Free An American Bulldog by Liz Stafford

Chapter One
     
    The vet clinic buzzed with activity today. Seemed like everyone’s pets needed shots all at once. Oh well, it was job security. Taryn checked the name written in magic marker on the tab of the manila file in the holder outside Exam Room Two. Oh God, not him again. Why was it, every time he came in, she was the tech on duty? Seemed like some kind of conspiracy.
    Bulldog. That wasn’t the breed. Well, it was, but it was also the owner’s name. His only name. Like Cher, or Meatloaf. But it wasn’t his name that sent her insides flapping and fluttering like laundry in the wind. It was everything else about him.
    Okay, okay. Suck it up and do your job. He’d be gone in ten minutes and she could go dry herself off. Taryn gripped the folder against her meager chest, stepped inside Exam Room Two, and closed herself in with two American Bulldogs. One was the kind you’d expect: white with brown patches and weighing around a hundred pounds. The other—he was white too, but no patches. At least none she could see. And he weighed far more than a hundred pounds, more than double that she guessed. Most of it was in his yard-wide shoulders. The defined curves of his abs showed through the tight yellow T-shirt. So did thick nipples—big enough for a mouthful—and standing at attention.
    “Good afternoon,” she said.
    “Good afternoon to you, too, Taryn B.”
    That voice. Like hot maple syrup. The actual words set her on edge. Why did he insist on mocking her? If she looked at him, he’d be smiling—a wide white smile set into a beefy, almost-handsome face that carried some extra weight in the jowl area, which always made her smile. It’s said that people tend to look like their dogs. Or was it the other way around? Either way, the chubby jowls made him look a lot like his dog, which was the reason they were both here.
    A rabies shot. For the dog.
    Taryn crouched beside the dog. “Good morning, Denver. Have you been a good boy since you were here last?” She ruffled his ears then scratched under his chin—the dog’s, not the owner’s—although, from the first moment he stepped into the examination room three months ago, Taryn had the idea he’d like to be ruffled and scratched, though probably in places other than his head. She wondered how he’d react if she did chuck him under the chin or scratch his tummy. Probably do the same as the dog and flop on his back twitching his—
    “What’re you laughing at?” Denver’s owner asked.
    Had she been laughing? Maybe. The image of him on his back sporting two twitching appendages was more than amusing. It was downright horny-inducing.
    “Sorry, Mr…” Taryn checked inside the file folder for the guy’s name. Maybe somebody had filled it in there. Nope. Still missing. Somebody was supposed to fill this in three months ago. “What’s your name?” Taryn asked him yet again.
    He thumped an oh-sooo-thick index finger on the file. “What’s it say?”
    “Bulldog. But—”
    “Then that’s what it is.”
    “How are we suppos—” She heaved a sigh. Let management take care of it. He obviously was playing games with her. But man, what a person to play games with. He had it all. Humor and intelligence. He’d demonstrated the intelligence the first visit when he talked about, oh gosh, what was that word now? Some kind of –esis. Taryn couldn’t begin to remember but it had been something scientific. He’d gone on about it, not in a boring way, but in that deep, I-want-to-suck-you voice that made her tingle all over.
    He didn’t wear a wedding ring. In today’s world, that didn’t a hundred percent mean he was single. A dozen times that first meeting, she’d almost asked him out. Her mouth opened and shut so many times he probably thought she was part goldfish. One thing holding her back was explaining him to her sister/roommate. How did she say she was going out with a guy named Bulldog? A white guy named Bulldog. A white guy named Bulldog who