Page 45 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

I put the phone down on my chest.

“All right, that’s been like thirty. Don’t overdo it. Let’s move to ankle pumps. Why are you smiling? You’re not high on pain meds, are you?”

I wave his comment away. “I’m down to once a day. No, I’m smiling because I have an idea. But I need Ingrid’s help. Well, I want Ingrid’s help, but I could do it alone if I have to.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to. I heard her on the phone with Marina this morning. They’re grabbing lunch together and going to Madge’s Magic Shop.”

“R-really? Why is that?”

“I don’t know. Something about tea?”

“Tea?”Knotting Tea?My heart rate speeds up. “What’s that have to do with me?”

“She said she wants to see about it in case you two spend some time together this weekend. That’s just me, overhearing phone calls. But Marina was giggling like she does when she hears dirty jokes,so I’m going to assume something good might go down this weekend—but you’d better not do anything strenuous on that leg, buster. My rules haven’t changed. No hanky panky until next weekend,” Kev says sternly.

“Something good already went down,” I sigh.

“Can’t hear this. Can’t hear this!” Kev runs off, hands over his ears.

I try to divert my mind from the soft paradise that’s Ingrid, parts of me aching at the thought of stretching her, feeling her wrap around me, and thoughts of her mouth moving over my cock, setting my skin on fire.

My thumbs tap over the screen of my phone.

Hey Coach,

I’ve got an idea. I’ll take some videos and send them to you, but it might not be what the manager wants. This isn’t my thing, you know? But I have an idea.

See you tomorrow at the game.

King

“Hi! Have fun at the magic shop?” I ask when I see Ingrid.

And she blushes and looks flustered. It’s criminally adorable and better than any painkiller.

“Uh, yes. It was good. It was... not what I expected. But it was good. How’s the knee?”

“Healing faster than expected. But that’s healing for what normal people need a knee for, not a hockey player.” I fight through a confusing cocktail of emotions. I want to keep seeing Ingrid every other day at my appointments. I want to see her every single day, because she wants to be with me.

I want to get better, but for the first time in my life, I’m not excited to get back to the rush of practices and the roar of fans, the thrill of taking down other players on their home ice.

It’s an uncomfortably unpredictable feeling, and I hurry away from it. “Can we take the dogs to Hilltop Home tonight? And can you listen to an idea on the way?”

Ingrid looks up from her computer, mouth open in surprise. “You want to go visit seniors with my dogs? That’s your idea of a date?”

“Oh. No! Want to go to the Dalloway and see a movie? I have to sit up front though—no leg room in the other seats.” Ingrid’s still staring at me, and I wonder if I screwed up royally by not sending her flowers yesterday, and by texting her like eight times, but not calling, and not moving my appointments around with the team doctor and physical therapist. Is she feeling like I “used her” and then didn’t do enough the next day?

Because I don’t know how to do “the next day.” I don’t know if I did too much or not enough.

I want to sweep her into my arms and carry her to a remote cabin (okay, one of the rentals that Ian Fenclan has in the foothills) for about six months, or until she agrees to be my wife and mate. Whichever comes first. But I’m pretty sure that’s too much.

All day, I tried to get a grip and not scare her off with how much I want her. How much more I want with her.

At the same time, I was plagued with memories of waking up early, giving a quick kiss, and leaving an autographed photo on the pillow next to some sleepy ice bunny who wouldn’t have known my name if it weren’t printed on my jersey.

Too much.

Not enough.