Page 23 of Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice #1)

Jordan

I staggered up the steps to Ozar’s fifth floor apartment, wishing I hadn’t worn the boots with the high heels since his apartment didn’t have a working elevator.

It wasn’t a particularly disreputable neighborhood or a bad apartment building; it was just very average and not what I expected someone playing for an NHL team to have rented.

But what did I know? Maybe he was sending money home to his family, or saving up to buy a swanky house, or maybe the demon who owned the Tusks paid them crap wages.

Whatever the reason, I was carrying two bottles of wine and a box of cannoli from Vaccaros as well as a Brazo de Gitano from Tio Pepe’s.

Those packages plus my heels meant I was forced to take several breaks as I climbed the stairs.

Arriving slightly out of breath and hoping I hadn’t accidentally crushed the pine nut roll, I knocked at Ozar’s door. He opened it as if he’d been hovering right by the entrance. We stared at each other, sparks flying.

“ Mawrk !” he said, reaching out to take the bags. “Greetings! Come in. I didn’t mean to make you stand at my door holding all this. ”

Some of my nervousness fled seeing that he was just as anxious. The orc spun around, looking for a spot to put the bags before just setting them down on the floor and reaching to take my coat.

“I’ll put this…” He spun around again.

I bit back a smile. “In the closet?” I pointed to the door that led, I assumed, to a hallway closet.

Ozar opened the door, then cursed—at least, I thought it was a curse. “There are no pegs. Why would someone build a coat room and not put in pegs to hang your coats?”

“Probably because we use hangers.” I laughed at his perplexed expression. “I’ll buy you some. Just put my coat over a chair or on your bed or something.”

“I will do that.”

He vanished into a back room with my coat while I looked around.

Ozar’s apartment was sparsely furnished, but he’d clearly tried to brighten the place up a bit with some personal touches.

There was only one couch in front of a wall-mounted television, but he had some big cushions against the wall that I guess he used for additional seating.

The sofa’s upholstery was hidden beneath a pile of furry blankets and red geometric-printed pillows.

Furry pillows sat against the back of the dining chairs, and a furry rug lay between the laminate coffee table and the wall with the television.

I was sensing a fur theme here. And a candle theme.

The fur probably was Ozar’s aesthetic, but the fact that there were fresh flowers on the table made me wonder if the candles were also for my benefit. They were all lit, and that definitely shouted, “romantic dinner.”

Ozar came back and picked up the two bags with the pastries. I grabbed the other one.

“I bought a few things for dessert—some local sweets that everyone who lives in Baltimore should try,” I told him. “Why don’t you put them in the fridge, and I’ll open up the wine for us?”

He looked down into the bag and sniffed, making an appreciative noise before ushering me into the kitchen.

I wondered how good his sense of smell was.

Better than a human’s? Better than a dog’s?

I hoped my deodorant held up through the marathon climb to his apartment, or this was going to be an awkward first date.

I had noticed an incredible aroma wafting from the kitchen the moment I walked into the apartment. Entering the kitchen made my mouth water. Whatever Ozar was cooking, it smelled amazing—rich and meaty and spicy.

It wasn’t canned chili with hotdogs, and I’ll admit I fell a little more in love knowing he’d gone to the trouble to cook what smelled like a gourmet meal for me.

Ozar opened the fridge and slid the boxes inside.

I’m nosy, so I looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see a variety of fresh vegetables, a couple of nice steaks, a six-pack of dark beer, and a tub of unsweetened Greek yogurt, and what looked to be farmhouse milk in an actual glass container.

Not at all what I expected from a bachelor orc.

I easily found a corkscrew and opened the red while Ozar pulled two glasses from the cabinet. They weren’t wine glasses, but I wasn’t about to get snobby about drinking from highballs when that incredible smell was coming from his oven.

“I’m dying to know what you’re cooking,” I said as I poured and handed him a glass of wine.

“It’s supposed to be Swakega stew.” He put on a surprisingly frilly apron and a matching pair of floral-patterned oven mitts then opened the oven, sliding out the rack and lifting the lid off the Dutch oven.

I thought dinner had smelled good before, but this… I’d left my house determined to delay having sex with Ozar, but this was totally changing my mind.

“Here.” He took a spoon off the stove, ladled some of the sauce, blew on it, then held it out. I gingerly sipped it while the orc watched, an anxious expression on his face.

The sauce was spicy and hearty and reminded me a lot of a Moroccan dish I’d once had.

I made an appreciative noise, then took the spoon in my mouth for the rest of the sauce, my eyes on Ozar the whole time.

The tension in his shoulders vanished, and a flare of lust lit up his eyes as I slowly slid the spoon out of my mouth.

It was one of the most overtly suggestive things I’d ever done, but any self-consciousness fled at his expression.

He wanted me as much as I wanted him. And just like me, he was imagining his cock between my lips instead of that spoon. But that would need to wait because I was starving, and I wanted to get to know this orc a little better before we got naked in the sheets.

Ozar stared at my lips, then put the spoon on top of the stove before returning the lid to the Dutch oven and closing up the stove.

Taking off his oven mitts, he made a grumbling noise and scratched his head.

“I don’t know if any of the ingredients I found in the grocery store are the same as what we have back home.

A female employee at the grocery store named Amina assisted me.

It’s similar to Swakega stew, but not exactly the same.

I’m sorry. I really wanted you to have a traditional orc meal. ”

There was no need for him to apologize. I’m sure it was difficult trying to find similar ingredients, and I truly appreciated all the effort he’d put into this dinner, even if I felt a flare of jealousy over his mention of this Amina woman .

“Someday I’d like you to have the real thing, served to you in my clan’s homeland,” he said with a shy smile.

“I’d love that.” It had been years since I’d taken a day off from my dental practice, and I didn’t have the staff to cover for an actual vacation, but I really did want to see his homeland and try the authentic version of his foods.

It would require a lot of advanced planning, but I did need to start taking time off now and then.

I’d covered Aaron Steinman’s practice when he and his wife celebrated their thirty-year anniversary in Italy last year.

He’d offered several times to return the favor.

“Shall we sit down and wait for the dinner to finish?” He gestured to the living room, that worried frown back.

I grabbed our wines and followed him into the room, watched him adjust the pillows and furs, then placed our drinks on the coffee table and sat down smack in the middle of the sofa, making sure that he was going to end up against me no matter which side of the sofa he took.

Without the slightest hesitation, he sat to my right, draping his arm across the back of the sofa where it brushed against my shoulders.

His thigh pressed against mine, and the warmth of his body was like a heater.

I wondered what the body temperature of an orc was?

Sitting here beside him, I thought it had to be close to a hundred degrees.

“Tell me about Swakega stew back where you grew up,” I said, continuing to think some rather uncharitable thoughts about Amina, even though the employee was most likely in her sixties and had probably only been helping Ozar navigate human foodstuff as part of her job.

“ Swakega is a game meat, similar to your horses, although I used lamb,” he hurriedly added, no doubt in response to the look of horror on my face.

“It has lots of spices and root vegetables. We cook it in a pot all day, then serve it over another root vegetable. It is a common winter food at home. All orcs growing up have eaten it. We have lots of memories and heart-feelings about Swakega stew.”

I nodded. “Comfort food. We humans have those same feelings and memories, although the foods are different for each of us depending on our upbringing and cultural heritage.”

“What are your comfort foods?” he asked, brushing his hand against my hair.

I leaned back, feeling the heat of his skin against my neck. “Macaroni and cheese—the kind in the box with the squeeze packet of cheese. Pizza. Brownies. Oh—and chocolate chip mint ice cream.”

He scooted over so that I was nestled in the crook of his arm. “I’ve had pizza, and I like it. We have fried bread and cheese at home, but I actually like the human version better. I’ve never had these other foods, though.”

“I’m not about to cook you boxed macaroni and cheese after the meal you’re making for me, but I’ll buy you some to try yourself. Ice cream, though—that’s an experience that’s better shared.”

“So, it’s cold milk?” he asked, a strange note of hopefulness in his voice.

I turned to him, surprised that he didn’t know what ice cream was. He was so close, his face only a few inches from mine. His brown eyes met mine, and I sucked in a breath.

“Cold milk and cream, sugar, and other ingredients. It’s frozen while being churned,” I whispered.

“Sweet milky slush.” Ozar leaned closer, his dark eyes warm. “I should try it.”

“You should.” I closed the distance and kissed him.