Page 11 of Marked By the Broken Orc
“Stop. You know I think your mother and the other females who live in our commune are different, but all other human females out here in the human world are suspect. I’ve vowedto never take a bride and instead I am focused on my career. I didn’t come to Spokane to find a mate.”
“You think females can’t be trusted and yet you immediately found one anyway.”
“Mia is my becoming a friend,” I repeat firmly. “Nothing more.”
Talon is quiet for a moment. “If the cats accepted her, Kavin, then that says a lot about her viability as a human of worth.”
“It doesn’t matter what the cats think. I’m not changing my mind about this.”
“We’ll see,” Talon offers, and I can hear the smirk in his voice before he hangs up.
Later that nightI find myself staring at my phone.
I pull up Mia’s contact information. Just being polite, I tell myself. A simple text to thank her for keeping the noise down last night. I send a quick text.
Thanks for turning down the music last night. Hope your friends got home safely.
Her response comes back almost immediately.
No problem! Sorry about that. First time I’ve ever had a neighbor complaint. You must think I’m a terrible person.
Despite everything, I find myself smiling.
Not terrible. Just loud.
Ouch. But fair. How was your first day at the station?
And just like that, we’re having a conversation. She asks about my training, my impressions of the crew, whether I like the work. I find myself typing longer responses than I intended, sharing details about the calls we ran, the equipment I’m learning to use.
She tells me about her own EMT shifts, the variety of calls she handles, the satisfaction of helping people in crisis. Her wit comes through in her messages, along with an intelligence that matches my own observations and experiences with her so far.
You probably think I’m crazy for wanting a job that runs toward danger instead of away from it.
No crazier than an orc who does the same. I left a safe commune to live among humans for basically the same type of job.
Touché. Though I have to say, this human is glad you did. And I like how we have the same mindset when it comes to our work.
The comment sends heat through my veins that I quickly tamp down. She’s just being friendly. And, I remind myself, this is what human females do…they flirt casually without meaning anything by it. They can pleasure mate and have relationships that appear close but are actually temporary. But orcs aren’t built that way so I must remain ever vigilant.
We text for nearly an hour before I force myself to end the conversation and put the phone away. This is exactly what I need to avoid, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
Over the next week,our schedules create a natural rhythm of brief encounters at our apartment complex. I often come home from my shift as she returns from work, or from the gym where she teaches self-defense classes. We exchange pleasantries in the parking lot about work, the weather, apartment living. I try to keep the conversations short and professional, but I find myself looking forward to these moments more than I should.
She always looks incredible after her workouts, her long hair in a high ponytail that shows the elegant line of her neck, skin flushed from exertion, wearing athletic clothes that showcase the lean muscle of her trained body. I have to remind myself repeatedly that she’s my friend. Just my friend.
The mailbox encounters are worse. We’ve developed an unspoken routine where she checks her mail when I return from work. The timing is too convenient to be accidental, but I don’t call her on it because, if I’m being honest, I enjoy seeing her.
One day, we both reach for the mail at the same time. She wears her EMT uniform, and seeing her in professional gear makes my chest tight with an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely. Our hands brush as we both grab for our respective mailboxes. The contact is brief, skin against skin for maybe two seconds, but it sends a shock of heat up my arm. My tusks throb and elongate.
Mia catches her breath and stares at our joined hands for a heartbeat too long before pulling away. “Sorry,” she murmurs, but there’s something in her voice that suggests she’s not sorry at all.
“No problem,” I manage, though my hand still tingles from the contact.
We stand for a moment in the mailbox alcove. She’s close enough that I can scent her shampoo and see the flecks of green in her blue eyes. Close enough that I could reach out and touch her face, run my thumb across that glossy lower lip.
She’s my friend, I remind myself desperately. Just my friend.
“I should go,” I say abruptly. “Early shift tomorrow.”
