Page 86 of Grumpy Pucking Orc
“Orcs seem to be physically gifted. I can imagine they’d struggle with patience in mastering a sport they’d never done before,” Abby agreed.
I nodded, and we turned our attention back to the TV as the teams took the ice once more. It was a white-knuckle game which the Tusks ended up losing, but the score was close, and I was thrilled that they’d scored two points—one by Ozar.
And I’d seen several glimpses of my family behind the Tusks’ bench, embarrassingly decked out in orc gear and signs. It was nice that they’d gone all out in support of myboyfriend, even though the fake plastic tusks were borderline cringe.
No, it was totally cringe.
Plus, my phone had completely blown up during the game with my family’s texts, breaking my focus.
Wow, your hockey-guy is totally hot.
Is it safe for them to play without shirts? Aren’t they cold? What if they get hurt?
Your man scored a point! Way to go!
Who is that other forward? Is he single? Does he like younger human females?
I rolled my eyes at Holly’s text, assuming that she was talking about Ugwyll. I’d barely spoken two words to the orc, and there was no way I was introducing him to my barely legal cousin.
Setting my phone on vibrate, I shoved it under a pillow and concentrated on the game. It was the best the Tusks had played, and I was thrilled with the final score, even if they hadn’t won.
I tossed the empty pizza box and got us the last of the two beers, returning to the couch to watch the post-game interviews.
“Soooo?” Abby eyed me, taking a quick swig of her beer. “Let’s talk Ozar. How are things going between you two?”
My friends knew about the proposal, and the long silence before Ozar’s reply to my text. They knew we’d been communicating every night since then, and that those calls had been glorious.
And they knew that there was a dark cloud hovering at the edge of our relationship.
“Right now, things are good,” I told her. “But I feel like we’re just holding back that storm on the horizon. He calls me each night, and it’s amazing, but we both know thatwe’re just putting off all the issues we need to face once he gets back to Baltimore.”
Abby pulled a notepad out of her purse. “Okay. In preparation for what’s looming on the horizon, let’s do this like a relationship assessment. What are the traits you want in a husband?”
I thought about that for a few seconds. “He’s got to be kind. Likes my friends. Family-focused. Has either a career or some charity or something he’s passionate about. Loves cats.”
She stopped scribbling on the notepad and looked up at me. “Extrovert? Introvert?”
I held up a hand and rocked it back and forth. “A little of each? I want someone who enjoys going to the occasional concert or game or party, but who also is okay relaxing at home at the end of a day. I do a lot of my research and writing in the evenings, so I need someone who is happy to do their own thing then as well.”
“Mmmm.” Abby kept writing.
“Not a super foodie, but willing to experiment and enjoy discovering new places to dine. I want someone who isn’t an ass about keeping the house clean, who doesn’t mind cooking occasionally.”
Abby laughed. “Chili with hot dogs?”
I grimaced. “Ugh. If that’s all he can cook, then I’m good with delivery.”
“DoorDash for the win,” Abby agreed. “Kids? No kids?”
It felt like my heart did a double-tap. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. When I was young, I always envisioned myself married with two or three children, but then I never met the right guy. Or even close to the right guy. So, I changed my focus to my career and gave up on the whole husband and family thing.”
Abby set down the notepad and pen, eyeing me with a somber expression. “Oh, Jordan. I totally understand.”
“I’m thirty.” And I was on a roll here. “It made sense to give up on all that and find satisfaction with my friends, my family, and my career, right?”
She nodded. “And it’s not like you don’t love your career. You’ve got a full life right now. Lots to be happy about. There’s no need to be defensive about it. We women are more than wives and mothers.”
“We are.” I stared down at my glass of wine. “Ozar wants a ton of children. Like six or eight or a hundred.”
