Page 28 of Bodybuilders for the BBW

“OK, if you want to eat dinner with a girl that had to wipe dog vomit off her pants…” she warned, taking a step towards the front door.

Get her talking about herself and be a good listener, that’s what Garrett had said, and he was always one for the ladies.

“Dog vomit?” I held open the restaurant door for her and waited for her to walk in. “Is that a bit of an occupational hazard?”

Apparently it was.Over a glass of wine and some nibbly things we ordered, I found out about a Maltese terrier that had an unfortunate habit of eating things he shouldn’t, hence the vomit, a neurotic Samoyed that hid under the chair the entire time, as if that made the twenty kilo dog less obvious, and a couple of Maine Coon cats who were struggling with pissing outside their litter boxes.

“You love animals, don’t you?”

Fuck, that was such an obvious question, but I just wanted her to keep talking. Not sure if she knew this, but her whole face lit up as she discussed the patients that had come through the door today.

“More than people, really.” She took a guilty sip of her wine, realising how that sounded. “I mean, you know where you stand with a cat or a dog.”

“Tail wagging means happy to see you or mad.” I shrugged. “Depending on the species. Kinda be easier if people did the same.”

“Yes!” She leaned across the table to snag one of these little spicy meatball things. I pushed the plate closer. “Like if clients came in with perked ears or ones flattened against their skull, then I’d know how to deal with them. Talk quietly, gently and maybe offer them some snacks.” I pushed another plate towards her filled with mini sliders she seemed to like. She took one while shooting me a suspicious look, but rather than eat it, it got waved through the air as she spoke. “Or tell them they’re being a very good girl or boy.”

I shifted restlessly in my chair, almost able to imagine the scenario she was describing.

“And what would you do if they were being a good boy?”

Shit, that came out way more intense than I meant it to. Her slider stopped halfway to her mouth, then she dropped it onto her plate. One eyebrow cocked up, making clear she was picking up what I was laying down.

“Well, how good are we talking?”

Were we flirting? I always found women so damn hard to read. Like were her eyes shining, her smile spreading slowly because she was imagining the people bringing their pets to the vets, or…?

Was she thinking about a very different scenario? One where I was a very good boy or a very bad one, depending on how you viewed it. Only one way to find out. I leaned forward, placing my elbows onto the table. Her pupils blew out at that, but she didn’t retreat backwards. That was promising.

I wasn’t good at longing. I either wanted something and tried to get it, or I walked away and resigned myself to the fact it was never going to happen. Part of me knew I should’ve done that with Katie the moment I saw she was intent on staying with Dave.

But I didn’t.

The bittersweet sensation of staring at her, tracing the shapes of her curves with my eyes and wondering, wondering at the sounds she’d make when I stripped away every inch of her clothing… It hurt too much to continue, but felt too good to stop.

“Good.” I barely croaked out my answer. “Better. The very best you’ve had.”

Because I would be if, when, we took things to the next level. I’d make damn sure of that.

“The best client to walk in the door of the vets?” She was deliberately misunderstanding me, but I could play along. “Well, I’d save the best treat of all for them. I’d?—”

“How are we doing here?” The waiter paled when I looked up, a barely contained snarl on my lips. “Ah… are we ready for another drink?”

Katie let out a little giggle, helping defuse the tension, if not alleviate the waiter’s confusion.

“Um… I think I’ll have a rum and Coke,” she said, swilling her wine in her glass. “The wine is very good but?—”

“Thank god,” I groaned. “Can’t stand the stuff myself.” The waiter looked personally offended. Perhaps because the bottle was his selection. “A rum and Coke and a beer, thanks, mate.”

The waiter nodded stiffly, removing the wine and the glasses before turning to get our orders.

“So why did you order wine if you didn’t like it?” Katie asked me in a low hiss, as if the other diners might overhear.

I could tell her some story, some lie, but that wasn’t me.

“My housemate told me to order wine, not beer, like a Neanderthal,” I replied. “I said I wanted to impress you and that was his advice.” My fingers played with the tablecloth. “So that’s what I did.”

She blinked at that, taking a second to process before shooting me an impish smile.

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