"So your name is Bella. You don't LOOK Italian." Herman stirred his coffee, and looked her in the eyes--again!--it was almost impertinent the way he did that.
"Yes," she answered, staring down at the single bran muffin she had opted to buy. She had been the one who suggested the bakery. Why? It was this damn man who had thrown her off her guard. There was nothing even particularly attractive about him, other than the stormy grey eyes and curly black hair. His nose was too large, and he was, she thought, much too hairy and skinny. Yet she hadn't been able to focus since she'd seen him, sitting on her doorstep, straightening her flower pots and grinning saucily up at her. Though maybe it wasn't entirely his fault. The events of the day had not exactly been typical. And the hunger she felt, it was not exactly typical, either. Huh. Shoot, she realized. She should say something.
"Are you okay?" he said, beating her to the punch.
"Not really," she said. "Sorry. I've had a bizarre day."
"Anything you care to share?"
She shuddered at the thought of the LOST. "No, not especially," she said. "I'd rather not talk about it."
"Good. I always prefer to talk about shallow things, anyway." He grinned with half of his mouth, and fixed the collar of his small shirt. How was he so fidgety, but so confident at once? "So...take two. Your name is Bella. But you don't look Italian."
"Well, you certainly don't look Irish, Mr. O'Lymp."
"Did I ever say I was?" He flipped half of his collar up again.
"Are you Ara--Middle Eastern?"
"NO!" he said, very loudly. A couple at the next table looked over. "Sorry," he said to them. "No, Bella, Bella, I'm Greek!"
She was a bit embarrassed, at first of her faux pas, but even moreso because of this dark stranger's behavior. Maybe he wouldn't be an ideal housemate although, admittedly...she was attracted to him. She felt her stomach rumble, and decided to put him on the defensive before he could hear it. "Huh. Weird last name for a Greek--O'Lymp."
Herman shrugged. "Yeah, well...weirder for a Turk."
Bella could feel her stomach begin to rumble again, and she slurped some coffee in an attempt to cover the noise. She wanted to annhilate that muffin stump (it mocked her!), but she did not want to eat faster than Herman. It was agony.
"S-so, Herman," her teeth chattered, as she began to shake, she hoped, imperceptibly, "So, Herman, do you think you could really put up with living with THREE girls? That's a lot of drama."
"Good. Greeks invented drama," he said, eyes shining, pleased with himself. "You should see how it is in my family."
She laughed, relaxing a bit. "Well, that's good." Then, automatically, before her brain was aware of it, her hands stuffed the rest of the muffin past her glossy lips and into the oblivion of her mouth and stomach. What the hell? She thought. Nice, Bella. Now he'll think you're a--
"Nice one!" Herman crowed, and to Bella's mortification, the occupants of three tables looked at them--him, juggling rolled-up straw papers, and her with a mouth full of bran muffin. "It's so refreshing when a pretty girl isn't afraid to--"
Yes, yes, she had heard this from too many guys. 'It's nice when a pretty girl isn't afraid to eat, provided she stays unrealistically thin all of her life.' There's the rub. She swallowed, took a sip of coffee, and started to say so, when...
Suddenly, she was distracted from even the boy in front of her. It was a GOOD muffin. It was the best muffin, in fact, that she had ever tasted. The warmth within her surged and she had to stop herself from groaning in pleasure. She was still so hungry, though.
"You okay?" asked Herman. This was, she realized, probably the weirdest "date" the poor boy had ever been on.
"I'm sorry, I just haven't eaten all day," she lied. "Um, I'll be right back." She rose, thanking God that the pastry counter and bathrooms were in another room of the bakery/coffee-shop. As she strode toward the counter, she realized that she'd somehow given herself a wedgie. Her pants felt strange, as well. She would adjust that when she got to the bathroom, she thought. Right now, she did not have the patience even to look down.
The barista gave her an odd look. "Hey, up here," she said, impatiently. "One cookie, please."
"Of course, miss." The barista--her name was Alaina--looked at her again. "Will there be anything else?"
Well, since she asked...
"Um, yeah. Could I also get three cinnamon buns, two pieces of strawberry cheesecake, and, uh, four muffin tops. To take home."
Alaina the barista charged Bella for the pastries and handed her the box. Bella almost ran across the store, and into the bathroom. Yes, she would share these with the roommates, of course, but...she needed to have just one or two muffin tops before resuming her date.
Her mouth was full of saliva and her stomach full of groaning as she locked the bathroom door. "Now!" she whispered to herself, in the mirror as she dug into the box, "now for a muffin...top...?"
Her hands froze in horror, as she caught sight of her midriff.
The jeans of the lovely blonde looking back at her were about to unsnap. They held her thighs and waist tightly like an ambitious seatbelt and over them spilled--yes, spilled--a perfectly tanned excess of flesh, folded in the middle.
"WHAT?" she screamed.
Was it a trick mirror? Couldn't be, those were FOLDS of flesh. How did that...she began to turn to survey the damage to her backside, when she caught a whiff of pastry from the box, and her belly shook with the growl of her stomach. A stream of drool burst from her mouth, and suddenly, she lost all control...
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