Page 16 of Maverick
With each adoption, my heart swells a little more. This is my path, my purpose. Nan always said I had a gift for matching hearts, for seeing the potential in the overlooked and the abandoned. Running this rescue, I get to live that gift every day.
But I'm not actually the secret sauce. At least not all of it. Because while I might have an idea of a good fit between an animal and a family, sometimes, magic happens. A little girl will walk past the gnarliest meanest looking dog, and fall in love. And that grumpy, snarly old thing turns into a complete marshmallow for her, letting her dress him up for tea parties.
There's a little magic in everything if you leave room for it.
As the last family leaves, their new pup nestled in their arms, I lean against the front desk, a contented sigh escaping my lips. I'm exhausted, my feet aching and my shirt covered in dog hair, but it's the best kind of tired. The bone deep, satisfied kind of tired.
Not to be confused with the fucked so good your bones are tired kind of satisfied. It's been a long while since I've enjoyed a good fucking, and I gotta be honest, I miss it.
Desperately.
And it's not like I've had many opportunities to take care of business myself considering I've been sharing a room with my grandma for months. I really have to find us an apartment. I guess technically I have enough now to get us someplace cheap, but I won't settle for cheap. Nan deserves something safe. She deserves a home. And if it means another month here, then I think that’s a tradeoff worth making.
For now, we're making do. Heading to the back to hand out scratches to the dozen dogs remaining, I take a minute to appreciate the empty kennels. They'll fill again sooner than I wish because there are always more dogs in need of a second chance. And I'll never turn them away.
I wander back to the front desk, and drop into my chair. Would it be bad to just lay my head down here and take a little nap? Between the late nights at The Escape, my days here, and Nan's habit of talking in her sleep, I'm tired. Bone tired.
Checking the clock, I realize I should have at least half an hour before my volunteers get here. Bree and Nick are both coming tonight. But until then, it couldn't hurt to take a little nap.
5
MAVERICK
Ileave my office at Brash group headquarters, feeling like I've been put through the wringer. The day's stress clings to me like a second skin, and I'm about ready to faceplant into my couch and call it a night. Hell, maybe I need more than that. Maybe I need a vacation. Just spend a month doing nothing but sleeping and laying on a beach.
Honestly, that's a depressing thought. In the past, vacations were a lot of fun. We didn't do much relaxing —my brothers are not a calm bunch— but we were together and got into all kinds of shit.
Now though, it's just me and Ransom left single. And while he's not bad company by any means, I don't really want to spend time lounging on a beach with him.
No, I'd want softer, curvier company. Maybe someone with a wild mane of blonde hair, and the prettiest smile I've ever seen.
Fuck. I've got to stop thinking about her. It's pathetic. I'm nearly forty, and lately, I've felt more like a middle schooler with a crush.
Most of the cubicles on the executive floor are empty, so I head for the elevator. Suddenly, I'm in a headlock and register the lived-in leather smell of Nick's favorite jacket.
In most businesses, getting tackled and put in a headlock would be an HR violation. Here, it's a Wednesday. As rough knuckles press against my head, I yell and aim an awkward punch at Nick's junk, making him yank his hips away, laughing.
"Hey fucknut!" I grunt, wrestling out of his grip. It feels good to let loose for a second, to shake off the weight of the day. When I get out of his grip, I aim a slap at his cheek, which he dodges, of course. Then he tries to slap me back. He manages to connect, and it's on.
Cara wanders down the hall, "Night boys," she says casually as I land a particularly loud slap on Nick's cheek.
"Night Cara," we both mutter, still dodging and weaving.
We're too evenly matched, so eventually, we end up looking like two kangaroos, just slapping away at each other's hands in the space between our bodies.
"Truce!" he finally yells, backing up, raising his hands.
I study him, trying to figure out if it's actually a truce, or just a play to get the upper hand. Finally, I nod. "Truce."
We both take a second to smooth out our hair and resettle our clothing.
"So, what are you up to tonight?" I ask, trying to act casual. Truth is, the thought of going home to an empty apartment isn't exactly thrilling. Hell, I'd even third-wheel it with him and Bree if it meant some company. I have no shame in inviting myself to whatever they're doing, if it means not being alone tonight.
Nick's eyes light up the way they do anytime he thinks of Bree. "Bree and I are headed over to the rescue again to put in some volunteer hours. Might grab a bite after. Thai. I had a dream last night that I was dancing like the rockettes with a line up of chicken satay."
“That’s…something.”
“They all looked so tasty,” he says dreamily.