“Meet me and Willa after work for drinks and tell us all the details,” Abby insisted. “The guy cooks. He loves kids. I’m hoping the mattress aerobics add yet one more plus in the tally.”

  There were a whole lot of pluses in the tally so far. A whole lot.

  “I’m going to the hockey stadium after work to skate with Ozar, then I wanted to take him for ice cream. He’s never had it. Can you imagine?”

  “A world without ice cream? No, I can’t imagine that at all. What sort of hell is his homeland?” Abby teased. “And are you sure you want to skate with him? We saw him at the hockey game. He’s liable to fall and crush you within the first five seconds.”

  “He was better than anyone else on the team,” I reminded her. “I’m going to teach him a few things because he wants to try to make something of this team. And yes, I trust him not to fall on me.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “He wants to make something of the team? Make what of the team? Because the Tusks are not going to be walking home with the cup anytime in the next decade. They’re a group of orcs who don’t know how to play hockey and have never skated before up against teams that have been on the ice before they could walk and who have lived and breathed hockey from grade school on.”

  “If they score a point occasionally, it’s a start,” I argued. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re clearly gifted when it comes to physical activities, and they learn quickly. They might suck this year, but they’ll suck less each game they play, and I’m sure that within a few years, they might actually win a game. Maybe two.”

  “Hopeless optimist,” Abby teased. “But I’m not going to argue with you about your boyfriend’s hockey team—especially because I’m longing for some comped tickets.”

  The door opened, and my first patient for the day came in so I waved my hands at Abby. “I’ve gotta get back to work. Tomorrow night I’ll meet you girls for happy hour and spill the goods.”

  My friend pushed the paper toward me. “Keep that. I’m not sure Willa or I can wait for tomorrow night to hear the juicy details, but we’ll try.”

  The rest of the day was a crazed blur. I had my implant procedures, an emergency root canal, and a tricky set of enamels that caused me to work late. Just as I was getting ready to finish for the evening, the rep with DarRafi Inc. returned my call about their supplying me with medical equipment for the nonhuman population. It made me extra late leaving the office, but by the end of the day, we had an approved account with DarRafi and they had emailed me a link with access to a library of training videos on their products.

  If my plans had been anything besides spending time with Ozar, I would have canceled and spent the evening watching those videos and going through the catalogue of products. Instead, I rushed home and changed—four times. It wasn’t easy finding an outfit that would work for skating, but was still sexy—but not too sexy. I got the feeling that Ozar’s affections mirrored mine, but just in case, I didn’t want to make our relationship all about the physical.

  Even though I fully intended on inviting him home to my house tonight.

  Finally, I decided on black yoga tights paired with the Baltimore Tusks jersey I’d ordered after last weekend’s game layered over a long-sleeve silk T-shirt. It was warm enough that I skipped the coat and threw on a down-filled vest instead. Sticking my phone and my wallet into a small cross-body bag, I blew the dust off my skates and left for the stadium.

  The parking lot was vacant aside from a couple of cars, and the main entrance was locked up tight with those folding metal security gates. I walked left to a gray, windowless door and pressed the intercom button.

  There was a pause while the guard checked my name, then I heard a click. I wrestled the heavy door open and walked across a small room to the guard booth. I slid my ID through the slot in the probably bulletproof glass. The man checked it, radioed for Ozar, then slid my ID back to me.

  I’d barely stuffed it back into my purse before another door opened, a huge green, muscle-bound orc blocking the entrance.

  “Jordan.”

  Chapter 21

  Jordan

  Ifelt a flush of heat at his deep voice. Memories filled my mind from last night—his hands on my body, his mouth on my body, that noise of satisfaction that he’d made deep in his throat when I came. But I wanted more than sex from this orc, so I pushed those tantalizing thoughts to the back of my mind and held up my skates.

  “Ready to have some fun?” What was meant to come out light and flirty, instead was husky and full of innuendo.

  “By fun, do you mean am I ready to have you ride my hand-axe?” His gaze roamed over my body. “Yes, I am. Should our fun happen before or after we skate?”

  Both? I sucked in a breath at the idea. “You pick.”

  He considered his options for a few, long seconds. “After. If we do the sex now, that’s all we’ll be doing for the rest of the night. When you are naked on my furs, I know I will lack the resolve to do anything but pleasure you until the sun rises.”

  That sounded amazing to me, but getting to know him outside the bedroom was important, too.

  “Then I agree. We should skate first, eat some ice cream, and see where the night takes us.”

  The night was going to take us straight back to either his house or mine.

  I followed him through the door, just now realizing that the guard was an amused audience to our conversation. The stadium was empty and mostly dark except for the hallway leading down to the team areas. Everything was industrial in design with concrete floors, block walls, and ductwork overhead. Ozar gave me a brief tour, showing me the luxurious—and empty—gym, as well as the meeting room and offices. Then he ushered me into the team’s locker room. I hesitated a brief second, not sure if I’d find a bunch of naked orcs inside or not.

  The locker room was just as empty as every other room and hallway we’d been through. It was pretty standard. Walls of metal lockers with wooden benches lined up parallel to them in the center of the room. Toward the back, an open doorway led to tiled showers, the individual spots separated by half-walls. To the right, another open doorway led to toilet stalls with urinals and sinks. Glancing around, I noticed there were not the expected motivational posters on the walls, no action pictures, not even graffiti. This could have been an upscale high school locker room instead of one for an NHL team.

  I was more disappointed that it was immaculately clean, with the faint scent of lemony cleaning product, than anything else. Not that I wanted to be hit with the aroma of damp, dirty socks, but there should be that warm odor of muscular athletes. And orc sweat had a fresh, earthy smell that from last night’s knife fight I’d discovered really turned me on.

  Ozar opened a locker and pulled out a pair of skates. As we sat side by side to lace up our footwear, I broke our companionable silence.

  “None of you wear pads or helmets when you play?”

  He grunted. “Except for the goalie, no. Only the humans wear those.”

  I hesitated, not sure if that was because they weren’t as susceptible to injury, or because their pride kept them from wearing safety gear.

  “We only have pants, skates, and our sticks,” he continued. “And a plastic device to protect our hand-axe from impact. We didn’t used to have those, but after Morag took a puck between the legs, the team owner provided them.”

  I sucked in a horrified breath, and Ozar grimaced.

  “Morag’s walnuts were the size of oranges for days, and his hand-axe still curves to the right.”

  “Oh God!” I couldn’t imagine how painful that had been. “What did the team doctor say? Did Morag need to see a specialist? Is he still on medical leave?”

  Ozar frowned, processing my flurry of questions before answering. “He will play this next game. The healers here aren’t familiar with orc medicine, so most of the team doesn’t go to see human medics or go to human healing facilities.”

  Once more, I thought of the lack of medical and dental providers for nonhumans. Demons and angels wouldn’t need such things, but other beings clearly did. It was horrible that Morag had suffered when there should have been trained individuals to ease his pain and ensure he suffered no lasting or permanent damage from the injury.

  “Could an orc healer come here to train the human doctors on your medicines and treatments for illness or injury?” I asked, truly worried about one of them becoming seriously hurt and dying before we could figure out appropriate medical care.

  Ozar shot me a puzzled glance. “Why? We are tough and heal quickly. Even at home, we seldom go to a healer.”

  “But you’re not at home; you’re here where the human healers don’t know how to treat you,” I countered. “At the very least, the team doctor should understand orc anatomy and medical treatments. Right now, there are only a few dozen orcs among us humans, give or take, but what happens when there are hundreds of orcs living here? Or thousands?”

  His puzzled expression remained. “There will never be hundreds or thousands of orcs here. We come in groups and will probably return home before a new group arrives.”

  I felt a strange heaviness in my chest at his words. What did he mean “return home”? Were they tourists or on some sort of supernatural H1B visa, forced into jobs by the angels? Was this thing between Ozar and me the equivalent of a holiday fling? Did he plan to eventually thank me for a lovely time, and go home?

  Or maybe I’d misunderstood, and the whole “return home” thing was a hundred years from now. I had no idea how long orcs lived, or what constituted a vacation for them.

  It was ridiculous to be thinking of that when I hadn’t known Ozar for even a week. Still, it stuck in my mind. I couldn’t let myself fall for him, couldn’t get serious when I wasn’t sure if he intended on sticking around for at least my lifetime.

  “I’d feel a lot better if you and the team wore the same level of safety gear that’s provided to the humans,” I told him, forcing my thoughts back to the team and the potential for injury during a game.

  He grunted. “No. We do not wear helmets and pads.”

  I bent to finish tying my laces, hiding my eye roll. Stubborn, grumpy male.

  Skates on, I stood and waited for Ozar to do the same. He was a little wobbly getting to his feet, and put a hand out on the wall as he stomped his way out of the locker room and down the tunnel to the ice. I followed, watching him and wondering what I could do to make him more balanced and confident on his skates. After our mock knife fight last night, I knew that the huge orc was incredibly light on his feet and could move with a nimble grace that belied his size. There was no reason for him to be so unsteady now, aside from perhaps a lack of experience.

  Ozar hesitated at the end of the tunnel where the carpet met the ice, then launched himself forward. As I watched him, I noted that he had improved since the game last weekend. He still tended to stomp his blades into the ice and propel himself forward by digging the toe of one skate into the ice and using it to push off. Wincing, I felt sorry for whoever maintained the surface, wondering how much time the Zamboni needed to spend going over the ice to fix the divots the orcs dug out each day.

  I glided onto the ice, slowly circling around to get a sense of my surroundings and skating backward a few feet before stopping. The stands were dark, but the ice was lit like it was game day. For a second, I felt the exhilaration of what it must be like to play professionally for a packed crowd. I imagined the roar of the crowd, the echoing din of the announcer, the adrenaline rush as teammates took the ice. I loved my career and wouldn’t have made a different choice if I’d had the opportunity to do it all over again, but for a brief second, I wished I could have been good enough to play any sport in the big leagues.

  Then I looked over at Ozar, who was watching me with his dark eyes.

  “How do you make that look so easy? How are you so graceful on these knife-blades?”

  “I’ve been skating since I was little. Growing up, we all skated. Winters were long and cold in Buffalo, and we bundled up to hit the ice after school almost every day. We’d play pickup games of hockey or make up fancy figure skating routines and pretend we were in the Winter Olympics. Even when I went to college, I would occasionally go to a rink. Skating is just something I’ve always done. Kind of like knife and sword fighting is for you.”

  He nodded. “I had practice weapons since I could walk. All the orcs in my tribe did. Females…uh, women and men, we all were trained to hunt and fight from an early age.”

  I held out my hand. “You showed me how to fight. Let me show you how to skate.”

  He scowled, then nodded and slid his way over to me with that stab-and-push motion. He did get a lot of distance and speed with each push, but the chunks flying off the ice were nearly giving me a heart attack.

  When he was close enough, he took my hand.

  “We’re not going to skate fast,” I told him. “This isn’t a game. It’s not a competition. Pretend that we’re dancing, slow and smooth.”

  “Orcs do not dance slow and smooth,” he informed me. “We leap and spin and fling ourselves into each other.”

  Lord. It sounded like the mosh pit at the metal concerts I’d been to.

  “Then pretend like we’re making love. Having sex, slow and smooth. Every movement will be coordinated between us. Just follow my lead.”

  His dark eyes were intense as they bored into mine. “Orc males lead when they have sex, but for you, my human fe…woman, I will follow.”

  From a human, that would have sounded insufferably arrogant, but from Ozar, it came across as tender and vulnerable.

  I turned so his front was to my back and positioned his hands on my waist. “Angle your left skate like this and gently push yourself forward on the right skate. Don’t dig in with the toe like you were doing before, just angle, give some gentle pressure on the blade, then push.”

  Even though I couldn’t see him behind me, I could feel that he mirrored my movement.

  “Now with your right skate pointing straight ahead, return the left blade to the ice and shift your weight to that leg, angling and pushing off with your right foot.”

  We quickly fell into a rhythm, gliding slowly around the ice. The second lap we increased speed, and during the third lap, I pulled Ozar’s hands from my waist, darting forward to put a little space between us before spinning around and taking his hands in mine. We circled that way, me skating backward and Ozar guiding our path as we increased speed once more.

  I let go of his hands and cut to the right. He skated forward a few paces, then surprised me by turning around to skate backward. The turn involved a shower of ice chips, but he used the technique I just taught him to smoothly glide in reverse.

  For an hour we skated, not like hockey players, but like a couple enjoying a romantic evening on the ice. By the time we headed back to the locker room, Ozar could coordinate his movements alongside mine, twirling me around in front of him to his other side, then turning to skate backward while holding my hands. It amazed me how quickly he’d caught on and how much innate talent he’d shown. Maybe my wishful thinking was right, and this hockey team might be able to hold their own against a human team by the end of the season.

  After changing out of our skates, we headed into the night. The mild temperature of the day had vanished with the sun, and a cold breeze was sliding clouds across the stars and moon. I shivered, and Ozar pulled me against him, the warmth of his body and his arm slung across my shoulders, chasing away the chill. It probably wasn’t an ideal night for ice cream, but since I’d enjoy a cup of mint chip even if I lived in Antarctica, we were going for ice cream.

  The teen girl behind the counter looked up as we walked in, then did a double take. Her eyes widened as she took in the giant orc. Ozar had needed to duck his head coming through the doorway and turn slightly sideways so his shoulders could fit through the opening. His eyes widened as well, but it was because he’d seen the rows of ice cream in the long, counter-topped freezer.

  “Is all this iced cream?”

  His voice held so much awe that I laughed. “Most of it. Some are sherbet, which doesn’t include milk. You can try a taste of any before you order.”

  Ozar walked over to the freezer cases and shook his head. “This is amazing. What is your favorite?”

  “I’ve always been a mint chip fan, but I also love rocky road and dark chocolate with strawberries and almonds sprinkled on top.”

  I watched as he carefully perused the containers. Ozar was so refreshingly open about his emotions. His excitement over trying ice cream, his willingness to let me teach him to skate. And that picture of him playing with children at the park. This guy seemed too good to be true, but the optimist inside of me wanted to believe that this was real, so I did.

  “I saw the article in the paper. The one where you were at Patterson Park with the kids this weekend,” I told him.

  His shoulders tightened. “Orc males teach their young to fight and survive. They don’t usually indulge in play with them.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “That’s a shame. I love it when a man finds joy in playing with children. I love it when a man talks to me about his hopes and dreams, about his fears. I love it when a man shares both the good memories of his past and the bad.”

  His shoulders relaxed. Then he said, “I like milk.”

  It sounded like a confession, and I got the idea that enjoying a glass of milk was another thing orc men weren’t supposed to do.

  “We’re all about our dairy products here,” I told him. “Cheese. Cream sauces. Lattes. We even have non-dairy options for humans who can’t easily digest real milk. No matter your age, everyone deserves to enjoy milk products. Including ice cream.”

  He pointed a finger at one of the tubs of ice cream. “Can I try that one?”

  “Sure can.” The girl dug a tiny pink spoon into the mocha-fudge swirl and held it out to Ozar. The orc tasted it and made a low growling noise deep in his throat.