Page 3 of Orc'd At A Wedding
But his lips are warm, and the proximity of him is overwhelming, and I can feel the solid wall of his chest nearly brushing against me, and my brain has officially left the building.
He pulls back, and there's the faintest hint of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or just professional satisfaction at a job begun.
"I apologize for the slight delay. Traffic approaching the resort was heavier than anticipated."
Aunt Susan makes a small noise beside me that sounds like a tea kettle achieving consciousness.
Olog's gaze shifts to her with the smooth precision of a security camera locking onto a target.
"You must be family. Olog Glore. A pleasure to meet you."
He extends his hand, and after a moment of visible internal struggle, Aunt Susan takes it. Her hand disappears entirely into his, and she cycles through approximately six different emotions before landing on something that looks like bewildered politeness.
"Susan. Bliss's aunt. I... we didn't realize Bliss was seeing anyone."
"We prefer to keep our relationship private."
The way he says "our relationship" makes something hot and dangerous curl low in my stomach, which is absolutelynot a helpful physiological response to have in a hotel lobby surrounded by my judgmental relatives.
"How... how did you two meet?"
I should answer. I'm supposed to have a prepared story. We discussed this over text. But my brain is still stuck on the fact that this enormous, tattooed, devastatingly professional Orc just called me his girlfriend in front of my aunt and I haven't spontaneously combusted.
"Cliff diving," Olog says smoothly, and I nearly choke on my own spit.
Of all the options I'd suggested in my panicked three a.m. messages, he picked cliff diving.
"Bliss was attempting a challenging dive off the coast. I happened to be providing safety consulting for the facility. We began talking. The connection was immediate."
He delivers this absolutely insane lie with the grave sincerity of someone testifying in court.
Aunt Susan looks like she's trying to picture me, a notorious avoider of anything involving heights, physical exertion, or unnecessary risk, voluntarily throwing myself off a cliff.
"Bliss? Cliff diving?"
"I've been exploring new hobbies," I manage, my voice only slightly strangled.
Olog's hand settles on the small of my back, warm and impossibly large, and I feel the touch all the way down to my toes.
"She's quite fearless," he says, and the pride in his voice sounds so genuine that I almost believe it myself.
CHAPTER 2
OLOG
The hostile approaches from my nine o'clock.
I clock him the moment he changes trajectory, veering away from the elaborate floral arrangement near the concierge desk and angling directly toward Bliss. Medium build, expensive watch, hair aggressively gelled into submission, and a smile that registers on my internal threat assessment scale as "requires immediate neutralization."
This is the ex-boyfriend. Has to be.
The way his gaze travels over Bliss as possessive, entitled, faintly condescending, confirms it. The way her spine stiffens beneath my palm, her entire body tensing like she's bracing for impact, seals the identification.
Target acquired.
I run the tactical analysis in under two seconds. He's moving with the loose-limbed confidence of a man who believes he still holds territory here, who thinks Bliss is still within his sphere of influence. His approach vector suggests he's planning to insert himself into this conversation, probably with some casually dismissive comment designed to undermine her in front of her family.
Unacceptable.
