Page 10 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

What the hell am I going to do?

She doesn’t even know I’m an Orc. She’s going to see a washed-up minor league hockey player who didn’t even finish college or trade school, who’s having a midlife crisis at twenty-four.

“Hey, man. You ready?” Kevin Bailey comes out, his hands ready to steady me.

I feel weak. Kevin’s a nice, muscular guy, for a human. But... I’m an Orc.

No, I’m a mess.

“Not at all,” I groan, and let him help me into the back.

Kev lets out a long, low whistle. Not the good kind. “This is millimeters away from needing surgery. And you say this is just because of some rose petals on the ice?”

“The stem. Athickstem.” I shrug and look away from the images on his computer screen. I don’t know much about MRIs, but I know that my left knee has two nice straight black lines, one on either side of the knee, and my right knee looks slanted, and the inner black line is slightly crooked, and the outside line actually looks like curled up spaghetti, veering off from the kneecap.

“You need to stay off that. You need to keep the leg elevated, ice it, keep a compression wrap on it—” Kev is typing fast, fingers flying, voice scarily grave.

“But... whatdo I come in here for, then? I could lie on my couch at home.”

“We’ll start with gentle range of motion and strength retention exercises. You’ll be doing all of those on the bench out in the workout room. I’ll print out a sheet of exercises I want you to do three times a day. Ankle Pumps. Move your ankle up and down, flexing and extending your foot.” Kev swings himself up on the counter of the exam room and demonstrates. “Quad sets. You’re going to tighten your thigh muscles while keeping your knee straight.”

My mouth is open. “I’m squeezing my thigh and wriggling my ankle? That’s it?”

“That’s all for now—plus training to use your crutches. You have to keep all weight off this leg. All of it. Shit, do you have someone nearby to make you meals, buddy? I’m going to text Marina. She made this amazing chicken and lentil curry last night. I’m going to have her bring some over to you.”

I’m still stuck on the fact that my “workout” now consists of lying on my back and doing two tiny motions.

Kev is still talking. He’s telling me about other activities I’ll need to do while sitting to keep my other leg and upper body in shape.

“What about sex?” I blurt it out without thinking.

He doesn’t bat an eye. “Sit and let her do the work. Lie down, let her be on top. But for God’s sake, not for a couple of weeks. I don’t know how you could keep your knee from moving at least a little with anyone... Well, anyone like Marina.” His eyes go glassy with lust.

I look at the ceiling, trying not to think about his wife. Marina is a rusalka, which is basically a water succubus. She needs sex the way we need food. Instead, I think about how Ingrid just pushed me down on my butt, then stood and glared at me.

Man... If only that had been at home on my couch, me in some of my “good” boxers and her in something slinky and black...

“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,” Kev collects a bunch of papers from the printer next to his computer.

“I’m not. Um. Ingrid. At the desk? Is she—”

Kev spins around on the black stool he’s sitting on. “Hold up.”

“Is she single? Does she know that some of us are ‘special’?”

“That woman is my colleague and my friend, and she never even met you until today. You are not going to go have sex with—”

“Whoa, Prude Police! Look at your wife’s track record before you—”

Kevin stands up, and I shut up.

“Did I mention I hit my head?” I ask meekly.

He glowers, a snarl on his face. “That’s all that’s saving your pretty green mug right now.”

“I’m sorry. I just... Do you know Orcs can sometimes tell when they meet their perfect match? Not like some magic bond or something, not some spell. But all of a sudden, you know. You see them, and you know.”

“You gonna go propose to my receptionist?” Kevin hisses, hands slowly going to his head.