Page 11 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“No! Well... No! Not yet. Maybe someday. I hope.”

“Holy shit. Let’s put this down to the head injury and move on, okay?”

“No, no. I’m serious.” I tell him the story of my great-great-great times a bunch grandparents, and how the name Silverbow came to be.

“So you like getting smacked around a little? I think Marina probably knows someone who can help with that. Also, this isphysicaltherapy. Not the kind you need. Well, not theonlykind that you need,” he mutters darkly.

“I do not need to be smacked around a little, and I don’t need a therapist. Uh. Maybe. Because if my career is over, and I don’t know what to do with my life, I—” I don’t like the deeply concerned lookKevin is giving me, so I stop there. “The tradition of a War Maiden is sacred in Orc culture. Orc Maidens are the epitome of a good mate, a wife you treasure, and hopefully the mother of your children one day.”

“Oooh,” Kev winces. “Babies? I hate to tell you, but Ingrid’s babies are her big-ass dogs, two German Shepherd mix-tasters, Chip and Daisy.”

“Doesn’t matter. I like dogs,” I say with a shrug. “But a War Maiden... Look, I was a jerk, and she did battle with me. She wasn’t afraid. She sparred with me and knocked me on my ass—in the best way possible.”

“I knew something was going on out there,” Kevin groans and buries his face in his hands. “You have a crush on Ingrid because she didn’t let you act like a jerk? You’re really easy to please, man.” He shakes his head.

“Does she know about Marina? Orcs? Shifters? Anything?”

Kev stands with a deep sigh and takes some crutches from the corner of the room. “Might as well do something useful. Let’s show you how to walk on these bad boys. Grab your set and follow me to the therapy area.”

“Okay.” I let him position me the right way, and then try a few clumsy steps. “This is silly. Why can’t I do it the other way?”

“You want to have sore shoulders and armpits?” he demands.

“I don’t think I will. Orcs are tough. And speaking of—”

“Orcs are tough, not invincible, as your knee and the second knee it’s giving birth to prove. As for Ingrid,” he lowers his voice and stands close to me, helping me readjust my grip, “I don’t know. I’ve never outright asked her, but she’s hinted a few times that she knows this place is ‘spooky’ or ‘strange.’ When I’ve pressed her, she’s told me that her Polish grandmother was very superstitious and raised her to believe in spirits and omens. She’s told me there’s ‘powerful energy’ here. I tell her I agree. I mean, I’ve seen it.”

“So she might know I’m a green guy with tusks?”

“Yep.”

“And on the other hand, she might not?”

“Right.”

“Hockey is easier than life,” I grumble.

Chapter Six: Ingrid and King

“Wow! You’re walking a lot better already. You must be a good student,” I praise with a little laugh.

“Yeah. Kev said that if my ‘abnormally tall self can learn to run at thirty miles an hour across ice with knives strapped to my feet, I could learn to hop on one leg with big sticks under my arms.’”

I have to laugh at his sighing explanation and comically mournful expression. “That’s one way to think of it. I can’t skate, but I’m a whiz at crutches. Broke my ankle skiing when I was a kid, and then reinjured it the year after with a bad slide in softball. Spent two summers on crutches,” I boast.

Am I boasting, or am I rambling?

I can’t tell. Even though I’m thirty-four and all that petty, self-conscious stuff should be gone... It’s not. It’s still considered odd if hot guys like girls who look like... well, like me.

For some reason, even though King is hot on the outside, I feel like I can see underneath the handsome veneer—a little. Like overhearing one phone call let me peek under a corner of the arrogance blanket he drapes himself in. There’s a mess on the inside, and a jerky one at that. I tell myself that even though the old me would have adored a hot hockey player showing interest, mature me has the strength to look beyond how ripped he is, how gorgeous that jawline is, and say, “I wouldn’twantsomeone like that to be interested in me.” It’s a weird confidence boost, but I’ll take it.

“Softball and skiing. Quite the athlete.” King looks me up and down, and I bridle.

“Fat girls can be athletes.” And why the fuck did I just call myself a girl? I’m almost thirty-five. I’m a strong, confident,independent—

“Fat?” King looks like I cursed him out.

I mean, I’m close, but...