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She pulled me down for another kiss, this one at the edge of my mouth. I turned my head, holding her against me so I could take her lips with my own and show her how much I truly did love her. When we pulled apart, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and her lips were pink and plump from my affection.

“I have nineteen more orcs to photograph,” she murmured.

“The photographer does that. And your team are there to help.” I inclined my head toward her office. “Is there a lock on your door? Will you allow me to feast on your garden so I can spend the rest of the afternoon with your taste on my tongue?”

Her breath hitched. “That sounds very tempting, but I don’t think my employer would approve of sex during work hours. And I don’t know if that sort of distraction will help your skating practice.”

I sighed, knowing she was right. “We play the Rangers from New York tomorrow night, and I am worried about our game.”

Abby scooted around in front of me, putting her palms against my chest and looking up into my eyes. “I know. Please don’t obsess about it, Bwat. You’re doing everything you can to improve. The coach has to see that; he has to recognize your dedication. That means something.”

“Results mean something.” I wasn’t saying anything she didn’t know.

She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned her cheek against my chest. “I want to tell you everything will be alright. I want everything to be alright. But honestly, I’m just as worried as you.”

I held her close, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo. “No matter what happens with the Tusks and my job, we will be alright. And that is all that truly matters.”

34

BWAT

Idid not sleep well Thursday night in spite of having Abby in my arms until morning. Tonight’s game would either secure my position with the team or send me scrambling to find another job before the angels found out I was unemployed. A few times I’d almost texted Dylan to ask whether he thought I could possibly find a hockey position with a human team, but I was too afraid of what his answer would be. An orc bad enough to get fired from an inept team would hardly be a good candidate for one filled with humans who were truly skilled at hockey.

Hiding my worry from Abby I cooked the home-made breakfast I’d copied from a cooking show while she showered.

She sniffed as she walked into the kitchen wearing only a towel. “Something smells amazing. I thought you were going to run out and get coffees and muffins, not actually make breakfast from scratch.”

“Stephen Cusato was very helpful in teaching me how to cook traditional human breakfast foods,” I told her.

“Stephen Cusato? You’ve not mentioned him before, and I don’t recognize the name from the team employee database. Is he a new friend you met?” She poured herself a coffee, added a splash of flavoring from the bottles I’d purchased this past weekend, along with a good bit of milk.

“I don’t personally know him, but his Not Another Cooking Show on YouTube is a favorite of mine,” I said as I put on mitts and pulled the frittata from the oven.

“Wow.” Abby eyed the frittata appreciatively. “Thank you, Stephen Cusato.”

“Tomorrow morning I will make us sour cream pancakes, or possibly omelets and potato hash. If you decide to spend the night, that is,” I added hastily, not wanting to assume.

She wrapped her arms around my waist. “I do want to come home and spend the night with you, Bwat. Whether that’s right after the game, or from McHenry’s.”

She meant whether we were spending the night in sorrow or celebrating. I appreciated that she would be with me regardless of the game’s outcome, but I didn’t want to keep talking about that. Not when we had a hot breakfast casserole to enjoy.

After breakfast Abby helped me load the dishes in the dishwasher I’d just learned to use and drove me to the arena. We picked up addition coffees for ourselves and for her team, arriving and separating as she went to her office and I to the gym.

Willa had an easy workout for us today, designed to stretch and warm our muscles. Coach Rencovitch’s practice was also light, focusing on team communication, game strategy, and puck handling. For the first time this week I went to Abby’s office for lunch without feeling as if I was on the verge of collapse. She and her coworkers were going over the numbers, tabulating online merchandise sales, and determining the success of various flash promotions focusing on tonight’s game.

“There’s an online betting pool on how many of the opposing team you’ll knock down,” Daniella told me. “I don’t know if you’ve checked your social media this morning, but there’s a BwatHappens hashtag surging up the ranks.”

“Someone compiled a video of your greatest hits. And I mean ‘hits’.” Malik said. “It’s gone viral. They tagged you, so I’m sure your follower numbers on TikTok are through the roof.”

I looked to Abby, knowing her expression would tell me if this was a good thing or not. She’d wanted something to do with the team to go viral on social media, but I don’t think she meant for that to be my penalties. Her smile was anxious, not the reassuring one she’d probably intended.

“I am good at knocking humans over, but I hope to do so with less penalties.” I did hope that, but I was willing to go to the box-jail if it kept the enemy from sending the puck into our net.

Daniella and Malik left, as usual, giving Abby and I privacy as we ate lunch. Carefully avoiding any hockey or social media talk, we instead discussed interesting places we would like to visit while in Spain, and what we wanted to do Saturday.

“Eat your breakfast, then snuggle on your couch and watch television.” Abby sighed. “I’m exhausted. Managing the Tusks’ PR is fun, but I really need a day to just vegetate and nap.”

“Then we will do that, although there is a talk at a nearby library I thought we might enjoy,” I told her.