Grandma Filipkowski didn’t look particularly startled by that. “I am glad to hear this news. He was not worthy of our Willa.”
Brad wasn’t dead, although some of my family probably wished he was. Kicking him to the curb had been my come-to-Jesus moment when I’d decided to stop dating sexy assholes and find myself a good man who would treat me right.
Or buy a really good vibrator and just call the whole thing quits.
“That man was eight months ago. Get with the program here,” Terrance continued. “Willa has entered the dating-desert phase of her life, where she stays home on weekends, wears a lot of pajama pants, and binges on ice cream and Hallmark movies.”
That was surprisingly on-point, aside from the Hallmark movies.
“I’ll have you know I went out last night,” I informed my brother.
He dramatically clutched his heart. “Were you wearing pajama pants? Was it a trip to refill your ice cream supply?”
I mock-glared at him. “Jordan had tickets to see the Tusks play.”
“Is that a new band?” Grandma Filipkowski asked. “I can never keep track of this new music.”
“The Tusks are a hockey team,” Mom told her.
“A very bad hockey team,” Terrance added.
Mom shrugged. “New sports teams are always bad. Give them a season or two to gel and I’m sure they’ll do us proud.”
“Are they hot?” Grandma Filipkowski was looking at Terrance, clearly considering his opinion on male attractiveness more valuable than my own.
“Ohhellyes. They’re orcs, so they look like jacked-up pornstars with green skin.” Terrance turned to me. “I only saw the promo pics though. What do they look like up close?”
I felt my face heat, thinking that I’d seen one particular orc up close and very personal. “Jacked-up pornstars with greenskin,” I agreed. “They play without their shirts on, so I can attest to the level of upper body muscle.”
I could attest to other muscle as well, but I wasn’t about to tell my family that.
“Justin and I might need to spring for season tickets,” my brother said.
“Get them while they’re cheap.” I desperately needed to change the topic of conversation away from orcs and especially hockey-playing orcs.
“How are things at the gym, Willa?” Mom asked, coming to my rescue.
“Slow,” I admitted. “One of my main clients is injured, so he’s put his training on hold. A couple of others have spaced out their sessions due to finances. I’m trying to pick up as many classes as I can to make up the difference.”
There was a heavy moment of silence. I knew they all worried about me. Hell,Iworried about me.
“Things will pick up this spring,” Terrance said. “Or maybe after Christmas when everyone gets gym memberships and training sessions for their New Year’s resolutions.”
Things did pick up after the holidays, but then they just as quickly dropped back off again as the resolution-makers gave up, or people’s gift certificates ran out and weren’t renewed.
“You need to train someone famous,” Grandma Filipkowski told me. “They’re the ones with all of the money. They’ll pay you double what those gym clients of yours do.”
My mind went immediately to Eng, although he wasn’t famous anywhere aside from his own kingdom. And even if a miracle occurred and the Tusks won a game, an orc who did nothing besides prop up the wall wasn’t likely to become famous.
“Actually, you should train those Tusk orcs,” she added. “Maybe then they would be winning their games.”
“Gran, they clearly don’t know hockey. They need a coach,” Terrance told her.
“They need someone to teach them to skate first,” Mom added.
They were both right. All the custom training programs in the world wouldn’t help these guys if they didn’t learn how to skate and what the rules of hockey entailed. But…”
Grandma Filipkowski snorted. “They still need a sports trainer, even if they get a coach and skating lessons. Orcs are strong as a farm oxen, but they’ve got the flexibility of granite and no speed off the block. Their fast-twitch muscles need work.”
