Page 3 of Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice #1)

I jumped to my feet and gasped, expecting the orc to have a broken arm and probably a dislocated shoulder in addition to the damage the puck must have done to his face, but clearly orc arms were made of sturdier stuff than what we humans had.

The human hockey player went flying, slamming onto the ice and sliding forward with a streak of pink from blood of his own.

The crowd roared. The Red Wings roared. The Tusks roared.

Suddenly, everyone had their gloves off and punches were being thrown as the human officials tried in vain to get the players separated.

What the orcs lacked in skating ability, they clearly made up for in brawling skills.

When order was finally restored, the ice was painted with red and green blood—but mostly red.

The Red Wings were battered, and while the Tusks had their share of scratches and cuts, for the first time tonight they seemed proud and confident.

That confidence was gone in minutes. When the game resumed, the Red Wings kept their distance, taunting and showboating their superior skating skills by zooming around the clumsy orcs.

They passed the puck like they were playing Monkey in the Middle.

They twirled like they were figure skating.

They skated backward toward the goal, spinning at the last minute to easily scoot the puck into the net.

Meanwhile, the orcs stumbled when they weren’t sprawled helpless on the ice.

The third period went pretty much the same.

It was a massacre. The Red Wings won with a twelve- point lead, but the Tusks did score a point. In the third period, their gutsy forward managed to keep the puck long enough to slam it into the goal as the Red Wings’ goalie tried in vain to block it.

Ozar. That was the name on the back of the guy’s jersey. I’d looked him up on my phone to see if that was his last or first name to find that Ozar was evidently his only name.

My breath weirdly stuttered when I watched him, a strange electricity zinging from my chest to between my legs.

What the hell was that about? Yeah, there was that superstar thing about professional male athletes that made most straight girls hot and bothered, but I usually didn’t get this way over sport-dudes. Or musicians. Or actors.

Actually, I did get turned on; I just knew better than to act on it.

Wham, bam, thank you ma’am wasn’t my thing.

Some of my friends were thrilled to participate in a good one-night stand, but I’d always wanted more.

And I’d learned over the years that athletes, musicians, and actors were seldom interested in more.

“What do you think?” Willa asked as we left the arena. “Are we Tusks fans? Should we get season tickets? T-shirts? Their logo tattooed on our asses?”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “I want to support the local team, but this didn’t feel like hockey.”

“The game was really unfair,” I agreed. “Maybe if the orcs knew how to skate and how to play the game, it would be worth going, but I don’t want to see them get the shit kicked out of them on the regular.”

Willa bumped my hip with hers. “But we do want to see half naked, muscular green guys, right, Jordan? I mean, tusks ? Come on, you know you’re dying to get a close-up look at those bad boys. ”

She wasn’t wrong. A tooth fetish wasn’t what made me curious about the orcs’ tusks, it was a passion for my profession. I was a dentist—a reconstructive dentist, to be exact.

“I wonder if they continue to grow and need filing down, or if they’re more like human teeth?” I mused.

Abby laughed. “Twenty bucks says there’ll be an orc mouth X-ray on her Instagram within the next month.”

I had to laugh at that too, more than a little excited at the idea.

My Instagram had lost me dozens of dates.

It was the first thing that showed up if someone Googled me, and the photos on my account weren’t the typical fitness or food pics.

No, my images were close-ups of toothless mouths, bone-graft procedures, and implant anchors.

Disappointingly, guys I’d gone out with over the last few years didn’t seem to have the same fascination for dental reconstruction as I did.

“Let’s grab a drink at Puck’s,” Willa suggested, pointing down the street at the pub. “I’ll buy.”

“Then I’m totally up for another beer,” Abby teased. “If you’re buying, I’m drinking.”

I hesitated, because I’d already had two beers and I wasn’t much of a drinker. But those beers were watery drafts, and I hadn’t exactly slammed them. I had the bandwidth for another alcoholic beverage or two. And it had been weeks since Willa, Abby, and I had gotten together.

What the hell. Might as well.

“Okay.” I pulled at the opening of my jacket. “Let me drop this back off at the car so I don’t die of heat stroke in there. I’ll meet you guys inside.”

Willa and Abby continued on as I headed down the side street toward the parking lot behind the stadium.

It was chilly enough to warrant a jacket outside, but I’d survive a quick three-block dash to Puck’s without it, and I’d be a whole lot more comfortable without the extra layer.

Demons had taken over ownership of many of the area bars, and the one who owned Puck’s seemed to think the establishment was back in hell from the temperature inside.

Gripping my keys between my fingers, I turned the corner into the parking lot.

It was well-lit, but Baltimore was still a large city, especially to a Buffalo, New York, gal, and I was always a little nervous while walking alone.

When I saw a large figure leaning against the back of my car, I abruptly stopped, wondering if I should dig the pepper spray out of my purse or turn around and get the hell out of here.

Then I realized the figure had green skin, a pair of skates slung over a bulky shoulder, and a shirt with the Tusks team logo on it. Taking a few tentative steps forward, I saw a drop of green liquid fall to the asphalt.

An orc—and a member of the hockey team, judging from his attire. It made me hesitate, undecided what I should do. Not that I was afraid a professional athlete would harm me, but he was muttering under his breath and probably wanted some alone time since he was out here solo in the parking lot.

Okay, he was seven feet of muscle, and I didn’t know anything about orcs, so I was a little afraid.

After a few seconds of contemplation, I didn’t get the pepper spray out, but I still kept my hold on the keys as I continued walking. The orc glanced up, and I saw the blood on his one tusk, his chin, and on the front of his jersey.

My heart lurched. This huge, powerful green dude was hurt. And teeth…I couldn’t help but be sympathetic over anyone with a mouth injury. It was then that I pocketed the keys, the medical-me—specifically the dentist-me—trying to di spel my fear.

His skin was the color of fresh spring leaves, with a darker green section on the left side of his jaw.

The orc’s muscles were barely contained under the hockey jersey that neither he nor any of his teammates had worn during the game.

His long onyx hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and reached down mid-back, with some of it in thin braids.

His eyebrows and absurdly long lashes were the same black, as was the short beard that lined his jaw and chin.

It was his eyes that held me, though. I’d expected them to also be black or dark brown, but they were a warm, lighter shade, like whiskey in the firelight.

Oh, I did love me some whiskey. And a fire on a cold winter night.

“Um.” I stood ten feet from the orc like a total idiot, not sure what to say or remembering why I’d come into the parking lot to begin with.

“Sorry. This is your car?”

The growl of his low, accented voice sent heat spiraling down through my body. The orc pushed away from my car trunk and took a step forward then stopped, clearly sensing my unease.

“Yeah, but…”

Another drop of green slid down the bloodied tusk, hovering at the end.

I’d gotten used to other supernatural creatures. Well, maybe not demons, but other supernatural creatures. But orcs were new here. Were they like demons? Like the shifters? Like the elves?

“I’ll just…go to the stadium.” The drop of blood splattered onto the pavement. “Or another place. No bleeding is allowed in the locker room.”

Dentist-me warred with woman-me and with woman-alone-in-a-city-me.

He was huge, and he had a rather large knife strapped to one thigh over his sweatpants.

It was understandable that even someone as large and intimidating as this guy wouldn’t want to walk around Baltimore unarmed, but that knife looked kinda big to be legal and it made me nervous.

But his mouth was bleeding, so knife or not, dentist-me was winning the fight.

No surprise there.

I realized he was waiting for me to move, so he wouldn’t come closer as he edged past me to walk back to the stadium or another part of the parking lot.

I also realized that this was the team forward I’d been ogling during the game, the only one who’d scored a goal, the only one who’d managed to stay on his feet, as inexpertly as he skated.

He was also the one who’d sent a member of the opposing team flying and initiated that huge fight.

A fight that had no doubt resulted in his injury. I thought of that puck slamming into the side of his face and winced.

I was torn between moving away and letting the orc walk off elsewhere or being polite—being a dentist.

Polite dentist finally won.

“Are you okay?” I asked, stepping closer to the orc.