May had nothing to say to that. She was too busy devouring her tacos. She kept eating until she’d plowed through all three, and then she stared wistfully at Ben’s fifth, which lay unclaimed on its plate. Beckoning to her.
The sight of that fifth taco filled her with a lust far greater than anything she’d felt for Dan in a very long time.
May lifted her glass to her lips and drank a sip of water, trying to be cool while simultaneously mourning all the steak tacos she would never get to eat.
When she raised her eyes, Ben was watching her intently.
“What?” she asked.
But of course she knew what. She’d just practically had sex with a tray full of tacos, and now the postcoital embarrassment set in. He saw me naked! With tacos!
“I was hungry,” she said sheepishly.
“You love food.”
She could hardly deny it now, not after what he’d witnessed. But she wasn’t supposed to love it this much. Not in public, not with people watching, and certainly not in front of Ben.
She had been a chubby adolescent, taller and chunkier than the other girls. Not the easiest thing to be, especially in comparison to her whippet of a little sister. But by her freshman year in college, May had figured a few things out. For starters, if she stayed competitive on the swim team or took long walks a few days a week in the off-season, she could eat pretty much what she liked and maintain the same weight. She was built like her father, so she would never be shopping in the petite section of department stores. But intellectually, May came to a place where she could understand that there was nothing really wrong with her body. It was exactly the size it was supposed to be. And while the size it was supposed to be was a good thirty percent larger than the average woman’s, well, normal was a mirage anyway.
Even so, it had been such a relief to start dating Dan.
Here was a guy who had three inches and sixty pounds on her, with biceps that bulged even beneath a sport coat. He was huge, and his friends were all giants who made her feel downright small.
In bed and out, Dan had cast a shadow over her. Covered her. And she’d liked it, because Dan’s shadow kept the constant attention off her plate. For once she could eat a second serving of mashed potatoes at a family dinner without feeling like she was bathed in red neon light, shameful and exposed.
Now that she’d left Dan, was she really going to return to the days of constantly hearing her mother in her head telling her to put that cheese back in the fridge and eat some frozen grapes?
She’d never wanted to eat the stupid grapes. Who picked grapes over cheese?
Not her. Not if she could help it.
“It’s true,” she confirmed. “I love food.”
“Have the last taco.”
“It’s yours.”
“I’ve had enough already. I’ll just throw it away.”
That was all the convincing she required. May reached for the taco, loaded it up with condiments, and dug in.
Ben leaned back in his chair and watched her eat. The last bite sent a cascade of steak juice between her fingers, and she licked it off with relish, finally full enough to say goodbye to the tacos with something approaching contentment.
She smiled at him, steeped in taco bliss.
“I love a woman who eats,” he said. And he smiled back.
A real grin—big, unrestrained, kind of goofy. His incisors were crooked, his whole smile just a little unbalanced. No expensive orthodontia for Ben.
But his teeth were white, and hiding behind that three-day stubble was a pair of creases too deeply carved to be considered dimples. They were more like crevasses. Geological features in the landscape of his craggy face.
Oh crud. His craggy handsome face.
Ben had a long, straight nose and those Slavic-looking eyes, hooded and expressive. He had dimples and nice teeth and shoulders that hinted at an excellent view beneath that hoodie. Had she really not noticed before? Was she blind?
“You want a Popsicle?” he asked.
Something inside of May tripped and landed hard on its ass.
“Sure,” she said. “I’d love one.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She went to town on the Popsicle.
The woman could eat. On a good bite, her eyelashes fluttered like she just might moan, but she was too polite. The last time Ben had met a woman he liked to watch eating this much, he’d married her.
And look how that turned out.
His leg jittered under the table. He was grateful for the Spanish ballad that came on the radio for being so terrible that it provided a distraction.
“This song sucks,” he said.
“You think?” She drew the top four inches of the Popsicle into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.
Ben looked away. Then back at her.
He couldn’t stop looking.