Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice Book 1), page 9
And then he’d asked me to dinner—even better, he’d offered to cook for me.
Was it wise for me to go over to his house for dinner? I didn’t really know him, and he was an orc, physically capable of overpowering me with both hands tied behind his back. I’d give his address to my friends, set up a time to check in with them and let them know all was well. It couldn’t be that dangerous to go to his home for dinner. He was on the Baltimore Tusks hockey team. It wasn’t like he’d jeopardize his job and risk imprisonment just to get some action.
And honestly, the thought of getting it on with Ozar was appealing. Very appealing. I’d taken far longer than I’d needed to polish his tusks, enjoying the effect my closeness had on him. I wished I’d unbuttoned my shirt a bit before I’d gone into the room, just to flash a little cleavage as I bent over him, so I could see the desire burning in his dark eyes.
“Are you seriously going to take on an orc as a client?” Mike’s words cut through my thoughts, and I sucked in a quick breath as I turned to face the dental hygienist.
“Of course I am. I’ve been thinking for a while now about marketing my practice to nonhumans.” It wasn’t completely a lie. I’d briefly considered reconstructive work for werewolves but had been concerned about how the implants would fare when they shifted. At least that wasn’t a concern with Ozar—at least, I didn’t think so.
“He growled at me,” Mike complained.
“You took nearly forty images of his teeth,” I shot back. “Even with the lead shielding, that’s an unacceptable amount of radiation. I can’t charge his insurance for forty images. It makes us look like we’re sloppy when we can’t manage to get decent pics with the usual ten or fifteen.”
“It’s not easy trying to position the film in an orc mouth,” he argued. “Especially when you’re worried that orc is going to snap your neck with one hand.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “There was no reason for him to snap your neck, Mike. He was here to replace lost teeth, just like the majority of our human patients.” He was here to see me. He didn’t care about the teeth. I blocked out that thought and got back to arguing with my hygienist. “And humans all have different shaped and sized mouths. An orc’s teeth might be a bit unusual, but placement of the films in his mouth shouldn’t be any more difficult than placing them in those of our other patients like Mr. Cooper or Mrs. VanNestor.”
“Orcs are violent. Mr. Cooper and Mrs. VanNestor aren’t. Besides, that orc scared Makena,” Mike said. “She said he growled at her, too. Do you really think it’s a good idea to have him here? What if he gets angry and trashes the place?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s an orc, Mike, not the Hulk. And he’s a member of the local hockey team. He’s not going to trash the place. Or hurt anyone.”
“What’s next? Werewolves? Vampires? Demons?” Mike muttered as he walked away.
I couldn’t really blame him. It had taken me a while to get used to all the supernaturals, but now I was ashamed about my initial wariness around them. It had helped that I’d made friends with one of the werewolves at the gym, met a vampire at book club, and chatted with the demon who was my Uber driver one night. I was still a little wary about demons, but it wasn’t like all humans were perfect. I was more likely to be robbed by a human than a demon, or any other supernatural being.
Up until now, I’d limited my practice to humans, not because I didn’t want supernatural clients here, but because I’d worried I couldn’t provide the specialized care they might need. But now I realized that was just laziness on my part. I’d never found out if they even needed different medical devices or care; I’d just assumed so.
Which made me no different than Mike.
Later tonight I would do some research—a whole lot of research. And tomorrow I was going to announce to my staff that I had every intention of expanding my practice. But tonight…I was going to see if Willa and Abby were available for dinner, because I needed their input on what to wear and bring for a home-cooked meal at an orc’s house.
I had a dozen other clients scheduled today. But first I was going to run to Starbucks for an iced chai latte, courtesy of Ozar.
“He’s making you dinner? Not ordering carry out?” Willa asked before popping a couple of sweet potato fries into her mouth.
“Yes. He’s cooking me dinner. At his house. Tomorrow night,” I repeated.
“What’s he making?” Abby asked. “What do orcs eat?”
“He wouldn’t say. I’m bringing a bottle of red and one of white, so we’ll be covered either way,” I told her.
“He’s probably going to serve a haunch of beef that he roasted over a fire pit,” Willa said. “No sides, no vegetables. I’m guessing that orcs are strict carnivores.”
“He was drinking a Starbucks coffee when he came into the office this morning,” I countered. “And we saw them drinking beer and eating appetizers last night.”
“They were wings though,” Abby reminded me. “Chicken wings. That’s meat.”
“But the artichoke dip and jalapeño poppers weren’t meat,” I argued.
“The one time my ex cooked me dinner it was canned chili with hot dogs chopped up in it,” Willa said, wrinkling her nose.
“My ex once made his grandmother’s lasagna recipe, so let’s not stereotype men as being bad cooks,” Abby said.
“Was it any good though?” Willa asked. “I’ll bet grandma was turning over in her grave because he forgot the bay leaves or added too much oregano.”
“It was better than canned chili with hot dogs.” Abby laughed.
“Seriously, I really think you better eat a full meal before you go over, just in case it’s terrible,” Willa advised. “You can always claim you’re on a diet and that’s why you’re not eating whatever hideous food he’s serving you.”
“Or say that you had a big lunch,” Abby added.
“Or tell him that you might have gotten food poisoning from a lunchtime shrimp salad,” Willa said. “That way you’ll also have an excuse for leaving early if the date is truly horrible.”
“We should set up a rescue plan.” Abby leaned forward across the table. “I’ll call at eight o’clock, and you can pretend I’m a dental emergency.”
“Guys, no!” I threw up my hands. “I don’t need to set up a rescue plan, or some elaborate lies to get out of eating whatever he’s cooking. He said if I didn’t like it, we’d order pizza.”
“He said that, but did he really mean it?” Willa gave me a sideways look. “Fragile egos, you know.”
“I’m pretty sure he meant it. But it won’t matter. Whatever he cooks, it can’t be worse than the stuff I had to choke down at the college cafeteria,” I told them. “I like him. I’ve met him three times now, and I really like him.”
“She’s inspected his teeth, and she still likes him,” Abby told Willa.
“Well, he bought her a Starbucks gift card and presented his teeth in a velvet engagement ring box. What’s not to like?” Willa replied to her.
I sighed. “Okay, ladies. If you’re done teasing me, then help me decide what to wear. Dressy or casual?”
“Casual,” both said in unison.
“But not too casual,” Abby cautioned. “Jeans, but a tight tank top under a nice jacket.”
“Wear those dark wash jeans that make your butt look amazing,” Willa added. “And a push-up bra so the girls are front and center. I’ll bet he’s a boob man…or boob orc.”
“What if he actually is grilling on the patio?” I fretted. “Because nothing says sexy like a parka and mittens.”
“It’s a high of fifty-two tomorrow,” Abby said, looking at her phone. “It won’t be colder than mid-forties by the time you’re there. There’s no need for a parka.”
“Plus, you can act all cold on the patio, and he’ll need to warm you up.” Willa winked. “Grill tongs in one hand, squeezing some Jordan ass with the other hand.”
Now that was a plan.
“He is very warm,” I commented. “I think orcs’ body temperature might be higher than ours.”
“I predict some snuggling in your future,” Abby said.
“I predict a hell of a lot more than snuggling in her future.” Willa laughed.
After some lurid guesses on how my date might end, we finally shifted the topic of conversation to Abby and Willa. An hour later, I was driving back to my home in Federal Hill, anticipating tomorrow’s date with a mixture of excitement and nervous apprehension.
With a stroke of luck, I managed to find a parking spot a block away from my home. When the real estate agent had shown me the three-story row house in Federal Hill, I’d fallen in love with the industrial interior vibe, the huge windows overlooking the tidy back garden, the spacious master bath with both a walk-in tiled shower and a giant soaking tub with clawed feet. Love blinded me to the fact that this dream house didn’t have a garage or any off-street parking. The freezing or sweaty-humid walk to my door from whatever parking spot I’d managed to find was no picnic, and scraping ice and snow off my car on winter mornings was a downright pain in the butt.
Tonight though, the walk was short—a blessing since it was pouring down rain this evening. Judy bounded toward me the second I opened the door, meowing her displeasure over my absence. Tossing my wet coat on the hallway rack and setting my tote on a table, I scooped her up and cuddled her close.
“I’m happy to see you too, Your Honor.”
Judy was actually named Judge Judy, partly due to the lacy-looking collar of white around the black of her neck, and partly because she greeted any guests with a narrow, suspicious gaze. The cat liked her rules and routines, and her opinion of people was something I took seriously. Both Willa and Abby had eventually won her over. I was hoping that Ozar would as well.
I had an automatic feeder in the kitchen and a watering fountain on each floor, so I knew she wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but we had a ritual. Each night when I came home, she got a few pieces of chicken, and some fresh catnip sprinkled on her scratching pad. She struggled out of my arms when we were a few feet into the kitchen, running to the fridge and staring at the stainless steel door.
After chicken and catnip, I left Judy in the kitchen and went on my daily scavenger hunt for anything I didn’t want to accidentally step in later. There was only one hairball coughed up tonight, and it was thankfully on the hardwood floor of the dining room.
Like Judy, I was a woman who loved my routine. I changed into pajamas, scrubbed the makeup from my face, and twisted my hair onto the top of my head, securing it with a bright red scrunchie. Then I grabbed my laptop and plopped on my couch with Judy curled up beside me as I researched paranormal dentistry.
Sadly, there wasn’t much to research. I scoured published research papers and was disappointed to only find one about vampire fangs and two about dental care among the shifter population.
The vampire paper was at least interesting with images and illustrations showing two canals in the dissected fang, one of which attached to a series of glands and the other which led to a channel across the roof of the vampire’s mouth that forked and opened near the back set of molars. I guessed this allowed the vampire to somewhat taste the blood they were imbibing before swallowing, although I also imagined that some of the blood was not pulled into the fang cavities and was instead sucked into their mouths and over their tongue in a more typical fashion. The section on the glands attached to a vampire’s fangs was sparse and mainly filled with conjecture as the author had been working with a long-deceased vampire skull and not a live subject. I wondered what those glands held, and what their importance was in vampire’s feeding. Regardless, I came away from the paper thinking that vampire dental reconstruction wouldn’t differ significantly from human dentistry, aside from the tricky nature of their fangs.
It made me think of Ozar’s tusks, and how the X-rays had shown them to be thick and solid aside from a long nerve that ran along their length, terminating only half an inch from the point.
Moving on, I opened the two papers on shifter dentistry. One detailed the failure in clinical trials of implants when it came to surviving the shift from human to animal form. There was hope that a joint venture between a medical device company and an entrepreneurial wizard in Florida might yield an implant suitable for shifters, though. The other paper was a lengthy study of dental hygiene and the reduced rate of both plaque and cavities among shifters. It seemed that periodontal disease was unheard of among their populations.
Digging around more, I realized there was nothing on dentistry for demons as the vast majority could just recreate damaged or lost teeth within a fraction of a second.
I sighed and set my laptop aside so I could pet Judy. “It doesn’t seem like there would be opportunity to target the shifter market. The technology might not be there for reconstruction, and shifters probably wouldn’t need much in the way of routine dental care—not that I do much routine care beyond my reconstructive patients anyway. Should I offer night hours for vampires? I know some can walk around in the daylight, but the ones who might need my services the most probably are restricted to moonlight only.”
Judy purred and rolled over so I could scratch the side of her neck and chest.
“I could offer a discount and see if I can become the official dentist of the Baltimore Tusks, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m using Ozar just to get a contract with the team. And what if this date doesn’t go well? Or goes really well? It might be awkward campaigning for their business if Ozar and I become an item.”
My cat didn’t deliver an opinion, so I continued to pet her and muse over my options.
“How about I call this medical equipment company and ask if I can assist with any clinical trials of their potential shifter implants? And advertise for vampires needing skilled dental care? And wait to see how things go with Ozar’s implants before I approach the team about a contract?”
Judy meowed. I took that as a sign of her approval.
The rest of the evening was spent ransacking my closet in search of an outfit that was casual, but not too casual, one that would show off my assets but not make me look like I was at Ozar’s just for a booty call.
We might end up in bed tomorrow night.
I wanted us to end up in bed tomorrow night.
I wanted him, but I didn’t have the best track record when it came to sex on the first or second date. If I let hormones take the wheel, I might miss red flags. I might lose my heart only to find out we weren’t a good fit. I might lose my heart only to find out he just wanted a fling with a human woman, and nothing more.
Did I want something more? Or was I overthinking this whole thing like I always did?
I needed to calm down. Wear something casual and comfortable and nice tomorrow night. Get to know Ozar. If things went well, do a little first-base action to see if the attraction I felt was real.
And not sleep with him. At least, not sleep with him on the first date.
Or…maybe sleep with him on the first date if I wanted to. I was a grown woman, after all, and there was nothing wrong with letting my heart, and my hormones, take the wheel.
Chapter 12
Ozar
Leaving Jordan’s place of business, I headed straight to the stadium. I was expecting to be grilled by my teammates about my meeting with Jordan. I was not expecting to have a wad of paper shoved in my face the moment I walked into our locker room.
“Clan Guardian?” Eng mocked. “You should have been an Rkwanala.”
Snatching the paper from his hands, I saw there was a large picture on the front—me with the human children at the playground. It looked like it had been taken yesterday, which made sense since I’d spent several hours playing with the human young at Patterson Park. Curiosity about the picture meant it took a few seconds for Eng’s words to sink in.
Rkwanalas were orclet caretakers, mainly for the royalty of Eng’s kingdom since most orcs prided themselves on having a hands-on approach to the care of our young. Eng had meant the word as an insult, a slur on my maleness, but the slight missed the mark. Even though it wasn’t typical for adult orcs to indulge in play with young, let alone young that weren’t their own, I refused to be shamed about my actions this weekend.
“There’s still time,” Eng continued. “No female will accept courtship from a Rkwanala, but you can live a happy life taking care of other orcs’ offspring.”
That stung. But before I could hit Eng so hard his nose flattened, Ugwyll spoke up.
“Rkwanala to who?” the other orc snapped. “There are no orclets to care for in most of our clans. None. No wives. No orclets.”
Instantly the mood in the locker room shifted. The lack of orc offspring was a somber fact that no one wanted to think about.
“That’s what I want when I go home,” Bwat said as he looked over my shoulder at the paper. “Dozens of happy, healthy, well-fed orclets playing in the center of our village. They won’t have to watch their mothers and sisters die. They won’t have to see their fathers waste away with grief. They won’t have to grow up and be adults before their tusks are more than nubs.”
And now the mood was downright funereal. Our heads lowered. Ugwyll slumped down onto a bench. Eng turned away, leaning his forearm against a locker.
“I understand why Ozar was playing with the human young,” Bwat confessed. “Every one of us would give a year of earnings for the chance to join a group of orclets on a play structure, even if those orclets weren’t our own. Each moment witnessing the play of youth is precious. We shouldn’t let the old rules govern us—not when we’ve lost so much.”
