Page 20 of Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice #1)

Jordan

T he next morning, there was a steak on my doorstep—a New York strip steak from Safeway, the price tag still on it.

Glancing up and down my street, I wondered how someone could have been walking by on their way from the grocery store at five in the morning and dropped their twenty-dollar steak on my doorstep—the doorstep that was a good ten feet from the sidewalk.

Kneeling down, I picked it up. It was cold—colder than I would have expected a steak to be in Baltimore in October. We weren’t the tropics, but we still had a few nights where the temps didn’t get below forty-five.

“Hey,” I called out—not super loud because it was really early and some of my neighbors weren’t up yet. “Did anyone drop their steak?”

I felt like an idiot half-shouting that into the pre-dawn, my breath fogging in front of me. There were no cars coming or going down my street. The sidewalks were empty. No one was awake but me. If someone had accidentally dropped their steak, they were long gone.

Ducking back inside, I put the steak in the fridge.

All sorts of weird thoughts ran through my head—warnings from my childhood about poisoned Halloween candy fueling my imagination.

But why would someone poison a twenty-dollar steak and leave it on my doorstep?

It’s not like I had enemies. If a customer was dissatisfied, they’d leave a horrible internet review for me, not figure out where I lived and deliver a poisoned steak to my door.

I intended on eating it eventually because I absolutely was not going to let a good steak go to waste.

It wasn’t destined for dinner tonight, because I had a date.

Maybe tomorrow night. Or I could just freeze it for later.

And if a random person showed up on my doorstep asking if I’d happened to find a New York strip steak, I’d give it back.

After my usual morning search for cat puke, I threw on my workout clothes and grabbed my bag and purse before heading out to the gym.

I wasn’t the only one there for an early workout.

Parking, I joined ten other people, each of us nodding to each other and filing inside the moment the doors were unlocked.

Treadmill. Weights. Yoga.

It was my routine, and I loved a good routine. Spreading my mat out for the yoga class, I saw Stephanie and waved the werewolf over. We exchanged the usual pleasantries then dove into our vinyasa sequence, led by a very bendy man named Mario. When we finished, I smiled over at Stephanie.

“Do you need to rush right out to work? This might sound weird, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about. If you’re free, I’d love to buy you breakfast and pick your brain a bit.”

I felt a little awkward imposing on Stephanie like this. We were friendly enough to chat at the gym, but it wasn’t like we hung out together after a workout. Sadly, she was the only werewolf I knew well enough to even broach the topic of supernatural dental procedures with.

It was embarrassing. Why did I only know one shifter, and barely knew her at that? Plus, it wasn’t her responsibility to educate me on the medical industry and werewolves.

Stephanie smiled back. “I’d love breakfast. Two spin classes and arm day has me ready to eat a herd of deer.”

We drove separately and met inside Miss Shirley’s by the Inner Harbor.

The place was packed, as usual, but we lucked out and got a small table for two by the window.

I eyed the neighboring customers who were indulging in the famous Bloody Marys with an Old Bay Seasoning Rim and a garnish that included green tomato, pickled okra, and a jalapeno slice.

“Thinking of day drinking?” Stephanie asked with a grin.

“Thinking, but not doing,” I told her with regret. “I’ve got four implant procedures today.”

She made a face. “I hope you’ll be drinking after work, then. I don’t know how you do that, working in people’s mouths all day.”

I shrugged. “I’ll admit it’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but I love it. And I feel like I’m really making a difference in people’s lives.”

“Think I’ll stick with home renovations.”

“Did you finish work on that house in Reisterstown?” I asked.

“Finally.” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “I thought the plumbing in that master bath would be the death of me, and the wiring didn’t look like it had been touched since nineteen-twenty.”

I winced in sympathy, remembering how much I’d needed to spend to get my row house in Federal Hill up to code.

“I’ve got exciting news, though.” The werewolf looked at the other customers and leaned closer. “I’m afraid to jinx it, but I’ve got to tell someone. I’m a finalist in the running to have my own season on Home Sweet Home .”

My mouth dropped open. Then I squealed, clapping a hand over my mouth to hold further excitement back as I looked around to see if anyone noticed.

Home Sweet Home was a nationally syndicated show that each season highlighted a historic remodel of a celebrity’s home.

It was immensely popular, and contractors who were featured found their careers skyrocketing as a result of the viewership.

“Oh my God! Oh my God !” I bounced in my seat, the only way I could manage to keep my voice reasonably quiet.

“I know !” Stephanie bounced in her seat as well. “Don’t tell anyone. I’m so afraid if it gets out, the whole deal will vanish in the wind.”

I made a zipped-lips motion. “Who is the celebrity?”

“They’d only tell me that it’s a sports figure. I’m guessing it’s Jorge Sanchez with the Orioles. Rumor is he’s got an offer in on a huge eighteenth-century farmhouse this side of the Liberty Reservoir.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.” I wasn’t as sports-focused as Stephanie and had no idea who Jorge Sanchez was, but a season featuring my gym buddy helping restore/modernize an old farmhouse was a must-watch.

We both fell silent and glanced down at the menu as our waitress approached.

I ordered the crabmeat hash and Fried Green Tomato Eggs Benedict with a cup of black coffee. Stephanie ordered the fried chicken, biscuit, and gravy omelet with a side of chicken andouille sausage and a large latte.

“Man, I love this place,” I told her once the waitress had left. “If I ate here every day, I’d be huge, so it’s once-a-month only.”

“You need to have a werewolf metabolism. I’ll probably need second breakfast in a few hours even after all this food,” Stephanie said.

“How much of that is werewolf metabolism, and how much is you swinging a sledgehammer and framing out new walls?” I asked.

“A little of both, honestly.” She settled back in her chair, smiling at me. “So? Enough about my job. What did you need to talk to me about?”

“It’s about being a werewolf. I wanted to know what happens to any man-made material in your body when you shift forms?” I asked, diving right into the matter.

“Well, we have to take out piercings beforehand, or they just fall out.” She laughed.

“Except there was one hunt where Jazmine’s gold hoop stayed in her left ear.

We teased the heck out of her. Matt still calls her ‘Pirate Jaz.’ Tattoos vanish in our wolf form but reappear when we turn human again.

I’ve got no idea how that works, but I’m glad because I don’t want to have to get new ink every time I go for a hunt. ”

“How about things like fillings, or dental implants, or knee replacements?” I asked, wanting to confirm what I’d read in that medical paper.

Stephanie steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them.

“That depends a lot on the individual shifter. Since we’re all descended from angels—Nephilim, actually—we each have varying degrees of what you’d call magic.

Some of us can’t tolerate silver at all—we’re talking Epi-pen level reactions—others just get itchy, others have no problem at all with the metal.

Things like hip and knee replacements? It’s a toss-up whether the device will tear through us during a shift, or if it stays and remains there when we shift back. ”

I sucked in a breath, horrified at the thought of a titanium knee replacement breaking through skin, muscle, and bone as a werewolf changed form.

“It’s bad,” she said in response to the expression on my face.

“There’s a demon-owned company that’s been working with a sorcerer and an angel to produce medical equipment that adjusts to a shifter’s change in form.

I’ve heard their products are in clinical trials and aren’t available outside of a few select practices.

And they’d be expensive. Either way, not many doctors would probably be willing to perform the surgery since there are certain methods that need to be followed with shifters, and we’re not always good under anesthesia. ”

“Is the equipment manufacturer DarRafi Inc.?” I’d done some internet research and hadn’t been sure if the company was a fake or not. A demon, an archangel, and a human sorcerer working together? It sounded like the prelude to a joke about them walking into a bar.

She nodded. “That’s them. They’re based out of Chicago.

Are you thinking of offering services to supernaturals?

Because sign me up as your first client.

” Stephanie pulled the corner of her mouth aside and showed me a gap where her number fifteen tooth should be.

“Cracked a molar on a deer bone five years ago and could never get the crown to stay on through a shift, so I just had the dentist pull it. I saved up for one of those fancy implants, but the closest reconstruction dentist that is approved for the clinical trials and works with shifters is in Boston.”

Excitement coursed through me. I’d emailed DarRafi Inc.

and requested to be added to their clinical trials, highlighting my extensive experience with human dentistry and mentioning that I also had an orc as a client.

I might be jumping the gun here, but I was eager to expand my practice…

and to help Stephanie replace that missing molar.

“After five years without that tooth you might need some realignment and possibly a bone graft. Call my office and I’ll have them squeeze you in for imaging and an evaluation,” I told her.

“Even if I don’t get the approval to use these new implants, I can send the information and images to the dentist up in Boston and hopefully save you an evaluation appointment. ”

“That would be awesome !” She grinned. “Werewolves have good regenerative abilities, but obviously it’s not all encompassing since some of us have bum knees and my broken tooth never magically fixed itself. I’d like to hope I wouldn’t need a bone graft, but reality is that I probably do.”

“I’m sure DarRafi has all the equipment I need, and I’d be grafting your own bone, so that would shift when you do.”

At least, I hoped so. I’d need to further dig into medical journals and articles to see. And I’d need to contact DarRafi again for their training videos and materials on the procedure.

“If you get approved for this, you’re going to be swamped with new clients,” Stephanie said. “There are more shifters in the city than you realize, and lots of them need fillings, crowns, partials, and implants. Get ready for a whole lot of clients.”

I wasn’t ready, but I’d get there. I’d hire another dentist willing to specialize in supernatural work if needed. Orcs, humans, and shifters. There were so many beings I could help, so much I could learn .

And all of this was because I’d met a sexy orc hockey player leaning against my car in a parking lot.

Our food and drinks arrived, and we settled into additional conversation about our jobs. Stephanie told me about a house in Hampden she was just beginning work on and the gorgeous chestnut floors that had been buried under layers of carpet for nearly eighty years.

“I’m doing this job solo,” she added. “Remember Dillon? We broke up and there’s no way I’m still employing or sleeping with his cheating ass. Gave him two weeks’ pay and handed him a garbage bag full of his clothes and his half-empty box of Fruit Loops. Good riddance.”

I made a sympathetic noise.

“How about you?” she asked. “Dating anyone?”

“I’ve got a first date tonight with a guy who plays for the Tusks,” I told her, feeling a flush of excitement at the thought of seeing Ozar again.

Stephanie nearly choked on her omelet. “An orc? The hockey team Tusks? Damn. You go, girl. Where’s he taking you?”

“His house.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “He’s cooking me a traditional orc meal, but I’m hoping the proximity of his bedroom inspires some after-dinner activity.”

“Now you’re talking! Those guys look like they have muscles on muscles. I never pegged you for a puck bunny, though,” she teased.

“I’m not normally, but there’s something about him.” I smiled. “He’s kind of grumpy and growly, but not with me. He’s kind, thoughtful, and a good listener. And I really like hearing about his home and culture.”

“Does he have a brother?” Stephanie grinned. “One who might be interesting in going out with a werewolf who can also swing a hammer? ”

“I really have no idea,” I confessed. “He didn’t mention siblings, so maybe he’s an only child. There’s a whole team of orcs in town, though. If things work out with Ozar and me, then maybe I can introduce you to one of them.”

The werewolf held up her hands. “Actually, thanks, but no thanks. I make it a rule not to date actors, musicians, or sports players. Or werewolves named Dillon.”

I nodded. “Got it. I’ll absolutely ask Ozar if he has non-actor/musician/sports player friends who are single and aren’t named Dillon and have at least basic carpentry skills.”

Stephanie gave me a thumbs-up. “Thanks. It’s a nightmare out there when it comes to dating.”

It was. I’d given up on the apps and had pretty much given up on dating all together, deciding to take a break and just focus on my career and my friends. I’d never thought that I’d meet a guy in a parking lot and end up with him offering to cook me dinner.