"You know I'm right," Fridge said as he shoveled another bit of syrup and butter drenched pancake into his mouth. He let out a pleased grunt as he did so. "Dang, the good here get's better every time," he said through a full mouth. Tristian chuckled.
"I wouldn't go that far," he laughed. He raised his own fork for another bite then paused and let out a low whistle at the sight of the man who'd just walked in through the door. "Oooh-de-lolly," he said under his breath. The man was in his early thirties, and a little shorter than Tristian himself at a solid 6'1, but was a fair bit wider at the shoulder. He had the musculature of a professional body builder, but had the bulky softness of one who was in the off-season: A small, modest paunch, the sort that said he was a little too fond of beer and burgers, pushed outward against his red polo shirt, and his square-jawed face was just showing the first signs of softening and filling out as the man put on a little weight. His thick thighs and bubble butt strained his khaki shorts, and his strong calve drew the eye down to a pair of size 13 sneakers. Wavy black hair parted towards the left and a hint of 5 o'clock shadow (at 7:30 a.m.!) completed the picture, and Tristian let out another low whistle.
He turned to ask Fridge if he had noticed the guy, and then immediately forgot the guy as he spotted Fridge scooping the last of Tristian's pancakes onto his own plate. "Hey!" He said, "I wasn't finished!"
"Snooze you lose!" Fridge said remorselessly, letting out another happy grunt as he started his eating engine back up. Tristian shook his head, but didn't protest again. He should have known better than to leave his food unguarded around Fridge; this was hardly the first time his big-bellied buddy had stolen the food right off his plate.
"Well, hurry up Fatboy. We've only got another hour until practice." He snickered as a thought occurred to him. "Don't forget to tell coach to knock off a few pounds for all the pancakes when he puts your fat ass on the scale at weight-in."
"He'll be heartbroken," Fridge laughed through his full mouth, and Tristian chuckled in agreement. Coach Zhang was firmly of the opinion that, with certain exceptions like quarterback, bigger was always better for football. Tristian may be the team captain, but Fridge was by far his favorite player; he often referred to him as his "Prize Hog" and held him up as an example for the rest of the team to follow, being the biggest player on the roster.
Tristian spent a few more moments watching Fridge eat, then got up. "I'm takin' a leak right quick," he told his buddy, who nodded in acknowledgment but didn't otherwise look away from his rapidly shrinking number of pancakes.
It was as he was coming back from the bathroom that he bumped into someone and experienced the unfamiliar sensation of almost bouncing backwards. Almost because he was still bigger than whoever he had bumped into, but it was close. Unlike the other person, who did bounce back a little. With a curse he grabbed for the other patron and stabilized him. "You alri-" he started to ask, then trailed off with a blush. The person he had almost knocked over was the hottie he'd been staring at earlier.
"Fine," the man said in a baritone voice much like Tristian's, and with a Louisiana drawl that went straight to...suffice to say Tristian found it sexy. "Jus' fine. And you?"
"I'm fine," he said, managing to stop his blush through sheer force of will. "Sorry for bumping into you; I was headed back to my buddy." He tilted his head in indication and the man turned to take a look, his thick black eyebrows rising in surprise before he let out an approving whistle.
"Land sakes," he said. "Tha's a biiig boy over there." He turned to Tristian. "Got his bulk in all the right places," he patted the softness at his own middle for emphasis. "'Course, you ain't exactly tiny yourself." He reached over and gave Tristian's beefy belly an approving pat. Tristian was speechless at the man's brazenness, but not exactly put off by it. "Keep on keeping on, cher.' You'll catch up to him one day." He gave Tristian a wink and then sauntered past towards the bathroom.
Tristian returned to the table in a daze, where Fridge was forking the last bite of pancake into his mouth. "What took you so long?" He best friend asked before letting out a thunderous belch and patting his giant stomach with pleasure.
Tristian shook off the last of his daze. "Nothing," he said. "I'm fine." He reached for his wallet and threw down some tip money. "Come on, Fatboy. We gotta head out or we're gonna be late." Fridge heaved his bulk away from the table (his stomach was too big to sit comfortably in one of the booths these days) and stood, stumbling slightly before expertly adapting to the extra weight of breakfast in his already-heavy midsection.
"Yeah, yeah. Quit your nagging, Twig."
"Fatass," Tristian shot back, and Fridge only laughed.
"You right," he said, giving his belly a few hearty thumps. "You right."
Still horsing around and laughing, the two best friends paid for their breakfast ($12.99, extremely reasonable for the amount of food they'd ordered) and headed out for Tristian's truck before driving to practice and the new semester.
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