Page 70 of Curvy Girl Summer

Mike turned to face him. “Yes, thanks. Two IPAs?” He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and then turned to me. “I know you said you didn’t like beer, but trust me.”

I shrugged. “If I don’t like it, I’m not going to finish it.”

“If you don’t like it, I’ll finish yours, and then you can get a cosmo or some shit. But you have to just try it. It’s different. It’ll change your mind.”

Being a good sport, I smiled. “Okay…”

Ahmad looked at me for a second. “Okay.”

When he walked off to prepare our drinks, I noticed Mike looking down at his phone again.

“So…” I started. “I’m glad you asked me out. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah.” He slipped his phone in his pocket. “It’s nice to actually see you in person.”

Ahmad placed two mugs in front of us and then immediately went to take another order.

“You ready to try this?” Mike asked.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, sniffing the drink.

He lifted his mug. “Let’s do this.”

I took a sip while he took a gulp.

It was not good.

“It’s bitter,” I told him, sliding the drink away from me.

“You don’t understand,” he argued before taking another gulp. “This isn’t that bad, but it isn’t the best. Now if you want the best…”

For thirty-four uninterrupted minutes, that man explained India pale ale, hops, and his quest to brew his own beer. It did not matter to him that my eyes had glazed over or that he was having a conversation by himself. When he did ask me questions, they seemed rhetorical because while I was in the midst of answering, he would interrupt me and tell me how I didn’t like beer, so I didn’t know. As he finished his IPA lecture, he’d managed to finish his beer and half of mine.

“You know…” he began. “You’re bigger than you look in your pictures. I didn’t know.”

“What?” My entire body tensed. “No. I don’t think so.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you are.”

“The pictures on my profile are very recent, and we’d had a few video calls where you saw my full body. So, no, you knew.” I shook my head profusely. “You definitely knew—”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s okay. I don’t usually date fat chicks, but you’re actually pretty,” he offered with a straight face.

My forehead crinkled as my eyebrows stretched to reach my hairline. There was that word again.Actually.

His words came out of nowhere and I felt like I’d been slapped awake. He’d gone from droning on about brewing to giving me my second backhanded compliment of the night.

“What?” I managed to reply.

“You’re pretty.” He downed the rest of the alcohol and placed the glass back down. “Fat isn’t usually my thing. I love thick. I’mcool with big. But fat isn’t really my type. But I’m glad I decided to give you a chance.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I like my women thick, but not…” His eyes zeroed in on my belly. “I don’t know. But something about you made me want to give you a try. Like I said, it’s not usually my thing, but with you… I’m willing to make the exception.”

“Don’t. I’m going to save us both a lot of time. If fat isn’t usually your thing, don’t let me be the one to change your mind.”

He frowned. “What?”

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