Page 9 of His Orc Warrior (Human Omegas for Monster Alphas #1)

Lucas

It was selfish of me to want to have him over for dinner—to want to keep him for myself instead of just meeting at a diner or going to a movie. But I couldn’t help it. Something inside me longed to make him a meal.

I wasn’t even that into cooking, but for him, I wanted to. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I made a meal that wasn’t a quick throw together. But for Thrain, I needed to. It was an odd yearning and one I was more than willing to give in to.

My apartment didn’t have anything that I felt was “good enough” for a dinner date, and I ran to the grocery store and straight to the butcher. I wasn’t sure what I was even going to cook, but I knew that once I saw it, inspiration would hit.

I was wrong.

Instead, I just stood there and stared at the case, asking for a couple more minutes every time someone offered to help me.

“What do you think?” The guy behind the counter finally went with a different approach. “Want to try this rump roast that’s on sale?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can help me figure out what to cook?”

“Sure. Tell me what the occasion is, how many people, and if you have a budgetary restriction, and I’ll hook you up.” His offer was exactly what I needed.

“I’m having someone over for dinner.”

He gave me the look that said he needed more to go on, and did I ever give him more.

“It’s a first date, and I really like him. But I don’t want fancy. I want more like comfort food. Stick-to-your-bones kind of thing. But I want easy, too. I don’t want to spend my time in the kitchen. I want to spend it with them. And it needs to be good, but not too weird, in case they don’t like unusual flavors they didn’t grow up with.” I was babbling a mile a minute.

“Oh, you got it bad.” The butcher chuckled. At least he wasn’t irked at me.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re overthinking this like there’s no tomorrow. How about this?” He gestured toward the back. “I was just cutting up some really nice stew meat. Make a nice stew. You can cook it then keep it in a Crock-Pot to stay warm and to get nice and tender. Meat, potatoes, carrots, celery—all the things people love.”

I didn’t love carrots, but I wasn’t going to argue with someone being so kind to me.

“Grab a loaf of bread from the bakery, maybe a cake, and you’re good to go.”

“He’s bringing bread.”

“Sounds like stew is the right choice.”

The butcher hooked me up with the beef, and I grabbed the rest of the ingredients, including a pie—the cakes not quite catching my eye. Then home I went to put it all together into one delicious dish.

He was right. It was freeing, having everything done and ready so that I could spend the last bit of time before Thrain arrived showering and making sure Bolg was fed and walked.

Bolg—he was a worry.

Thrain was huge. There was no other way to describe him. And I worried that Bolg was going to freak out the way he did with Mr. Stevens.

Worst-case scenario, I could set him up in his crate in my room. He went in there when there were thunderstorms or lots of sirens. It was his safe place. The thing was, I’d hate for him to need a safe place from Thrain. Sure, it was our first date, but I was already counting on it being the first of many, and I wanted the two of them to get along.

I wasn’t holding my breath.

Thrain showed up right on time and to my surprise, when I opened the door to let him in, Bolg ran right up to him with zero trepidation. He kept jumping on him like it was me when I got home after a long day at work—begging to be picked up and loved on.

Thrain showed up in his cosplay. And I couldn’t even be mad at it. He looked every bit as amazing as he did at his event.

“Huh.” I watched as Bolg snuggled into him. “How about that?”

Thrain looked down at me as if to decipher exactly what I meant.

“Bolg usually doesn’t like tall people. And you are tall.”

“That I am. But he seems to sense that I’m a friend.”

I hadn’t seen him this affectionate with a stranger…ever. “Is that what you are? A friend.” Because that wasn’t the word I wanted him to associate with me. I slammed my mouth shut, realizing I was asking too much, too soon.

“For you?” He smirked. “I hope not.”

He took a bag off his shoulder and handed it to me.

“Here’s some bread. And some cookies. And there might be some homemade jam in there, too. Safe to say my mom went a little overboard.”

He. Told. His. Mom. About. Me.

“Well, tell her thank you for me.” I shut the door behind him as I inwardly squealed and headed into the kitchen while he stayed with Bolg—his new best friend.

My table was small, and the two of us sat next to each other, eating the stew.

“This is delicious,” he said more than once as he moved his fork through the bowl.

“I’m glad you enjoy it. I haven’t made it in a long time.”

“You don’t like the carrots?” He looked at my dish and the pile of discarded veggies there. I ate most everything, but carrots were a pass for me. Still, they belonged in stew, so there they were.

“I’m not a huge fan.” I shrugged.

“They’re my favorite.”

And next thing I knew, I was forking up a carrot, bringing it to his lips. I was feeding him my discarded food. It was creepy. And weird. And not something you would normally do on a first date or any date.

He wasn’t a child, and there was plenty left for him in the Crock-Pot. And yet, as he slid it off the fork with his tongue, he looked like the most content person I’d ever seen. Like somehow, I’d just done something over-the-top magically wonderful.

Or maybe…that’s what I wanted to see.

A drop of gravy fell from the fork. “Oh, sorry.”

I grabbed my napkin and reached over, rubbing the bit of sauce that had landed on his tusk off.

And he hummed. This big, green, sexy man hummed.

I tried not to read too much into every little thing he did. I really did. But it was hard, especially with the conversation flowing so easily and the atmosphere so relaxed.

Then, as I set the cookies down and when the table was cleared, he took my hand in his, and I was on cloud nine until he said, “I need to tell you something. Well, more than one something.”

“What’s that?” Please don’t let him be married. I couldn’t bare it if he was. “You can tell me anything.” Even if it hurts.

He gave my hand a squeeze.

“I’m not a cosplayer.”

I blinked.

“I’m real. I’m an orc. This body? It’s mine. I was born this way.”

Nothing about his words felt like a lie.

In fact, if anything, it felt like—for the first time—I could really accept what I saw in front of me.

And then he added, “There’s something else.”

“Yeah?” A pit formed in my belly.

“There’s something else and I need you to trust me.”

I trusted him through telling me he was a green monster. How could this be any different? Right?