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Smitten Pucking Orc

Page 10

by Ava Ross

This was good. Exactly what I needed on my first day.

A short time ago, Veskar had cornered me in the hallway after I’d finished helping Patty inventory the supply cabinet, asking if I’d eaten yet. When I said no, he’d steered me toward the break room, not leaving room for argument.

“Are you settling in okay?” he asked, reaching for his water. “Patty’s great, but she’s used to us, when for you, it’s all new. It would be normal to feel overwhelmed.”

“I’m managing. She’s been really helpful, actually.”

“Good. That’s good.” He grinned, his tusks catching the light. “If anyone gives you trouble, you just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

“I appreciate that, but I can handle myself.”

“I believe it.” He gestured to my plate with his fork. “You like the food? The chef does a decent job, considering she’s cooking for a bunch of orcs who’d eat cardboard if you put the right sauce on it.”

“It’s great. Better than I expected, honestly.”

“Yeah, the front office actually spends money on the important stuff. Food, training equipment, the good tape that doesn’t leave adhesive all over⁠—”

A growl cut through every conversation in the room, a sound that came from somewhere deep in the chest and made every instinct you had sit up and pay attention.

Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned.

I knew without looking.

My spine straightened, the animal part of my brain responding before I could stop it. I kept my eyes on my plate. Fork to mouth. Chew. Swallow. As if nothing had happened. As if the air hadn’t suddenly changed.

Veskar’s grin spread wider. “Uh…Kedish is heading this way. And he looks⁠—”

“I don’t care.” The words came out cool. A lie so clean it almost convinced me.

The footsteps got closer, heavy enough that I swore I felt them through the floor.

My skin prickled. I hated that I could feel him before I saw him. I wanted to throw my plate at the wall. Or at him. Everything inside screamed at me to look, but I wouldn’t. I cut another piece of chicken and stabbed it with my fork.

Veskar leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his mouth. “Are you sure about that, Doc?”

Before I could answer, a chair scraped across the floor. Brashe Kedish sat down at our table.

Uninvited.

Veskar’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, Kedish⁠—”

“I need a word with the doctor.” His voice came out flat. His eyes locked on me like I was the only person in the room.

I set my fork down slowly and met his gaze without flinching. “Then make an appointment.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Up close, he looked different than he had in the hallway yesterday. The lighting picked up the small scar on the soft tissue above his right tusk and the faint shadows under his eyes. His shoulders filled the space across from me, broad enough to block out half the room.

He wasn’t smiling or deploying the easy charm I remembered from the picnic. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You work here now,” he said.

“Good observation.”

“That’s going to be a problem.”

Heat roared up my neck, but I kept my expression neutral. “For you, maybe.”