Chapter Six Ingrid and King #2
Orc men are supposed to provide for their mates.
Even though we’re much more modern now, blending in seamlessly in the human world as accountants, stonemasons, civil servants, and whatever else you can think of, it’s still not out of place for Orc males to court in an old-fashioned way.
My cousins in Scotland wooed their prospective wives with lavish gifts, handcrafted works, valiant acts of service—and a house full of supplies for their brides to move into at the end of summer.
That’s an old Orc tradition. Marry by summer’s end, work together through harvest, and have the whole winter in a snug, cozy, well-stocked house to work on making the next generation.
If I wanted to court Ingrid, woo her to be mine—I’d picked the worst possible time to do it.
And I have nothing but myself to woo with. I can’t hunt right now, can’t do any grand gestures unless I do them on one foot and two sticks, can’t—
Ingrid puts the brakes on my self-pity with a squeeze on my hand. “Hey. I know it’s hard, but try to take one day at a time.”
“I’m trying. But it’s hard when one day might ruin your whole career, and you don’t—” I swallow hard, “you don’t have anything else to fall back on. Just like my dad warned me about.”
She puts the car in drive and backs out, a frown on her pretty face. Her soft face. She looks...
She looks like all the soft things I never get and am not supposed to want.
“No college degree?”
“Started. Got scouted sophomore year. A season of training camps. Signed a contract for two years. Signed a one-year extension. Got an agent this year to move me from the minors to the majors.” I close my eyes and lean back, my head completely over the top of the headrest. “Scouts and my agent were there last night. After the game, I was supposed to go for drinks. Shmooze. Sign papers today, or later this week.” I ball my fists and slam one down on my uninjured leg.
“If I’m out for most of a season, or I get labeled as having a bum knee, I’ll never make it to the majors.
And I’ll be stuck in Pine Ridge forever. ”
I know I just vented like someone in need of therapy—another sign of weakness and poor planning. My father would have a field day if he could hear this.
To my surprise, Ingrid sighs and nods deeply.
“I was going to be a Navy nurse. Thought I’d have an officer husband—someone like my dad.
Then my dad and Mom got divorced and moved as far apart as they could get from each other while still living in the same country.
Both got remarried within two years of breaking up.
Everything I thought I wanted, I suddenly didn’t want anymore.
And then...” she lets out a laugh, “guess who made it all the way through two years of nursing school before finding out that she can’t handle when patients ‘expire’? ”
“Well, no one likes when—”
“I tried three different programs. Three different placements. Want to know what I found out?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Oh, be afraid. Be very afraid,” she chuckles, flipping that long, light brown hair.
“I found out that patients can ‘expire’ anywhere, in any field, at any time. Routine dermatology? Allergic reaction to numbing solution on the neck. Airway closed. Elderly woman. Gone in three minutes. Pediatrics. Cancer. Genetic mutations.” She shudders, and I want to put my arms around her and protect her.
“General practice? Young guy. A runner. Expensive suit. Nice watch. Talking on his cell phone one second, gone the next. Heart attack and stroke, boom-boom. Gone.”
“Oh, Ingrid.” I swallow hard.
“Life is too short. I decided that if my job made me miserable before I even started it, I should stop doing it and focus on what I like. Dogs. Traveling. Eating wonderful foods from all the different cuisines in the world. Swimming in the ocean every summer. Living in cute little mountain towns instead of big cities with Navy bases.”
I smile when she smiles. She’s suddenly so... vibrant. Not just pretty, but shining.
My prize.
“That’s awesome. But... I do like hockey. I like it because it feels natural—and it’s something I’m good at.”
Ingrid stops the car in front of a small Italian restaurant by the Fresh Mart. Across the road, the small high school marching band is blaring out something with a lot of brass while the football team runs laps in the athletic fields.
“If you love hockey, then keep working to get back to it! You’ll do it if Kev says you will, and if you actually listen to your medical providers.”
“Why are you still in the medical field if you don’t like seeing people pass? If you say it can happen anywhere?” I ask.
“Because getting a job as a medical receptionist is easy when you’re overqualified.
The pay is good, and the risk of someone cutting out of this life right in front of you is way lower.
I got myself a townhouse in Pleasant Pines.
I got my dogs—I was never allowed to have dogs, growing up.
I would sometimes see K-9 unit dogs when we lived on base, and I used to beg and beg for a pet, but when you could be moved every two years, across the country, to another country.
.. no. My parents always said no. No to too many things.
” Ingrid shrugs, but then she smiles, and the bitterness leaves her features.
“What are you, twenty-two? You’ll learn by the time you’re thirty-four that you have to live life on your own terms. When you go, you don’t take other people’s expectations with you. ”
“I’m twenty-four,” I say. “That’s a great way to look at things.” Unless you’re an Orc, and playing a sport, especially a human sport, is considered sort of dumb and a waste of time.
I can hear my father’s voice in cadence with the throbbing from the back of my skull.
An All-Star! Of course, y’are! What are you, three stone heavier and two feet taller than the rest?
Wheest, King, that’s not what we raised you for.
Stop playing at children’s games and come home and take a role in your clan.
You weren’t named Fool. Although, the way you’ve been acting, maybe y’ should’ve been.
“Let me help you.” Ingrid bolts to the back to get my crutches.
I should just go home. I’m not going to be a good date like this, am I?
Every other date I’ve ever been on speeds past in my mind.
Celebratory one-night fumbles with kissing and groping, drunken hotties bragging about taking home a hockey player. Me, bragging to the guys about going back to my room with said hotties.
Orcs think sex and marriage are sacred (and we’re not built for quick fucks with humans unless we want to send them to the hospital afterward), so it’s been a lot of “just the tip,” hands, and mouths.
I once tried to go after the only other Orc in town—a half-Orc, that is, Georgia Fenclan. And when I said go after, I meant I had a stupid moment at a party where I was like, “We’re the only single Orcs in the state. We’re stuck with each other.”
With dawning horror, I realize I have never, ever dated-dated. I’ve taken people home with the clear expectation that we were going to get each other off.
And I’m not supposed to have sex.
And she’s a hot older woman.
My palms are sweating. They haven’t done that since the day I signed my first contract. After that, I became King, the athlete. King, the All-Star.
“You okay? You look a little green around the gills.” Ingrid is leaning next to me, eyebrows gathered in concern, pale pink lips thin.
Oh, and she doesn’t know I’m an Orc.
“Would you believe I’m good on the ice and bad at real life?” I blurt.
I immediately wish my tongue were bandaged and immobile instead of my knee.
But, to my surprise, Ingrid laughs. “Bad at what?”
“Um. Dating beautiful women?”
She hands me my crutches and steps back as I emerge clumsily from the car.
“Well, I’m ten years older than you. I’m not a hockey groupie shaking her ‘assets’ for you, and I hate flattery. So, you can stop pretending that this is a date and—”
My spine bends, my arms flail, and I know it’s going to be close. My lips smack into hers for three glorious seconds before I windmill my way upright, one crutch narrowly missing hitting her in the ankle.
She is looking up at me with a mixture of shock and anger.
“I know I just messed up,” I gasp, wincing because my leg doesn’t want to do what I tell it to, “but I wanted you to stop talking like that. You’re gorgeous, and I asked you out because I wanted to do it from the second you shoved my ass in a chair and some manners back in my mouth.
” I give a little shrug. “You ever meet someone, and you like them instinctively? And you know from the start that you’ll never stop?
” I look deep into her eyes, and I’m relieved when I see a little crinkle forming around the edges of each one.
God, she’s so beautiful when she smiles.
“Maybe once or twice,” she admits.
“Well, that’s how I feel about you.”
The smile wavers. “Really?”
I nod. Slick, suave, champagne-fueled King would have something clever to say, but I just keep nodding and finally gasp, “Uh-huh.”
“Come on. I want a cannoli.”
“Oooh, cannoli.” I limp along with her. She tosses her hair over her shoulder when she looks back at me, a crooked half-smile on her face, cheeks suddenly as pink as her lips. For a second, I don’t even need the crutches, because I feel like I’m floating on air.