Page 51 of The Knotheads Next Door
"He is," I agree, surprising myself with how much I miss him suddenly. "They both are. My dads, I mean."
Jasper's hands still on the piece he's measuring. "You don't talk about them much."
"No," I admit. "It's... complicated."
"Because of the biological father thing?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.
I look up, startled. "How did you know about that?"
He has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Thin walls. I overheard you telling Theo about it that night with the kitten."
"Oh." I'm not sure how I feel about that. "Yeah, that's part of it. Finding out your origin story was a lie tends to complicate family dynamics."
"He raises an eyebrow. "Origin story? What are you, a superhero?"
"Yes, didn't you know? I'm Actually-A-Mess Girl. My powers include overthinking, avoiding emotional confrontation, and making questionable life decisions at 3 AM."
That startles a laugh out of him, a deep, rich sound that I immediately want to hear again.
"For what it's worth," he says, his tone softer than I've ever heard it, "family isn't always about biology. Sometimes it's about who shows up. Who stays."
The simple wisdom of it catches me off guard. "Yeah," I say quietly. "I know you're right. I just... I need some time to process everything, I guess."
He nods, understanding in his eyes. Then, as if realizing he's being too nice, he clears his throat and hands me a sanding block. "Make yourself useful, Whitley. These edges won't smooth themselves."
I hide my smile and get to work.
As the afternoon wears on, the prototype takes shape. We work together with surprising synchronicity, moving around each other in the confined space of the garage with an ease that feels almost choreographed. Occasionally our hands brush as we pass tools back and forth, or our bodies press briefly together as we maneuver a piece into place.
Each contact sends a jolt through me, a warm awareness that I try desperately to ignore. But it's getting harder, especially as thephysical labor brings out Jasper's scent—pine and sawdust and irresistibly male.
By the time we're putting the finishing touches on the prototype, I'm hyper-aware of him in a way that makes concentrating difficult. When he leans over my shoulder to check my work, his chest nearly touching my back, I have to fight the urge to lean into him.
"Not bad," he says, his voice close to my ear. "You might not be completely useless after all."
"High praise," I quip, turning to face him.
It's a mistake. We're too close now, barely inches apart. His eyes drop to my mouth, then quickly back up, darkening with something that makes my breath catch
.
"You've got sawdust," he murmurs, reaching up to brush his thumb across my cheekbone.
The contact is electric. His hand lingers, cupping my face with a gentleness that contradicts his gruff exterior. I should step back. I should make a joke, break the tension, maintain the boundaries I've been so desperate to preserve.
Instead, I find myself swaying slightly toward him, drawn by the heat in his eyes, the warmth of his hand, the intoxicating blend of his scent with mine in the enclosed space.
His gaze drops to my mouth again, and this time, it stays there. My heart hammers against my ribs as he leans in, just a fraction, testing.
A sudden wave of heat washes over me, intense and overwhelming. My scent spikes, filling the air between us with sweetness that even I can smell through the blockers. Jasper's nostrils flare, his pupils dilating sharply.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" he mutters, his voice a low, rough growl that sends shivers down my spine.
Then he's stepping back, putting deliberate distance between us, his expression shuttering closed. "We should stop. It's getting late."
The abrupt withdrawal leaves me off-balance, blinking in confusion. "Jasper—"
"Don't," he cuts me off, his voice harsh. "This is exactly why I didn't want... why I said no omegas. It complicates everything."
