1. The Most Embarrassing Meet Cute
1
THE MOST EMBARRASSING MEET CUTE
E mre’s stomach rumbled, but nothing in his apartment smelled good.
He rubbed his round belly and stared miserably at his empty fridge, knowing he had to scrounge up some food because Abbie needed to nurse from him soon, and his body couldn’t produce milk from nothing.
He didn’t have money to go to the grocery store and buy whatever caught his fancy, though.
Didn’t have money for more than the basics.
He cursed his past self for getting all three of them into this situation—him, Abbie, and the unborn baby in his belly.
If only he hadn’t continued to stay with Ronald, even after all the beatings.
If only Emre still had his pack to return to.
He shook off all his what-ifs.
They weren’t going to help him now.
Maybe if he peeked into the dumpsters behind the grocery store, there’d be something he could salvage.
.
.
?
He was just about to check the clock to see if it was late enough for dumpster-diving, when the most heavenly scent wafted into his nose.
Emre froze.
He sniffed again.
It hadn’t come from his imagination.
The wonderful aroma smelled like a hearty meat stew, like one of Gramma’s recipes that he vaguely remembered from his childhood.
His mouth watered.
The pup in his belly kicked.
Emre grunted.
“No, we can’t have that. It’s not ours,” he told his child.
He kept sniffing at the scent, though.
His windows were shut tight because it was the middle of winter, so the scent had to have come from under his front door.
From one of the neighbors in the building.
Emre stretched out his wolf hearing.
Sounds of chopping and stirring came from the apartment two doors down, the one that had been empty for ages, except a new neighbor had moved in recently.
Maybe it was a kindly old grandmother who lived there now.
It sounded like there was only one person in the apartment.
Maybe.
.
.
Emre could ask for half a cup of stew?
It would help him finish his stale loaf of bread.
He made sure Abbie was still sleeping in Buttwheel—his shopping cart friend who thankfully didn’t need any food.
“I’m going next door just for a minute,” he whispered to Buttwheel.
There was magic in metals.
As ores were purified, the magic in them accumulated.
When these metals were shaped into objects and the metal parts moved, their magic interacted, turning objects sentient.
It was how locks could smile, and shopping carts could frolic.
Buttwheel flipped its crooked wheels obligingly, rocking unsteadily back and forth to keep Abbie comfortable.
“Thank you.” He patted Buttwheel’s side.
Then he checked to make sure his shirt was mostly clean, stepped into his shoes, and left his door unlocked.
Emre inhaled as he padded over to the apartment where the wonderful smell was the strongest.
He clutched a mug tightly in his hands, and his heart hammered.
At worst, all his neighbor would do was say no.
He raised his fist timidly and knocked, feeling as though he was interrupting something.
The chopping in the apartment paused.
So he knocked again, and held his breath.
Heavy footsteps stopped behind the door.
His neighbor was big, Emre realized, a moment before the lock clicked and the door opened.
The glorious scent of stew, Emre was prepared for.
What he wasn’t prepared for, was the sheer hotness of the man.
The new neighbor was two heads taller than Emre, muscled and so large that he would have to duck his head and turn sideways to fit through his front door.
Hot Neighbor had striking brown eyes and inky black hair.
He was wearing a thin white tank top that barely concealed his pecs; his biceps were girthy, and his shorts stretched around his thighs.
And—sweet heavens—his thick bulge.
Emre’s heat was long over, but staring at this man.
.
.
he felt as though he might be going into heat again.
He tried to focus on his other senses because his brain was melting.
Beneath the herb-filled aroma of meat and potatoes, Emre smelled a hint of smoke, fresh sweat, and musk.
He gulped.
And breathed in again.
Hot Neighbor smelled amazing.
“Hi,” the man said, glancing at the empty mug in Emre’s hands.
Emre realized that he should’ve introduced himself a whole minute ago, except he’d missed that window, and they were now staring awkwardly at each other.
Well, Hot Neighbor was staring at him.
Emre had been staring at Hot Neighbor’s bulge.
“Can I help you?” Hot Neighbor asked.
Something smells really good, was what Emre meant to say.
What came out of his mouth was, “You smell really good.”
Then he froze, his entire face growing hot.
His skin was turning blotchy too, but Emre did not care anymore.
“Sorry!” he squeaked.
“I meant your chest—No, I—I meant your balls. Fuck! No. Not your balls. Holy fuck, stop saying ‘balls’!”
He brought his hands up to hide his face, and almost brained himself with the mug.
Hot Neighbor was watching him with the corner of his sinful lips turned up, as though he wanted to laugh.
“I’m hungry,” Emre blurted.
And cringed.
“I-I mean, your food just smelled really good, and—and I wondered if I could have a taste. Just half a cup. A quarter cup. Please.”
Hot Neighbor’s smile had dropped off his face.
His eyebrows drew together, and he swept his gaze down Emre’s body.
Emre felt completely naked then, too thin and too weak.
“Yeah, okay. Let me see if it’s ready.” Hot Neighbor left the door open and turned away.
His shoulders looked amazing from behind.
His ass, too.
Emre swallowed his whimper.
He probably has a mate already.
He seems perfect.
Before he knew it, Hot Neighbor was in front of him again, reaching for Emre’s mug.
“Any allergies?” Emre shook his head, and Hot Neighbor nodded.
“Be right back.”
Emre couldn’t help checking out Hot Neighbor’s living room.
It was small like his, but instead of the furniture Emre had scrounged from the curb, Hot Neighbor had a beautiful leather couch, a burgundy rug, and a nice coffee table.
His walls were painted a pleasant shade of cream, and there was a closed laptop on the table, with some papers around it.
Hot Neighbor stepped back in front of the doorway, startling Emre.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The man frowned.
In his hands were Emre’s mug, and a loaf of bread that smelled so fresh, Emre moaned.
Hot Neighbor froze.
“You... You shouldn’t be moaning like that in front of strangers,” he said, his voice lowering.
Emre had the sudden mental image of Hot Neighbor making him moan in several other ways.
Several pants-melting ways.
He was wet between his legs in seconds, and terribly grateful that this man wasn’t a wolf.
Otherwise, he’d smell Emre’s slick.
But from the way the man’s gaze darkened, maybe he knew the effect he had on Emre anyway.
“Here.” The man pressed the warm mug and bread into Emre’s hands, making sure the mug wasn’t too hot for him.
He’d filled the mug close to the brim with stew, just far enough from the rim that it wouldn’t spill.
Emre gasped.
“That’s a lot of stew. Won’t you—Do you have enough left for your mate?”
Something flickered through Hot Neighbor’s face.
“I don’t have a mate.”
“Oh.” Emre wanted to ask if he had a boyfriend or girlfriend, but maybe he’d already asked too many questions.
“Sorry.”
“Will your alpha be mad that you asked someone else for food?” Hot Neighbor glanced at Emre’s belly.
“I don’t have anyone,” Emre blurted.
Then cringed.
“I-I mean, I have a baby. And a cart.”
The man’s gaze sharpened.
He’d taken a step back, but now he leaned closer, looking as though he was holding himself back from Emre.
“If you ever need anything else... You can come over and ask. I’ll help.”
Emre couldn’t believe his good luck.
He took a reluctant step away, discreetly sniffing at Hot Neighbor again.
“Okay.”
“Wait.”
Emre paused, his foot frozen halfway off the floor.
“What’s your name?” Hot Neighbor asked, his expression intense.
“Emre.”
“Emre.” His name shouldn’t sound so good, rolling off a stranger’s tongue.
New Neighbor wet his lips.
“My name is Zenith.”
“Zenith.” It was a good name.
Zenith rumbled low in his chest, like he was pleased.
Emre’s slick began to soak through his pants.
“I-I should be going,” he squeaked.
“Thank you for the food!”
He hurried down the grubby hallway back to his own apartment, feeling Zenith’s attention on him the whole way.
When he’d locked the door and carefully set his treasure on the kitchen counter, Emre tore off a chunk of warm, soft bread, dipping it into the stew.
The flavors burst across his tongue.
He moaned and swallowed the bread whole, before popping more stew-soaked bread into his mouth and moaning again.
Halfway down the mug, he found generous chunks of meat.
“His meat is so big,” Emre whispered to himself.
“I don’t know if I can swallow it all.”
“I’ll assume that you’re talking about the beef,” Zenith said from two doors down, his voice quiet but still there amidst all the sounds from their neighbors.
“You should know that I don’t recommend choking on any kind of meat.”
Emre froze.
He can hear me?
Gods, it hadn’t occurred to him that maybe Zenith’s hearing was almost as good as his own.
Emre clutched his face in horror, and resolved never to come face-to-face with his neighbor again.