Page 29 of Thankful for My Orc
The suspicious feeling in my gut intensifies. “Riley.” I draw her name out in warning, already bracing for whatever she’s done.
“It’s not a work emergency, more of a…lifeemergency. Afriendemergency. Ayou’re-being-completely-insane-and-someone-needs-to-interveneemergency.”
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “If this is about Forge—”
“It’s about you being miserable,” she interrupts, leaning forward with that determined expression that means she’s prepared for war. “It’s about you moping around the office for almost two weeks like someone died. It’s about you working until nine PM every night because you’d rather review contracts than deal with your feelings.”
“I am not moping.”
“You’ve volunteered for three pro bono cases, Jordan. Three. You don’t like pro bono work—you’ve always said it’s a drain on billable hours. But suddenly you’re taking on domestic violence cases and tenant disputes like you’re trying to save the world.”
I hate that she’s right. I’ve been throwing myself into cases that aren’t even my specialty, anything that keeps my brain occupied with other people’s problems instead of my own.
“Maybe I’m just reassessing my priorities,” I say weakly.
“Maybe you’re punishing yourself for having feelings.” Riley’s voice goes soft, which is somehow worse than when she’s yelling. “He’s been calling, am I right?”
I don’t answer, but my face must give me away because her expression shifts to something between pity and frustration.
“He has.” Her voice has that superior, knowing tone that drives me up the wall. Especially when she’s right. “And you haven’t been taking his calls.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“You haveeverythingto talk about.” She pulls out her phone and sets it on the table between us. “Jordan, I know you’re scared. I know David did a number on you, and I know rushing into things feels dangerous. But he’s not David.”
“How can you possibly know that? I barely know him, Riley. We had one conversation over coffee, and then I slept with him. That’s not the foundation for anything real.”
“It’s the foundation for getting to know each other better.” Riley’s fingers drum against the table in a pattern that means she’s working up to something. “Which is why—”
The coffee shop door chimes, and I glance automatically toward the entrance. My heart stops.
Forge fills the doorway, his massive frame made even more imposing by the way he has to duck slightly under the lintel. Even from across the room, my pulse betrays me; my body remembers the weight of his hands before my mind can catch up and shut down that line of thought.
He’s in civilian clothes—dark jeans and a gray Henley that ought to require a permit—and his eyes are scanning the room with the systematic thoroughness of someone who’sbeen trained to assess every environment for potential hazards.
When his gaze finds mine, the rest of the coffee shop seems to fade away. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then reality crashes back, and I whip around to stare at Riley.
“You didn’t.”
Riley’s smile is equal parts apologetic and defiant. “I absolutely did. Full disclosure: he asked me to set this up. He wants a chance to say his piece—but I told him I’d only try if you were willing to hear him out.”
“Riley, I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to sit here and have an adult conversation with a man, I mean male, who’s been worried sick about you for almost two weeks.” She stands up and grabs her purse. “And I’m going to make myself scarce.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Order him a coffee. Black, two sugars—I may have done some reconnaissance.” She pauses, her expression growing serious. “Jordan, you’ve been my best friend for eight years. I’ve watched you talk yourself out of everything good that’s ever tried to happen to you. Don’t do it this time.”
Before I can respond, she’s weaving through the tables toward the front door, leaving me alone with a rapidly approaching orc and no escape route that doesn’t involve causing a scene.
Forge reaches my table just as Riley disappears into the evening crowd. Up close, he looks tired in a way that makes somethingtwist uncomfortably in my chest. There are shadows under his eyes, and his usual easy confidence seems dimmed.
“Jordan.” His voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the uncertainty underneath.
“Forge.” I gesture helplessly at Riley’s abandoned chair. “I didn’t know you were—she didn’t tell me—”
“It was obvious you wouldn’t come if I reached out myself,” he says quietly. “So I asked her to help. I needed a chance to see you—to say what I should’ve said before everything fell apart.”
