Page 48 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

I think I’m in love.

I don’t evenwantto be in love, but I’m falling into it like someone going down an eighty-foot water slide, praying the pool is full at the bottom.

The arrogant jerk I met is a memory. Everything out of King’s mouth has been serious and selfless, and always with others in mind.

“I love that idea. I’d volunteer. And I know someone else who would, too. Craig, in social work—”

“Oh, he’s a wulver. They totally love helping those in need, it’s like—ingrained.”

It occurs to me I haven’t seen Craig in a couple of weeks. I have no idea what a wulver is, but now I’ll be able to see it.

Funny. Someone I thought was blind to everything but his own wants and needs is opening my eyes and making me see things I’ve been missing for years. Making me think of ways to connect puzzle pieces in this little town I’ve come to love and call my own. “You’re not what I thought,” I mutter.

“Hm?”

“Craig is not what I thought,” I say louder. “What’s a wulver?”

“Oh, kind of like half-man, half-wolf.”

“Like a werewolf?”

“No, no. That’s when the moon forces you to shift into a wolf form, and you have very little human control over your transformation.”

I lick my lips. “Werewolves are real, huh?”

King nods. “And the ones around here are nice, decent people. They don’t roam around biting people during the full moon or anything like you’d see in a horror movie. Jasper Wainwright and the Silverman family—”

“Wainwright? The reporter on the local station? And Silverman of Silverman First Fiduciary, the bankers?”

He nods.

Well. Brain’ll have to wrap around that later. “So, not a werewolf. A wolfman?”

“Head of a wolf. Body of a man. It’s a Scottish thing.”

“Got it.” I don’t got it. I cuddle up close to King. I consider myself pretty brave, but a prickle of unease runs up my spine, and I’m shocked to realize that something about King makes me feel safe. “So there are lots of monsters and paranormal creatures in this town? Is that why Halloween is such a big deal?”

“That’s part of it,” King looks around. “Getting dark quick. Dinner? We can talk about fundraising ideas? We could make a video with the dogs getting belly rubs from Mrs. Y, Steve, and Lester sometime?”

“I think that would be amazing.”

“What are those? What is that?” I stop dead in King’s kitchen.

“Oh, Georgie and Claire Fenclan, who own the coffee shop and bakery, dropped off dinner.” He holds a white and green paper bag in the air by its thick brown handles. “Looks like we have quiche, salad, and a bunch of pastries. It says I have to put it in the oven for twenty minutes if I’m reheating the whole thing,” he mutters, looking at the pretty note on the shopping bag. “Oh, and they say they hope I get well soon, and do I need anything?”

“Not that.That.Andthose.”

There are four plastic bowls on the floor. Four plastic bowls covered with little pawprints and dog bones. There are several cans of the wet dog food I give Chip and Daisy on special occasions (or bribes when they have to go to the vet for their annual shots).

King bites his lip—and somehow that makes him look hotter.

Bad brain. This is not the time to remember how he looks, all wet and glistening while you’re sucking him, how his muscles ripple, how he bites his lips and moans...

I’m absolutely thinking about it now. My brain is a little bitch sometimes.

“Well. I thought... You see, Bryce was driving me back from my visit with the team trainers, and Fia—that’s his wife—said she needed condensed milk to make this dessert. It’s Brazilian. The dessert, not the milk. She’s Brazilian, so it’s a dessert she makes that Bryce goes crazy over. I think it’s called—”

“You are stalling so bad.” I smirk and lean on the counter.