Page 51 of Curvy Girl Summer

“I had a date that ended early,” I answered honestly.

“What happened?”

“Why?”

“I have to make sure I don’t make the same mistakes he did on our date.”

Smiling, I shook my head. “What makes you think I’m open to a date with you?”

“Because you keep flashing that gorgeous smile my way.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Is that right?”

“Vodka martini,” Ahmad interrupted, sliding the drink in front of Ray. He gave me a look before adding, “Your food will be out in a few.”

Confusion caused my head to tilt as I held his gaze. “Thanks…” I said slowly.

When I tore my eyes from him, I found Ray staring at me. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted his glass to his lips. “I wanted to at least buy you a drink before picking your brain, but here we are.”

“Picking my brain? What’s up?”

“I need a couple of suggestions. How can I move a random bar meeting to a first date with you?”

I let out a light laugh. “Okay.” I put my glass to my lips and took a sip. “That was kind of smooth.”

He turned on the barstool, so his body was facing me. “I’m real smooth if you give me a chance.” He reached his left hand out to briefly touch my arm. “Let me get your number, and I can show you how smooth…”

I noticed the indentation on his ring finger and sighed. “You know what would be real smooth?”

“What’s that?”

“Being faithful to your wife.”

His eyes widened fractionally. “Wh-what? Wife? What are you talking about?”

“Where does she think you are?” I wondered. He looked like he was going to try to lie and defend himself, so I continued, “I’m genuinely curious.”

He slid off the stool. “I don’t know what you mean, but I’m here to celebrate.” He picked up his drink with two fingers and pointed to me. “I thought you looked like someone I could celebrate with, but you’re on some other shit.”

“Everything okay?” Ahmad said in a deep voice as he placed my burger and fries in front of me.

“Yeah, this married man was just leaving,” I said loudly.

Sputtering, Ray backed away from me. “Yo, what is wrong with you? I’m not married.”

“Save your lies for someone who’ll believe them,” I called after him.

When I turned back around, Ahmad was staring at me.

“What are you doing?” he questioned.

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“These”—he made a slightly disgusted face—“men. These dates.”

I jerked my thumb backward toward the door. “That married man wasn’t my date!” I scoffed.

“But the married man before him was. And ol’ boy last week.”

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