Page 25 of Bodybuilders for the BBW

His boyish expression, the way a fine blush coloured his cheeks, had me laughing despite myself.

“OK, well, do you have the list I gave you? I’ll just lock up the surgery and then we can work out what your ‘dog’ needs.”

He didn’t,but I forgave him when we arrived at the pet store, because there was nothing cuter than a big, tough fireman looking embarrassed.

Actually, there was nothing cuter than this fireman.

I didn’t check out Dave’s colleagues, something that made clear I was not made for situationships, my sister insisted. I should’ve been keeping my options open, just like Dave was. Problem was, it would’ve hurt me if Dave did the same at my workplace, so I kept my eyes to myself when I was at the station.

There was nothing to hold me back now.

Safe, inside my car, I could let my eyes roam, taking in those long, powerful legs as they stepped out of his truck, those broad shoulders that tested the seams of his very nice shirt. Of course, that was the moment he looked up. A small smile made clear he had caught me checking him out, but as he drew closer, he didn’t seem to mind at all. I grabbed for the door handle, but he was already there, opening it before I had a chance.

This was the shit people did in front of a camera. I didn’t know any guy who opened a girl’s door, and yet there he was, standing with his elbow propped against the frame, staring down at me. You know that look guys give when they like what they see? I’d seen it directed at plenty of women, but not me and that left me feeling flustered. I clambered out of the car, almost dropped my phone and then recovered quickly.

“So, do you know what kind of dog you’re getting?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation to a place I felt was safer.

“Um… no?” He shot me a rueful smile. “I know it’s a big one, though. Can’t stand little yappy things.”

“Puppy or dog?” I asked, if only to watch him dig himself deeper into a hole.

“That I do know. Definitely a dog.” He clicked a finger. “A male one.”

“OK, so you don’t know what breed he is?” He shook his head. “Or what he likes?” Another shake. “So did you intend to go to the pet store at all, or…?”

That sheepish expression vanished as he leaned forward. He hadn’t stepped back at all, leaving me pinned between my car and him.

“Or…?” he prompted, waiting for me to finish that sentence.

There were so, so many ways to end it. My ovaries seemed intent on showing me a rapid slideshow of at least some of them, but I shook my head.

“Maybe we’ll just focus on the basics for today,” I said, internally wincing at how prim my voice sounded, right as I ducked under his arm and then started walking towards the pet store.

“We’ll get whatever he needs.” My car door was shut and his suddenly serious tone had me looking back over my shoulder. “He’s had it tough, that much I do know. It was what convinced us to take the dog on in the first place. Look, I totally came by because I needed an excuse to ask you out, but… I gotta do what I can to make this dog’s life easier, y’know?”

Damn, that was the perfect thing to say. Dogs knew people and anyone who liked them, cared for them, was good in my book.

“I do know.” I breathed that out, feeling a pang in my chest. “You’re talking to the right person. I volunteer at a pet shelter and…” Bloody hell, my heart felt like it clenched, able to see each one of their fuzzy little faces right now. “There’s nothing better than helping animals that need it. I’ll talk you through the basics, and some other things that might help your dog adjust. They’re not essential?—”

“Yes, they are.” Whoa, Rhett was intense. He seemed to realise that, frowning slightly before continuing. “I mean… just show me what you’d get if you were adopting a rescue dog. Whatever would be on your wish list, we’re getting.”

“OK, let's see what we can find.”

“A dog needs his own bed?”Rhett looked the display over critically. “He’ll be allowed up on the couch and in our rooms.”

“If he’s had a rough experience growing up,” I explained. “He’ll need somewhere he feels safe. Think like a den. Small, confined?—”

“Like a kennel?” he asked, trailing over to where they were on the shelves.

“I mean, yeah, but they’re mostly for outside only dogs. If he’s going to spend a lot of his time inside with you guys, the dog needs…” I thought of Bronson and the way he snuggled down into his threadbare bed. It was one of the few things we’d given him that he seemed to like. “A space that’s just his,” I said finally. “It doesn’t move, doesn’t change, stays exactly the same, no matter what’s going on in the house.”

“OK.” He turned to inspect the beds, reaching out to grab a particularly plush one. “So soft and squishy? Or something that stays cool in summer?”

“The cool ones are a good idea, particularly if your house runs hot, but traumatised dogs often like these.” I grabbed one of the big fluffy ones we’d found worked well with our dogs. “I’m not sure, but maybe the fur makes them feel like they’re a puppy again. They can be expensive…”

My voice trailed away as he sized the beds up, then grabbed one of the larger ones, before placing it in the shopping trolley.

“Cool, we’ve got a bed. Now what?”

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