Page 30 of Bodybuilders for the BBW

“Help me clean up the house first.” Garrett shoved bottles of cleaning chemicals at us. “You two have had dates with Miss Right? Well…” He sprayed the glass coffee table, then started cleaning it aggressively. “I met someone too. She’s the reason why we’re getting a dog, not a cat.”

“I knew it!” Rhys said, stabbing his finger in the air. “I knew you didn’t get a cat for a reason.”

“This girl…” I knew exactly what Garrett was feeling as he shook his head. That same rush of excitement, surprise and fascination I felt when I first met Katie, I was sure of it. “She was with this poor, busted up looking dog and was looking so damn cute. Just started telling me the dog’s entire story and I’m not hearing a word.” He looked up then. “I just stared into her eyes and knew I would do whatever the hell she wanted, y’know? We’d have a house full of pets if that’s what she needed. Which is why you need to help me clean up.” Cleaning rags were thrown our way. “The shelter called and no one else could do the inspection but her, so she’s coming by after work tomorrow night.”

Chapter15

Katie

“Katie, honey, I’m gonna need you to inspect the house of the people that want to adopt Bronson,” Marg, the shelter manager said.

“What?” I looked up as someone approached the reception desk and indicated I’d be with them in a second.

“Jo’s out sick still and I’m swamped,” she said. “Anyway, Bronson’s your baby. No one knows what he needs better than you. I told the guy—” Garrett, his name was Garrett, I remembered that. “That you’d come by after work. Will that be OK?”

“I was supposed to hit the gym with my sister,” I told her, wincing at the thought of it. “So the answer is obviously yes.”

“You’re a doll. I’ll text you the address.”

Which ishow I came to be standing outside a very nice house in the suburbs. I looked up and down the line of neat lawns and pretty garden beds, somewhat reassured. Trouble is a bougie neighbourhood didn’t preclude animal abuse. I looked down at the checklist Marg had sent through and then went to knock on the door.

“Hi.”

Garrett was there, opening the door for me before I even had a chance. I took a step backwards, let out an involuntary laugh before holding out a hand.

“Hi, I’m?—”

“Katie.” His hand was big, strong, warm, and reminding me wayyy too much of another one right now. Would he give me whole body shivers when he touched my neck, like Rhett had? I thought I’d imagined how magnetic Garrett’s smile was, but nope, he was freaking gorgeous. “I remember. I’m?—”

“Garrett Jackson,” I said, making a show of reading it off the form. “Did Marg call and tell you about the change of plans? She couldn’t make it for the home inspection.”

“Rang me last night.” He stepped aside and ushered me in. “Come through and see what you think.”

“Wow, your place is gorgeous!” I said as I walked down the hall. All muted shades of grey on the walls, polished floorboards, and a stylish lounge suite in the living room, I ticked off boxes on the form, all while harbouring some secret fears. Where the hell would Bronson fit in a place like this? Usually I would’ve just silently wondered, but not now. “It smells amazing too.”

“Fresh baked cookies.” He walked behind a polished kitchen counter and then pushed a plate towards me. “I hope you like chocolate chip.”

“Love them.” I took one and bit into it, letting out an involuntary moan at the taste exploding in my mouth. “But you didn’t need to bribe me. We assess potential adoptees’ places based on the dog’s needs.”

“Well…” He turned around and pulled some coffee cups out of the cupboards. “I sent you a text about going to grab a coffee.” Shit, I froze mid-bite, remembering that his text was left on read. “But you didn’t get back to me, so I figured we could do that now. How do you like your coffee?”

“In an IV, pumped straight into my veins?” I said, as he turned the kettle on. A fancy French press was produced, rich smelling grounds spooned into the bottom. “Though if we’re going to talk about Bronson…” I turned and looked out the big glass door at the back of the house. The garden was gorgeous, the fence secure. If Bronson was any other dog, I’d be bending over backwards to get Garrett to adopt him. “There’s nothing wrong with your house.”

“So we’ve passed? Phew.” He made a show of wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“But it won’t stay looking perfect with a dog in the house. Bronson needs a safe space, one where he can come out of his shell, be messy even.” I set the checklist down and walked over to the light grey sectional couch. “What if your lounge suite gets stained, the fabric snagged?” I caught his wince when I looked up. “You can definitely train a dog not to, but Bronson…”

It was clear then why Marg sent me to do the inspection. In general, we just tended to see if the dog would have adequate shelter, if there were other pets or kids to take into consideration, or the fence was in good order. Bronson needed more than that.

“This place is a million times better than the one we found him in, but that doesn’t mean it’s right for him,” I said finally.

Garrett sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but the kettle started to whistle. He turned it off and then poured boiling water into the press. Coffees were poured, milk and sugar added before he carried both cups over to the dining room table, indicating I needed to follow. He set mine down at the head of the table, taking the seat to my right.

“So tell me what he needs.” There was something quiet, contained about Garrett. “I came to the shelter to get a cat.”

“See, that’s a problem.” I sighed. “I know I kinda hit you with an avalanche of information about him, but I was just excited about the prospect of getting him away from the shelter.”

Something that still really needed to happen for the dog’s mental wellbeing.

---