Page 9 of The Grumpy Vet
The last time I was this excited, this impatient for time to hurry the fuck up, was the Christmas I was seven and desperate for Santa to bring me a Nintendo Wii. But the gift of actually being at Linus's house is way better than that. Dario has come through big time.
There was no sign of Linus when we walked past his house to get to the second driveaway, but he's got the afternoon off like we do, so maybe he's inside. Maybe he'll drop in unannounced, and I can… Um… I can… Fuck. I don't know what exactly I'd do, flirt-wise or whatever. But at least I won't be drunk, and I'll have Dario as my wingman, so I won't make a complete fool of myself.
Hopefully.
"Whoa," Dario says once he lifts the roller door, and we step into the carport. "Linus made it sound like a modest home gym, but there is nothing modest about this."
He's right about that.
My eyes are immediately drawn to an impressive heavy-duty squat rack and a bench press station surrounded by weight plates and rows of neatly arranged dumbbells. A smart treadmill and a digital elliptical machine occupy the back corners. The sleek gear, the soft LED lighting, and the polished, rubberised floor could give any boutique fitness club in the big smoke a run for its money.
"It explains his killer body," Dario says, dropping his duffel bag on the ground and approaching the weights area.
"It sure does," I reply, effortlessly bringing up a mental montage of Linus's killer body—his sculpted arse in those slightly-too-tight work pants, his wide shoulders that command attention and are great to latch on to when being assisted while stumbling out of an establishment, his chiselled biceps that flexpowerfully with every movement he makes, like when he lifts the kettle to pour himself a cup of tea, which he does whenever he manages to find a spare moment. The man is a living, walking, breathing Greek sculpture, one that may have inspired a new kink—watching a hot man drink tea.
Dario spins around to face me. "All right. So I've been hearing you go on incessantly about how excited you are to be here. We're here. All three of us." He grabs his midsection. "Now let's get to work on saying bye-bye to Blug Blug, shall we?"
I roll my eyes and point to the weight bench. "Lie down on that and shut up."
His eyes light up. "Ooh. Bossy PT vibes are so hot."
"Which part ofshut upare you not clear on?"
Smiling, he saunters over to the bench while I grab a couple of light dumbbells from the rack. I guess he's right, I have been going on about today and how great it is to finally get a small glimpse into Linus's world that he guards so closely. But if I've been getting on Dario's nerves with my half-stalkery, half-desperate behaviour, he hasn't said anything because that's the type of good friend he is.
I have, however, occasionally noticed his jaw clenching slightly, but that's only after I've been droning on about Linus for what even I can admit is an exceptionally long time. Bottom line, Dario is always there for me. Always has been. Listening and being a supportive friend. It's my turn to repay him now. Even if I maintain there is nothing wrong with the way he looks, and I'm only doing this because it's what he wants.
I hand him the weights. "Let's get you warmed up. Up and down, nice and slow, even breathing. Gimme eight."
He starts the reps then after a few breaths, he says, "Thank you for this."
"Don't mention it." I concentrate on his form. He used to work out a lot, so his form and technique are spot on.
"I've already lost half a kilo thanks to your good cooking. Oh, and it helps not having access to my favourite Thai place."
"Yeah. The closest you'll get to Thai around here is when Mrs. Mangle goes experimental and adds a Thai basil beef pie to the menu."
His face scrunches up. "That sounds gross."
"That one was actually on the better, more edible end of the spectrum. Her chicken pad Thai pie was…not good."
I guide him through the rest of the warm-up sequence before moving on to heavier weights. Since it's our first session, I take it easy. I'm more interested in seeing how he responds and determining what level he's at than pushing him to his limit.
After about forty minutes, we finish off with a ten-minute light jog, and by we, I mean Dario cools down on the treadmill while I take advantage of the situation we find ourselves in and scope out Linus's house from the open roller door. Unfortunately, there's not much to see, just the back porch and a bit of the yard.
"There's something I don't get," Dario says, keeping a steady pace on the machine.
I leave the door and walk back over to him. "What's that?"
"Your dad and Linus are best friends and have known each other for decades. Doesn't that mean you've been around Linus your whole life? Isn't he, like, more of an uncle figure for you?"
I shrug. "Not really. Apart from when Linus lived in Sydney when he was studying to be a vet, he and Dad have never lived in the same town and haven't really seen each other a lot. Theirs is more a long-distance friendship. It's not like we spent holidays and birthdays together." Growing up, Dad and I moved around all over the country. "I remember coming here to Scuttlebutt twice as a kid, but that's about it. I had a faint memory of Linus, but he was always more of a concept than someone I had a connection with."
"Until you started working here?"
"Correct. Although I'm still not sure if there even is a connection between us."
Dario wipes his forehead against the sleeve of his shirt. "No, there is."
