Page 3 of Thankful for My Orc
“Fine, I’ll go to your ridiculous speed dating thing,” I say, already regretting it. “But we both know I should be home prepping for the Morrison custody case tonight instead of—”
“The Morrison case will still be there tomorrow,” Riley interrupts. “The child’s safety is important, but doesn’t depend on you pulling an all-nightertonight.”
“Okay, but I’m not dressing up, I’m not pretending to be interested in anyone, and I’m definitely not doing any of whatever ridiculous activities they have planned.”
“Deal!” She jumps up and hugs me across the desk, nearly knocking over my coffee. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the best friend in the entire world.”
“I’m the most gullible friend in the entire world,” I mutter, but I can’t quite suppress a smile at her enthusiasm.
“This is going to be amazing. I can feel it. Tonight’s the night everything changes.”
I gather up the Persall papers, shaking my head. Riley’s romantic optimism is exactly the kind of thinking that keeps me in business. People believing in fairy tales and happily ever afters, only to end up dividing assets and arguing over who gets the good lawyers… and the spoons.
“What time do we need to be there?” I ask, already regretting my decision.
“Seven o’clock. And Jordan? Thank you. I know this isn’t your scene, but it means everything to me that you’re willing to do this.”
As I watch her practically skip out of my office, I can’t bring myself to crush her hope.
I pull up my calendar and block out the evening, typing “Riley’s romantic suicide mission” in the appointment field before changing it to the more diplomatic “Speed dating / Zone.”
My trial calendar dings—Monday’s motion. Perfect.
I need to prep, but it’s Friday night; I wasn’t going to get much done, anyway.
How hard could one evening of speed dating be? At least by the time the night is over, Riley will have learned how challenging it is to find real connection in a roomful of strangers.
Chapter Two
Forge
The alarm bells ring just as I’m finishing my shift paperwork. I follow my crew toward the engines, pulling on my bunker gear as we move.
“Electrical fire, apartment building on Cedar Street,” Chief Brokka calls out as we pile into the truck. “Probably faulty wiring. Should be contained, but they need ventilation.”
Three quick blocks through the Zone and we’re there. The fire’s already almost out—the swift action of a naga resident and a well-placed fire extinguisher did its job—but smoke damage means we need to clear the air and check for hot spots.
I set a fan at the front door to push the smoke out and then sweep the third-floor hallway with a thermal camera. Kam opensa small section of ceiling on the Chief’s nod while Thrall checks the kitchen to make sure nothing’s spread into the walls or cabinets—competence, not heroics.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re back at Station 32, and I’m questioning whether I want to be here for what’s about to happen. The guys have been giving me grief about tonight’s speed-dating mixer for weeks, ever since Kam somehow convinced Chief Brokka it would be good for “community relations.”
“Forge!” Thrall calls from across the apparatus bay, where he’s checking equipment. “You change your mind about tonight yet?”
“I’m still thinking about it,” I call back, and it’s true. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, but that doesn’t mean I’ve reached any useful conclusions.
“Come on, rookie,” Kam says, appearing at my elbow with a grin that usually means trouble. “What’s the worst that could happen? You meet a nice human female, have some conversation, maybe even smile once or twice.”
“I smile.”
“A facial contortion that scares children doesn’t count.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, too aware of the way humans stare the second I walk into a room. Tusks, green skin, pointed ears, six foot eight—I’m a walking billboard for Others, no matter how many lives I save or how cleanly I speak their language.
“That’s exactly why this is a bad idea,” I mutter, turning back to the hose and coiling it tight. “Human women take one look at me and… decide who I am before I open my mouth.”
“And what?” Chief Brokka’s voice cuts through the conversation as he approaches our group. “Realize you’re six and a half feet of solid muscle who runs into burning buildings for a living? Yeah, terrible first impression, Ironwood.”
The Chief’s been married to Marissa, a human nurse, for a while now. They’re expecting their first baby, and anyone can see how happy they are together. For some males, belonging looks easy. But I was raised to keep my head down and be useful, not seen.
