Page 7 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

Raw, desperation. Some kind of... awe, maybe?

Must be the painkillers.“No,” I say, and hand the tablet back to him. “Call your coach and bring that to the desk when you’ve filled that out.”

Chapter Four: King

My pain is gone. Well, I can’t feel it.

My career? Oh, well, I’ll care about that in a minute.

I just met my wife. The Orc War Maiden of my dreams. Only, she’s not an Orc. She’s not a War Maiden, either, not in the traditional sense, but that doesn’t matter to me.

Ingrid Antol is a warrior goddess, this... this gorgeous, fierce, hellion of a woman.

But she looks deceptively soft and cushy, and she has full lips, long lashes, and round cheeks, and...Well. That’s such a good combo. Looks soft and sweet. Is actually deadly.

She wouldn’t just be out in battle with a spear and an ax; she’d be reconnaissance. Deceptive and deadly.

I swallow, suddenly so turned on, I can’t think, my whole head wrapped in a cloud of her scent, a mix of ferocity, shea butter, and black currant.

I’m ashamed of how I acted, but I’m also completely okay with it because if I hadn’t acted like an ass, I wouldn’t have summoned up that side of her, and I wouldn’t have realized who she was.

An Orc War Maiden disguised as a plump, adorable receptionist.

When she pushed me back onto my butt in the office chair, it was all I could do not to reach out and grab her full, delectable hips, sink my hands into her ass, and pull her to me.

That woman is meant for me. My dad said it would be like this when it was real. That one minute, I wouldn’t have anyone in my heart, and the next—my heart would be my mate’s. She’d fill my head, all my thoughts, and all my senses.

Silverbows have often met our mates in confrontations.

But I don’t think it’s ever been this kind of confrontation—the kind where the male suitor embarrasses himself so badly that the War Maiden wants nothing to do with him.

She turned me down for coffee. For dinner.

If I keep staring, she’s going to think I’m a pervert.

I look down at the tablet in my lap, which is, at the moment, strategically placed, so...

Well, I’m not trying to be a pervert, but no one told my cock.

Or my brain.

I fumble for my phone and push in the first number under my parents. “Coach Torrey?”

“King! How are you?”

“Well, my leg’s not great,” I mumble. “The swelling is still pretty bad. Hey, I don’t know how to handle all the insurance stuff for my physical therapy and treatment plan. I know the trainers made some suggestions, and they said it was based on what the doctors over here say... Everything is fuzzy. I did hit my head pretty good.”

“That you did, with no helmet. Even with that thick skull of yours...” Coach Torrey trails off, and I can hear him muttering and papers rustling. “I’ll take some photos of the stuff and email it to you, okay, kid?”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“Oh, and you have this week off—but after that, you need to be at the games. Not the practices, yet. I know you’ll have to work with the therapist’s schedule. But the games are all night and weekends for the next several weeks. We have a mid-day game in Jersey in three weeks, but you’ll probably have a little more leeway by then. I hope.”

“Come to the games?” My voice comes out as a hoarse shout, but I quickly mute it. The brunette Valkyrie gives me a confused look.

I blush like a teenager.

I’m King. God’s gift to the ladies. Foot after foot of green muscle and inch after inch of pleasure with a knot to top off that feel-goodcocktail.