“Room for dessert?” the perky waitress asks.
“Ah, I’m stuffed.” Rico rubs his round stomach in a circular motion.
“C’mon. We have cheesecake, apple pie à la mode, chocolate lava cake,” she lists, counting on her fingers. “Ooh! And a red velvet cake to die for!”
“Sounds delicious, but I’m trying this diet—”
“Diet? You look great! Splurge a little.” She nudges his elbow. Rico suspects flirting with customers is part of her job description.
“Well, one slice of cheesecake wouldn’t hurt.”
Rico finishes only half. His stomach stretches taut. The bathroom calls him, but he can barely stand.