Sleep well?" I ask, directing the question at her even as I busy myself with pouring coffee, giving her space to respond without the pressure of my gaze.
"Fine," she says, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Great. Yep. Like a rock. Or a log. Or whatever solid object people say they sleep like."
She's babbling. Rowan never babbles. And she still won't look at me.
Jasper looks up from his phone, his eyes narrowing as they flick between us. "What's with you two?"
"Nothing," Rowan says quickly.
"What do you mean?" I ask at the same time.
Jasper's eyebrows rise. "That's not suspicious at all."
"I'm just tired," Rowan says, standing abruptly. "Early shift at the shop. Inventory day. Super exciting. Gotta go."
She brushes past me, careful not to make contact, but the movement stirs the air between us, sending a wave of her scent in my direction. Beneath the anxiety and the blockers, there's something else—a hint of contentment, of comfort.
Of me.
My scent is still on her, faint but unmistakable. My coffee mug nearly slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers. My dick hardens in my jeans.
The front door closes behind her with a decisive click.
"Spill it," Jasper says the moment she's gone. "What did you do?"
I turn to face him, trying to look innocent. "What makes you think I did anything?"
"Because she's acting like you have the plague, and you look like you kicked a puppy." He sets down his phone, giving me his full attention. "And you both reek of guilt."
"I don't reek," I protest, but my heart isn't in it. "I just... I might have crossed a line..."
Jasper's expression darkens. "What kind of line?"
"Not that kind of line," I say quickly, reading the unspoken accusation in his glare. "I would never take advantage of her. You know me better than that."
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, but his eyes remain wary. "So what happened?"
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "We were watching a show when I got home from my shift a few weeks ago. She fell asleep and…she looked... peaceful. For the first time in days. And I just... I scent-marked her. Just her neck. It was subtle, but—"
"You what?" Jasper's voice is dangerously quiet.
"It was instinct," I defend, though I know it's a weak excuse. "She was distressed earlier, and my alpha just... reacted."
"Your alpha needs a leash," Jasper snaps. "She's our roommate, Theo. Not our omega."
The possessive 'our' doesn't escape my notice, nor does the flare of something like jealousy in his scent.
"Speaking of crossed lines," I say, deciding offense is the best defense, "what was going on with you two on the porch yesterday? Wells said he walked in on something... intense."
