Page 5 of Horn in My Side

Mal closed the lid with an audible huff. It had been nearly six months since the Orc Historical Society had closed the bidding and still no decision? How could that be?

What in Vorlak’s name were those doddering old orcs doing all day? Twiddling their claws and drinking hemlock-root tea while discussing the Barcid Wars of 1024?

Scrubbing his palm down his face, he calmed himself.

Renovating the old lodge into a brand-new historical center would be a major undertaking, so it made sense that the elders wanted to choose the right contractor.

Mal’s patience, however, grew thinner by the day.

If this were an ordinary job, he wouldn’t care; he had dozens of offers at any given time and many of them paid much more and could be finished in a shorter period.

This was, however, an incredibly prestigious contract.

This wasn’t just any old building, but, rather, the place where their ancestors had gathered and prepared for battle, as well as celebrated their victories, back when the world was new and war the norm.

There had been talk about renovating the old central lodge into a historical center for what seemed like decades, but it had never really materialized until now.

Mal knew that if he were alive, his father would have jumped at the chance to work on the job.

Competition was fierce among the builder hordes, and Mal worked on his bid for weeks and weeks, tweaking and adjusting numbers and timelines.

Every day, he checked his email, his phone, and even the online notifications from his PO box where he had his snail mail sent, hoping to hear word.

He delayed starting new projects that were too complicated or would take too long in case the Historical Society picked him and wanted him to start right away.

Mal never put his work life on hold for anything.

Perhaps it was his builder nature, but he liked plans.

One couldn’t simply start any build—from the simplest kitchen renovations to the most complex architectural marvels—without planning.

There had to be structure and blueprints and schedules.

A plan guaranteed that all would run smoothly and exactly as intended.

Yet this job meant so much to him that he was willing to wait. He’d spoken to Karak about it several times, and his stepfather only urged him to be patient. “These things take time,” he had said. “And I wouldn’t worry—you crafted a competitive bid. I’m sure you’ll get it.”

But each passing day he didn’t hear back chipped away at Mal’s confidence.

What if his bid was too expensive?

What if it wasn’t expensive enough?

What if—

A knock from outside broke into his thoughts.

Who the hell could that be?

No one knew he was staying here, except the people at the law office, and it was after five o’clock. Besides, they had his phone number and email if they needed to get hold of him.

Maybe I forgot to sign something.

Mal must have read a hundred pages of legal papers and forms today, so it was likely he’d missed one or two.

The lawyer had said they had to file a couple of things at the court first thing tomorrow, so that was probably why they were here, after hours.

Pushing himself up off the chair, he marched over to the door and yanked it open.

“What did I . . .” A familiar flowery scent tickled his nose. “It’s you.”

Vrig’s manager at the pet shop—Jasmine—smiled sheepishly up at him. “Yes, it’s me,” she said in that melodic tone of hers. “I—”

She stopped short, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. At first, he thought she was having some kind of seizure, but when he followed her gaze, he realized it was fixed on his chest, bare as he still only wore a towel around his waist. She visibly swallowed as her gaze moved lower.

She was checking him out.

And that twinge down south came back with a vengeance.

He couldn’t think about that . Besides, what did he expect? He was practically naked in front of her; if the roles were reversed, he too would find it hard to stop himself from checking out her luscious curves—

For Gaku’s sake, stop ogling her.

“Jasmine?”

Her head snapped up, her face red.

Clearing his throat, he said, “How did you know I was here?”

That probably came out gruffer than he expected, and she visibly winced, her doe eyes turning wounded, as if she were a puppy he’d kicked.

His gut recoiled, much like it had yesterday when she’d done the same thing when he had told her how dangerous it was for her to try to fix that sign without any help or proper equipment.

He had repaired it himself with a simple mending spell before he left, just so she wouldn’t make another feeble attempt and end up with a broken leg or arm.

Because now he was responsible for everything and everyone in the shop until he sold it all off.

To her credit, she recovered quickly, a sincere smile once again on her face.

“This is the only motel in town, and I know you’re not staying at Vrig’s house, so I therefore concluded you had to be here,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m just glad you’re in 1F and I didn’t have to knock on a lot of doors. ”

She was going to knock on every single door in this motel until she found him?

“What do you w—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, what can I do for you?” He could be polite if he wanted to, but it wasn’t his initial instinct to do so, not when he worked by himself or with other builders and workers, whose manners were even rougher than his.

Brown eyes blinked up at him.

“I was wondering, Mal . . . do you want to have dinner?”

Both his hearts slammed into his chest. “Like . . . a date?”

Her cheeks and nose reddened under her tanned skin.

“No!” She slapped a hand over her forehead.

“I mean, I’d l-like to talk to you. For us to talk.

And maybe, since I’m guessing you haven’t had dinner yet, we can do it over a meal?

Or-or not.” She clucked her tongue. “S-sorry. Never mind. I shouldn’t have come.

” Slapping her hands over her mouth, she quickly turned on her heel and began to walk away.

Mal stood there, frozen as he watched her. She obviously had something important to tell him, and he’d scared her off, acting like some juvenile who had yet to experience his first coupling.

Run after her, fool.

“Wait! Jasmine!”

She stopped immediately and he reached her in five steps. Slowly, she pivoted to face him.

“What is it that you wanted to speak about?” he asked.

She glanced around. “It’s kind of . . . It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“I . . . can we please sit down and talk?”

“I’m sure you can tell me what it is you want.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But?”

“We’re all alone in an empty parking lot.” She gestured around them. “And I’m not exactly comfortable speaking to a stranger by myself. And, like I said, you must be hungry. I think better on a full stomach. My treat, okay?”

He blew out an impatient breath, but had to concur with her, especially on the part about being alone and speaking with a stranger. Besides, he was about to leave her jobless soon, so he supposed he could at least hear her out. “Fine.”

“Great! Let’s go to the diner next door.”

“All right.”

“Uhm, Mal?” She bit at her lower lip.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to . . . maybe put on some clothes?”

He slapped himself on the forehead mentally. “I’ll be right back.”

After he’d dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing earlier, Mal followed Jasmine to the diner next door.

As they walked over, Mal couldn’t help but wonder what it was she wanted to talk about.

Would she try to stop him from selling the pet shop?

He couldn’t imagine what else she could possibly want from him.

He sympathized with her, he really did. It was tough losing a job, but she was young and—yesterday’s situation aside—was probably smart and could easily land on her feet. Besides, why would she want to be stuck in this town, working for just above minimum wage in a pet shop that barely broke even?

The garish neon sign above the classic chrome diner building proclaimed it as “Pamola’s Diner”, just in case the cartoon illustration of the smiling winged beast with a moose’s head, a man’s torso, and an eagle’s legs was obvious enough.

Mal couldn’t help but smirk as the pamola was hardly the jovial creature that sign portrayed it to be.

They were mean and vicious, and often took prisoners back to their nests to toy with them before devouring them or feeding them to their young.

When they reached the door, he opened it and gestured for her to go inside, then followed her to the nearest empty red vinyl booth.

“Do you know what you want?” the server, a pinched-faced lamia, asked as she slithered toward them, her long, scaly tail swishing behind her.

Jasmine immediately spoke up. “One special plate with home fries, toast, and eggs over easy, plus a side of pancakes.” She glanced sheepishly at Mal. “I like breakfast for dinner.”

He put down the menu he hadn’t had a chance to read. “Same, but double everything.”

“Coffee?”

They both shook their heads.

“Be with ya in a jiffy,” she called as she slunk away.

“So,” Mal began, “what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Jasmine placed her hands at the edge of the Formica table and drummed her fingers. “Again, I’m so sorry about Vrig.”

“Thank you,” he said automatically, because what was he supposed to say? He hardly knew his uncle, and it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but this situation was just so awkward.