Page 17 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“No. Look. Look at your hand and mine. Hard. Focus. Kev says you’re sensitive to the energy around here. Focus.”

Well. That’s new. I stop fighting to yank my hand away and let it relax in his palm. He spreads out his fingers so my hand rests in his.

His hands are huge. They could fit one and a half of my hands in one palm. And they’re so smooth. Almost leathery, that soft, supple leather with the fine grain that feels like a combination of hide and butter.

But the longer I stare, the more my eyes pick up on other things besides the difference in size and texture.

Flecks of green. I said he was green around the gills.

He has no gills.

But he sure has green. The longer I stare, the more green his skin becomes, while mine stays peach and cream.

Joanne comes back, two oval ceramic crocks of manicotti swimming in chunky red “gravy” and melted cheese with brown bubbles and flecks of parsley in her hands. She puts them down over our interlocked palms with a knowing smile.

Safety training kicks in. “Ma’am, I think I’ve been drugged,” I say calmly, pulling my hand back and looking down at the table.

King makes a noise like a stepped-on Pekinese. “We didn’t eat! I didn’t even give you anything!” He sounds genuinely wounded.

But when I look up, he’s still green, and he has tusks. Small, perfect “horns” of bone coming out above his lower lip.

He still has raven hair and cheekbones that could cut glass, but I’m...

To my surprise, Joanne doesn’t rush for the phone, belittle my fears, or defend King. She just sits and clucks her tongue. “Oh, dear.Oh, I thought she knew, honey.” She looks at King and puts her hand over her mouth. “Sweetie, you’ll get used to it. I couldn’t see it at first, either.”

My breath catches, and my words come out as a small squeak. “You see... what?”

“Well... He’s an Orc.” Her voice drops again, and she leans to King. “It is ‘Orc,’ isn’t it? Because, no offense, I still get Orcs and Trolls mixed up. I thought the nice Mr. Rockland at the fire station was an Orc, but Graham set me straight. He came in to do our fire safety inspection when we opened.”

I swallow several times, reaching for my water glass. I’ve been to Egypt, touring Luxor at night, and I could feel something ancient and magical. I’ve been in New Orleans, seen shadows moving, and known something supernatural was lurking.

But those times, I also had the lovely opportunity to walk back to my brightly lit hotel room and tell myself I was letting the atmosphere influence me. In this town, I feel energy all the time, but it’s usually good, like the rush you get in mid-November when you realize the holidays are fast approaching. A kind of burst of happy anticipation, and then you smile a little bigger, and order an extra maple-glazed doughnut from The Pine Loft Coffee Shop and go about your day.

Right now, I am staying calm thanks only to years of training. “He’s green.”

“Mmhm. And the handsomest green I’ve ever seen.” She flutters her lashes once, then laughs and gets up. “I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.”

“Not lovebirds,” King mumbles. He looks like someone busted his other knee, pained and stunned.

We don’t talk for a minute. The manicotti didn’t lie to me, so it’s not fair to punish it. I dig my fork in and take a bite, moaning despitethe chaos in my brain when the perfect combination of pasta, cheese, herbs, and sauce swarms my taste buds.

“Should... Should I call a ride?” King toys with his fork, but doesn’t eat.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I’m eating because this smells divine and tastes even better—and the food isn’t the one who lied to me,” I say sternly.

“You realize I didn’t lie, right?” King’s voice takes on an edge. “You never said, ‘Hey, are you human?’ It’s not my fault that most humans can’t see the other beings in the world. It’s like their eyes shut out anything that’s slightly uncomfortable or abnormal. Just washes it away. And I’m not the one who has a problem dating a human, or an Orc, or a—a rusalka! Humans seem to be the ones who see different skin colors, or tusks, or sharper teeth, and decide to run away screaming.”

Oooh. Shots fired. While I’m busy considering whether or not the entire human race is oblivious and bigoted when it comes to things outside of their comfort zone (and let’s be honest, I know the answer is at least “partially”), I have to put on a show of bravado. “I’m not running. Or screaming.”

Reluctantly, he takes a bite of manicotti, and bliss crosses his features. “Damn.”

“I know, right?”

We chew.

I think. “So, no one notices? Your games are even on local television, right?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, they are. Some people must notice, but it’s one out of hundreds. What are they going to say? Who is going to believe them?”