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Bwat sat on the edge of the bed and began to stroke my hair. “Your blankets are very soft, very fur-like.”

I yawned, snuggled into the pillow, and closed my eyes.

“When I was an orclet and we were traveling through the Kindurun mountains, my mother managed to kill a Turl. Our wagon was loaded with items for sale, but hunting is not always successful in the Kindurun, so we stayed an extra two days to smoke and cure the meat. My father tanned the skin and gave it to me for my bedding once it was ready. Turl are not large animals, but they are very soft and fluffy. That was my favorite fur. I still have it back home. I hope that someday, you will see my homeland with me. If so, I will happily gift you that fur for your very own.”

His voice grew soft, and I drifted off to sleep, feeling his fingers gently combing through my hair.

20

BWAT

Istared down at Abby tucked into her blankets with her hair spread out across the pillow and fought the urge to stay. There was nothing I wanted more than to sleep with her in my arms, to be here for her morning routine, to make sure she had more than just a cup of coffee before dashing off to work.

But she hadn’t asked me to stay until morning, and I was very nervous about crossing a boundary. Over a hundred hours of research on human courting rules and preferences and I was still paralyzed with indecision.

Before I left I placed a glass of water on the table beside her bed and tucked in an edge of the non-fur blanket. Then I checked her windows and patio door to make sure they were all secure, and examined the paltry contents of her refrigerator. Abby’s apartment was so her. The seating furniture looked comfortable with lots of pillows. Her dining table was a gorgeous wood that the internet informed me was walnut. The walls were painted a pale blue, and all the upholstery, rugs, pillows, and artwork were geometric patterns of cream, teal blue, and warm yellow. It was energizing, bold, and confident–just like Abby.

Her bedroom was different. It was the different side of Abby, the one I doubted many were allowed to see. The walls had been painted the light, creamy yellow of the early morning sunlight. Her bedding was varying shades of green. Instead of geometric artwork, the walls of her bedroom were blank. There was one picture in the room on the table where I’d placed the glass of water. It showed a little girl on a swing, her smile wide and her green-brown eyes sparkling with happiness. Pushing little Abby on the swing was a woman whose smile was less carefree.

I had wanted to ask Abby about the picture, about the woman who I assumed was her mother, but I’d been focused on ensuring she was comfortable, and by the time I felt the courage to ask, she was asleep. Hopefully someday she’d entrust me with her stories and memories just as she had entrusted me with her safety.

Locking her door, I let myself out. Then tested it to make sure it was truly locked. The urge to sleep in front of this door was just as strong as the urge to stay the night in her bed. Repeating to myself that Abby was safe in her apartment, I forced myself to leave and begin the walk back to my own, less luxurious den. It was a wonder I wasn’t run over by vehicles as I was on my phone even when crossing the street. Winning Abby’s heart was suddenly more urgent tonight than it had been previously. Before, I’d worried deep down that my love would be unrequited, but tonight had caused the tiny embers in my heart to become a flame. She’d shared a meal with me. She’d allowed me to feed her. She trusted me with stories about her life. She’d listened to my hopes and dreams and encouraged them. She trusted me to escort her to her den. She had asked me to enter her home, and initiated intimacy. She’d allowed me to tuck her furs around her and ensure she was safe in her home.

Once I had a plan on how to woo Abby, I would research techniques that human females would enjoy in the furs. My hand-axe ached at the thought and I frowned, determined to deny myself and focus solely on Abby. I knew her favorite coffee, so the first step in my plan was to arrive at the arena early with coffee and a nutritious breakfast. For orcs, that would be fruit, slaamr, which was similar to a thick, tart yogurt, and grains. And bread and cheese. And smoked or dried meats.

Humans did not require the same volume of food as orcs, but it was clear from tonight’s dinner that humans did require food beyond snacks and coffee.

Abby was brilliant and hardworking, which meant she sometimes did not take care of herself. I was more than willing to step into that role. Nothing would make me happier than to put Abby first in my life.

Coffee. Breakfast.

Should I ask her to lunch? To dinner? Should I offer to come to her apartment tonight and this time agree to lay with her in her furs? No. I needed to take this slow. I would provide food and friendship and support, and only more if she explicitly asked for it without the influence of alcohol.

Back at my den, I switched focus to the social media that I’d neglected since before last night’s game. Unsurprisingly, I found myself tagged in quite a few posts including one from Dylan:

Bwat takes down two more with his tree-trunk arms! There were some flattened Ducks tonight.

I replied: The humans evaded my puny twig-like arms. It was my shoulder and elbow that flattened Ducks last night.

A few minutes after I’d finished replying to comments and posting a few images of my own, my phone beeped with an incoming text.

Dylan: We’re going to name you bulldozer. What you lack in hockey ability, you certainly make up for in plowing over any member of the opposing team unfortunate enough to be in your way.

Bwat: I was relieved both of the Ducks were not seriously hurt. And I will increase my skating practice.

Dylan: Good idea. The next time you knock down a member of the opposing team, it should be on purpose.

Bwat: I am not sure I like the idea of knocking humans down on purpose, but if that is what the game requires, I will attempt to do it.

Bwat: It is very early in the morning. Why are you awake at this time?

Dylan: I’m up with the baby. My wife has basically been solo-parenting when we’re at away games, so I try to let her get a decent night’s sleep when I’m home.

Bwat: Do you just have the one offspring, or more? How old is this one keeping you up until the early morning hours?

Dylan: Just the one baby. She’s six months old, which was perfect timing on our part. She was born May 20th, so I was able to spend the entire off season with her.

A picture arrived right after the text: a little human with dark curls , sooty lashes feathering out from closed eyes, and a pursed pink mouth. She was bundled up in a blanket, much like I’d left Abby just a few hours ago.