Page 28 of The Cuddle Clause

I was too far gone.

And I didn’t want to find my way back.

I was still naked, blanket twisted around my hips, chest bare, breath barely starting to level out. The couch cushion had a permanent dent from where I’d clawed into it minutes ago, and my legs were a little numb, but I didn’t care.

Maggie was glowing.

Literally glowing. Not in a sparkly, glitter-magic kind of way, but in that flushed, wrecked, soft-light-around-her-skin way that made my throat tighten just looking at her. Her hair was a halo of chaos around her head, her lips kiss-bruised.

I was gone for her. And I didn’t even want to come back.

My eyes traced the slope of her neck, the curve of her hip under the fabric, and all I could think was: mine. Not in a territorial, overbearing sense, more a quiet, aching, please-stay way that I didn’t know how to articulate yet.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My whole body tensed like someone had fired a gun through the floor.

I shot Maggie a look, voice barely above a whisper. “Please tell me that’s not Doris.”

Panic slid into her eyes like she’d just remembered we lived in the real world and not in the emotional and sexual haze we’d built on this couch.

She yelped—quietly, but definitely yelped—and scrambled up, pulling her dress over her head. She padded to the door on silent feet. I ducked deeper under the blanket, like that might protect me from being turned to stone by our eighty-year-old landlady.

Maggie cracked the door open.

I held my breath.

“You look… glowy,” Doris said in that dry, deceptively neutral tone that usually preceded unsolicited wisdom or direct threats.

Maggie panicked and slammed the door.

A wheezing, full-body laugh bellowed out of me. “You one-hundred percent looked glowy. That woman has witch radar. She probably smelled sex from the hallway.”

Maggie tossed a glare at me, but she was fighting a smile. “You are not helping.”

Another knock. Groaning, Maggie grabbed the doorknob again, and opened it just enough to reveal her face and one begrudging shoulder. Doris, as always, was unfazed.

“I was going to leave this under your door,” Doris said, holding up a printed flyer like it was a court summons, “but I heard noises. Thought it might be related.”

I could feel Maggie dying inside from across the room.

“The furnace is out. Heating may be down for a few days. Apologies.”

Then she turned and walked to the next unit like she hadn’t just delivered both divine judgment and utility failure in under ten seconds. Maggie shut the door with more dignity than I would’ve managed. She held the flyer between two fingers like it might be contagious.

“The heater’s out,” she muttered, reading. “Building-wide maintenance delay. Temporary portable units on request. Dress warm. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

I groaned dramatically. “Great. First, I nearly combust from you, and now the heater’s down? This building is a health hazard.”

She stared at the flyer. “Why didn’t she just text?”

“Because Doris is analog. She probably thinks phones are soul portals.”

She gave me a look that was somewhere between exhausted and amused. I loved that look.

“According to the roommate agreement,” I said solemnly, “you’re supposed to warn me before opening the door when I’m naked and vulnerable.”

She arched a brow. “Is that so?”

I clutched the blanket tighter around my waist. “Yes. Subsection four. Privacy Clause. You broke at least three clauses.”

“Three?”

“Three minimum.” I sat up, grinning like a heathen. “That’s at least three cuddles. And an apology muffin. Full size. With cinnamon.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched. “You actually keep count?”

“I have a spreadsheet.”

That earned me a full laugh. She shook her head and flopped onto the arm of the couch beside me, dress hitching, revealing a stretch of thigh that made it very hard to focus on my post-furnace complaint.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“I’m delightful.”

“You’re something, all right.”

Her shoulder brushed mine, and I put my hand on her knee. Her head tipped slightly against mine like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks. Like she’d always belonged in this apartment, barefoot and flushed and fighting back smiles.

Outside the window, the wind howled down the street. Inside, it was quiet and comfortable. Which scared the hell out of me. Because the more I looked at her, the more I realized I wasn’t acting. And the second she looked back?

I knew she wasn’t either.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel the words coiled somewhere under my ribs, just waiting to break free.

Stay.

Don’t run.

Please don’t let this be the part where we pretend it didn’t mean anything.

“You cold?” Maggie asked.

I shook my head.

But yeah, I was freezing—not from the heat being out, but from the fear that if I moved too fast or said too much, this whole thing would vanish.

I pulled the blanket higher, leaned into her just enough to make it count, and whispered, “Roommate agreement says you owe me a muffin.”

She smiled.

I could live off that smile for days.