Page 88 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“Leg okay?”

“Yes. You okay?”

“So not okay. Okay is a human word. I’m floating above Earth. I’m a sex angel.”

“I shook your brains loose.” He laughs into my shoulder.

“I’m more worried that I messed up your knee, just when you need it most.”

King sighs and pushes my hair away from my sweating neck. He’s so good about all of those little things, things I would never have imagined he would learn or do.

“I’ll be there whenever I can be,” I promise.

He nods. “Just be here when I get home?”

I hug him tight, wrapping his arm over my breasts, being the little spoon in our sexual tangle.

“I think I’ll be all moved in by Christmas, okay?”

King hums a little bit, and I recognize the tune of I’ll Be Home For Christmas.

But I know that it’s going to be most important that I’m home tomorrow night—after his first practice back on the ice.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Back

“Call me ‘gramps’ one more time. I dare you.”

Bryce slaps his stick against mine. “Payback, pretty boy. All those years of calling me Furball.”

“That had nothing to do with how you move on the ice, idiot. It was about how much you shed. We’re the only locker room that has a mandatory lint brush in every locker.” Bryce tries to whip around me, and I pivot. My knee is taped to high heaven, but I’m on it without crutches, and I intend to stay that way—unless Bryce sweeps my legs. “You break me, you buy me. My contract is expensive.”

“I know. I heard your agent is actually paying attention again.”

I shrug, wishing I wasn’t sweating so much. I’m not used to all the gear, all the activity. I feel like I’m out of shape, despite increasingly vigorous workouts with Kevin and a whole new kind of exercise with Ingrid. “That’s swell of him, isn’t it? Leave me alone for two solid months, then see a fifteen-second clip of me making a figure eight at open skate day with the little kiddies in town, and I’m his golden boy again. There’s a clause in our agreement about career-altering injuries freeing me from contractual obligations. Think I’m about to take him up on that.”

Bryce whisks a puck away from me. He’s been getting sharper while I’ve been sidelined. He takes up a third of my reels, and he’s got his own cheering squad now, Bryce’s Beauties, which are having a spirited rivalry with Frobisher’s Frosties.

“You’re everyone’s golden boy. Sold out games for the rest of the season. People hoping to be on your vids. People hoping you come back and play, even for one game. Fia did a whole photo layout for the Pine Ridge Gazette about Team Paws.”

He’s trying to distract me. It works. Most of the seniors have found their four-legged friends. Dr. Peterson, Jen Chambers, and Libby Angelakis have worked out a schedule to make house calls once a month to check the pets and save the seniors from needing rides. The second-graders are the most conscientious cat toy makers in the business. The high schoolers love helping. They get to play with animals, get their community service hours in, and the old people tip with candy bars and dollar bills in pretty thank-you cards.

Bryce is gone with the puck. He outshines. He outshoots.

And all I do is smile and chase after him. “Fia gonna be here tonight?”

“If she can stop throwing up long enough to—”

Bryce pauses and meets my eye.

I smile slowly. “Hmm? Throwing up?”

“Shh. Only two months. She wants to wait to tell people.”

“Bryce! Papa Bryce! Oh my God!” I forget that I have to move carefully and half-tackle my teammate.

“Shhhh! Secret.”

“Okay, okay. Secret.” I embrace him again, squeezing his huge shoulders while he blushes and laughs. You and Jorge gotta make it to the All-Star game. There’s a nice little bonus you can put into thebaby fund,” I whisper.