Chapter 8 Heat and Hooks
HEAT AND HOOKS
GIDEON
Stepping into Ronan's apartment felt like walking into a walk-in freezer someone had forgotten to close.
I could see my breath when I exhaled, could feel the cold seeping through my jacket to settle against my skin.
Which made the sweat covering Ronan's bare torso completely, utterly wrong.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter when I walked in. No shirt. Water still running down his spine, catching the dim light. His chest rose and fell with breathing that seemed too controlled, like he was working to keep it steady despite whatever had just happened to him.
I was here to fix a sink. Help a pack member with basic maintenance because that's what neighbors did.
The fact that said pack member was half-naked and radiating heat in a freezing apartment was irrelevant to the task at hand.
My cock disagreed, but I ignored it.
“Bathroom's through here?” I asked, gesturing toward the door even though I could see it clearly from where I stood.
Ronan nodded without moving. Just watching me with eyes that were too focused and too distant at the same time.
I walked past him. Close enough to catch the scent that made every nerve in my body pay attention.
I ducked into the bathroom before that line of thought could go anywhere I couldn't come back from.
The sink was exactly as advertised—old, leaking, probably original to the building. I knelt on tile that was clean but worn, opened my toolbox, and tried to focus on the issue.
Pipe. Wrench. Seal. Fix the things that could be fixed.
Except Ronan was standing in the doorway watching me work.
I could feel his presence without looking up. Could track him in my peripheral vision even while I was elbow-deep in pipework that had corroded past the point of easy repair.
“You gonna just stand there or actually help?” I asked without turning around. Kept my voice light.
“Watching you work seemed safer than getting in the way.”
“I don't bite.”
“Neither do I.” A pause. “Usually.”
Despite myself, I felt my mouth curve. “That's not reassuring coming from a wolf.”
“Wasn't meant to be reassuring.”
I glanced back at him. Caught the faint curve of his mouth that suggested he was almost smiling, almost relaxed.
“You're terrible at this,” I said.
“At what?”
“Small talk. Banter. The normal human interaction stuff.” I turned back to the pipe. “It's like watching someone who learned social skills from a manual written in another language.”
“Maybe I did.” But there was warmth in his voice now. Actual humor threading through the rough edges. “Been gone a long time. Might've forgotten how people work.”
“Well you're doing a shit job of relearning.” I adjusted my grip on the wrench. “Standing there shirtless and sweating in a freezing apartment while I'm trying to fix your sink. That's not normal behavior.”
“You complaining about the view?”
I turned to look at him. Really look. “You flirting with me, Ronan?”
“No.” Too fast. Too defensive. “Just—forget it.”
“Can't forget it. You put it out there.” I set the wrench down. “So either you were flirting, or you've got the worst timing for accidental innuendo I've ever seen.”
His face flushed. Actual color rising in his cheeks. “I wasn't—I didn't mean—”
“Relax.” I picked the wrench back up. “I'm just giving you shit. You're allowed to be awkward. It's kind of endearing actually.”
“Endearing.” He said it like the word tasted strange in his mouth. “Great. That's exactly the impression I was going for.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could be boring.” I gestured at the pipe. “Now are you gonna help me with this or keep lurking in the doorway like you're trying to decide if I'm trustworthy?”
“I trust you.”
“Then get over here and hold this pipe steady while I work the fitting loose.”
He moved into the bathroom. Careful in the small space, aware of his size and trying not to crowd me more than the tight quarters already required.
Then he knelt beside me.
Our shoulders brushed when he reached for the pipe I'd indicated, and heat bled through my shirt.
“Here?” His hand closed around the base coupling, fingers steadying the metal.
“Yeah.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted. “Hold it steady. I'll work the seal.”
We shifted into position. Him bracing the pipe. Me applying torque to the fitting. Moving in tandem like we'd done this before, like our bodies understood how to work together even when our minds were cataloging all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
The fitting gave. Metal scraped against metal, and Ronan's hand shifted to compensate. His knuckles brushed my wrist. Brief contact that shouldn't have registered as anything except accidental proximity.
My pulse kicked up anyway.
“You always run this hot?” I asked, trying for casual.
“Wolf thing.” He didn't pull his hand away from where it was still resting against my wrist. “Body temperature runs higher than human baseline.”
“How much higher?”
“Enough that your apartment probably feels like an icebox to me.”
“It is an icebox. Your heat's broken, remember?”
“Doesn't bother me much.”
“Except you were sweating when I got here.” I glanced at him. Caught his eyes from maybe six inches away. “In a freezing apartment. That doesn't add up.”
“I was working on the drawer. Got warm.”
Lie. I could hear it in the way his voice went flat. But I didn't push.
The confined space meant we were closer than we needed to be. Ronan shifted to get a better angle on the coupling, and his thigh pressed against mine. I heard his breath catch, just slightly, felt the way his body went still for half a second.
“Almost there,” I said, voice coming out rougher than I intended. “Just need to—”
Ronan leaned in to steady the pipe, and suddenly his chest was against my shoulder.
Fuck.
My cock went from half-hard to fully interested in the space of a heartbeat. I tried to shift my weight, tried to create space in the cramped bathroom, tried to think about anything except the way Ronan's body was aligned with mine.
Ronan made a sound. Low in his throat. Not quite a growl, but close enough.
“Sorry,” he muttered, but he didn't pull back. If anything he pressed closer, and I felt it—the unmistakable hardness against my hip as he shifted position.
He was hard. Ronan was hard, pressed against me in this tiny bathroom, and my brain short-circuited.
“It's fine,” I managed. Lie. Complete lie. “Just—hold that steady while I tighten this.”
I reached for the wrench, but Ronan's hand covered mine before I could grip it properly. Steadying me. Or steadying himself. His palm was hot against my knuckles, his fingers wrapping around mine.
“Gideon.” My name in his rough voice did things to me I wasn't prepared for.
I didn't turn around. Because if I looked at him right now I'd do something profoundly stupid.
Instead I focused on the pipe. On metal and thread tape and the mechanical act of tightening a seal while every nerve in my body was screaming that there were better ways to spend this proximity.
Ronan's hand tightened on mine. Not helping anymore—just touching, holding, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a way that felt deliberate.
I forced myself to finish. Applied the last of the tape. Tightened the fitting with hands that wanted to shake.
“Got it,” I said, pulling my hand free and immediately missing the contact. “Should hold for now. Needs full replacement eventually, but this'll stop the leak.”
Ronan pulled back fast and I caught a glimpse of the obvious bulge in his jeans before he angled himself away.
I stood slowly, giving myself time to adjust. Wiped my hands on the rag while Ronan stayed turned away, shoulders tight, breathing carefully controlled.
“Thanks,” I said, managing to sound almost normal. “Couldn't have managed the torque without you holding it steady.”
“No problem.” His voice was rough. Strained. “You want coffee? Or tea? I've got both.”
“Coffee,” I said. “Please.”
He nodded and headed for the kitchen. I packed my tools, trying not to think about the way my cock was still pressing uncomfortably against my zipper.
I followed him to the kitchen. Watched him pull two mugs from a cabinet that barely had anything in it, fill one with water for tea and hand me the other with coffee grounds already measured out.
“Instant okay?” he asked.
“Instant's fine.” I took the mug. Let him boil water while I spooned coffee into mine.
We settled at the small table. Him with tea that smelled like chamomile. Me with coffee that tasted exactly like instant coffee always tasted—bitter and functional.
“Cal and Mason doing okay?” Ronan asked after a minute of quiet.
“Recovering. Mason's healing faster than expected. Cal's processing the whole supernatural-exists thing with his usual brand of absurdist humor.” I almost smiled. “Asked me yesterday if werewolf fur was hypoallergenic.”
Ronan huffed a laugh. “What'd you tell him?”
“That I had no idea and he should probably avoid finding out through exposure therapy.” I took another sip of coffee. “He's handling it better than I expected. They both are.”
“Good.” Ronan stared into his tea. “Didn't want them hurt because of—” He stopped. “Didn't want them hurt.”
“They know you saved their lives.” I watched him over the rim of my mug. “Cal specifically asked me to thank you. Said something about 'the terrifying wolf-man who apparently gives a shit.'”
That got an actual smile.
“You settling in alright?” I asked. “Pack-wise, I mean. I know it's been a month, but that doesn't mean it's easy.”
Ronan considered the question. “Everyone's trying to make it normal, but normal left a long time ago and didn't come back with me.”
“Normal's overrated anyway.” I gestured at the sparse apartment. “Though you could at least pretend to unpack. This looks like a temporary holdover, not a home.”
“Might be temporary.” He said it matter-of-fact. “Don't know how long I'll stay.”
“Daniel would disagree with that assessment.”