Page 38 of Grumpy Pucking Orc
He stood, and I watched as he walked to the kitchen. Ozar moved with a stealthy grace for such a large guy. And every ounce of him was muscle. I’d done a bit of a reach-around when we’d kissed and there wasn’t even a hint of a spare tire going on under his shirt—not that I hadn’t seen him naked from the waist up as all the Tusks were during the game.
His hockey uniform had told me in no uncertain terms that his legs and ass were totally solid, but I’d known plenty of buff guys who were sporting a little softness around their midsection. I’d never minded that at all; in fact, it was a weird turn-on for me, but Ozar’s rock-like physique lit an unexpected fire between my legs.
A few seconds later, the orc appeared again with that ridiculous apron tied around his waist and a steaming bowl of stew in his hands. As amused as I was by the rose-printed apron bordered with several rows of ruffles, it was the food that got my attention. I jumped up, prepared to help, butOzar growled at me to sit while he served. I did as he demanded, my stomach growling again as he brought in hot bread and a container of what looked to be farm-fresh butter. Finally, he sat, pulling off the apron at the last minute and tossing it over the back of the couch.
Then he served me. Dishing everything into a bowl, he picked up a spoon and hesitated. I tilted my head, wondering if he was going to sample my food or spoon it into my mouth. Either scenario would be uncomfortably weird, but I’d go along with whatever, not wanting to offend his dining customs.
Thankfully, he flipped the spoon, handing it to me. I waited for him to serve himself, but he just stared at me expectantly. As respectful as I wanted to be of his customs, I wasn’t about to chow down with him hovering and watching me, so I motioned toward the serving bowl.
“Humans who are dining together eat at the same time,” I finally said.
He let out a breath, nodded sharply, then filled his own bowl before sitting down. Still, he waited.
“Um,bon appetit?” I scooped a hearty spoonful into my mouth and my taste buds exploded with the flavor. “Oh, God. This is amazing.” It was so amazing that I was talking with my mouth full.
His shoulders relaxed and he grunted something unintelligible and began to eat.
We sat side by side, our knees touching as we ate in silence. As conscious as I was of his muscled thigh so close to mine, the food took center stage. The meat was flavorful and tender, the sauce spicy and rich. Instead of resting on a bed of rice, Ozar had served it all on top of steamed sweet potatoes, which were the perfect complement to the stew. I’d imaginedorcs as some sort of fantasy barbarian, dining solely on unseasoned roasted meat and hard, crusty bread. I was thrilled to realize that once again, my stereotypical assumptions were all wrong. Their lives and homes were clearly different, but from what Ozar had told me, theirs were no less nuanced and full than our own lives. A difference in culture didn’t mean the orcs were savages, it just meant they’d discovered different ways of enjoying the same things we did.
Ozar insisted I relax with another glass of wine while he cleared the plates and cleaned up. I smelled coffee brewing, and he brought me a mug, then went back into the kitchen to return with the two boxes from the fridge.
“Milk and sugar?” he asked with a smile.
“Just milk, please,” I replied.
He brought me the giant bottle of milk I’d seen in the fridge as well as two plates, two forks, and a knife. We each had half a cannoli and a slice of the pine-nut cake. As we ate, I told him about my favorite bakery in Little Italy and the amazing Spanish food at Tio Pepe’s, promising to take him to both places soon.
All through dinner and afterward, I still felt the fire, the sexual flame that being so close to him sparked, but unlike before, the intense physical attraction was blended with an incredibly cozy feeling of companionship. IlikedOzar. Talking to him was so easy. And even the silences that sometimes fell, the lulls between our conversation…these were comfortable. There was no doubt in my mind that we’d see each other again, that I’d buy him dinner at Tio Pepe’s, that we’d explore the Inner Harbor then walk to Little Italy for an espresso and a cannoli, that we’d eat crabs on the deck at Nick’s Fishhouse, listening to reggae music while watching the boats come in to dock.
I couldn’t imagine a future without Ozar by my side. I didn’twantto imagine a future without him.
At thirty, I’d dated a lot. I’d had a few relationships. I’d been in love. But none of those prior experiences had ever been like this. What I felt for this orc was so much more than sexual attraction. Being with him felt right. It was like we were meant to walk through our lives side by side, in partnership forever.
“These are both very good.” He pointed his fork at each of the boxes, scraping the last of the cannoli filling off his plate.
“Keep the leftovers,” I told him. “You can take them in to your team tomorrow for them to eat.”
He growled, reaching out and pulling the boxes closer. “These are mine and I will not share. I plan to have them for breakfast.”
I laughed, because in spite of his fierce glare, his lips twitched upward. “Okay, then. Breakfast of champions. You all probably burn off a million calories in practice and workouts anyway.”
“We don’t.” He sighed, his expression suddenly serious. “Practice and workout, I mean. We have no coach, no one to teach us to skate or show us what exercises will help us perform our best. We don’t even know the rules of the game beyond getting the turd…I mean the puck into the opponent’s net and preventing them from doing the same. Our owner only wants us to play the bumbling fools. I thought the humans in the stadium wanted the same, but I think some humans do want us to win.”
I reached out to put my hand on his arm. “There are lots of fans that want you to win, including me. I’m sorry you’ve got so little support from your owner and staff.”
He grunted. “There are times inlife when you must accomplish things without the help of others. I have been running and exercising each morning on my own, and today I skated with Ugwyll. I am trying to get my teammates to care about the game but in this I am failing as well.”
Ozar was a strategist, a leader. I’d seen that from the first time I’d laid eyes on him. I knew he had a plan, and I was willing to help any way I could—although I doubted a reconstructive dentist could do much to assist a struggling orc hockey team.
Sliding my hand down his arm, I curled my hand in his. “What’s the most important thing the team needs to learn?”
I was thinking I could pull together some YouTube videos of games, a bullet list of hockey rules, and maybe even ask Willa for a basic workout plan they could follow, but his reply surprised me.
“To skate. We will always be the fools unless we can stay on our feet and at least manage a tiny bit of defense. We may never win, but I hate that our opponents win by so many points.”
The muscles in his arm had bunched at his words, and his hand squeezed mine.
“What time do you get to the stadium in the morning?” I might not be as skilled as an NHL player, but I’d grown up with skates in a part of the country where we’d had a long winter season to play on the ice.
