Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

BILLIE

I groaned as I rose from my knees, which ached from scrubbing the baseboards. The wood was in beautiful condition, though it was hidden under layers of dust and grime. I'd pushed all the furniture into one corner so that Osif could determine what was salvageable. Then I got down to work.

The place needed to be deep cleaned from top to bottom. I washed the walls repeatedly until the water ran clear, and you could see the wood's beautiful grain underneath. I moved onto the floor, mopping until it shined. Now that the baseboards were done, it was time to tackle the windows. There were several missing panes, but I could clean the intact ones and prepare the space for the new glass. It was cold in the bar with the missing window panes, but I was sweating from all the work. I stood back and pleased to see it coming together. With each layer of dust I removed the bar felt more and more like mine.

I was on the third pass of the window, trying to get a particularly stubborn patch of grease off, when a low voice that sounded quite close said, "Wow, you are focusing pretty hard on that window."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I shrieked as I stumbled backward. In my panic, I put my foot into the bucket of soapy water and fell squarely on my ass, water splashing all over me. "What in the hell? You scared the shit out of me!" I yelled. "What do you think you are doing sneaking up on someone like that?" I was pissed as I attempted to remove my foot, which was now firmly lodged in the bucket.

"I—I had been standing watching you for quite a while. I was surprised you didn't notice me before," He stumbled over his words. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Well, you did, and now I have a goddamn bucket stuck on my foot. The least you could do is help." I stuck the trapped appendage in his direction, the seat of my pants soaked through with washwater and the rest of me feeling decidedly sorry for myself. Even my palms smarted from catching myself on the hardwood floor. This was the worst.

"Of course, of course," he said as he attempted to climb through the window.

"Dude, the doors are right next to the window."

He blushed a deep green, before walking to the doors and opening the working one. He walked to where I was sitting and stood over me, still sitting with a bucket stuck on my foot and my ass soaking wet. I didn't recognize him at all, so he definitely wasn't from our tribe.

"Okay, so, how can I help?" he asked, looking incredibly embarrassed.

"Well. You could grab the bucket and pull?" I spoke slowly as if talking to a complete idiot.

"Right, okay. Yes. I can do that," he said eagerly as he bent to examine the bucket.

It wasn't painful, but my boot was wedged in awkwardly. He took the lip of the bucket with both hands, looked at me, and said, "Steady yourself."

I planted both hands behind me where I sat, trying to anchor myself to the floor as he pulled with all his might. Instead of freeing my foot, as I'd hoped, the stupid orc underestimated his strength and lifted me completely off the floor. Then he slipped in the spilled water, causing us to fall to the ground. Whoever this stranger was, he was making a marvelous first impression.

"What the fuck was that? I said ‘pull the bucket off my foot', not ‘hurl me into the air!'" I cried.

"I'm sorry, I think it is more wedged than we thought. And you aren't heavy, so I guess I underestimated how easy it would be able to lift you—or throw you." He cringed.

We were now lying atop each other, limbs entangled. His muscular orc body pressed against mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from his green skin. I wanted to be irritated at this strange orc who appeared out of nowhere, disrupted my productive afternoon, and made a complete mess of the floor I'd spent hours cleaning. But as I locked eyes with him, something stilled in me. His eyes were a warm amber and apologetic, in a confused but amicable face. Even more confusing was that they looked almost human—with white sclera. How odd.

I took a deep breath. He hadn't done this on purpose. He was just a guy. It wasn't his fault I didn't notice him until he was right up on me. I took a deep breath.

I pushed myself off of him, sweeping my free leg and upper thigh over his hips. Beneath me, he tensed up, a breath catching in his throat.

Oh my god. I was grinding on a total stranger.

It was my turn to apologize, feeling incredibly embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I mean, I was just trying to disentangle—ugh," I spluttered, avoiding eye contact.

The spilled water had turned into a small puddle, and the bucket still clung stubbornly to my foot.

The orc cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Let's focus on the bucket," he said, reaching down to wrestle with it again. "I promise I'll be more careful this time." And just like that, the tension shifted from embarrassment to determination. We both tugged at the bucket, laughter bubbling up between strained breaths. Maybe this unexpected encounter wasn't so bad after all.

He finally managed to pull the bucket off, leaving us sitting on the floor facing each other. As I faced him, I could discern more details about him up close. He was an orc, but he didn't look like the other orcs from our tribe. As I had noted, his eyes matched human eyes more than orkin. He looked leaner than most of them, as well. Most orkin were stocky and built like solid walls of muscle. This orc was muscular but almost like a swimmer's body, with broad shoulders that narrowed down to a more tapered waist. I cocked my head to the side, studying him.

"Who are you?" I asked finally.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm Steve." He put out his hand out to take mine.

I extended my hand, eyes wide, "Steve? The Steve?" I asked, grasping his large hand in some weird orkin-human hybrid handshake. Orkin gripped wrists while humans grasped hands. We ended up shaking wrists. It worked.

Steve looked at me like I was messing with him. "That is the second time today that someone has referred to me this way. What do you mean by the Steve?"

"Ha, I'm guessing it's you. Piper and Agnarr told us all about you. Steve, the only half-orc. And if what Magna said about you is true, you're pretty fucking badass."

Now that I knew he was Steve, it made sense. His ears were rounded and his tusks were slightly smaller. So this is what a half-orc, half-human would look like. Not bad. Not bad at all. This is what a baby would look like if I had one. Whoa brain, where did that come from?

Steve brought me back to my senses with a question, "Is ‘badass' good? Like ‘rad'?"

"Oh lord. Why do you know ‘rad' but not ‘badass'?" I laughed.

"The only human I knew was my mom, maybe she didn't know ‘badass'?" He shrugged.

I hadn't thought about that—Steve's head must be spinning at meeting other humans. That had to be a lot to take in.

"Huh. Maybe. Well, you convinced Magna and his band of merry men that humans are not the scum of the universe so we're all pro-Steve here."

"Um… what?" Steve was looking more and more perplexed by the second. I couldn't help it. Confusing orkin with American slang was a favorite pastime of mine, and I had a brand new victim. I used Steve's shoulder for leverage to pull myself up, then put a hand out to help him. Now that we both stood, Steve was tall. Very tall. All the orcs were tall, but Steve didn't have the width of the others, making him seem even taller. That, and I was barely over five feet. Everyone was tall, even on Earth. Well, except Joey. I often wondered— probably too often— about the mechanics of Piper and Agnarr, and she was five-foot-seven.

Seeing Steve standing only cemented the surfer boy vibe. His black hair was loose, hanging to his shoulders, and it had a bit of wave to it. Nothing compared to my curls, but all the orcs I'd met so far had stick-straight, silky hair. The wave must come from his mom.

"So tell me, Steve. What's someone like you, a member of a rival tribe, doing watching a lone human woman wash windows?"

Steve countered with his own question, "What are you doing in this broken-down building all by yourself?"

"I am working on rebuilding a bar. Not so much rebuilding as refurbishing. This one has been empty for over twenty years. I'm going to bring it back to its old glory, while adding some human touches along the way."

Steve looked around the space. Even though it was much cleaner, it still needed a lot of work. Half the chairs and tables we sat at needed to be replaced because they were too beaten up. I knew nothing about woodworking, and the bar top itself was rough and uneven. I wanted to talk to Osif about sanding it down and refinishing it. I still had at least a month of work ahead of me, or more than that if I kept up my work in the kitchens and continued to refuse help from my friends. I knew I'd only be able to go so long before they forced me into helping their help—and I was grateful. I'd explained to him what I was doing in the bar, but he had yet to explain to me what he was doing in our tribe.

I took our conversation back to my original question. "Alright, Mr. Steve, your turn. I explained what I'm doing in an empty bar. Your turn to explain why you are at our tribe."

Steve shifted from one foot to the other, as if weighing how much to tell me. I already knew he was accepting of humans, based on his treatment of Piper and Magna alone, but that didn't tell me why he had traveled all the way from the snowy mountains to us. He continued to stay silent.

"Are you just really into humans?" I asked, raising a suggestive brow.

"No—no." He put up his hands. "Well, I mean, yes. But not like that. Well, maybe like that? I don't actually know. I just?—"

I cut into his spluttering. "Oka-a-ay, buddy, we're gonna need to take a seat."

I steered Steve to one of the tables and chairs awkwardly arranged in the corner of the bar. Steve flopped down and dragged a hand over his face. It was only in the sunlight streaming through the half-grimy window that a sprinkling of five o'clock shadow glittered on his face. For some reason, this made him even more attractive.

I loved a man with stubble.