Chapter Five Ingrid and King
Okay. So, that smile?
I tell myself it was not cute.
But it was pretty cute.
No! No, Ingrid. This handsome guy is just being charming. Charming because he’s a user, a jerk, and a jock who thinks he’ll toss the fat girl a smile and she’ll become putty in his hands. His big hands.
His fucking huge hands—the tablet looks like a fun-size candy bar in his palm.
Focus. I try to pretend he didn’t say something slick, like he was a fan of me.
Yeah. Sure. A fan of what I can do for him.
So, why did I offer to help him after work?
Because you’re the queen of suckers, that’s why. You heard a little of his conversation and suddenly forgot that he’d just been a self-centered jerk, the kind who talks down to people and shouts at little old ladies.
Well, maybe not directly at little old ladies.
How can this guy be a friend of Marina’s?
Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, from the bit of his phone call I could overhear, it sounded like he had a concussion last night and all of his dreams have been crushed.
It's just cannoli and crutches, not condos and commitment.
Besides, you’re in a compassionate profession, and you pushed an injured man.
I sneak another glance.
An injured side of beef, more like. Or should that be beefcake?
With a hard swallow, I grab my sticker-encrusted water bottle and gulp down water, trying to subdue my suddenly rising temperature. I’m not one to go crazy over big muscles and good looks.
That only leads to hurt and heartache. The handsome ones want the beauty queens, and I’m more the cute friend who decides to go write in her notebook and crochet things instead of trying to flirt.
King tries to get to his feet and sways when he has to catch himself, large hand spread against the wall as he tries to get his crutches under him. “Here, I’ll take the tablet.” I rush over and reach out to steady him.
“I think I got all the right information. My coach had to send me some details, but it’s all in there now.” He looks down on me, eyes bright, grin bashful.
Oooh, this guy is a master. Most women wouldn’t resist that little show of vulnerability in a big, strapping hunk of man.
“Thank you. I’ll take your information. The doctor won’t be too long.” I keep my voice professional (too little too late, but there you have it) and whisk the tablet away, back to my desk.
Why the heck is it so hot in here?
She’s changed her tune.
Silverbow? Silver tongue.
She keeps looking at me while she’s working at her desk.
She’s trying not to look over here, but the same Orc senses that make me an excellent hockey player are going to make me an attentive mate.
I hear the rustle of her long caramel brown hair and catch the slightest movement of her head.
And she’s sipping water, swallowing softly, but to me it sounds like someone gulping and guzzling.
I don’t mind. I haven’t felt like this outside of the ice, ever.
Maybe... Maybe I was just thinking about this wrong. Maybe I need to get the girl first in order to get to the major leagues? Don’t they say behind every great man is a great woman?
She stands up and does something with the files behind her desk.
Ooooh. I’d like to be behind that.
But I probably couldn’t do anything remotely physical with her.
What the hell am I going to do?
She doesn’t even know I’m an Orc. She’s going to see a washed-up minor league hockey player who didn’t even finish college or trade school, who’s having a midlife crisis at twenty-four.
“Hey, man. You ready?” Kevin Bailey comes out, his hands ready to steady me.
I feel weak. Kevin’s a nice, muscular guy, for a human. But... I’m an Orc.
No, I’m a mess.
“Not at all,” I groan, and let him help me into the back.
Kev lets out a long, low whistle. Not the good kind. “This is millimeters away from needing surgery. And you say this is just because of some rose petals on the ice?”
“The stem. A thick stem.” I shrug and look away from the images on his computer screen.
I don’t know much about MRIs, but I know that my left knee has two nice straight black lines, one on either side of the knee, and my right knee looks slanted, and the inner black line is slightly crooked, and the outside line actually looks like curled up spaghetti, veering off from the kneecap.
“You need to stay off that. You need to keep the leg elevated, ice it, keep a compression wrap on it—” Kev is typing fast, fingers flying, voice scarily grave.
“But... what do I come in here for, then? I could lie on my couch at home.”
“We’ll start with gentle range of motion and strength retention exercises.
You’ll be doing all of those on the bench out in the workout room.
I’ll print out a sheet of exercises I want you to do three times a day.
Ankle Pumps. Move your ankle up and down, flexing and extending your foot.
” Kev swings himself up on the counter of the exam room and demonstrates.
“Quad sets. You’re going to tighten your thigh muscles while keeping your knee straight. ”
My mouth is open. “I’m squeezing my thigh and wriggling my ankle? That’s it?”
“That’s all for now—plus training to use your crutches. You have to keep all weight off this leg. All of it. Shit, do you have someone nearby to make you meals, buddy? I’m going to text Marina. She made this amazing chicken and lentil curry last night. I’m going to have her bring some over to you.”
I’m still stuck on the fact that my “workout” now consists of lying on my back and doing two tiny motions.
Kev is still talking. He’s telling me about other activities I’ll need to do while sitting to keep my other leg and upper body in shape.
“What about sex?” I blurt it out without thinking.
He doesn’t bat an eye. “Sit and let her do the work. Lie down, let her be on top. But for God’s sake, not for a couple of weeks. I don’t know how you could keep your knee from moving at least a little with anyone... Well, anyone like Marina.” His eyes go glassy with lust.
I look at the ceiling, trying not to think about his wife. Marina is a rusalka, which is basically a water succubus. She needs sex the way we need food. Instead, I think about how Ingrid just pushed me down on my butt, then stood and glared at me.
Man... If only that had been at home on my couch, me in some of my “good” boxers and her in something slinky and black...
“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,” Kev collects a bunch of papers from the printer next to his computer.
“I’m not. Um. Ingrid. At the desk? Is she—”
Kev spins around on the black stool he’s sitting on. “Hold up.”
“Is she single? Does she know that some of us are ‘special’?”
“That woman is my colleague and my friend, and she never even met you until today. You are not going to go have sex with—”
“Whoa, Prude Police! Look at your wife’s track record before you—”
Kevin stands up, and I shut up.
“Did I mention I hit my head?” I ask meekly.
He glowers, a snarl on his face. “That’s all that’s saving your pretty green mug right now.”
“I’m sorry. I just... Do you know Orcs can sometimes tell when they meet their perfect match? Not like some magic bond or something, not some spell. But all of a sudden, you know. You see them, and you know.”
“You gonna go propose to my receptionist?” Kevin hisses, hands slowly going to his head.
“No! Well... No! Not yet. Maybe someday. I hope.”
“Holy shit. Let’s put this down to the head injury and move on, okay?”
“No, no. I’m serious.” I tell him the story of my great-great-great times a bunch grandparents, and how the name Silverbow came to be.
“So you like getting smacked around a little? I think Marina probably knows someone who can help with that. Also, this is physical therapy. Not the kind you need. Well, not the only kind that you need,” he mutters darkly.
“I do not need to be smacked around a little, and I don’t need a therapist. Uh.
Maybe. Because if my career is over, and I don’t know what to do with my life, I—” I don’t like the deeply concerned look Kevin is giving me, so I stop there.
“The tradition of a War Maiden is sacred in Orc culture. Orc Maidens are the epitome of a good mate, a wife you treasure, and hopefully the mother of your children one day.”
“Oooh,” Kev winces. “Babies? I hate to tell you, but Ingrid’s babies are her big-ass dogs, two German Shepherd mix-tasters, Chip and Daisy.”
“Doesn’t matter. I like dogs,” I say with a shrug. “But a War Maiden... Look, I was a jerk, and she did battle with me. She wasn’t afraid. She sparred with me and knocked me on my ass—in the best way possible.”
“I knew something was going on out there,” Kevin groans and buries his face in his hands. “You have a crush on Ingrid because she didn’t let you act like a jerk? You’re really easy to please, man.” He shakes his head.
“Does she know about Marina? Orcs? Shifters? Anything?”
Kev stands with a deep sigh and takes some crutches from the corner of the room. “Might as well do something useful. Let’s show you how to walk on these bad boys. Grab your set and follow me to the therapy area.”
“Okay.” I let him position me the right way, and then try a few clumsy steps. “This is silly. Why can’t I do it the other way?”
“You want to have sore shoulders and armpits?” he demands.
“I don’t think I will. Orcs are tough. And speaking of—”
“Orcs are tough, not invincible, as your knee and the second knee it’s giving birth to prove.
As for Ingrid,” he lowers his voice and stands close to me, helping me readjust my grip, “I don’t know.
I’ve never outright asked her, but she’s hinted a few times that she knows this place is ‘spooky’ or ‘strange.’ When I’ve pressed her, she’s told me that her Polish grandmother was very superstitious and raised her to believe in spirits and omens.
She’s told me there’s ‘powerful energy’ here.
I tell her I agree. I mean, I’ve seen it. ”
“So she might know I’m a green guy with tusks?”
“Yep.”
“And on the other hand, she might not?”
“Right.”
“Hockey is easier than life,” I grumble.