by Denise Kincy
Greg wasn’t fat. He just didn’t look anything like the guys I was normally attracted to; those thin, dark, dangerous James Dean wannabes. However, I had had my belly full of that sort of character, so when the rosy-cheeked, cuddly teddy-bear of a man started talking to me at the party, I paid attention. And I was glad. He was funny, his laughter sweet and inviting.
We became lost in conversation as the rest of the party milled around us, dancing and drinking. He asked if I wanted to go grab a bite to eat. I didn’t think twice before saying yes. I blame Jose Cuervo for jumping out of those margaritas and gleefully declaring what a great idea it was.
