Page 12 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Or—Our women—the women where I’m from are all built to last.”

“I’m not a truck,” I grind out as we march and hobble to the exit. King has to lurch and jump to keep up with me, which is not doing his knee any good, but I don’t care.

“Big and muscular, or small and thin—that doesn’t matter. But being well-padded and full of gorgeous, soft, round curves wouldn’t make anyone think you weren’t athletic. Or attractive.”

There’s a note of lust in his voice under all the pleading.

“You shouldn’t talk that way to people you barely know,” I snap, but I’m a tiny bit mollified.

“Sorry.”

“Where are you from? What do you mean,ourwomen?”

“Scotland. I mean, I was born here, but I lived there back and forth from the time I was four until I was in high school. Then I stayed here, and my parents went back.”

I stop short. “Your parents left you here? Do you have a lot of family in New York?”

“Well... No. I’m distantly related to the Fenclans. You know, the folks who own the coffee shop in town?”

“Oh, The Pine Loft! Love them. Georgia’s your...?”

“Like ninth cousin, or something.” King gets outside and freezes. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I got dropped off. I told my friend I’d get back to him about when I needed to be picked up. I don’t have a way to get to the restaurant.”

Don’t let a strange man in your car. Donotlet a huge, strange man in your car.

“I’ll drive you there and home,” I say, because apparently, I don’t listen to my own good advice.

“Hey! Hey!” Kev comes careening out of the suite that makes up the PT zone of the outpatient building. “King, you’re going to need this.”

“No, I don’t!” he snaps, and he grabs for the papers Kev is waving at him.

“Is that your exercise regimen?” I demand, snagging the papers before he can, because I’m faster (at least at the moment). “You absolutely need—” I stop short when I unfold the paper.

Meal Train for King Silverbow

Password: ALLSTAR

Organizers: Kev and Marina Bailey.

While King is recovering from a serious fall on the ice, he struggles to stand without crutches, which will make cooking difficult. Please—

I stop reading when King grabs the papers and crushes them into a ball in his fist.

“I told you, I can order out,” King snarls. “I told you, I don’t need to be a burden on anyone! I don’t need help.”

“AndItoldyouthat your choices around here are limited to five restaurants, epic though they are. You need good nutrition to heal tears and breaks. You’d have to order like seven meals a day to fill you up!” Kev gestures to the sheer size of the man beside me. “You’d go broke!”

“I’m still getting paid!”

King stops. Breathes hard and deep, like an animal, enraged, but trapped.

I know why. He can’t be sure he’ll play again. Can’t be sure he’ll keep getting paid. And he has no family here.

Don’t do it, Ingrid. No softening towards Mr. Hot Young Hockey Hunk.