Page 33 of Geeky Pucking Orc

I didn’t dare think that a travel partner might be a romantic one. The idea of a man I could trust, could love, and who enjoyed the same things I did felt like a total fantasy. Just like in the books I read–which I adored, but knew very well they were complete fiction.

“Maybe Willa will win this strength-ball with you,” Bwat suggested.

I grinned at his name for Power-Ball. “Willa and I would have a total blast traveling together.”

Bwat folded the final shirt from his box and broke the cardboard down with a quick twist of his hands. “I would be happy to travel with you, Abby. And if you ever wanted to visit my homeland, I would also be happy to show you everything that is beautiful and inspiring there.”

My hands stilled, clutching a shirt. Why not? Bwat was a friend. It shouldn’t matter that he was a man and I was a woman. Why should I limit my potential traveling partners to women only? And he probably had enough of an income to pay for a vacation without my needing to insult him by offering to chip in or cover his airfare.

Suddenly my mind raced with all the possibilities. Spain. Scotland. The Great Wall.

The hockey season would be finished in June– earlier if the Tusks didn’t make the playoffs which they most likely wouldn’t. That would give Bwat the entire summer free to do as he pleased. And while I’d need to take my laptop and do some work on the road, I could still enjoy a vacation. How much did I have in my savings that I could spare without sending me into a spiral of financial safety-panic? Enough to go to Seville? Enough to go to Edinburgh?

“I…I think I’d like that, Bwat. Maybe we can plan something for this summer?”

Yes. I just needed to win this account long-term, establish myself as a valuable expert the owner needed to keep on staff, then I’d plan a vacation with this single, sexy male orc who was just a friend.

14

BWAT

Ispent the rest of the day reading about hockey rules and strategy, and practicing my skating. My sleep on the bus had been fleeting, and I might have been better served arriving at tonight’s game well-rested, but the deficiency in my skills was more important to address than getting what the human’s called “shut eye”. Abby wanted me on the ice and playing hockey, and I was not going to disappoint her.

With most of the contents of the vending machine, I bribed my teammates to tell Ozar I should play tonight. Our unofficial leader happily agreed, no doubt more swayed by his jubilation over seeing Jordan after their long absence then any influence the other orcs on the team might have wielded.

There were drawings I’d found on the internet of play positions with symbols for the players of each team. The first few I’d managed to memorize, but when the next drawings had lines and arrows, I became confused. Luckily when I showed them to Ozar before the game began, he was excited.

“Battle plans!” He jabbed a finger at the image on my phone. “Now this, I understand. Offense. Defense. These players along the side here are available to receive the puck and move it toward the enemy net. And the ones here along this side intercept the puck when the enemy is passing it and disrupt the enemy’s forward progress toward our net.”

I didn’t understand any of that, but I did have a helpful bit of information to share. “The players along the outside edges are called ‘wings’.”

“These positions in the middle are where we need our strongest warriors since that is where the main battle occurs,” Ozar continued. “The wing-warriors are essential support for when the enemy breaks free with the puck, or when we gain control but are not able to advance down the middle of the battlefield of ice.”

Ugwyll grunted in agreement. There was now a crowd of orcs around my phone, staring at the tiny screen as Ozar spoke. Many of them had guarded their clan’s territory and fought in battles, so they understood Ozar’s explanation. Even Eng nodded, but he would have learned about battle strategy as a prince of his kingdom. I was the offspring of two artist-merchants. I spent my childhood and adulthood traveling. The terms of barter were familiar to me, but this was as if Ozar spoke a language I’d never heard before.

It made me feel even more inadequate and useless.

“Ugwyll and I will alternate playing this middle position.”

“The Center,” I told him.

“When not taking the center, Ugwyll and I will play defense as we are the largest and the best at skating. Eng stands against the wall anyway, so he will be one of these wing-players. Morag and Trap will alternate as wing-players as well.”

He went on naming the various positions the orcs were to play, taking some time in deciding on a goalie since none of us were fast enough to reliably keep the puck from entering the net. Once each orc had their assignment, they stepped away and began getting ready for the game.

“Bwat, you are brilliant,” Ozar clapped me on the shoulder. “Thank you for finding this valuable information.”

I felt my chest puff out at the praise, but my reaction was premature.

“You fall down a lot but usually take the enemy down with you, so I think you should be one of these defense warriors. I would like to make you a wing-player, but since you cannot control the puck enough to be useful in passing it I think you should remain on defense.”

At least I wouldn’t be sitting on the bench during the entire game. And I would try my best to make sure the puck did not enter our net.

As the patriotic song played, I kept sneaking glances over to where Abby and her friends sat. They were right behind our bench, and each of them was wearing a shirt with our colors and numbers. We were not wearing shirts. As usual, the owner insisted that we play bare-chested. To help the announcers identify us, numbers had been painted on our chests, and on our back. Our name was across the back of our shoulders. The first marking material we’d been told to use did not remain on our skin once we began to sweat, so we quickly looked as if we had black stripes on our green skin. This new paint did not smear, but was very difficult to remove even when scrubbing with a brush. I still had the faint outline of my name and number from last night’s game in Buffalo, New York, which made it much easier to apply in a legible fashion tonight, but also made me feel as if I were an object instead of a sentient being.

Abby and her friends were chatting, but she did smile and show me a thumbs-up when she saw me looking her way.

Ozar and a member of the enemy team met with the stripe-shirted man in the middle. Then the demon at our bench told us to go out onto the ice. We took our positions. The puck was dropped. Ozar and the enemy battled with their sticks for control. The enemy won and pushed past Ozar toward our net.